#and that makes me want to HURL MY GUTS UP

[bikananjarrus]

elzar saying “if we’re a constellation, the council has made you the polestar” about stellan

[rafeyscurtainbangs]

The Sweetest Thing - Rafe Cameron

+18 Minor DNI

CollegeHockey!Rafe x gf!reader

⭐ republished ⭐

+18 Minor DNI

ask: sex with hockeyplayer!rafe after he won an important match

Thank you so much for your ask 🌺

🪄 hockey!rafe, bf!rafe, swearing, name-calling, Rafe & reader’s POV, hockey violence, pet names (daddy, doll, baby, babygirl etc, degradation, Rafe talks about the reader in an explicit fashion to her ex without her there, rough oral, throat fucking, cum play, creampie, semipublic sex, unprotected p in v, jealous!rafe, ownership kink, squirting, lots of dirty talk from him

📖 CollegeHockey!Rafe can’t wait to get his hands on you after winning the Frozen Four Championship game, especially after playing against your ex.

✨ He meets your eyes, his guide shifting as you pinch the bottom of his jersey you’re wearing. “Keep it on, princess. Just for a bit,” he smiles as he looks down at you at his feet, wanting to see his last name on your shoulders as you suck him off.✨

2.3 K lightly edited (<- mostly smut)

NCAA Men’s Frozen Four Championship Game…

30 seconds remaining in the 3rd Period 1-0:

Rafe’s POV:

The ref’s whistle screams through the arena. The puck drops again. I skirt and push as I look for an opening, waiting for my pass. I charge past the student section, catching her eye as I always do. My number one fan. My girl. Mine.

Easton Lawrence is a bitch. He has been since juniors; y/n’s ex-boyfriend no less. He and I usually both end up ejected from the game without fail. Not today. I promised her I’d play as nice as I could. ‘He’s not worth it. He’s a dick. He’s just trying to get under your skin, baby.’ That’s my girl’s pep talk. But Jesus fuckin’ Christ, three periods of this shit-talkin’ from him has me wanting to toss all that out the window. He loves to fuck with me. And he always has—every damn game.

Easton bumps his stick against the glass, giving her a smile that she doesn’t return. Good girl. We meet at the line, getting ready for puck drop. His silver chain hangs out of his jersey. Of course, I stalked her IG before we dated; I know that pendant was a gift from her. #6 shines in the bright rink lights, making my blood boil.

“Y/n looks good, Cameron. Sweetest fucking pussy I ever had.” He chirps, taking a jab as he has, each one getting more infuriating than the last as he inches closer and closer to my soft spot. Her. He just had to do it.

“Say her name again. Do it, bitch,” I warn.

“I miss her sayin’ mine, that’s for sure,” he sneers as he tightens his stick in his mitts.

“You startin’ shit ‘cause you’re losin’, asshole? This game is almost over. Give it up.” The whistle blows, a false start, leaving him plenty more time to run his mouth. My turn. “Good? Nah, buddy. My girl looks perfect. And I’m man enough to agree with you, perfect fuckin’ pussy. Too bad you weren’t man enough to make her cum. Huh?”

Easton laughs wickedly and shakes his head. “Gonna fucking kill you when I find you in the parkin’ lot, Cameron. I swear to Christ.”

“No, you ain’t. ‘Cause I’m gonna take that sweet pussy to the first locker room I find and rail what’s mine. Gonna make her forget that any man’s name’s ever passed her lips but Rafe Cameron.”

The whistle blasts, and the puck drops. I get an elbow to the gut immediately, Easton prodding and taunting me instantly. There are so many bodies in front of the net, but I catch my opening. The puck hits my stick, a little backhand flick. I watch as she trickles past the goal line.

The siren sounds, and the crowd cheers loudly as the music blares. I skate toward him, getting in his face before my teammates can reach me to celebrate, making the refs rush around us, anticipating a brawl. “Gettin’ her and the win, pussy. Have fun beatin’ your own dick, bitch,” I dig. Easton shoves me hard, and I shove him back, slapping his chest and ripping that cheap-ass Zale’s chain off his chest before hurling it over the glass.

"Break it up!” The refs scream, blowing their whistles again.

My co-captain bumps me with his stick, giving me a broad smile. That was the winning goal. A few boys drag me in for a celebratory hug before skating back to the bench. There are only a few seconds left, and the crowd’s goin’ crazy aleady. Y/n can barely contain her excitement. I give her a wink, and she smiles back, giving me a little finger wave that has me even more eager for the final buzzer.

Sure, they’ll be press after this. A quick interview with ESPNU, maybe a few words from the coaches; a quick speech from us captains. But when I’m done with all that shit, I’m fuckin’ my girl just like I said I would.

My coach smiles at me proudly, not wanting to jinx the next 30 seconds of play. The only thing that would be better is if the puck passed the white ice before the clock hit 0.0.

But I don’t wanna get greedy now, do I? I’ll save that for her.

Reader’s POV:

“Congratulations, captain…” Your lips meet his neck, a soft kiss, feeling his heartbeat under your lips. You palm his cock, rolling your fingers gently over the fabric. Rafe moans deeply, vibrations buzzing against your lips. You work a little lower, kissing and tracing his strong chest and abs, working to the locker room floor.

Your fingers run softly against the deep indentations of his v-lines, making his muscles flex. You smile up at him from your knees, catching your fingers under the band of his boxers, pulling them to his feet, watching as his aching cock springs free, Rafe letting out a sigh of relief.

He meets your eyes, his guide shifting as you pinch the bottom of his jersey you’re wearing. “Keep it on, princess. Just for a bit,” he smiles as he looks down at you at his feet, wanting to see his last name on your shoulders as you suck him off.

“I love your cock, baby,” you laud as you take him in your hands.

“Yeah?” He groans, watching you near his tip; a bead of precum gathers on his head, rolling slowly before it falls to the concrete. “Don’t go wastin’ it now,” he teases as you run your tongue along your bottom lip; mouth water, wanting the weight and taste of him on your tongue.

“If I was at the hotel, I’d lick it off the floor. I swear,” you smile as Rafe looks down at you in awe.

“Just a filthy little slut for me. Aren’t you, baby?”

“Mmm… Mhmm.” You hum, preening him up with your tongue. Rafe closes his eyes, tilting his head back to the ceiling. He cradles your head in his hands as you swirl slowly.

“This mouth, baby,” he mumbles.

Rafe’s eyes open, watching as you kiss him sloppily, teasing him with the thought of your lips wrapped around him fully, the warmth of your mouth swathing him. “Shit,” he pants, sexual tension painted all over his handsome face. You smile wickedly, lips parting slightly as he watches you take him into your mouth. “Fuckkk,” he moans, drawing out the word with a deep breath. You bob back and forth, choking on his big dick each time. He holds your head a little tighter in his hands as you increase your pace.

Rafe starts to trill on your tongue, mumbling praise as you add your hands. He tugs your hair, causing you to moan around his cock. Rafe takes control, gliding slower, taking a different grip entirely, holding your cheeks in his large hands. The fat tip of his cock kisses the back of your throat, spit seeping from the corners of your mouth.

“This mouth is mine. All fucking mine,” he grunts. “And you’re gonna swallow it all. Yeah?” Rafe asks raspily, stroking your full cheeks with his thumbs. “‘Course you are. Can’t answer with this pretty little mouth full of dick. Can you?”

Rafe thrusts deeply a few more times before giving you back the reins. You draw off him fully, a gasp for air releases from your open lips, drool connecting from the tip of his cock to your kiss-swollen lips. You spit on his dick, getting messy just like he likes, stroking him with your fist. "I’m all yours, Rafe.”

He shakes his head and smiles. “Mhmm… That’s right, princess.” You wrap your lips around his tip, creating a suction that makes him moan your name. Your hands wrap around, gripping his ass, as you start to stroke him with your mouth again. Lewd noises fill the locker room; Rafe, panting and like a dog; you, slurping and squelching with each bob of your head. Tears leak down your cheeks, eyes locked on him, watching as he starts to near his finish. Rafe’s cock swells on your tongue; his muscular thighs trembling as you squeeze. ”So good, baby… I’m gonna - Fuck.“ Warm, white ropes hit the back of your throat as you take his big load, swallowing it all.

You bind your fingers a little tighter, milking out his last bits of pleasure, skimming your tongue along his tip, catching what little remains, flattening your tongue to show him yourself. “My girl,” he smiles, hooking a finger under your chin, leading you to your feet. Rafe spits in your open mouth one moment, kissing you deeply the next, slipping his tongue inside. Your tongues swirl together, Rafe holding onto you tight.

"I need you, baby,” you plead against his lips, and he smiles on yours.

“Yeah? You need this dick, princess?”

“I need it,” you whisper, taking his bottom lips between your teeth.

“She needs it… I wanna fill up this sweet pussy,” he mumbles. “Nobody else gets you but me. No one else knows this cunt like I do. Do they?” He asks, all low and husky against your neck. You respond with a needy uh huh, making him chuckle as you melt into him more, feeling your arousal pool in your panties. “I’m gonna be drippin’ out of you all night.”

“I’m counting on it, Rafe,” you breathe. He strips you out of his jersey quick; your pants already tossed to the side, leaving you in your black lacy bra and panties. Rafe unclasps your bra as he kisses down your neck, holding your breasts in his ringed hands. He reels and flicks his tongue across your sensitive bud, pinching the other between his rough digits. You scratch your fingers into his damp hair, guiding him lower and lower.

“Babygirl,” he chuckles as he snaps your panties at the hip, seeing his #2 embroidered into the fabric. “I fuckin’ love you. You know that.”

“You like it?”

“You know I would. I love ‘em.” He kisses your skin, then the number, working lower and lower, hitching your leg over his shoulder to get better access to your sopping core. Rafe licks the fabric, tasting you, groaning against your clothed cunt at the taste. “M’gonna leave these on… Get ‘em all messy. When we get back to the hotel after the bar, you can take ‘em off. Deal?”

“Deal,” you smile as you brush back his bangs to see his pretty baby blues.

“‘N by you I mean me,” he smiles playfully. “I’m already thinkin’ about later, baby. Got me fuckin’ pussy whipped,” Rafe laughs as he lifts you into his strong arms.

“I’m addicted to you, Cameron. I guess we’re even,” you whisper against his lips as you hook your ankles around his waist, driving your body closer as he presses your back into the cool brick wall. ”Fuck me?“ You whine, desperation laced in your tone. ”Please.“

“I love when you beg for my cock. Think you could get nice and loud for me, princess?” You bite your lip and nod in reply. “Beautiful.”

Rafe pushes your panties to the side; you tilt your forehead against his, the two of you watching as his long cock nears your warmth. ”Shit,“ you whine as he circles your sensitive clit with his velvety head, making him smirk. Rafe moves a little lower, gliding through your folds, teasing your entrance with his pink, swollen tip. You both moan in unison as he fucks up into you.

You gasp and fuss, feeling him split you in two. Your boyfriend wasting no time stroking, hitting that special spot. He pins you to the wall, leaning in, rutting quickly. His thrusts are merciless, absolutely intense as you cling to his shoulders. You cry out in pleasure as his toned body claps against your clit, his ruddy head repeatedly striking your g-spot.

“Atta girl. Keep screamin’ like that.”

”Rafe… Oh my god. I’m gonna cum,“ you moan as stars dance in your eyes, white-hot pleasure overtaking you entirely as you cum all over his cock. Rafe works you even quicker, fucking you through your orgasms as your nails dig into his shoulder blades.

“Got this pussy creamin’ for me. Think I could make her cry,” he taunts through mumbled words, sucking and biting your skin, marking you up.

Rafe pulls you off the wall, leaving you gasping, his dick still buried deep as he carries you to the bench. He sits down, letting you straddle his lap as you kiss. Rafe adjusts slightly, leaning back into the wall, enjoying the view, catching a different angle, making you suck in some air. You lift your body, rising fully before spreading your thighs wide again. Rafe grips your ass in his hands, following you as you move. ”It’s too much,“ you whine, bottom lip wobbling, as he stretches you out.

“You’re lyin’,” he laughs breathily between jagged breaths. “My baby can take it.”

You throw your head back as you bounce, nailing the perfect spot, feeling every curve and ridge of Rafe’s dick as your thighs start to burn. Rafe’s thumb presses against your throbbing clit rubbing circles on top. ”Say my name when you cum, princess. Scream my fuckin’ name.“

”Sh-Shit,” you stutter, cock-drunk, thighs quivering uncontrollably, making you lose your rhythm. “M’gonna cum.”

“Cum on my cock, baby. Let me have it.”

Your orgasm rips through your body, pleasure hitting you harder than your first release, toes curling as you’re sent into ecstasy. Before you can come down, he picks you up, pushing you onto the cold bench, thrusting into you suddenly. The sounds of his skin clapping against yours echoes through the locker room. You let out a loud cry, making him smile wildly before your eyes pinch shut, gripping the metal edge, making your knuckles turn white.

“Look at me, princess. Eyes on me. M’almost there. You’re doin’ so good, f’me.” He lifts his hand, pressing two fingers between your lips before bringing them down to your clit, playing with your pussy.

”Yes! Just - Just like that. Fuck. Rafe,“ you squeal. ”Oh shit-“ Your orgasm spills over, soaking his cock, wetting your panties and his thighs. Rafe’s hips snap into you, filling you with his warmth. He topples down on top of you, burying himself in your neck, mumbling soft “I love you’s” as he rocks through your shared release. Rafe kisses your cheeks, then your lips, lingering close as you both come down from your bliss.

“Sweetest fuckin’ pussy I’ve ever had.”

my masterlist 🔮

Follow and turn on notifications for @curtainbangs-updates for fic drops 💕

[m00nl1ghts1vt]

You Like Me? - Matt Sturniolo

Part Two Pairings; bsf!Matt x bsf!Reader Summary; After Chris & Nick convince Matt to go to a party with them, he overdoes it and has to carried home. The night ends in a silly drunken confession. Wc; 1458 Warnings; fluff 🥰 strong language, mentions of alcohol use, vomitting, A.n; This is my first imagine & third post. Check out my Matt & Chris hc!! All reactions are highly appreciated ❤️ Current Matt series - City of Love

"Chris, you have to hold him up," Nick complains to his brother. You guys were coming in from a fun night out, after finally convincing their introverted brother to tag along, with the help of yourself of course.

You fumbled with the key, trying to put it in the keyhole but failing once again.

"C'mon Y/n, this man is fucking dead weight back here," Chris groans. You look over your shoulder to see a flustered, yet aggravated expression etched across his face. Poor guy.

Matt overdid it and had way too many shots tonight which was odd because you'd think he would've been completely out of his comfort zone, making him not want to drink at all but it did the complete opposite. Little did you know the only reason he even came out tonight was because you were going to be there and he couldn't bear the thought of sitting at home alone, not knowing if another guy was flirting with you or not. That and he had plans to let the liquid courage help him confess his feelings for you tonight. The feelings he had been dying to tell you since the third month of your friendship, when he actually figured it out it wasn't just attraction he had towards you.

You felt bad seeing the boys struggle to hold him up, each one of Matt's arms draped over their shoulders as he lets all of his weight hang at his feet. You quickly mumble a sorry before successfully sticking the key in the keyhole and unlocking the door. You push it open, stepping aside so you aren't in the way, going in behind them and closing it.

"Birds of a feather, we should stick together," you hear your best friend sing as his brothers drag him down the hall to his room. You throw your head back laughing as you stumble out of your heels. Matt already threw up twice - once at the party and another time in the car. It was in serious need of a detailing this week.

"Oh my fucking-," you hear Nick shout from Matt’s bedroom, "gross!" His voice is quickly followed by gut wrenching gags from Matt, or maybe it was one of his brothers. All you knew is that someone was puking so you raced down the hall, your own drunken haze wearing you down causing you to go slower, stumbling over your own two feet.

You turn the corner of Matt's bedroom, seeing him slumped over his bedside trash bin, emptying his stomach, for the third time tonight. Your motherly instincts kick in and you make your way to him, rubbing his back as he continues to throw up. His body wasn't used to that much alcohol, he wasn't a drinker at all.

"Oh Matt," you coo, attempting to soothe him as he hurls. You look over at his brothers, both covered in Matt's throw up with disgusted looks on their faces. "Has he eaten anything?" concern laced through your voice, "his stomach can't handle all the alcohol he had to tonight. Go get a couple pieces of bread for him to eat," you order, hoping one of them will do as you say so you don't have to leave Matt's side. You had been through the exact same thing he was going through one too many times, so you knew exactly what he needed.

Nick rushes out of the room, coming back with a couple pieces of bread and a bottle of water. He sets it down on the nightstand and takes a few steps back, clearly concerned about Matt because he's not worried about being covered in puke.

You look over at him, "you should go get changed. I got him, he'll be okay," reassuring him. Chris stood in the doorway, "are you sure?" He takes a few steps forward and looks at Matt, "what if he has alcohol poisoning?"

"Alco-whaa?" Matt grumbles, lifting his head from the trashcan and falling back on the bed.

"He'd be way worse if he had that," you tell him, "trust me," before sitting Matt up and wiping his mouth. To no avail, he slumps over and hits his head on the headboard, groaning and throwing a hand up to cover the goose egg that's more than likely forming. You sigh, pulling him up again, this time propping him up with pillows. "Here," cracking the water bottle open and bringing it to his lips, "drink."

Matt takes a sip from the water bottle, looking at you with his eyes bleary from the inoperative state the alcohol had him in. You smile at him, taking the water bottle away and replacing it with a piece of bread, "eat it," nodding him on. He takes a big bite and chomps on it, making you giggle. You look at Chris and Nick, kind of like you're reassuring them he'd be just fine. It works and they go on their way to clean themselves up.

You watch has Matt still chomps on his bread, staring at you with ogle eyes, "you're so fucking pretty," his speech is still slurred but a lot clearer than before. 

A blush creeps up on your face, "shut up, Matt. You're drunk."

"S'what," he slurs, a kool-aid smile stretched across his smile, "you're still gorgeous." 

Over the last year and a half, you and Matt had been friends, and he never flirted with you. So, your immediate thought was it had to be caused by his intoxicated state.

"Shut up and eat your bread," you mumbled a bit embarrassed. Thank God Chris and Nick weren't in the room, they'd never let the two of you live it down. Standing up to set the water on his nightstand, Matt reaches his hands out to your thighs, pulling you towards him.

You squeal at the sudden contact, "Matt, what are you doing?!"

"Cuddle with me," he whines, making sure to keep a tight grip on the backs of your thighs, pressing his head to your stomach. You look down at him, pushing a piece of hair out of his face. Matt looks up with the biggest puppy dog eyes, "please."

How could you say no to that face? Yeah, you found Matt attractive, who didn't? But you never thought he'd have his arms wrapped around your waist, begging you to cuddle with him. After debating with your inner conscious for a second, you convince yourself the outcome couldn't be that bad. Nodding to Matt, "fine," pushing him back and crawling up next to him.

His arm snakes around your shoulder and you lay your head on his chest. The two of you stay frozen in time for a while and he finally looks down at you, "I really like you, Y/n."

You snicker, "go to sleep, Matt." You were definitely giving him shit about this in the morning.

"I'm not that drunk anymore," he tells you in a defensive tone before sitting up, making you sit up with him. What was this kid getting at? Confusion spreads across your face and your eyes search the room, almost like you’re for hidden cameras. "The water helped," you hear him say.

"So, what are you trying to say, Matt," you keep your tone quiet. Was he implying he had feelings for you? You two have been friends for a little a year and a half so this sudden confession had you struck for words. Matt had never indicated he liked you or even looked at you as anything more than friends. There were no signs. This was out of the blue for you.

"I like you," he hums, obviously still drunk but not as drunk as before. He was sobering up by the minute now that the bread was absorbing all the leftover alcohol in his stomach. He looks at you, leaning in, "just told you that, silly goose," and bops your nose with his index finger.

"Y-you like me?" you stutter, trying not to overreact, "since when?"

"Since forever, duh," he laughs. Usually Matt would be embarrassed to no end having confessed his feelings to you but his intoxicated state put him at ease, "ask anyone. They all know," he nods proudly.

You ran your finger through your hair, not believing what you're hearing. "You're gonna regret this in the morning, Matthew," you tell him, using his full government name so he knows you're serious.

"Nuh-uh," he argues, "that's the only reason I got this wasted tonight, so I'd finally tell you." His final confession leaves your jaw hanging wide open, "ask my brothers. They knew the plan," he giggles before falling back onto his bed and letting the liquor take over his system, sending him into a deep sleep.

Not my photos for dividers. All credit is due to original creators! ❤️

Wrote this while taking a hot bubble bath. 10/10 recommend.

First imagine so let me know what you think!! 💚

My requests are always open!

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

ooh im glad!!! so, expanding on that then..

how about price with a civvi wife/gf, and when they’re talking over the phone while he’s gone, she’s being kinda cagey and definitely omitting something, but he doesn’t know what. so when he gets back home she tells him she’s pregnant? really just a lot of fluff (and maybe angst? 👀 like about how his job is super dangerous and he might not come home, so he has fears about it?? bc your angst is so good it makes me sob violently /pos)

ive never sent a request before, so if this is too specific or something, feel free to whittle it down or toss it, i don’t wanna bug you lol

have a good day hal, love u!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Our Remains

Pairing: John Price x F!Reader

Synopsis: You disliked hiding things from John. Certainly something as big as this.

Word Count: 4.8k

Warnings: Pregnancy, allusions to breeding kink & unprotected seggsy time, morning sickness, angst, major fluff at the end

A/N: This was an adorable request, Anon!! Thanks so much for sending it in.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

You disliked hiding things from John. It not only felt like a betrayal of his unlimited trust in you but also a slap in the face for what you had built with each other. The both of you were always honest to a fault when it came to your relationship—like how a bird was loyal to the sky. It was an unselfish principle; a promise of pure love and devotion that transcended touch or given gifts.

You told each other things. Everything. Down to how much you had spent on groceries that day just because it was something to talk about and share; something that made you closer to one another even when you were apart. You told the Brit what you planted in the back garden—what shirt you were wearing!

But now you hold the ringing phone in your hand and for the first time in your entire relationship, you consider lying. 

Your eyes bore into the icon of John’s smiling face, head covered by a black beanie and beard tilted up softly. Affectionately, his name on the device had been changed to ‘Grumpy St. Bernard,’ but now the title made your lips go thin instead of the usual giggling reaction. No heat spreads over your cheeks; no excitement.

Just an overwhelming sense of dread.

The week had started just as the last three had. A special form of hell. At nearly six o’clock you would whip back the covers with all the fervor of a terrified rabbit being chased by a hawk; the taste of bile immediately snapping you to attention as the toilet acts as your commanding officer. 

You imagined John would get a chuckle out of that comparison, but when you’re hurling up your guts in nothing more than a pair of your boyfriend’s boxers and a tank top it’s hard to think about all that. The taste of bile was still lickable from your lips as the bathroom tile digs into your knees, ringing phone still in your palm. 

The idea of a pregnancy test slid into your subconscious in the first week of John’s two-month deployment, the tantalizing thought that was like a hook to a fish. You had pulled on the string, of course, and had instantly drowned in air. But you hadn’t taken one until now. Too nervous, perhaps. Hesitant. 

In your other hand, opposite of the buzzing phone, you held three positive pregnancy tests in a shaking grip. Pink and white plastic mock you from the corner of your vision; two double lines. 

John’s icon dims. 

You press the green circle in your panic, mouth opening and closing yet no sounds escaping. Would you tell him now? Later? Was it right to tell him about this now—when he was halfway across the continent? Fear overtakes your heart for no apparent reason. You didn’t want him to act rashly, especially when John could act so stubborn when he wanted to. 

He was always so concerned about you when he was away but you were concerned just the same. That man was the one who was getting shot at constantly, not you.

“Took you a while to answer. Trying to give me the slip, then, Sweetheart?” John’s gravelly voice helped slightly, making your heart still, even if for a short moment. You close your eyes and tilt your head down, lips quivering at the soft chuckle over the line.

God, you loved him so much.

Blue eyes furrowed in confusion at the silence on the line, the chilled Switzerland air sneaking inside John’s compression shirt as he stood on the hotel balcony. The sounds of gentle conversation twitch his ears from inside the room—the voices of the One-Four-One a dull mumble behind the half-closed sliding door. They had been playing cards before the Captain had easily slipped away to check up on you. 

He tried to call as often as he could. 

John’s hips shift, one arm crossed over his chest as the other presses the phone harder to his ear. Lips pull to a frown, beard bristles going with them, before the lines on the Brit’s forehead grow larger.

“...Love?” Naturally, a sliver of concern wedges itself into his ribs but it subsides when your calming voice spreads honey over the call. John’s shoulders fall back down. 

You breathe deeply, hands dropping the tests onto the bathroom counter with a small clack of plastic. 

“John,” forcing away the hitch to your words, you stare at yourself in the mirror, free hand sliding up to lightly rest over your collarbone as a soothing method. Your eyes are so filled with shock that it throws you off. “I…I wasn’t expecting a call so soon.” 

“Hm, been up since 0500.” the man grunts, looking out over the city and seeing the rising sun before asking softly with a deep-set brow. There was something about your tone…lids narrow at nothing. “Did I wake you?” 

“No, no,” You force a chuckle, having to take a deep breath before ripping your sights from your own reflection. The disgust was settling at you trying to avoid this. But if your own brain could barely process this right now, what gave you the right to tell John when he wasn’t here? “I’ve been up for a few hours.”

Licking your lips, you run a hand over your hair, glancing out of the ajar door into the master bedroom, pushing out bland answers for only the fact that you couldn’t think clearly right now.

Jesus, this was actually happening. 

You study the thrown covers from your morning rush to the bathroom, seeing the pictures on the nightstand and feeling the delicate atmosphere that was sparking—electricity between atoms. A silent moment of realization that everything down to the bare bones of your relationship was about to change. Blinking back to the tests, you dwell in the strange fuzz that took residence in the back of your mind. 

“What’s been going on?” Your voice isn’t right. Too tight. Too…nervous. Why were you nervous? “Everyone good?” 

The Brit frowns stiffly, shifting his feet again and sending a look back into the hotel. Hunching forward, John’s large fingers fix the position of the phone as his voice lowers, ignoring your question entirely. He doesn't want to jump to conclusions, but there were pros and cons to his line of work. 

Above all, he knew when something was up with you.

“Are you alright over there, Sweetheart?” Blue eyes rove the street below, “Feelin’ okay? You sound a bit stuffed up.”

Your heart lurches, quickly stuttering through an explanation of, “O-oh, I think I just came down with something.” The irony wasn’t lost on you. “A stomach bug,” you cringe, “I’m sorry, was it that obvious?”

The laugh that exits is less convincing than you thought it would be, but it does the trick. John sighs in relief, chuckling as he shakes his head.

“No need to apologize, Love…anything bad, then? I can bring some meds from Base when I’m back if you need me to.” He was still concerned for you, but knowing that you’d never lied or withheld the truth from him before there was really no reason to believe that anything else was going on. John trusted you to the end of the earth. 

The Captain rubbed at the back of his neck, cracking his spine as he bent back. It was still early and waking up on a hotel bed without you beside him was torture. John longed for home. Longed for you.

Back at the house, your face scrunches together. 

Bad? You wonder, saying absentmindedly that some medication would be lovely. Was this…bad? 

John had always wanted to have a kid—or, at least, he’d told you as much when he was above you, filling you to the brim and then doing it again a second and third time. Thighs quivering and eyes fighting to stay open through layered bliss as sharp pants rung in your ears. 

“Gonna get you pregnant…watch you swell up…c’mon sweet thing, you can handle another one, can’t you? Need to watch it take.” 

…But was that a true feeling or just a kink? You blank and realize you’d never asked him. More than that, though, was this what you wanted? 

“When do you think you’ll be home, John?” You speak softly, palm flattening over your stomach as you exit the bathroom and sit on the end of the bed, gut swirling but not in a nauseous sort of way. “I…I really miss you, y’know? It would all be better if you were home.”

The brunette blinks softly, lids peeling back in shock for a moment before a thin thread of guilt worms its way into him. 

“Kate said two months, Love,” John speaks slowly, the grumble in his voice trying to convey his unease at your strange behavior, “You know that.”

He’d explained his job when you both had gotten serious, how he would be gone for long periods of time, and the somewhat uncomfortable situations you’d be put in because of it. You’d agreed and never brought it up when John would have to leave in the small hours of the morning and disappear for months on end. It shocked him, really, with how well you adjusted but that was just how you were. One of a kind. 

There was no one else with whom John could see himself building a life—being buried beside in some nice meadow grave plot and turning to dust together. Growing a family with. 

John cleared his throat, tilting his head down slightly before pulling himself back to the present. 

“It’s bothering you that much, eh?” His brows furrow, “Are you sure you’re alright? I can call hospital and—”

“No!” You slap a hand to your mouth, halting your outburst as blue eyes go somewhat wide, jaw slackening. Taking a breath over the shocked silence over the line, you dig your fingers into your cheek before letting your limb drop. “No, John…I-I’m sorry I just…” 

Your voice quivers.

Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry…

Eyes burning and nose twitching, you breathe heavily, mouth closing shut because you knew that if you say another word you’ll explode. You were shivering with cold sweat, scared and confused, and wanting John to hold you in his arms; whispering that it would all be okay into the shell of your ear. 

You force through a sob, “I’m just really scared.”

John tenses, one hand going to grasp the balcony with white knuckles. His mind goes into overdrive. “Scared?” the Brit prods, muscles going stiff and mind running, “What in the hell is going on?” 

Authority leaks into his tone, serious and deep. It made him nervous that he couldn’t see you right now—couldn’t stop the sounds coming from your mouth. Why were you crying? Has something horrible happened to you? Were you in trouble but were unable to tell him? John runs over your conversation again, every word and sound, as his heart races. He was wound up like a spring. 

From behind him, the conversation in the hotel room halts. 

You force your eyes closed, now up on your feet and pacing. Tears lightly patter to the floor. 

“John, I can’t tell you over the phone,” you admit, shaking, “that wouldn’t be…wouldn’t be fair to you.” Swiping at your eyes, you spread the salty liquid away from your lashes, sniffling; praying that he would understand. “But I really need you home as soon as you’re able. I don’t want to break up what's going on over there, it’s just really important. I don’t think I can wait two months by myself. You know I would never ask this if I didn’t need to.”

John’s jaw clenches, legs unable to stay still as your anxiety leaks to him. He’s nodding before he realizes you can’t see him, taking a deep breath to fill his lungs. 

“...I’ll see what I can do, then.” The brunette runs his hand over his beard pulling at the strands aggressively. What was so crucial that you can’t tell him over the phone? It was a secure line, John always made sure it was; yet, at the same time, that fact didn’t matter at all. If you needed him home so fervently—then he was coming home. That was that. “How long can you wait for me, Love?” He spares a glance inside. “There are a few loose ends that need to be taken care of here. Might complicate things.” 

You blink around the bedroom, hand wrapped around your middle and trying to run soothing circles into your skin. 

“I…I don’t…” John’s face softens, closing his eyes.

“Breathe, Sweetheart,” he whispers, “I’m comin’ home to you. We’ll get whatever this is sorted, yeah? I need you to be brave for me until then.”

Listening, you let the words calm you down, sniffling one last time like a kid who had fallen off the monkey bars before you let out a chuckle. John instantly follows his own advice when that sound wafts over the line. His shoulders fall back once more, silent sigh exiting.

“You said that exact same thing to me when I ended up burning that loaf of bread I was making—two years ago, was it? ‘Breathe, Sweetheart.’” Blue glimmers with love, cheeky tone growing. 

“Hm, nearly set the kitchen on fire, didn’t you? So much smoke I swore someone had set off a charge in the oven.” John doesn’t push you to answer him, though he’s more questions than anything else at this point. You’d said you would tell him when he’s home and he believes you. “Please, Love, at least promise me you didn’t burn the bloody house down, yeah?” 

A laugh strikes his chest, and he’s chuckling slowly in retaliation. 

“I promise, John.”

“Good.” You’re smiling for the first in what seems like ages, tears drying as the flood down your chin stops. You lick away the water stuck in the corner of your mouth when John grunts lowly, “I’ll tell the boys and inform Laswell. But I can’t say it’ll be less than two weeks.”

Nodding to yourself, you say, quietly, “Okay.” Your eyes fall to the framed picture on the nightstand—the image of John and you smiling brightly on your third anniversary. You’d gone hiking, both sweaty and dirt marks on your cheeks, but happy…always happy. Your veins pump blood faster. “I love you, John.” 

The final comment is tender; the words are more silk and soft furs than vibrating vocal cords. 

He blinks away the blush that lights his pale cheeks. John huffs, an infectious smile flickering over his face as his chest wells with affection. Acting like a bird preening itself, he smirks and says, “Well, you’re lucky then…I love you too, Sweetheart.” An exhalation echoes over the call as his tone drops, “Keep safe for me, eh? I’ll call to update tomorrow.” 

“I’ll be waiting.” 

When the phone is set down on the bed, tossed down carefully, you try to think over this situation more rationally. You wouldn’t say you were against this—building a family with John. In fact, if not him, then you don’t believe it would be anyone else. 

The Brit was the only man for you. You both knew the risks of having unprotected sex and in reality, you think neither one of you cared about the consequences. 

Nodding to yourself, you wonder how to explain this to him when he comes home as you get to fixing the sheets, one hand always drifting back to your stomach with a growing appreciation.

—

John jogged to his car in the underground parking garage, unlocking it with his fob as his bags are slung over his shoulders. He wastes no time chucking his belongings into the back seat, swiftly sliding into the driver's seat and slamming the door shut as the engine starts. His dog tags bounce on his chest, but he’s half convinced they move from the rate that his heart is going alone.

All through traffic his fingers are tapping against the wheel, grunting stiffly at red lights and shifting his hips. 

It had been three and a half weeks of fixing loose ends. 

“Fuckin’ hell, c’mon,” John huffs, one elbow on the car frame as his hand flattens over his lower jaw. The light slowly snaps back to green after a long minute. 

Pressing on the gas, the vehicle moves forward and continues until the familiar home comes into view on that quiet street nearly twenty minutes later. 

John barely parks the car before he hops out, leaving his bags in the back, and rushes to the door. Taking the key from under the doormat, his mind is focused on only you. He had been unable to stop his worry about you and your unnamed fear, watching the phone with every free instance he could. It had only grown as the days got longer, and no matter how much you assured him that you would be okay until he got back, deep-seated apprehension grew. He didn’t like living under a shroud, especially when it came to your health.

The key in his hand was inserted with a firm wrist and twisted, shoving open the door with a heavy shoulder like there was a cloud over his head.

“Love?!” He calls, not bothering to shuck off his boots before looking around the visible living room and foyer. “Where are you?” 

Long legs move swiftly as an utterance calls from the kitchen, barely taking the time to close the door behind him in his anxiety, “John?” 

The Brit immediately backtracks, skidding to a stop and turning with blinking eyes. His ears twitch at the sounds of dishes being dropped back into water, as his heart steadily slows at the sound of your beautiful voice calling his name. 

He rushes around the doorframe, feet stomping and hand catching the wall as you come into view, staring wide-eyed. 

Your digits are around the fabric of a dish towel, fingers dripping as John finally presents himself to you. You hadn’t heard him until he had called out, too preoccupied with your own thoughts to hear the lock click. 

But now it was like every worry you had was wiped clean at the sight of that gruff face; the hitch in his large chest. A smile slashes your lips after a moment of shocked silence.

“John!” You laugh, rushing forward, and the man lets his face soften—bringing you close to him as you draw near and trapping you in his arms. 

His breath spread out over the top of your head in a great sigh, grumbled chuckles accented by the way John’s great hands wrap around your shoulders. Fingers press you into a solid chest, digging through hair to let your ear twitch at the sound of his heartbeat. 

John doesn't speak until he has held you in his arms for at least three minutes, just pressing his face into your scalp and feeling your warmth against him. You don’t pull away either, breathing in his musk as it instinctually leads to your muscles loosening. 

Minutes later, the Brit pulls back slowly, gripping you by the shoulders and looking down into your eyes. His gaze filters over yours, taking you in before his lips meet yours in a brief yet deep kiss. You melt into it, hands going to grip his cheeks and spread throughout his beard hair, soft strands leaving you shivering when John’s thumbs rub circles into your flesh. 

He pulls back and you fight the tears in your eyes as he connects his forehead with yours. His optics shine with love, bleeding out like trapped stars; silver flecks of devotion and a blue the color of sea storms.

“What’s going on, Love?” John whispers, concern alight and raving as his grip goes to your waist, squeezing comfortingly. “I’m here. Tell me.” 

You blink slowly, lips going thin with tight brows. Swallowing through a tight throat, you nod. 

“Can you go sit in the living room, please?” Speaking carefully, you tilt your head and watch John get confused—his nose scrunching and moving his lips together. You run your thumbs over his cheeks and smile slightly, obviously nervous again. “Trust me.”

Though it wasn’t a question, John replies under his breath, “Always.” 

But still, he holds you, studying your expression and the whites of your eyes with stiff lungs. You were making him fear that something horrible was coming—something he couldn’t control. His heart begins to hurt, but he backs away from you, brows tight as he exits the kitchen and disappears into the living room. 

Taking down a swift breath when he’s out of sight, you fiddle with your fingers above your abdomen, looking down at your still-flat stomach. You knew it was stupid to worry, but how could you not? It wasn’t every day you just told your Lover you were pregnant with his child…

“John loves me,” you mutter to yourself, nodding and getting ready to go through with the plan you’d formed over the three weeks you’d been alone. “And he’ll love the both of us. I know he will.” 

Hand flattening over your stomach, you open a drawer with the other, pulling out a small cardboard box no bigger than a book. Fingers shaking, you lick your lips and feel the slight pull of a nervous, yet giddy, smile. Turning, you exit the kitchen and see John sitting with his nose resting above the clench of his fists, foot tapping. His head immediately snaps over when you come into view, hands falling to hang off his legs as the couch under him dips from his weight. 

You steel yourself and raise the box. 

“Here.” Placing it on the coffee table, you sit across from John in an armchair. 

He blinks slowly, eyes going small with curiosity. The man sends you glances through his lashes as he stares down at the object but he says nothing. Rubbing his beard with one hand, he reaches and grabs it carefully. 

Testing the weight, John is genuinely confused, clenching his jaw and feeling the material in his palm. 

“...What’s this, then?” He asks lowly, glancing at you with a raised brow and lines on his forehead. 

You put your intertwined hands in your lap, prompting with a tilt of your shoulders. 

“Open it.” Off put by your cryptic answers, John nods firmly, grasping the top of the box and pulling lightly, careful not to disturb the contents. It was strange to think, but he was honestly quite perturbed. 

What exactly was inside this box, and why had he been called home for it? He loved being here, no doubt, but the circumstances….

Blue eyes glimmer. You didn’t look overly afraid as you shifted in your seat, just plain timid—like the inside object would change something fundamental about his and yours relationship. 

John pops the top off and looks as you start talking before your throat threatens to shut you up. “I…I know it’s not a life-threatening thing to call you home for,” the man stills as if he was made of stone; a statue as non-breathing and pulse-less as anything, “But I didn’t want to tell you over the phone because that seemed so—!” 

Your voice is drowned out as John’s shaking fingers delve into the box, ears ringing. His fingers flinch off of three positive pregnancy tests and the soft fabric of the plain army green baby onesie that surrounds them; skimming slowly. 

“I found out the day you called and I said I had come down with something.” Your laugh is strained when it exits you, and you stare at the Brit hard, seeing his features utterly halt all expression. Thumbs digging into your skin, your tone drops, speaking slowly, “...John? A-are you okay? Say something to me, Love.” 

It’s only in that long minute of nothingness that you really start to get an all-consuming tenseness to your bones like a rabbit. 

Why isn’t he saying anything? 

John clears his stiff throat, blinking rapidly as he brings out one of the tests, dropping the box lightly to the coffee table with a dull thump. The twin red lines are ingrained into the softness of his retinas as the sun would be if you were to stare directly at it. 

Pregnant. 

His heart swells to an almost painful degree, blue eyes moving to look at you across the table and then dipping to your stomach. The Brit stands up slowly. 

Your lungs are tight, lids moving quickly with wetness growing in your tear ducts. 

“Please, John, what are you thinking—?” Large hands capture your arms, bringing you up as lips meet yours in a passionate and heart-stopping kiss. 

John’s limbs wrap around your hips, bringing you up into the air as gently as a bird, face parting from yours with a series of loud and genuine laughs. You snap your arms around his neck, shocked but not at all complaining as he holds you up with ease, twirling you around in a firm but ever-gentle hold. 

“You’re pregnant?” His whispers meet you, airy and deep with awe. It was like he was in his teens again, running around Herefordshire with his mates—his eyes shone with happiness; pure unabashed love. “Oh, truly, Sweetheart?”

Tears dribble down your cheeks at the sight of him glowing, beard peeled back in a large smile with wet eyes. Hiccuped giggles leave your lips as you nuzzle your face into his neck, the sight of him like this overwhelming. All stress leaves you in a millisecond when your feet hit the ground again. 

“Yes, John,” you sob, overjoyed, pulling back so you both can stare into each other's teary eyes as the Brits’ fingers go to shakily wipe the waterworks from your under eyes. His orbs flicker quickly, looking you over in an entirely different light. “You’re going to be a father.” 

He fights through a scratchy voice, “Me?” The tone is amused, but he can’t articulate how exalted he feels to hear that. A father…him? It was more than he could have ever asked for, and, even better—John whispers out, “You’re going to be a mum.” 

You kiss him, multiple quick pecks that he returns through shared joyous chuckles.

“I didn’t want to tell you over the phone,” the confession meets the air as one of John’s hands travels to cup your flat abdomen, fingers flinching over the fabric of your shirt to sneak under. You laugh and shiver at his calluses, as his blue eyes are so soft they could be compared to butter. “And I couldn’t wait two months.”

“Christ, Love,” John lays a kiss on your forehead, needing to be as close to you as possible. You can feel his heart through his chest, and you know yours isn’t any better. This was far more than you could have hoped for. He mutters against your skin, “I’m so glad you didn’t. This is bloody amazing news—I want to be here for all of it.” 

Sea storms lock onto your face with a grunt, “You’re so lovely. Perfect, yeah?”

His warm hand still rests under your shirt, and you doubt it’s going to leave anytime soon.

You feel your cheeks heat and you smile bashfully, heart about to explode.

“You are.” John reiterates. “You’re so fuckin’ perfect, Sweetheart. I’m so happy.” 

The air is ripe with tenderness, a soft state of being that just keeps getting better. John had silent tears dripping down his face, blinking to clear them and not letting you leave his hold for a second. 

“Oh, John,” you whisper, digging your fingers into the back of his shirt, looking up. “Me too, Love.” 

While the glee is nearly physical enough to grab, there is a moment of hesitancy in the Brit. He was gone more times than not for work; put into situations that could leave him going through bodily harm. You didn’t deserve that stress—didn’t deserve to sit at home with a swelling stomach just watching the door and wondering if you’d have to become a single mother. You had a child in your womb. His child. Both of yours’ child. 

A family that you both had made.

John swallows and says to you seriously, without an ounce of hesitation in his blood, “I’m telling Laswell to pull me out,” you blink up and listen, letting him continue as his press on your flesh gets even more prominent, nodding to you, “I’m not missing this—not putting you through that worry. Two years, then I’ll head back in. We have enough saved, I give you my word you’ll want for nothing.” 

Blue eyes flicker down, and a small mumble so tiny it nearly disappears hits your ears. You almost start sobbing again. “This is more important. You both are more important.” 

There were few moments in your life that you think you’ll remember when you are old, weathered and wrinkled, but this you tell yourself is one that you will carry to your grave. John and yours’ grave. 

What remains behind, you ask? Simple.

White bones entangled with an eternity of deathless worship, and the generations that will come to lay flowers on the headstone.

TAGS:

@blueoorchid, @jxvipike, @revrse, @shuttlelauncher81, @bruhhvv, @kittiowolf210, @aerangi, @spikespiegell, @ghost-with-a-teacup, @1234ilikecowsthanyoumore, @uberraschungg, @neelehksttr, @shoe1412,@jemandderkeinenusernamenfindet​, @pukbadger, @omeganixtra, @nanialis, @gills-lounge, @voidinfernal, @sukunas-left-nut-sack, @untoldshortsofthefandoms, @batmanunicorns523, @icepancakes, @copiasratscheese, @besas-stuff, @marytvirgin, @misfne, @halfmoth-halfman, @lothiriel9, @anna-banana27, @jade-jax, @cl0wncxre, @emerald-valkyrie, @michirulol, @330bpm-whiplash, @lora21, @bespectacledhuman, @wolfyland07, @dilfsaremyfavourite, @astronaunt2009, @shmaptin, @levietc, @kk19pls, @semieitabby, @thriving-n-jiving, @cringe-kats, @n1choles, @gaychaosgremlin, @johnpricesprincess, @haleypearce,

[all-purpose-dish-soap]

29 / 2.1k / soap soulmate au, part 6

...

Ghost looks up as Soap storms out of the weapons closet.

"Still herself, I take it?" Ghost asks.

"She's a stubborn pain in the ass is what she is."

As expected. Soap misses the dry amusement that crinkles the corners of Ghost's eyes very slightly. "Didn't talk, then," Ghost says.

Soap scowls. "Not a goddamn word we can use. She won't listen to reason. Thinks she can face down an army. Dense, irritating--"

"Strong-willed," Ghost says.

"To a damn fault. Canny see what I'm trying to do for her. I'm-- she's--" Soap can hardly articulate his frustration. He's got this sick feeling in his stomach like he's been kicked in the gut hard enough to make him hurl.

It's not just you being too stubborn to give up the intel. What happens when you’re freed? You’re not going to stick around. What if Graves snaps his fingers and you go right on back to him?

Soap lets out a rough sigh. "There's more than Graves keeping her from talking. I don't like it."

"You've got a plan?" Ghost guesses.

Soap nods. "Aye. I need to talk to Laswell--"

"Done." Ghost produces a beige folder and drops it into Soap's hands. "Had her look into it for you."

"I'll be damned." Soap flips through the pages in the folder. "Christ. Bloody thin file." He fans the pages inside like a flipbook as if checking for extra pages. "Where's the rest of it?"

"Not much there to dig up."

"Then she's gotta be missin' some--" Something catches Soap's eye as he skims through, and he pauses, lingering on a photo.

Hell's fuckin' bells.

"Think that'll help?" Ghost asks.

"I'd wager so."

"Good. You goin' back in?"

"Aye.” Soap folds the file into his jacket and gives Ghost a good-natured fist bump to the arm. Then he brushes past him, knocking into his shoulder.

Ghost grabs Soap’s arm again before he slips past. "We don't have much time. Price wants to move on Alejandro. Says if you can't get the intel, we go in blind. Rodolfo leads."

Soap sets his jaw. "How long?"

"Three hours. Tops." He claps a firm hand on Soap's shoulder and turns to leave. "Get some sleep."

…

A moment later, the metal grate door slides open. You straighten back up and steel yourself again.

There's something different about the way Soap carries himself this time. He's not wound as tightly. But the way his eyes settle on you is... odd. The shift in his expression puts you on edge.

He sits down across from you. "We've not got much time. If talking gets us nowhere, we'll try something else."

You lean back, mirroring his posture. "You gonna torture me?”

“That what you’re expecting?”

“Maybe. You ever tortured someone before?"

"Aye. Can't say I care for it, but I know how if that's what this takes." He examines you again with that sharp gaze. You don't feel like he's undressing you with his eyes anymore. It's more like he's searching for something. "Why ask? You want me to put my hands on ya?"

You ignore the mental image that imprints. "I want you to waste your time."

Soap smirks. "What I wouldn't give to let you waste my time. You, me, all this animosity between us... I've got a few negotiation techniques I'd very much like to try." He leans back into the chair, his hands folded in his lap with an easy grin. "But you're no' the type to break under pressure."

"Better men than you have tried."

"Tried torturing you?" His grin tightens just slightly. "Anyone I know? Names, locations?"

Your cheeks heat up again. At that, for some reason. "I can take care of myself."

"I know you can."

He produces the thin file and tosses it onto the table between you.

You look down at the papers that slide out. They're grainy and covered in redactions as if printed and bound, pulled from the deep end of some filing cabinet, scanned, rescanned, and printed again. But you glimpse your name. Your real name--the one printed on Johnny's skin, too. Your chest twists and your stomach sinks.

Soap sees the change in you and leans forward, elbows wide. He opens the file and pushes it across the table. "I'll do anything to protect you, darlin'," he says. "But I need information."

The file is everything you don't want anyone to know. But what catches your eye is that photograph. "Who else has seen this?"

"Me and Laswell. Maybe Ghost if he was feelin' nosy. Does Graves know?"

You pull on your cuffs, wanting to reach for the pages and push them away. "Captain Graves said he'd make this disappear."

Soap leans back, broad palm sliding out to touch the edge of the pages, and his expression softens for a moment. "Some things you can’t make disappear."

You look at him, twisted up with pain and anger. "So, what, if I don't talk, you're threatening to expose all this? Is that it? It won't work," you add with false confidence. "Captain Graves knows everything."

"What I want to know," Soap says, voice quiet, "is what he did with it."

"What?"

Soap leans forward again. "Did he threaten you? Did he say he’d make this go away if you worked for him, hold it over your head?"

"No!” you snap. “After this happened, I couldn't-- I was discharged from the military. I couldn't find work. He reached out to me. Said he didn’t mind if I had… history. Then he offered to have it scrubbed if I wanted.” You stare down at the papers. “He never threatened me. He helped me."

Soap lets out a breath. He was prepared to deal with something a lot worse than that. Maybe he hoped for something worse. If Graves were blackmailing you, the solution would be easy. He'd give you protection, offer to have Laswell erase that file from existence instead, CIA-style. After all, if Graves got his claws into you and onto his payroll that way, why couldn't he? Probably got you dirt fucking cheap, too. Bastard.

Part of Soap wants to press that angle. He could tell you Graves never intended to deliver on his side of the deal. But the truth is that Graves would've had little control over this. Seeing the state of the file, Graves likely did what he could to have it redacted, sealed, destroyed--but someone over his head intervened. Shepherd, maybe. There'd be nothing Graves could do.

Soap wants you more than anything, but the pain in your eyes when you look at these documents tears him up inside. He can’t manipulate you that way. Even if he got you to himself in the end, he'd never forgive himself.

"That's... that's good. He protected you." Soap crosses his arms, squeezing his fist hard around the object inside, the one he pickpocketed off Ghost a few minutes ago. Much as he hates Graves, the man kept you safe. But that's his job now.

"I don't care who you tell," you snap, suddenly full of anger and spitting fire. The sight of those pages puts you on edge. You feel like a cornered animal. "I'm not telling you a goddamn thing. Do whatever you want to me. You're no better than--"

"Am no' blackmailin' ya." Soap's expression sours. So much venom in that mouth of yours. He runs his thumb over his tightened knuckles to suppress his own temper. He's amazed at how easy it is for you to get under his skin, how you push all these buttons when he's the one who's supposed to be pulling the strings.

But he realizes how this must seem. You act tough, but you're vulnerable, exposed, and he has every reason right now to drive the knife in and twist it hard. Maybe he should. Going into the Las Almas base blind means danger for his squadmates.

Christ, he’s tired. He pinches the bridge of his nose. "Darlin’, I... I know now you've done things you're not proud of. But that doesn't change anything. Not to me, not to Ghost-- hell, none of us would bat an eye. You don’t need to protect yourself anymore. I need you to talk to me. We're out of time."

He thinks this is about you protecting yourself? You shake your head. "If you’re storming the Las Almas base, you're going up against Shadows. You're asking me to help you kill my own."

"If that matters to you, then tell me how to get to Alejandro without alerting the guards. Nobody has to get hurt."

You scoff, looking away. "There's no way to do that and you know it."

"We don't have to shoot them if they stand down first."

"That's not going to happen. They'll shoot you on sight. It'll be a bloodbath."

"Not for us."

You close your eyes. "I know. That's what I'm worried about."

Soap lets out a frustrated breath. "We're going in whether you talk or not. The blood's on our hands. Not yours."

You keep your gaze angled away, clearly not believing that. "I don't see why you care about security. I don't see why you need intel at all. This is what you're good at, right? This is what 141 does. You break in doors, you kill people."

Soap grips the edge of the table. "The only thing gettin' you out of here is information. I don't care what it is or if it's useful. Price wants intel."

"I don't have it." Your voice is flat and cold. Whatever you can do to make him understand you're not worth the effort.

He leans in and grabs your chin, gently forcing you to look at him. "Then lie to me."

"What?" You stare at him, feeling pinned under that intense gaze. "Are you fucking insane?"

"Might be," A small, sly, half-smile curves his lips. "I'm also desperate, runnin' out of time, and at the end of my rope after starin' at you this long, knowin' I can't have you." He runs his thumb along your cheek. "Maybe I'm bankin' on you losin' your mind before I do."

You swallow. "You'll be waiting awhile."

He smirks. His thumb moves from your cheek to your chin, fingers trailing down the side of your neck. "Do you think you're a good liar?"

Before you can answer, someone bangs on the metal door, rattling it. Price's voice echoes in from outside.

"Get some sleep, Soap," he calls. "We're briefing soon. Give it a rest. We’ll press her for more intel after we’ve got Alejandro back.”

Soap tenses at the sound of Price's voice. "Wasn't planning on sleepin'," he calls back.

"Wasn't a question," Price calls back. You hear him walk away.

Soap withdraws his hand, letting out a soft curse.

"Why would you give your own Captain false information?" you hiss. "You could lose your job. You could get court-martialed. Even if it worked, what if Shepherd finds out? He's still in your chain of command."

"Guess that's a risk I gotta take."

"Then what if I tell you something that gets your teammates hurt, huh?"

"Won't happen. I'll be in the front when things get risky."

"Then how do you expect me to-- if it means you're the one who's--" You huff, words failing you. "You're so goddamn thick."

"Am I? Because here I am, tryin' to make plans and get a read on you, and all you wanna do is piss me off and run your mouth. I'm learnin' a lot." He tilts his head. "In fact, it's startin' to sound like you're worried about me."

"Absolutely not."

"Could always tell me the truth. Extra insurance if you do. Maybe it’ll keep me alive."

"You don't need it," you snap.

"I think I do." He leans in, crossing his legs and folding his arms. "Got a bad feeling about this one. No Shadow worth their salt wouldn’t send us straight to hell if it meant finishing the job. Especially Graves."

You feel another pang of dread in your gut. He's right.

He watches you for another long moment. Neither of you speak.

Finally, he stands, sighing deeply as he goes to the door. "Alright."

"Are you coming back?" The words spill out of your mouth before you can stop them.

He pauses in the doorway. Then he turns back, staring at you like there's something he wants to say. He looks down at the stolen object still clutched in his hand--the key to your cuffs.

He opens the door, slipping through without another word.

...

part 1 / part 2 / part 3 / part 4 / part 5 / [part 6] / part 7 / part 8 / part 9 / part 10 / part 11 / part 12

more Soap / masterlist tag

[starshideurfics]

Can’t go home alone

steddie, aob, hurt/comfort, established secret relationship

I just can’t leave this concept alone 🥰

Pain pulses over and behind and around Steve’s eye along with the beat of his heart. It isn’t as bad as it was even an hour ago, and definitely not as bad as when he and Robin puked their guts out in the movie theater restroom.

But his head hurts. His chest hurts. And he just wants to curl up in his nest and hope his parents don’t come home in time to see him like this. 

But the paramedic checking him says he’s definitely got a concussion. “Have you got someone who can keep an eye on you for the next 48 hours?”

“I… Yeah, I do.” Steve leans his head on Robin’s shoulder, needing the support as he’s hit with a sudden dizzy spell. He really doesn’t want to hurl again.

“Steve,” Robin whispers, “There’s no way my mom is letting me stay at your house for two days. Or letting you stay at mine. She would freak if I had an omega in my room.”

“I know,” Steve mumbles back. “‘Preciate the offer, Robbie, but I’ve got someone.”

“Steve. You can’t just shrug this off!”

“I’m not! I do have someone.” He pouts, breathes deep, her scent sour still from the truth serum leaving her system. His face is hidden in her short hair as he mumbles, “I’ll stay with Eddie.” Steve’s so tired. 

He just wants to rest his eyes a minute, but Robin shakes his shoulder.

“Eddie? Steve what are you talking about?”

“I’ll stay at Eddie’s. He’ll take care of me.”

Robin is struggling to focus, her brain not as scrambled as Steve’s, but after a day and a half without enough to eat or drink coupled with everything else, she’s just as tired and confused. “Eddie who?”

Tires screech to a stop at the edge of the Starcourt parking lot, the closest cars can come now with the barriers up. Steve whips his head around to look towards the noise and his head spins. But then he sees a familiar, shitty van, the driver’s door opening and closing loud enough for Steve to hear the slam over the surrounding hubbub.

Pushing himself to his feet, Steve starts walking towards the streak of denim and dark curls racing towards him. He’s grinning like an idiot as Eddie stops just short of barreling into him, the rangy alpha delicately cupping his face. “Steve, baby, what the hell happened?” His fingers brush gently along Steve’s brow, over the cut on his lower lip. “I saw on the news—about the fire—called your place a dozen times and no one picked up. Been half-crazy worrin’ over you, and it looks like I was right to.”

“M’sorry,” Steve mumbles, pressing his cheek into Eddie’s touch.

“No, baby, not your fault. I’m just glad it isn’t worse.” He pulls Steve close, guides his face to the scent gland at his neck, and kisses his hair. “I’ve got you.”

Steve begins to purr, feeling safe for the first time in two days. “Can we go home?”

“Yeah, let’s get the hell out of here.”

“Wait! I gotta tell Robin!”

“What? Is Buckley here, too?”

Steve doesn’t answer, just pulls out of Eddie’s grip and stumbles back to the ambulance where Robin is still waiting, wrapped in an emergency blanket, her blue eyes glued to him as he approaches. “You’re dating Eddie Munson?” The, ‘and you didn’t say anything about that when we were spilling our guts literally and metaphorically on the bathroom floor’ is implied.

“Yeah. Eddie’s the best. He’s really sweet and he’s got a big—”

“Please don’t make me barf on you by finishing that sentence. I do not need to know what you and your alpha get up to behind closed doors.” Robin reaches for his hand. “Just… Call me in the morning, okay?”

“Okay.” Steve squeezes her fingers before loping back to Eddie and snuggling into his boyfriend’s chest.

Eddie rubs at Steve’s back. “Ready to go?”

“Yeah. I’m hungry.”

“Want me to make you a grilled cheese when we get back to my place?”

“Uh-huh.” Steve nods enthusiastically, only to bring on a wave of nausea, forcing him to shut his eyes and put all his weight on Eddie.

“Maybe I should just get you into bed.”

Steve moans wordlessly, lets himself be manhandled into the van, barely noticing anything beyond the bumps in the road that make his head ache more.

Once they reach Forest Hills, Eddie plops Steve on the couch, brings him water and a bag of frozen peas for his eye, and turns his attention to frying two sandwiches.

After Steve is fed, Eddie helps him into the shower, washing his hair in the tiny bathroom, and getting rid of the dried blood and days’ worth of sweat. 

They dry off together, and Eddie bundles Steve into his bed, their naked bodies pressed close beneath the covers. “I’ve got you, baby,” Eddie whispers, dropping a kiss to Steve’s unbruised temple. “You rest. And if you need anything, let me know, I’ll get it for you.”

“I know,” Steve hums, snuggling impossibly closer. “Love you.”

“Love you too, baby. Now sleep.”

[steveseddie]

full circle

steddie | rating: t | wc: 3,8k | cw: mention of throwing up | tags: pre-season 4, different first meetings, eddie is afraid of heights, steve is a sweetheart, holding hands, first kiss

for week one of @softsteddieseptember using the prompt “facing your fears” 

read on ao3 here

Jeff and Gareth stumble out of the Ferris Wheel and Eddie snorts out a laugh.  

Jeff is struggling to keep them both upright as Gareth leans all of his weight on him, his face alarmingly green. Jeff manages to get them to the picnic table where Eddie is sitting without Gareth barfing but when he plops down next to Eddie he scoots away, putting some distance between them just in case. 

“Shouldn’t’ve gone on the Ferris Wheel after swallowing three fucking corn dogs, Gare,” Eddie sniggers, taking a drag of the cig he’d been smoking while his two friends were spinning fifty feet from the ground. 

“Don’t-” Gareth mumbles, cutting himself off with a gagging sound that makes Eddie sit on top of the table just to put more space between them. “Don’t mention corn dogs. Or food,” he finishes meekly, hunching forward and burying his face in his hands.  

Jeff gives him a pat on the shoulder. “It’s your fault, man,” he tells Eddie, who gasps, affronted by the accusation. “If you didn’t fuck off to go take a piss then Gareth wouldn’t’ve had to go on it with me.” 

Eddie shrugs, the cigarette dangling from his lips. “Whatcha want me to say, Jeff? When you gotta go, you gotta go.” 

(The truth is Eddie didn’t have to go. 

He lied about it and then wandered around the fairgrounds aimlessly until he was certain Jeff and Gareth had gone on the Ferris Wheel.

Because Eddie is terrified of heights, a fact no one but his uncle is aware of given how cool and unmetal it is.)

“Ugh, I gotta go,” Gareth grumbles, stumbling over to some bushes before throwing up all over them. 

Eddie recoils with a grimace. “Dude!”  

Gareth pulls himself together. He wipes his mouth and glares at him over his shoulder. “Shut up, Ed, you wouldn’t be doing any better if it was you who went up-” He pauses, narrowing his eyes at Eddie. “Wait, how come I’ve never seen you go on the Ferris Wheel?” 

Oh crap. 

“I’ve been on it,” Eddie shrugs, lying as convincingly as he can. “Many times.”

Jeff studies him curiously. “No, no, Gare, is right. We’ve been coming here for three years and you’ve never been on it with us!”

“I’ve been on it,” Eddie insists. “Just you know with other people.” 

They both snort. “Oh yeah?” Jeff asks. “Who?” 

“Yeah, Eddie, you don’t have any other friends,” Gareth adds. 

“I do!” Eddie protests, waving his hands like it will make names appear out of thin air. “I have Freak!”

Jeff raises an eyebrow. “What’s his real name?” 

“Uh-” Eddie shrugs. “Freak?” 

Gareth shakes his head. The color is back on his face but Eddie wishes he’d go back to hurling his guts out. “If I didn’t know any better, Eddie, I’d say you’re afraid to go on it.” 

“Pfffft,” Eddie slaps his knee with a laugh. “I am not.”

“Prove it then,” Gareth says, crossing his arms over his chest.

“What?” 

“Go on the Ferris Wheel now.”

“Uh, can I finish my cig first?” Eddie asks, trying to stall.

But his friends won’t let him. “No,” they say at the same time. 

Well, shit.

“Ugh, fiiiiiine,” Eddie says, throwing his arms up in a tantrum before snuffing the cig against the table.

He stands up and, flanked by his two friends, starts walking towards the Ferris Wheel. As he does, he considers the pros and cons of fleeing- he’s gotten very good at running from people and neither Gareth nor Jeff are as quick as some of the jocks he’s had to outrun before.

But Eddie realizes he might not need to run away when they reach the line just as the guy manning the ride opens the last car to let the last two people in.

“Won’t you look at that!” Eddie whirls around, clapping his hands together. “It’s full! Oh well, there’s always next year!” 

He throws his arms around Jeff and Gareth and starts dragging them away. Only for them to stop in their tracks when there’s a voice behind them. 

“We have one spot left!” The guy announces. “One spot left! Who wants to ride?” 

Gareth whirls around. “He does!” He says, pointing at Eddie who curses inwardly. “He’ll do it. Right, Eddie?” 

Through gritted teeth, Eddie mutters ‘if you insist’ because what other fucking choice does he have?

He makes his way to the front of the line like a man stepping into the gallows, jaw clenched and hands balled up into fists at his sides pausing again just as he’s about to get on. 

Because sitting on the Ferris Wheel car is no other than Steve fucking Harrington.

He wants to do this even less now knowing that Harrington will be sitting next to him as he tries not to shit his pants. The last thing he wants is the King of Hawkins High to go around sharing that with everyone.

“Dude, are you getting in or not?” The guy asks when Eddie just stands there, an annoyed tilt to his voice. 

Eddie glances over his shoulder to find Gareth and Jeff giving him two thumbs up, matching smirks on their faces. He flips them off, ignoring the scandalized gasp from a mother waiting in line with her son. 

Then he glances back at the car- at Harrington, who is staring at him with an impatient bitchy look. The King probably isn’t happy about sharing a Ferris Wheel car with the Freak.

Yeah, well, the feeling is fucking mutual. 

“Yeah, yeah, I’m going in,” Eddie says anyway, sliding into his seat. He does his best to ignore Harrington as the guy lowers the safety bar on their laps- as well as the dread that has settled on his belly. 

It only grows as they start moving. 

“Enjoy your ride,” the guy tells them with fake cheerfulness. 

Eddie fights the urge to flip him off too. 

“Fuck,” he mutters, grabbing the safety bar with a death grip as their car starts to rise. They keep rocking back and forth and Eddie’s stomach falls out of his ass every time. “Fuck me.” 

Next to him, Harrington lets out a snort. “At least buy me dinner first, Munson.”

Eddie snaps his head towards him- Harrington is leaning back against his seat with a smirk, seemingly not caring at all about the fact that they’re about to be thirty feet from the ground. Asshole.

“Hardy-har-har, Harrington,” Eddie says through gritted teeth, trying not to let his voice waver.

As far as comebacks go, it’s a lame one and Harrington must notice. “Geez, man. Are you okay?” 

“Yeah, I’m- I’m fine.” 

Harrington glances down at Eddie’s hands on the safety bar with a pointed look. “Really? Because you look like you’re trying to snap that bar in half.”

Eddie glances down and sees that he’s white-knuckling the safety bar. He loosens his hold a little. “I’m fine,” he says, voice clipped. “Mind your own business, Your Majesty.” 

“Christ, Munson, what’s your problem?” Harrington huffs out a sound halfway between a grunt and a laugh. “And don’t call me that. You don’t hear me calling you Freak.”

To Eddie, they’re not the same. He thought someone like Harrington would enjoy being reminded about his popular status in high school- even if Eddie’s tone is mocking. But it seems the whole King thing struck a nerve.

“My problem is-” Eddie starts, meaning to tell Harrington that it’s him even if Eddie hasn’t had a problem with him in particular since he graduated but then their car jerks and his words trail off into a whimper. 

“This fucking deathtrap, shit. Okay, I’m not fine,” he admits, eyes screwed shut as they reach the top. “I'm like terrified of heights, okay? Which is fucking lame and super unmetal of me so go ahead, laugh it up.”

He waits to hear it- Harrington’s laugh but there’s only silence. 

Eddie peeks at him through one eye.

“I’m not gonna do that,” Harrington says, his eyebrows knitted in a way that’s frankly kinda cute. 

Cute? Jesus Christ, Eddie, not the time.

“Why not?” He asks. “It’s what you jocks do.”

“Yeah, well, I haven’t been a jock for a while, man.”

Eddie guesses that’s true. Even before he graduated, Harrington had stopped being a jock under Eddie’s definition of the word. He still played basketball, but he didn’t pick on Eddie or the other nerds and now he’s not laughing at him for being afraid of heights even though if the roles were reversed Eddie would probably get a few laughs in himself. 

Maybe he should cut Harrington some slack.

“Why are you riding the Ferris Wheel anyway?” He asks after a short silence. “If you don’t like heights?” 

Another mind your own business rests at the tip of Eddie’s tongue but he did just say he’d cut him some slack. Besides, Eddie is slowly realizing that talking to Harrington is helping keep him distracted from where they are right now. 

“Well, my friends think I’m scared-”

“You are,” Harrington interjects with a smirk.

“Yeah, yeah, I am,” Eddie accepts with an eye roll even if he feels his mouth tick up. “But they don’t need to know that, I have a reputation to uphold.” 

“With your friends?”

“With my friends, the school.” Eddie clicks his tongue. “ Society.”

Harrington snorts out a startled sort of chuckle, eyebrows raised in amusement. “Well, I won’t tell society,” he says with a conspiratorial smile. “Your secret’s safe with me.” 

He bumps their shoulders together and it makes the car tip forward. Eddie bites down on a very embarrassing scream. Harrington grimaces. “Shit, sorry.” 

“Why are you- why are you riding the Ferris Wheel?” Eddie asks. “You can’t possibly enjoy this, man.”

“It’s not so bad,” Harrington shrugs. “I like the view, especially at sunset.”

“Ah,” Eddie smiles teasingly. “I bet you bring all the pretty girls up here, hold their hand if they get scared.” 

Harrington raises an eyebrow at him. “Are you suggesting I hold your hand, Munson?” 

Is he? Eddie looks down at Steve’s hands. They’re nice hands and Eddie has to admit that the thought of holding one of them right now doesn’t exactly make him want to jump off this car. 

It makes his heat build in his cheeks actually. “Fuck off, no, I’m-” 

“Because I would,” Harrington interjects, “if you wanted me to.” 

Eddie’s eyes go wide. “I- uh. You- no, you wouldn’t.” 

Harrington tilts his head, watching Eddie with a mixture of amusement and something else. If Eddie didn’t know any better he’d say Harrington finds it endearing- how nervous Eddie is. What the hot fuck?

Harrington holds out his hand, palm up, in the space between them. 

Eddie can only stare at it like it’s going to bite him or like Harrington is going to jerk it back and laugh at him for falling for the joke. He does neither. He wiggles his fingers and Eddie, who might be oxygen-deprived from the height, lets go of the bar with one hand, wipes it on his jeans, and grabs Harrington’s. 

He links their fingers together loosely and gives Eddie a little half-smirk, half-smile that he bets left a girl or two giggling back in the day. Right now it makes Eddie’s heart stutter in a wildly different way than being this far from the ground does. 

The ground, which is currently far, far away. Shit. The reminder makes him grip Harrington’s hand tighter and it’s really nice- warm and soft instead of cold and hard like the safety bar. Eddie looks down at their joined hands, and focuses on that- on how big Steve’s hand is and how many freckles are dusted over the back of it, how he doesn’t seem to mind that Eddie’s rings are probably digging painfully into his skin with how hard he’s holding on to him. 

“Better?”

“Yeah,” Eddie admits with a shaky laugh. “Um, thanks, man, for not laughing and like, not being a dick about this.” 

“Yeah, well, I’m trying to be less of a dick these days.”

“And how’s that working out for ya?” 

Harrington’s nose scrunches up. “I’m alone at the Ferris Wheel, Eddie, so what do you think?” 

Eddie chuckles. “Oh, so what am I? Chopped liver?”

“No!” Harrington counters quickly. “Just not who I thought I’d end up riding the Ferris Wheel with.”

“Oh how you wound me, Steve,” Eddie says with an exaggerated pout. 

“Shut up, you’re the one who’s wounding me,” he says playfully, using his free hand to gesture at where his other one is still trapped by Eddie’s. “Think you’re cutting off circulation to my hand.” 

Eddie loosens his hold a little, his cheeks pinking up again. “Fuck, sorry.” 

“It’s okay,” Steve says, giving it a squeeze. “Robin and I went to see this gross movie once called The Thing and I’m pretty sure I almost lost all my fingers from how hard she was gripping my hand.” 

Eddie blinks. “Robin Buckley? From band?” He asks and Steve nods. “I didn’t know you two were friends or is it- are you two like-” 

Jesus, why do you even care, Munson? Talk about minding your own business. 

“Oh no,” Steve replies even if Eddie didn’t finish the question. “I love Robin, but she’s just my friend. My best friend. It’s tectonic.” 

Eddie tilts his head. “Do- do you mean platonic?” 

“Yeah, that,” Steve says, snapping his fingers and shooting a single finger gun in his direction. “She’s actually down there somewhere with- um, with someone else.” 

“Oh, Steve,” Eddie says, shaking his head. “You’re third-wheeling your band nerd best friend? How the mighty have fallen truly.” 

Steve groans, throwing his head back but not before Eddie sees how his mouth twitches. “It gets worse, dude. I’m also here babysitting a bunch of fourteen-year-olds who are also nerds. Except for Max, she’s cool, she doesn’t play that- dorks and dweebs game the others are obsessed with.”

“Hold on, I’m sorry, do you mean Dungeons and Dragons?” Eddie sputters, trying to wrap his head around everything he’s learning about Steve- horror movie enjoyer, nerd-sympathizer, a babysitter who sort of knows what Dungeons and Dragons is.

Steve purses his lips. “I think I like my name better.”

“Sure, buddy,” Eddie says with a snort. “Well, I’m sorry to inform you that I run an after-school club for that game so by hanging out with me your cool-o-meter just took an even bigger nose dive.”

“Well, goddamn it, Munson,” Steve says jokingly. 

“Bet you wish you got stuck with a pretty girl instead of me, huh, big boy?”

Steve falters at the name that truth be told slipped out of Eddie’s mouth without him realizing. A slight pink tinge shades his cheeks.

It’s nothing compared to the deep shade of red Eddie’s cheeks turn when Steve says, “Actually being stuck with a pretty boy is fine by me.”

A nearly hysterical laugh rushes from Eddie’s lips before he can help it. “A pretty- uh. What?” His heart is doing summersaults in his chest and Eddie tries hard to get it to calm down. Steve could be fucking with him. Fuck, is he? “Are you- Steve. Harrington. Are you fucking with me? ‘Cause you might’ve graduated and you might not be a jock anymore but I know you know what your teammates called me, man, you know I’m- and you fucking with me like that is not cool-”

“Woah, Eddie, hey. I’m not,” Steve assures him, pretty brown eyes wide like a startled deer. “It’s true, okay? You are pretty.”

Oh. 

An ugly strangled noise escapes Eddie. “Oh. Okay. Uh.”

Steve runs a hand through his hair and shifts nervously in the seat. “Fuck, just forget I said that, I didn’t want to make things weird, okay? Just- yeah, forget it.”

“Who says I want to?” 

Steve’s eyebrows meet in the middle. Cute, Eddie thinks again. Oh, maybe it was the time after all. “Um, your face, man? You look like I splashed you with water and then threw a toaster at you or something.” 

“That’s- that’s actually a good way to describe how I feel, yeah,” Eddie agrees. Steve cringes slightly. “Not in a bad way! I’m just surprised! I didn’t know you-” liked boys? liked freaks? liked me?

Whatever he means, Steve gets it. “Yeah, I do,” he says, the tips of his ears turning pink. “It’s fine if you don’t or whatever-”

Eddie opens his mouth to assure him he does in fact like boys and freaks and Steve who might be a freak himself if this Ferris Wheel ride has taught Eddie anything-

Before he can though the Ferris Wheel screeches to a halt, their car rocking in place at the top. 

“Why- why are we stopping? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” Steve says, squeezing Eddie’s hand. “It’s the last spin, they’re probably gonna stop each cart at the top for a few minutes.”

Eddie whines pathetically. “What? Why?”

“So people can watch the sunset? Make out?” Steve blushes. “Or something.”

The wind picks up and makes the car rock back and forth and Eddie groans. “Fucking great!”

“Hey, what do you need?” Steve asks, rubbing his thumb over the back of Eddie’s hand. It’s almost enough to distract him from being stuck at the top. Almost. 

“To be back on solid ground? Or a distraction. Please distract me, Stevie,” Eddie says, feeling panic bubbling up inside him. He doesn’t even notice when the nickname slips out. 

Steve’s eyes flick over his face looking for something. He either finds it or gives up. Either way, he takes a deep breath. “Please don’t punch me for this.” 

“Punch you for-”

The last word dies in Eddie’s throat because Steve leans in and presses a kiss to his mouth, effectively shutting him up.

For a beat, neither of them does anything. Then Steve’s free hand cups Eddie’s cheek and he moves his lips. Eddie makes a soft, needy noise in the back of his throat, his eyelids fluttering shut, and then he’s kissing Steve back. 

It’s a slow and lazy kiss but it’s enough to make Eddie forget where he is or that he’s supposed to be panicking. He even lets go of the safety bar just so he can get his fingers in Steve’s hair. 

They don’t break apart until the Ferris Wheel starts moving again, their car making its way down so they can finally get off this stupid thing. 

(Though it might be starting to grow on Eddie. Just a little.)

When they stop again so that the people in the next car can have their go at the top, Eddie’s stomach merely swoops and it might have more to do with the way Steve licks his pink, wet lips than with anything else. 

“Well, that’s one way to distract someone,” Eddie says, his voice coming out a little breathless. “Thanks, Stevie.”

Steve snorts, hanging a hand from his neck. “Thanks for not punching me.”

“I’m a lover, not a fighter, baby,” Eddie says and watches delightedly how a flush creeps up Steve’s cheeks at the pet name. “I’d never punch you, your face is too pretty for that.”

A startled laugh tumbles from Steve’s lips. “So I could kiss you again?”

“I could be persuaded to do that again, yeah.” Eddie tilts his head, eyes darting a little anxiously over Steve’s face. “First I gotta know if this is like a ‘what happens in the Ferris Wheel stays in the Ferris Wheel’ kind of thing, you know?”

“Nah,” Steve says with a smile that edges on soft. “I was actually gonna drag you with me to the Hoop Shot game after this. Impress you a little.”

“Oh yeah?” Eddie asks, grinning widely. “Gonna impress me with your jock moves?”

“Mhm. By winning you a stuffed animal too.”

Eddie clicks his tongue. “Stevie, Stevie, Stevie, I told you, I have a reputation to uphold-”

“With society, yeah, yeah. Don’t worry, I’ll get you something metal like a bat! Or a dragon.”

“Hm,” Eddie taps his finger against his chin. “Get me both and it’s a deal!”

Steve’s eyes twinkle. “Does that mean I get two kisses?”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Eddie says, pitching his voice low and deep. Steve’s eyes widen slightly. “You can have way more than that.” 

They’re almost at the bottom now which is probably why Steve doesn’t lean in for another kiss right then and there when it’s clear that he wants to. This close to the ground, people could see and the last thing they want is an angry mob waiting for them at the bottom. 

They’re happy to just hold hands for what’s left of the ride. Despite Eddie not being scared anymore, neither of them considers letting go, not until the guy from before yanks the safety bar off their laps, stares curiously at their clasped hands for a second before his expression turns bored again, and waves them out of the car. 

Eddie climbs out and jogs down the steps, past the people waiting in line. His eyes dart over the people hanging around the Ferris Wheel, looking for Gareth and Jeff but his friends must’ve gotten bored and wandered off at some point because they’re nowhere to be seen. Whatever, he was gonna ditch them to hang out with Steve anyway. 

But Steve gets the wrong idea when he sees Eddie scanning the crowd. He scruffs his Nike against the ground and hangs a hand from his neck. “It’s okay if you wanna find your friends-”

“Fuck, no,” Eddie says quickly. “They’re big boys, they can get home on their own. Or not and it serves them right for forcing me to go on that deathtrap!”

“Oh, come on,” Steve says with a playful grin. 

“Fine, I guess it wasn’t that bad,” Eddie says, rolling his eyes, the corners of his mouth ticking up. “What about you? You don’t have to find your baby nerds and make sure they’re okay?”

“Nope, those shitheads can take care of themselves,” Steve says. “I have more important things to do.”

“Like me?” Eddie asks with a ridiculous waggle of his eyebrows. It makes Steve tip his head back with a laugh. Eddie’s eyes zero in on the moles in the column on his neck, thoughts drifting to wanting to kiss every single one of them. 

“Maybe later,” he tells Eddie with a wink. His stomach swoops and this time it has nothing to do with gravity and heights. “C’mon, man, let’s get you that bat.”

Eddie holds his finger up, wagging it in front of Steve’s face. “And the dragon!” Eddie says, getting all up in Steve’s space as he starts walking in the direction of the Hoop Shot game. “Don’t forget the dragon!”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever you say, Munson.”

(Steve gets him the bat. And the dragon. And cotton candy. And later follows Eddie home after dropping off his herd of fourteen-year-olds. Eddie lets him have two kisses and more just like he promised.)

(And he rides more than just the Ferris Wheel that day.)

[munsster]

hii!! i'd like to request a steve harrington x fem!reader fic pls <33 reader confesses to steve, but he says he doesn't like her. then reader's all 'okay fine, i'm gonna move on' and when she actually does that, steve is 🥺 lots of angst please and some steve grovelling teehee <33

gut feeling

A/N: okay yes 😏 i screwed this up the littlest bit, but i hope it still tickles ur fancy. also i’ve seen this done for king!steve and i wanted to write it for s4 steven

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader

Summary: You have big feelings for Steve, he’s just not sure he feels the same way. 3.6k words.

Warnings: angst, but it resolves into fluff, unrequited love trope, lots of feelings, friends to lovers?, CURSING!, italics, established friendship, feat. Keith 😑

"You think it would be gross if we kissed?"

Steve thinks you might actually sound hurt, but he also thinks the face he's making is hilarious beyond belief: kind of contorted and screwed inward, nose scrunched and trying really hard to batten down a grin. You glare at him from the passenger's seat, arms crossed tight over your green Family Video vest.

You think he's wonderful despite his naiveté. If only he knew how handsome you thought he was, all caramel locks and big brown eyes and the kind of smile that reaches his eyes before he's even thought of it. No wonder he has an ego up to the moon. No wonder he still manages to weasel his way into the creases and crevices of any living creature's heart. Even yours. Hell, especially yours.

"Yeah, duh!"—and he's so sure of it, you could cry—"You're like the little sister I never had!"

You chuckle but you look like you're about to hurl yourself out of the car or get yourself arrested for manslaughter. Thank God he's only a block away from your house, or he'd never see the light of day again. Does he really think of you like that? The soft laughter peters out into a grating silence that burns right down your throat and feels like hard metal settling in your lungs.

He doesn't dare glance over at you. He only bites down hard around nothing and grimaces, eyes set hard on the lines dashing beneath the grill of his car. Jesus Christ, he does not think of you like that. And he begs whatever stupid pride is keeping him steady in this nonexistent pissing contest to leave it be, but its jaw is set in the tender meat of the game.

"Don't have to be so jovial about it," you grumble.

"What?"

"Mine's on the left," you grumble, nodding out the window. Oh, he's definitely in trouble. You only ignore him like this when he's done something boyish to a fault.

"I know. I drive you home every—hey!"

"Bye," you coo, booking it up the steps to your door, refusing to turn over your shoulder for fear that you'll burst into tears upon seeing him smile or frown or crack the slightest look of confusion.

He watches you slam the door and rolls the passenger window up with a frustrated sigh. Where the Hell did that come from and why. All while you're sitting against the foot of your bed, chattering into the phone at Robin, still wearing your uniform and tugging at strands of your hair as expletives weave themselves between every three words.

"Oh my Fucking God, I'm so fucking embarrassed right now, Robs—Does he—? Does he think I'm some sort of fuckin' baby? I just don't—"

"He's just being Steve, okay? He probably didn't mean it—"

"The way he looked at me, Robin, I felt like a fucking imbecile. Of all the dickheads in the world I could fall for, my heart chose Harrington? Maybe I'm the idiot." You sigh and kick your feet out, the frustration winding up new nerves and letting them go like tight springs to fling out over your body.

She sighs and it rattles through the grainy speaker. "You're not an idiot; he has his moments. Don't beat yourself up, you know how he gets. He's probably not thinking straight, just... tell him? The worst he can say is—"

"That I'm like a sister to him? Oh, how delightful. That's even worse than just flat out admitting I'm unattractive."

"You're not unattractive, don't do that."

"I am to him," you groan.

"Hey," she hums after a beat of crackling silence. You close your eyes and grip the sickly yellow receiver a little tighter.

"I really like him."

"I know."

"And it sucks."

"I know." The other end rustles and you let out a curt sigh just as you move to stand. "I love you, and I'm here for you. Especially when dumb boys make you feel like shit. You'll always be the most amazing and most beautiful girl in my life, don't forget that."

"Thank you. I'll see you, Robs."

"Take it easy."

—

Steve wakes up to an ache in his neck and a soreness in his knuckles. You didn't call him last night. And he's assuming you didn't call him before school this morning because his alarm clock flashes eleven, first period starts at eight-thirty, and the tone his ancient landline emits is shrill enough to deafen a man. Let alone wake him up in a cold sweat. He concocts a sick feeling in his stomach of burnt orange shame and maroon guilt because he has to wait until closing shift tonight to explain himself to you.

But by then, he's feeling spiteful. You weren't home when he went to pick you up and he waited ten minutes and knocked on the door in bulk. Until someone who was not you answered and told him that you'd gotten a ride with some jerk from the Hawkins High football team. That's not how it was originally said, but that's how he heard it. So you're avoiding him? It makes him spit up a little in his mouth, and he's going about twenty over the speed limit the entire way to make it on time.

By the time he can fling open the glass door and hear the sound of the tiny bell, he spots you in the back corner with a stack of tapes under your arm. Listening to music. To drown him out. And it makes him frown. Six hours. That's how long he'd have to endure this, then he could go home and not call you and not be able to sleep.

The casette in your Walkman can only run for so long, right? But he watches you rewind it after an hour and a half and slumps against the front desk when you grab a new stack of tapes from behind him. He simmers down after the first half of the shift, and of course, the fact that you won't talk to him rubs him the wrong way, but what's even worse is that now you're bumming rides off of losers on the worst football team in all of Indiana.

He gets worked up thinking about that guy's motivation and how many times he probably tried to make a pass at you. Steve would never do that to you. Even if he wanted to, he's a gentleman at heart. He could beat that jerk to a pulp just imagining him giving you the look. God forbid that sucker puts his hands on you. Steve would get charged with battery before ever letting that happen.

It's not like he can say anything to you about it either. He's pissed, and he knows himself. He'd get all angry and confrontational, and you deserve better than that. It's his fault you got there first, and it's his fault you got to stocking, and it's his fault you're tuning him out. But he didn't think what he said last night would be worth all that trouble.

"If you keep up the optic blast, I'm gonna buy you a ruby-quartz visored monocle." And that droning voice could only belong to one overbearing manager.

"What do you need, Keith?" Steve grumbles, and out of the corner of his eye, he catches you looking to the front of the store to watch the encounter with a smirk.

"Duty calls, Harrington. Corporate sent us more shelf space. Need someone to unload it into the office," Keith murmurs, shooting a glance your way, "And, uh... it's kind of unwieldy, so get the kid to help you out."

It makes Steve's eye twitch because you're not some kid. And if you heard Keith refer to you as such, you'd unleash a fleet of curses on him. Only Steve is allowed to call you that. Because it's funny, duh. You're a year younger than him, obviously he's going to use that to his comedic advantage. Oh.

He lets out a sigh—"alright"—and leaves Keith to man the front while he skirts to the back of the store and leads you by the hand through the office.

"'The Hell, Harrington?" you hiss, but you keep your fingers locked between Steve's, abandoning the rest of the tapes on Keith's desk and jogging to catch up with his stride. As forward and demanding as his grip may be, you have to admit, the warmth of his palm is comforting and it makes your heart race because you've never held hands with Steve before. And in any other circumstance, you might've been able to enjoy it a little more.

"Keith told me to tell you that you have to help me bring a shelf in from the truck."

"Oh, I have to?" you bark, now pulling your hand away and putting your headphones around your neck once you exit through the back door with him. "And you didn't think to give me a warning before yanking on my arm?"

"Yes, you have to, and maybe if you weren't listening to that shit so loud, you would've been in the loop." It comes out far more harsh than he intended, and that was exactly what he was afraid of happening in a confrontation with you. His brow softens, and the tension in his upper back and jaw dissipates into his own self-pity party. "And I didn't yank on your arm. Or at least I didn't mean to, so I'm sorry for that much."

Steve hops up into the truck and offers you a hand you don't take as much as you both wish you would have. Because he looks like a kicked puppy, and you have to stop yourself from cheering yourself on. Maybe this will be your first literal step towards getting over him. Once and for all.

After about fifteen minutes of heaving and ho-ing, the two of you manage to haul the shelf into the office as per Keith's request. He was right: it was unwieldy. The awkward grip spots caused a lot of overlap, and you both flinched away from the physical contact in a matter of milliseconds. But Steve couldn't deny he felt bad, and you couldn't deny that you definitely still had feelings for him.

You grab your previously abandoned stack of tapes to scurry out of the office, but Steve stops you by the elbow. And you glare back at him.

"Sorry. The... yanking, I know"—he shoves his hands in his pockets and looks down—"Look, I'm not entirely sure what happened last night in the car, but it clearly made you uncomfortable, and I'd like to apologize."

He can see the neurons firing when he looks you in the eye, but he can also see that his apology wasn't effective in the slightest. Because you're still anger-ridden and fuming at him. You put your headphones on and go back to restocking shelves.

He checks the digital clock above the door. Two hours till eleven. Great.

And they creep by like refrigerated molasses. Second by second. Every time he glances at the clock, only a minute has passed. Eventually, though, he starts cleaning up for closing: vacuuming, cleaning the windows, fixing the display. And he finds himself getting a little more efficient at checking tapes back in and rewinding them only so you'll cruise by the front—scowling at him, but nonetheless at him—to grab a new stack and shelf it.

Five minutes to closing and a sleek, blue sedan pulls into the parking lot, and you practically beam at it, grinning and skipping to the front. You grab your bag from under the counter next to Steve's hip and shove your Walkman into it.

"You know, my car works perfectly fine," he grumbles, "don't have to replace me with some football jerk." He knows that struck a nerve because your smile immediately flickers away into a squint.

"That football jerk is bilingual, a painter, and lets me listen to the music I like in his car."

"But that's not the rules," he whines, desperately defending himself against some sports guy who's probably taking advantage of you.

"Well, I like him and he's nice to me." You sling your bag over your shoulder triumphantly, marching towards the door.

Steve is aghast at the implication. He thought you liked listening to the radio. Plus he took Spanish and art for the required two years, it's not that great of an achievement.

Still, he sputters out, "Yeah, well—"

You wave over your shoulder. "Later, Steve."

Since when did he become such a loser.

He watches jerk-face open the car door for you then glance over to wave at him with a perfect smile and perfect hair and perfect manners. What an asshole. Steve does not wave back.

—

"That's the kinda guy she likes?" he fusses into the phone, palming his face while Robin chuckles on the other line. This whole time he thought for sure you liked the self-assured, cocky, college-age boy type. And now you're dating a high schooler. Come on, jerk-face is not even that good looking.

"First of all, they're not dating. Second of all, don't lie to make yourself feel better; even I can admit he's basically a Greek god," Robin says, shoving a handful of popcorn into her mouth. "Third... why do you care? You’re acting like it’s your job to protect her, but it’s not. She’s an adult now, you know, she can take her of herself.”

He lets out a puff of air through his nose, blinking hard and leaning into the pale yellow receiver. Then mumbling: "She told you."

And she replies, cheerily: "Yup."

"Well—! I just... don't want to see her get hurt. I know that type of guy. I used to be that type of guy. He's bad news, I can tell."

"Right,” Robin scoffs, “It's definitely not because you love her.”

"I don't love her. She's just a baby, and we don't even like the same things. It would never work out between us, there's no connection." They both know it’s a lame excuse, but it’s worked up until this moment. It’s worked since the day you met. You’re too young, the end. Sure, you can be cute sometimes, but you’re also a pain in the ass and you two could never get along long enough to stitch together a real relationship.

But Robin sees through all of that shit. And she’s over it.

“Okay, maybe, but she listens when you talk about cars, and you buy the albums she likes even when she only mentions them once. Plus, you both love Dustin like he's an extra limb”—she’s right, you love that kid to death and Lord knows Steve looks after him like a son—“I think as much as you wretch and complain over her being too young and the connection not 'being there', it seems like you try an awful lot to get her to like you."

He immediately rejects the idea with a scoff.

"Of course I’d want a cool person to like me, old fuckin’ habits die hard. But that's all. She's cool and has a good sense of style and tells the best jokes and makes me feel smart and listens to me, and right now I'm feeling pretty crazy because maybe I do love her and I blew it because... because? Because I don’t know why—but she's probably sitting in some jerk's car listening to her favorite songs and watching him paint the sunset while speaking Spanish or whatever."

Robin closes her eyes, and Steve’s annoyed by the fact that he can hear her smirking. "Jesus Christ, I need to start charging you idiots for my time"—and she sighs—"Just... tell her all that cheese. And maybe throw in an apology or two. I don't know, do what you usually do when you pick up girls.”

He’s frustrated. And annoyed. But he throws a thanks at her anyway and stomps down the stairs and to his beamer. It’s not until he’s shrouded in the piercing light of the convenience store that he realizes three things: he’s still in his work uniform, it’s midnight, and he’s pretty sure he does love you. He grabs a bouquet, not even realizing it’s a bouquet of amaryllis and baby’s breath—he’d prefer roses, but ‘tis not the season, as the cashier told him.

Minutes later, he’s muttering under his breath like he’s mad, waiting for someone to answer your door. And thank God you do.

“Steve—?”

“Oh, shit, did I—were you—?”

“Oh, no, I was just…”—thinking about him—“nothin’. What’re you doing here?”

He pushes a furious hand through his hair, then tucks a chunk behind his ear, worrying at his bottom lip. More nervous than he’s been in his whole life. Then he flashes those soft brown eyes at you, and you’re toast. You step onto your doormat and shut the door behind you because he starts into his sentence like a blazing fire:

"I feel so stupid, and I’m sorry for saying you're like a little sister to me; I don’t believe that, and it couldn’t be further from the truth. You're not like a sister to me, you're like the only thing that matters and I feel like I wanna learn another language for you and take a cooking class for you and listen to your music with you. I just, I mean I’m trying to say you make me want to be a better person, and I feel like I’m already a better person whenever I’m around you. I... what I’m saying—and I promise I’m getting to it—is that I’m sorry for being so stupid and not seeing it before, but I think you're beautiful and I'd be honored if you'd forgive me and maybe consider letting me take you out sometime. Like on a date."

He’s breathing heavily, looking and feeling manic, and your eyes are wide as you slowly process his confession. It goes down like sweet wine, floral down your throat and settling in your tummy like candy. But still: what the fuck? Is he insane? Are you insane?

His hair is flopped to one side, and his work vest is snug around his shoulders. You step forward slowly, and the creases in his forehead seem to go smooth. And you point to the bouquet.

“For me?”

Steve glances down. "Oh, yeah, got em for you. Sorry they're not roses, it's not—"

"I love them, thank you."

He nods. And you smile. And despite how beautiful the soft pink and white flowers are, you’re not particularly focused on their safety when you hook your arms beneath his and rope him into a hug. It’s clearly just what he needed when he goes pliant and heavy against your chest, smiling into your neck as his hands wrap over your shoulders.

"I think we might both be stupid,” you whisper.

He chuckles. "Yup. Just a couple of stupids. Geez, what kinda pair are we?" You both pull away. Only to look at each other squarely. To see a smile creep and creep across the other’s face. And he cocks a brow and says, "By the way, worst twenty-four hours of my life—"

And that’s saying something after the last three years.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, Steve, I was just so—"

"I know."

"So confused and disappointed, it was—"

"Torture, yeah, don't even think about doing that ever again,” he teases, pinching your side and scrunching his nose when you pinch him back.

"Yeah. Well, never tell me I’m like a little sister to you ever again.”

Gross.

"I don't plan on it"

With the slow bat of your lashes, and the tender curve of your lips, he can’t not think about kissing you. Not in this light. Not under the meddling moon, and not holding your waist like cupping pools of honey.

Then you look away. For all the shit you talk, he manages to make you far more shy than he ever anticipates. And it gives him butterflies to see you duck away.

"You know, I think you're pretty beautiful yourself, Harrington.”

Oh, he’s blushing now. The blood gushes hot to his face, he could sweat buckets right here and now. You can probably hear his heartbeat. Jesus Christ, what’ve you done to him? You can tell he’s nervous when he chuckles softly. "Does this mean I can start giving you rides again?"

You pretend to weigh your options. As if there would ever be a better alternative. "Only if you let me play my music sometimes.”

"Absolutely. I never liked the radio much anyway."

You let go of him only to cradle your bouquet in both hands, admiring the petals while Steve puts his hands back in his pockets.

"Then I'll see you later," he says. Grinning ear to ear, mind you.

"Yeah,” you coo, “I’ll see you."

With one hand on his shoulder, you plant a kiss on his willing cheek and let him go. But before he can make it to his car you holler, “Wait!” and he jogs back over to you.

"Did I forget somethin’?"

“Yeah,” you poke, "you forgot about our date."

He tilts his head a little, brows furrowed. "Our... our date? What do you mean our… Ohhhh”—he nods in understanding, suddenly hit with a wave of excitement and embarrassment—"Does tomorrow work? We could grab lunch or dinner or something and maybe stop by the arcade or—oh, the fair's in town, that could be kinda fun, unless you don't want to, I mean—"

"Steve?" you hum.

“Mhm?”

"I'd love to."

And suddenly his ego is miles through the roof; he's nodding and grinning and it’s like he can’t wait to wake up tomorrow just to see you again.

"Me too. Okay. Yeah! I'll see you then."

"Bye, Stevie.” You give him a small wave, and the shroud of plastic around the bouquet crinkles like the corners of his eyes at the idea of tomorrow.

masterlist

[surielstea]

Strings Attached

Based on this request.

Pairing: Helion x Fem!Reader

Summary: Reader has had a crush on Helion for awhile now but feels inadequate when compared to the partners he brings to bed.

Warnings: fluff | Suggestive | Slight angst

3.3k words

The giggling in the room next to mine has me fighting back from hurling my guts out.

Helion was with yet another female tonight— perhaps multiple based on the sound emitting through the walls. Some part of me felt anger, everyone who was interested in the male seemed to get the chance to roll in the sheets with the High Lord while I sat in my room alone, trying to ignore the obnoxious thudding of the headboard against the connecting wall.

I put a sound shield over his room for him, he seemed to forget half the time which left me restless and annoyed.

Finally, at peace with the quiet, I release a soft sigh and my head comes down onto my pillow. The brunette that he led into his room tonight was particularly gorgeous, with long dark locks and beautiful caramel-colored skin. She was from the Summer court, cousin to the Day court. She looked like she'd been bathed in the sun, like not a single cloud had ever settled over her.

I was from the night court.

Born in the hewn city and fleeing the court entirely when Amarantha was defeated after those long years Under the Mountain.

It was noticeable I didn't belong in this court, this palace, the libraries, or the shops. I'd get looks of all sorts from strangers or other court members who thought it best for me to return to where I came from.

Helion made me his second in command after a few years of serving as his emissary. I've been with him for nearly a decade now and my feelings towards the high lord have yet to fizzle away. He's my best friend, yet I couldn't help imagining something more than just being on the sidelines, I wanted to be looked at the way he gazed at potential partners, wanted to be touched, and loved the way the females rave about as they're leaving the palace.

In between thoughts I manage to slip into a gentle sleep, a light slumber that I could easily be startled from. The large bed felt empty like I was drowning in it, like I needed someone next to me to make sure I didn't fall through the mattress.

________

I was standing at my workbench, bright light shining down onto my most recent invention. I peered through my magnifying glass at the inner mechanics, making sure all the gears shifted with each other as they spun. I've been fiddling with the small device for a while now but haven't been able to get it just right. "Let's try this again," I mumble before pressing the button atop the small cube. It makes a quiet beep and my brows shoot up. "Testing," I say into the microphone of the cube.

"You're so smart, starlight." A familiar voice makes me jump and I whirl around to face the High Lord. "You'd make the perfect high lady for this place." He hums and I flush, taking my eyes away from the handsome male and back to my invention. He walks over to me, the warmth of his skin radiating onto me. "What is it?" He tilts his head as he peers over my shoulder.

"A recording device," I say, glancing at him— which I realize was a bad idea because, Cauldron, he was so close. "If it works, we'll be able to start recording audio to put in our libraries for people who can't read,"  I explain and a soft smile curves his full lips.

"Genius." He hums. "It's not finished yet." I wave him off and press the button atop the recording device and set it down.

"Did you need something?" I turned to him fully, he wasn't wearing his crown or any golden jewelry, just glowing dark skin contrasted with his clean white robe. "I can't pester my favorite emissary?" He arches a brow, and my heartbeat quickens.

"I'm your only emissary." I remind him, cleaning up my workspace as he toys with a pair of miniature tweezers, his calloused hands seemingly too large to even hold the tool. "That doesn't mean you can't be my favorite." He mumbles, concentrating on picking up an even smaller screw from the desk with the tweezers.

"Helion," I pluck the tool from his hands and he pouts dramatically at me. "I was only going to ask if you'd like to join me for dinner, but you seem busy." He knocks on the wood as a farewell and takes a few steps away. "Wait," I look to him. "I could eat." I shrug and a wide smile spreads over his sharp features. "Follow me then."

Helion leads me down the halls of the palace, I still marveled at the beauty of this place despite living here for nearly a decade now. The high ceilings held up by large pillars, the floor-to-ceiling windows putting the Court outside on display in a decoration of its own, the crystal clear lake that spreads on the right side of the residence reflects the moonlight right onto the white palace, making it reflect and shimmer like a sun.

"Amilia?" Helion calls as we enter the long dining hall lit by golden chandeliers and tall, skinny candles. "Yes, my lord?" A kitchen maid scuffs into the room with bright green eyes and large voluminous curls. "I have a guest joining me for dinner, we'll need the table set for three." He informs and the maid bows her head with a soft smile. "Right away Lord Helion." She turns on her heel and shuffles towards the kitchen. "Thank you!" The male hums as she disappears behind the swinging doors.

"Three plates?" I ask curiously, coming up to his side. "Not just us?" I say and he looks at me with raised brows. "I have another courtier coming to meet with me from the Dawn court, but I'd be happy to cancel so it's just us." He offers and I shake my head, hair swishing with the movement. "That's alright, I won't disrupt your schedule." I brushed him off, even if a buried part of me felt disappointed. It's been some time since I had some alone time with Helion, he always seemed to be busy as High Lord— or spell cleaver.

I walked over to the table and took up the seat I always sat in, directly beside the head of the table, where Helion planted himself. A maid came over and poured both of us glasses of white wine. I thank her and she nods before skittering away.

The doors to the dining hall open and both Helion and I look up to spot a butler accompanying a gorgeous female clad in lilac and rose-colored robes that draped over her full frame in long sweeping motions. Her deep brown hair was combed up into an intricate style, and the golden bangles at her wrists clanked against each other as she walked in like she owned the place. "Lady Basu." Helion stands with a polite tone. "Please, my lord; call me Imara." She begs of him in a delicate voice. Is she the courtier from Dawn?

"Then you can call me Helion." The Lord gives her a seductive smile. I was going to need more wine.

Dinner was utterly delicious if it weren't for my need to hold back gags every time the two in front of me obnoxiously flirted, I watched as she noticeably stared at him while wrapping her perfect lips around her fork. They weren't even discussing anything pertaining to the courts, perhaps I was blinded by jealousy but what was the point of this female being here if she wasn't going to mention where her court lies with alliances?

"Amilia?" I call the maid, neither of them notice but the female shuffles over to me with an inquisitive expression. "Can I have some more wine?" I ask her. She nods her head and pours the pitcher until my glass is full again. "You know what, I think I'll just take this." I reach for the decanter and her brows raise slightly but she allows me to have the pitcher before I put it down onto the table. Helion looks at me with creased brows but I don't say anything.

"Are you enjoying the food Imara?" The high lord hums. "I've had better things in my mouth." She teased and I nearly choked. "Is that right?" Helion's reply only makes me drink deeper from the goblet, chugging down the rest of the liquid until I'm refilling the glass again.

The flirting grows so insufferable that I have to take a deep breath to control myself from yelling at them to keep it in their pants or take it to the bedroom. So instead I stand up, grabbing my wine glass, my chair loudly scraping against the floor.

"You okay?" Helion looks to me concerned. "Fine, just tired." I brush him off. "I think I might turn in early," I add and he only nods. "Sweet dreams, starlight." He hums. "Good to meet you Imari," I give her a wave. "You as well." She smiles at me even though she's been glaring at me all meal like I was a threat, as if Helion would ever choose me over some drop-dead gorgeous female offering herself so openly to him.

Helion's fingers intertwined with mine and I look at him curiously, his warm hand somehow heating the entirety of my body right down to my very bones. "Get good rest, alright?" He smiles sadly and I get the feeling that he wasn't originally going to say that, that he’s holding back.

"I should be the one telling you that." I joke as I drop his hand but he doesn't laugh, instead, he looks at me with something tender and wanting, that gaze that makes butterflies awaken in my stomach. I ignore it, giving him a nod before spinning on my heel and walking towards the doors, thanking the cooks and maids on my way out without another word.

______

My hangover was pounding into my skull as I stood at the kitchen counter, peeling an orange as my negligent breakfast. Luckily the morning was quiet, the bird’s song flowing in through the open windows, goldfinches perched on the aspen trees outside.

I hum along to the familiar tune with a gentle smile at the tranquility of it, everything going so smoothly until the smell of ginger and honey floats into the room and I know Helion has entered.

"Starlight," He grins widely as he approaches, his hands behind his back like he's hiding something. I narrow my eyes at him skeptically, wondering what it was he kept tucked away from my vision. "How are you so awake?" I sighed with a slow blink. "It's daytime," He looks to the window. "Should I not be awake?" He arches a brow. I shake my head and return to peeling the rind from my fruit.

"Have a good night?" I tilt my head. "Eh," He shrugs and I scoff, a small smile forming on my lips at his dissatisfaction, something like precedence blooming in my chest.

"I have something for you." He bounces slightly on his heels and I look at him unamused, my migraine slowly fizzling away as he gazes at me. "Do you now?" I tilt my head and he nods, pulling his hands from behind his back and revealing a small black box meant for jewelry. "I felt bad last night, you seemed upset so I got you these at the markets this morning." He explains before cracking open the lid of the velvet box and revealing a stunning pair of earrings. A clear sunstone gem framed by gold plates, the stone dangling from a golden clasp.

My brows raised as I looked between him and the expensive gift. "Helion I can't take this," I shake my head. "Sure you can." He urges me. "You can’t just give me things because I'm the slightest bit upset." I sigh, taking the box from him. "Sure I can." He reiterates and a small smile forms over my features. "Thank you," I say, taking the earrings out of their box right then and there before sliding them into my earlobes.

He smiles and tucks my hair behind my pointed ears. The male grins cheekily and I look at him, with stained cheeks. "What?" I cross my arms over my chest. "You're the most beautiful female I've ever seen." He states proudly. I chuckle and tear my gaze away from him, his expression falls. "I'm serious, you are." He nods his head and I only shake my head and continue to peel the tangerine.

"No, I am not." I toss the rind in the trash, trying to ignore the fact that the air in the room has gotten noticeably thicker. "Do you think I'd lie about such things?" He seems genuine which only makes me want to laugh more.

"You lie to me all the time." I shrug and he looks at me like I've gone crazy. "Nonsense, name a time." He commands and I roll my eyes. "Just yesterday you told me I'd make the perfect high lady for the day court." I remind and he twists his lips to the side. "That doesn't sound like me." He shakes his head. I deadpan at him before removing the small invention I've been working on from the pocket of my dress and pressing the button on the bottom.

"Testing," My voice emits from it, louder than planned and all too close to the microphone. "You're so smart starlight," another voice sounds from the speakers of the cube. "You'd make the perfect high lady for this place." It quoted and I glared at him before turning off the invention and putting it back into my pocket. "It works!" He says excitedly and I glare at him.

"Alright fine, so I did say that but still; I didn't lie." He argues and I huff out a grumble of curses. "I'm a truthful male." He drones as I return to picking the spongey white excess along with the fruit of my orange. "No, you're a flirt," I grumble. "Can't I be both?" He shrugs and I shake my head. "No, not if you're telling me I'm the most beautiful girl you've ever seen whilst bedding females ten times prettier than me." I defend and his jaw falls slack, slightly taken aback at my prepared remark. "But they're not prettier than you." He admits and I avoid his gaze that seemed to be analyzing every move I made.

"Stop lying." I grit out and he releases a sigh, his arms coming to either side of my waist, trapping me between his muscular frame and the counter.

"I'm not. You're out of my league." He says breathlessly as if he couldn't believe it. I turn to look at him, my brows pulled tensely. "Then why can't I be one of them?" I utter and he blinks. "One of what?" He asks, his dark brows quirking together. "One of the females you take to bed, if I'm. So beautiful then why haven't you shown it?"

The look on his face was pure shock, his ears perked up at the sound of vulnerability coming from me. I begin to grow embarrassed at what I just confessed.

"Starlight," He sighs, looking down at me with remorseful eyes. "Those partners mean nothing, there's no emotion. I'm simply admiring an art piece, there's no strings attached." He explains and I wait for him to tell me whatever art I am isn't good enough.

"I don't want that with you." He confesses and I swore my heart stopped.

I look up at him with tears welling in my eyes. I wasn't ready to confess and didn't have the confrontation skills to tell him how I truly felt. I swallow thickly and nod. "I understand," I mutter, dipping my head down. His large hand comes up to cup my cheek, tilting my head back and forcing my gaze back to his. "I want the strings attached, with you, is what I mean." He explains and I blink a few times to make sure the make that stands in front of me is real.

"What are you saying?" I need clarification, what does that make us, what can I bear to him without showing my soul in its entirety?

"I'm saying that I want you, for a lot longer than just a night." His hand slips from my cheek to curl around the back of my neck, his thumb stroking along my jaw. "Helion," I warn and his eyes are soft, this is real, he wants this as much as I do. "I know it's unprofessional but—" He begins to argue and I lunge upward, slinging my arms over his shoulders and planting my lips onto his.

He stumbles back, his other hand coming to my hips as he immediately kisses me back. I smile against the feel of it. Gods, he tasted like honey. I pull him closer, his chest pressing into mine as I balance on my toes just so I can reach up to him. He hums against my lips before pulling back with a knowing smile. "You have no idea how long I've wanted to do that," I admit and his eyes gleam with pure affection.

"I have some idea." He reassured me before dipping down again and this time taking my mouth entirely, my lower back pressed against the counter behind me, his hands dipped down, sliding along every inch of my body until finding purchase at my thighs and hoisting me up onto the counter, my legs immediately wrapping around his torso as he pried my mouth open with his tongue and I allow him to explore every inch, I've dreamed of this, fantasized of this. Every male I've ever been with never amounted to what could've been with Helion, and now I have it and I was never going to give it up.

My hands go into his hair, dragging through the black locks as he presses his wanting hips into mine. I begin to work at the top of his robes, dipping it off his shoulder. He backs away with a restrained movement. "We can wait." He pants out. "We can go slow," he reassured, staring at me with every ounce of self-discipline he possessed. "I don't want to wait," I shake my head. "I need you now," I add and a smile curves his lips— then a soft gasp releases from his lips, looking at the center of my chest with creased brows.

A sudden sort of devotion overwhelms my body and I look down, spotting a golden string, sprouting from my abdomen and tethering directly to his. "Mate," I mumble, the only thought racing through my head. My body heats at the realization and when he pulls me into a kiss this time it's pure adoration, in every movement he holds utmost love and respect.

"You're my mate," I mumble into his mouth and he nods with a smirk on his lips. "Wait—" I say and he immediately rears back. I turn to look beside me, the freshly peeled orange untouched on its plate. I pick the fruit up and split it into two. "Eat." I hold the tangerine out toward him. His expression turns into something tender and he takes the fruit, taking no time to consume the citrusy fruit, handing me the other half and beckoning me to eat too. I smile and peel one slice off and pop it into my mouth.

A sudden smell of arousal takes over the space and as soon as I swallow down the slice his lips are on mine, his hands pulling me closer, kissing me deeper, harder. He tasted of citrus and that fact fueled every nerve in my body. Mates, we're mated. His tongue enters my mouth again and the mating frenzy seems to take him full throttle. He winnows us into his quarters, carrying me towards his bed.

Something told me we wouldn't be leaving this bedroom for weeks.

General Taglist: @fxckmiup @olive-main @iluvyewman-blog @gaymistakeboi @glam-targaryen @going-through-shit @fauxdette @impossibelle @amara-moonlight @webecheesy-blog @sarawritestories @tele86 @rogersbarnesxx

[sophrosynesworld]

Betrayal

You walk into your home to find your Pro-Hero boyfriend rummaging through your office.

"Kitkat?," I whisper, my voice trembling with a mix of confusion and anger. "What are you doing in here?"

Katsuki froze, a file halfway out of the drawer. Slowly, he turns to face me, guilt flashing across his face for the briefest moment. "I can explain," he starts, but I cut him off.

"Those are my client files." My voice is laced with malice, betrayal burning in my chest. "Are you looking for something?"

"It’s not like that," Katsuki snaps at me, his temper flaring. "You don’t understand."

"You better make me understand." My shakes, tears of anger and hurt welling up in my eyes. "Explain to me why the man I love is sneaking around my house like a thief."

Bakugo's jaw clenches, and for a moment, I think he might explode. But then his shoulders slump, and he looks away, unable to meet my gaze. "I’m doing my job," he mutters. "Your father… he’s not who you think he is."

I stare at him, disbelief washing over me. "My father is a good man," I scold him. "You don’t know him like I do."

"I know enough," Bakugo's lashes out at me. "I know he’s been involved in something serious." Katsuki places the file on my desk. "I was assigned to gather evidence."

The confession hits me like a punch to the gut. "Assigned?"

Katsuki took a step forward, while I took one backwards. His pleading eyes boring into mine.

"It wasn’t all a lie. I do care about you, more than I ever expected. But I had a job to do. I can't just ignore what your father is involved in."

I shook my head, backing away from him. "I can’t believe this. You used me." My hands ran through my hair, pulling at the roots. "I'm a lawyer, Bakugo! You can't just go through my client files."

"It's not like that!" he shouts, frustration boiling over. "I didn’t want to hurt you."

My heart crumbles at his words forcing my mind to race with panic. I turn and bolt towards the door, my hand reaching out for the open door, but Katsuki was faster. He lungs, grabbing my wrist and yanking me back.

"Don’t," he growls, his grip tightening. Soft lips brush against my ear as he attempts to calm me down. One arm sneaking across my waist, pulling me into his chest. The other petting my hair with shushes and pleads to forgive him.

"Let me go!" I scream, trying to wrench out of his grasp. I twist my body, bringing my hand up to strike his face, but Katsuki blocked it effortlessly.

We grapple, but the fact that he isn't using his full amount of power pisses me off even more. I kick at his shin, but Katsuki anticipated it again, deflecting my leg with his own. Bakugo was stronger and more experienced, but I had learned enough to hold my own, at least for a little while.

"You’re not calling anyone," he warns me through gritted teeth, Bakugo's foot kicks the back of my knee forcing my leg to give out underneath me. My asshole boyfriend uses that momentum to climb onto of me in an attempt to hold me down.

"Get off me!" I spit, bringing my knee up and kicking his stomach with full force. Bakugo grunts, loosening his grip just enough for me to break free. I crawl backwards away from him, grabbing a heavy book from the desk and hurling it at him. He ducks, the book smacking and breaking a vase of lilies Katsuki had bought me days before.

"Why?" I pant, desperation in my voice. "Why did you do this?"

His eyes soften, just for a moment. "Your father is a murderer."

The tears I’d been holding back finally spilled over. "Excuse me?"

He shook his head, his expression pained. "I wanted to protect you. If you knew, you could have been in danger."

"I’m already in danger!" my horse voice screams. "You're the only person hurting me!"

Before he could respond, I scramble for the door again. This time, I was quicker. I speed down the hallway and turn the corner, my socks allowing me to drift slightly. My fingers close around my phone sitting on the kitchen table, dialing the emergency number before Katsuki grabs me again, wrestling the phone from my hand and throwing it against the wall. Pieces shattering all over the floor on impact.

"Please, just listen to me," his pleading voice breaks. "I never wanted to hurt you. I love you. Oh God, I promise that I love you." His hands tremble while holding both sides of my face, forcing me to look at him.

"I can’t do this," I whisper, tears streaming down my face. My line of vision is taken over as I smack Bakugo's chest. "My father is the only family I have left. He wouldn't do this. He is a good man, Katsuki."

Bakugo steps back, releasing me. "I understand," he whispers. "But you're wrong."

I nod, wiping my tears. "Then go." I command. "Do your job. But I'm going to do mine as well."

Katsuki didn't respond, but instead, places a soft kiss on my forehead before turning and leaving, the door closing softly behind him.

I collapse into a chair, broken sobs leaving my body as I process what just happened.

[lowkeyremi]

Happy Birthday kenma x fem!reader

note: this is my first time writing real smut, i think. tell me what u guys think. i need feedback so i can get better. also had my friends proofread this for me, that's how anxious i am lol

Word count: 1.2k

CW: smut 18+, unprotected sex, P -> V sex, quickie, kissing, kenma is a whore and a lazy mf, reader has fem parts and is referred to as a girl, creampie, you pull his hair once, pet names.

divider cred: kithsune

"Ken! They're waiting for you what in the-" Your boyfriend, the birthday boy, is hurling you down the stairs... Into the little closet under the stairs to hide from his friends.

"I don't wanna hear Kuroo and Bokuto's shitty happy birthday singing." He mumbles quietly to you. Kuroo somehow has impeccable hearing. It's easy for him to pick your boyfriend out of a crowd with no problem.

"Oh come on Kenma, you listen to them sing every year. This one won't be any different." The closet provides no light and is stuffy. Even though you can't see your boyfriend you know there's a big pout on his face.

"Please.. it's so embarrassing. They always record it because they know I hate it." He grabs your hand, squeezing softly. His face is so close to yours you can feel his warm breath tickle your skin.

"Okay, then what do you suggest we do? They're gonna start looking for us soon. I'm sure the closet is kind of an obvious spot." One thing you'd never take into account when first dating Kenma was his sneakiness. So of course when you feel his hand slip up your shirt you gasp in shock.

"In the closet?" The disbelief in your voice caused a soft chuckle to escape the gamer's throat. You've watched him become more of a man every day, little by little. His deep voice reminds you of how in high school Kenma's voice was high pitched. He was the definition of puberty.

"Yeah, I haven't had you today because you've spent all day planning this dumb party. I think I'm ready for my birthday present."

He can't see you but he knows your body well enough to find those plush lips and plant a sloppy kiss on them. You meet his lips trying to match his slow pace. If you were being honest you wanted him too.. all day long.

His hands move from your tummy down to your ass, giving it a little squeeze. "I love your ass." He says opening his mouth while you continue to give him open-mouthed kisses along his pretty face.

"I think I can tell." You wrap your arms around his neck, placing little kisses on his neck. You know he likes it.

You're still unsure of doing this, mainly because all of Kenma's friends are not too far from the closet that has no lock on it. Things could easily go south. Kuroo would love to get in on the action if he were to find you guys, he has before.

A slim finger hooks onto your waistband and slowly pulls at it. "Quit being a tease. If we're doing this, then hurry up." Kenma only smirks at your sudden urgency.

Kenma closes the distance, his voice soft in your ear, "Calm down momma." He's playing dirty now.

He knows that nickname makes you fold. Every. Damn. Time. With your brain being slightly clouded he's able to take control.

You were suddenly grateful for the lack of light in the closet because you weren't planning to wear any cute panties until all the guests left.

He caresses your thigh, dragging out the growing arousal in your gut. There's most likely a wet spot on your panties right now.

"Is it bad I'm already hard?" His voice is hoarse even though you guys haven't done anything yet.

"Stop playing, touch me, Ken." You whine getting fed up with his incessant teasing.

"Okay, princess, whatever you want." Without wasting any time your panties are pulled down and two of Kenma's fingers find your dripping cunt.

He's quick to push his fingers in. It hurts just a little bit but the pain goes away as his fingers work you open. "Hah, so good cuz of my skillful gam-"

"Fuck- if you say your 'skillful gamer hands' I'm going to leave this closet." Kenma knows you won't leave the closet, not when he's fucking you so good with his fingers.

Your boyfriend continues at a quick pace. To stay upright you have one hand gripping his shoulder, while your other reaches to rub sloppy circles into your clit.

"So pretty when you touch yourself." He moans rather loudly. It takes him by surprise when you stop touching yourself to cover his mouth. Your juices get on his face.

"Shhhh. Your loud ass is gonna get us caught." Instead of listening to your warning, he tries to push you over the edge. His other hand finds your clit that you abandoned. You would think that his movement would be sloppy, but yet here he is being precise with the way he fucks you with his fingers.

This time around you let out a moan, not as loud as Kenma's. You've concluded that your boyfriend is kind of a slut for you.

Kenma knows that you're getting close. The way your breathing changes, the way you desperately clutch to him, the way you stumble on your words, he loves all of it.

"Getting close?" He teased.

You don't say anything- or more like you can't say anything. Pleasure clouds your mind. All you want is to cum.

"Hah- can't cum yet baby. 's my birthday." With that statement, he pulls his fingers out of your cunt to admire the slick on them.

The blonde pulls his cock free from those restraining pants of his. A small groan escapes those plush lips of his when he thumbs at his slit. And he doesn't warn you before entering your pussy.

You gasp rather loudly, his cock filling you up to the brim just the way you like it.

Kenma lets out the loudest moan ever when he feels your tight pussy squeeze him. You count about a minute before he starts to move.

His thrusts aren't calculated as usual. Kenma is a very smart person and weighs out his options before doing something, but when it comes to you, he always loses himself. He calls you the most dangerous weapon.

The grip you have on his shoulders is deadly. You decide to kiss him, only to shut up his loud moans.

Kenma continues at this uneven pace, fucking up into your dripping cunt. You move one hand into his hair to pull at it.

"Shit, Mommy- feels so good," Kenma whines into your ear and you melt on the spot.

Kenma feels you squeeze his cock more than you did before. Your eyes screw shut and you see white.

"I'm gonna-"

Kenma beats you to it by a few seconds. That pretty cock of his paints your insides white, not slowing down for a second. The sounds your bodies make slapping against each other are loud and obnoxious.

You're quick to cum after him, pleasure taking over your body, which almost gave out and it wasn't even crazy sex.

"Ken, we... we gotta hurry up. I'll go change and-"

Kenma finds your panties, and pulls them back up, a sinister smile growing. "Be good mama, don't let them know what we were doing."

"You don't expect me to go out there full of-"

"Hell yeah, I do." He pulls his boxers and pants up.

In the closet, he grabs your hand while leading you out.

end note: idk how to feel abt this.. ik its my first time. but i still dont like it lol. tell me what u think

[last-words-ofashootingstar]

Baby

❥Yandere Park Seonghwa x fem reader

SPOOKTOBER SPECIAL

➯a/n: this is a work of fiction and does NOT represent a healthy little and caregiver relationship, or a healthy relationship of any kind. this is messed up but i wanted to experiment with my writing and i think i succeeded. let me know what you think of this cause i would love love looooove to write more

✃ "You're my baby, say it to me." - Mitski, I Bet on Losing Dogs

✫彡wordcount: 4k

♡'･ᴗ･'♡(ಡ‸ಡ)genre: yandere, HEAVY angst

ಠ_ಠwarning/content: stockholm syndrome, mind breaking, spanking, mentions of bribery, mommy hwa (i cannot help myself)

⁂taglist: @stvrfir3 @tunaasan @marievllr-abg

✩index: little space; a regressed state of mind where one feels like a child. hyung; a name for an older male friend or sibling, used by other males.

MATURE UNDER CUT MDNI

    "I'm home, sorry I'm late!" Seonghwa called out as he entered the apartment, looking around the empty rooms. "Baby?" He peeked into the kitchen, dinner untouched on the stove. "San?" The living room, the news channel on mute. "Mingi?" Both of his roommates rooms, desolate.

"No!" Your shout calls him to his room at the end of the hall, followed by a clanging and a yell of pain from his friend.

"Baby?! Baby!?" He turns into his room in a panic, eyes wide as he witnesses the scene infront of him.

You're curled up in a ball in the corner of his bed- head in your knees- with San holding Mingis arm as he curses under his breath, one of your bottles on the floor at their feet. "Hyung," He turns quickly and picks up the bottle, pointing it at you accusingly, "she threw this at Mingi!"

"Baby, why would you do that?" He takes the bottle from San and slowly kneels on the edge of the bed, reaching for you.

You say nothing, only whining and kicking his hand away. So he turns his attention back to the younger members. "What happened?" He wants to scream at them, really. How could they make his Baby cry when they know everything he went through and continues to go through to have you as his own? But that would only make you more upset. You don't like when he raises his voice, so he keeps it calm. "Is she hurt?"

"Hyung... We really didn't mean to, we tried to-" Mingi is almost in tears, he truly feels for you. But it's been months. If he could have helped he'd of found a way by now. But they need Seonghwa. And some of the members wouldn't even dream of turning him in- even after what he's done. For selfish reasons maybe. But it doesn't matter why or why not. You've been stuck in their apartments for half a year. They'd thought all of your deficiency had passed. That they could pretend it was okay.

"What happened, Baby?" He turns back to you, gently touching your knee.

That little touch seems to make you snap. Screaming obscenities in his face as you go on and on about how you are not, in fact, his baby. You aren't his at all. You want to go home. You don't love him. You don't like San. You don't like Mingi. You don't like any of the members, actually. You don't like living here. You wish you'd never even met him.

All three of them watch aghast, jaws dropped as you yell insult after insult at them. Hot in the face and tears streaming down like a waterfall so harshly that they wet the collar of your baby blue dress and pool as a drop on your chin. You grab the little plushie that Jongho made with you and hurl it at Seonghwas face, hitting him on the nose.

He watches it fall to the floor and his eyes don't seem to move after that. He's forced to listen as you insult his character directly now. He's a insane person. He's a pervert. He's sick in the head. He's annoyingly overbearing. You loathe his guts. You wouldn't spit on him if he were on fire. You'd shoot him twice if you were in a room with him and a hungry tiger with only two bullets. You loathe his entire being. You aren't his Baby. You aren't even his girlfriend. He's delusional.

The words ring around his head hauntingly. You can't possibly mean those things. He takes care of you so well. He gives you the world and all he asks for in return is your love. And he's gotten it. At least he thought he had. He woke up with you by his side and went back to bed the same way. You gave him kisses on the cheek. You let him play with all of your favorite toys that no one else can touch. You let him bathe you and dress you. You let him do everything.

"Do you hear me?" You scream, throwing his neatly fluffed pillow at his already lowered head. "I hate you!"

The world stops in that moment, the millisecond that word slips from your mouth.

    It's silent in the room. In the apartment. Not only could you hear a pin drop—

    You can hear the single tear fall from Seonghwas eye and collide with the hardwood.

Both of them look at him. You look at him. He looks at the floor. There's a visible shift in his aura. He goes from unreadable to pissed in the blink of an eye. His shoulders tense up and his breathing gets shallow.

He stands up, almost robotically. He picks up his pillow and dusts it off, placing in back on the bed where it belongs. His gaze doesn't even bother to meet yours as you watch him with wide, fearful eyes. He grabs the plushie and sets it down as well. "...Get up. Bend over, Baby."

"Hwa, wait, pl-"

"Before I get the paddle."

He doesn't say anything else, glaring down at you as you move tentatively. After an incident with an unlocked window and some sheets resulting in you being dragged to Hongjoongs room by the ear, you don't even want to see the paddle. You had to sit on their laps or a pillow for two weeks straight, if memory serves you right.

    He doesn't reach to move you faster. He stands at the edge of the bed, deadly silent. He only intervenes when you look to Mingi and San beggingly. "You're not allowed to look at them anymore."

That was a rule when you first arrived. You only got that privilege a few weeks ago. You figured it was probably to make you feel distance to the fact that these were people, who could potentially help you leave him, and not just disembodied voices and lower bodies. A way to make you feel even more lonely. Even when they were so close that you could here their breathing.

Like now, Mingi lets out a few small sniffles here and there. Sans breaths sounds anxious. Like if he moves an inch that he will be next on his Hyungs list.

As you bend your body over the edge, they avert their eyes. They may be complacent with Seonghwas actions, but they will never cross that line. They, all seven of the younger members, promised it. Never touch you. Never take advantage of you. Never directly help Seonghwa control you in any way. In fact, most of them decided it would be best to help you however possible, without ruining all of their lives in the process. Getting you small gifts that Seonghwa pre-approved. Stealing you away to the other dorms for a movie night. Sneaking you an extra sweet or episode of cartoons when you were deep in little-space.

But there was nothing they could do when Seonghwa told you to do something. To go to bed early. To let him wash your hair. To give him a kiss. To suck on his thumb. To bend over.

So they could only look away with heavy hearts as he flips up your skirt and rips -quite literally- your underwear away. The sound makes Mingi cringe, your crying pleas for him make him want to disappear forever. "Ming, please, don't let him! I'm sor-"

Seonghwa doesn't even start easy on you, he smacks your bottom harshly, over and over again until your cheek is sore and aching all the way through to your hip. And then, for the briefest moment, you all think it's over when the loud echo of the smacks finally ceases. But that was only him moving to get a better angle on your other side.

    You cry loudly, and the sound officially makes Mingi cry. He lowers his head and turns his body away completely to try and distance himself from the abuse. San gently takes ahold of his pink in his own. It does little to comfort either of them, but it reminds them both of the pact that they made.

     All of their pinkies interlocked, a promise that they would do their best for their obviously challenged Hyung.

        Both of your cheeks bruising and hot to the touch, Seonghwa finally backs up. He moves his knees from their place on either side of you and lets you crumble to the floor in a pile of sobs. He stops briefly to pull your skirt over you half-hazardly before leaving you completely alone as you blubber into your arms.

     His palm is red, as angry as he was. He takes a deep breath as he takes a pump of lotion, rubbing it into his hands as he turns to the other men.

      "Tell me what happened."

    Mingi wipes his face roughly, straightening up as San speaks lowly, "we turned on the TV. We were going to watch a movie, but... but she saw it on the news before we could even change it."

    "What did she see?"

   "Her missing persons photo..."

✿

The door was locked behind them and there was no noise in the apartment. If you hadn't known better, you'd say they all left. But Seonghwa refused to ever leave you alone. Even when all of the members were busy. You either went with them or had a staff member watching you, one who'd coincidentally received a raise moments before.

You stayed right there on the floor for the longest time, sobbing and snotting all over the floor as you tried to calm yourself.

Oh, you really outdid yourself this time.

Even at his angriest, Seonghwa never left your side when there was a tear in your eye.

You knew he had no tolerance for that word. Hate. Ironically, you could say he hated it. Especially when it came out of your lips. You once said you hated the show he put on. He gave you a fourty minute lecture and three smacks to the behind.

And you just aimed it right at him. You meant to make him angry. And you succeeded.

Now, into the night, when he still hasn't returned, you start to wonder wether you snapped his last string of humanity. If he hated you just as much as you claimed you hated him. If he's out in the kitchen planning how to get rid of you.

Your body aches as you sit up, screaming at you as you crawl into the small pink tent in the corner of the room. It's placed on top of soft play mats and filled with baby-ish things that he insisted you needed every time he saw them. The softest blankets. The cutesy, most hug-able plushies. A small box of your favorite pacifiers and toys.

You untie the ribbon keeping the sheer fabric open and let it drape closed, as if it will shield you. Perhaps, in your fragile mind, it will. He never comes in here, only ever reaches in to grab the blankets to wash every other week.

You let yourself flop onto your side into the pile and find yourself sobbing all over again. Maybe, just maybe, in a fucked up, delusional way... Seonghwa does care for you. Maybe, just maybe, in his mind, he does all of these things because he believes it best for you.

You can still see Seonghwa in his room when he's not there. Maybe that's why you hate being cooped up in here. Always begging members to let you hang out in their rooms instead.

It's so neat. Even after the chaos of earlier. So color coordinated. Grey and white and warm lights.

You're the only exception. Toys and clothes and books strewn about in your little corner, just out of sight of his cam-corder.

   Maybe that's why you get so mad when you slip out of the little space he's built for you. You know you don't fit into his life seamlessly. You know the truth of your situation. So you may as well start making the best of it.

    With a groan of effort, you sit back up.

✿

   It's well past midnight when he turns the lock on the outside of his door. Which also means its well past your bedtime. You've become so well accustomed to it over your time together, he figures you've probably fallen asleep.  

       And he's right. He immediately spots you on his side do the bed, holding his pillow tight to your chest with your swollen eyes closed.

    A pant of regret hits him right where it hurts as he realizes just how much he made you cry. How much he made you hurt. His anger got the best of him, and it hurts his heart that deep down, he knows it won't be the last time.

     He's done it to everyone. His family. His members. Himself...

    His darkest thoughts reach out in the corners of his mind, saying that his Baby is better of without him. But he is quick to slap them away as he tip toes into the room.

    Somethings off, somethings different. Everything is in place.

    All of your toys and coloring books and short stories. All of your pacifiers and stuffed animals. They're on the shelf exactly how he puts them during his Sunday reset cleanings. All of your favorites are on the wall, your side of the bed. The multitude of blankets and throw pillows in your tent are folded and organized neatly. Your tears and snot have been wiped up. Your ripped panties in the bin.

    "Oh, my Baby," he whispers, immediately crawling into bed behind you and holding your back close to his chest, careful to avoid your bottom. He doesn't even want to fathom what he did to you... "My Baby..."

      He can't help but cry, though he tries to do so silently. He wants you to rest, you need it. But the smallest movement of the bed wakes you in your fragile state.

    When you stir, he expects you to crawl away. But you don't. Instead, you roll over to face him and shimmy into his arms. "Hey, sweet girl," he coos hoarsely.

     You were right, earlier. You weren't left alone in the apartment. San was sitting in the living room comforting Mingi as Seonghwa stormed off and went upstairs to Hongjoong. While they sat in silence, he screamed and screamed and screamed until he couldn't breathe.

     Eventually, Hongjoong and Yunho got him to calm down, and they talked and talked and talked. Yunho suggested, lightly, that you should stay the night with them. And then Seonghwa screamed some more.

     In all this time, your nighttime routine had never been interrupted. He had a very specific way the two of you did things before bed and he would have it no other way. In all this time, he's never let you out of his arms as he slept. Even that first night, you kicked and screamed and punched until you passed out. But you did so in his arms.

    "Mommy." It's a simple acknowledgment, but it calms him ever so slightly. He takes pride in that name. And it makes him happy you can still call him that after what he's done to you.

     "Are you okay, Baby?" He knows that the answer is no. But he'll give you the opportunity to speak for yourself. To tell him how to help.

     "Hurts," you sniffle as you press your face into his chest, " 'm hungry..."

     "Come on, Sweetpea, I'll take care of you."

    You koala hug onto him, arms around his neck and legs around his waist as he stands.

    And the nighttime routine starts now, a pattern of familiarity to calm both of your shot nerves.

    He gently sets you in your seat at the table, but not before pacing down a pillow he grabbed while passing the couch. It still burns even with the soft cushioning below you.

You eat in silence. Usually you would speak about your days, and the next one's plans. But there doesn't seem to be any words that either of you can find at the moment.

He rinses the dishes before picking you back up. No matter how many times you insist you can walk- he insists right back that his Baby must be carried. You pass Mingi on the way to the bathroom, and he gives you a small wave, his eyes bloodshot and his posture slumped. But he can't help the small smile that tugs at his lips as you wave back over Seonghwas shoulder.

The pillow goes down on the counter before you, and he starts your meticulous skin care. Your face wash, then his. Your toner, then his. Moisturizer, eye cream, spot treatment, the list goes on until your both brushing your teeth.

You will admit Seonghwa takes exceptionally good care of not only himself, but you as well.

He likes to massage your face after all is said and done. He says it's good for blood flow, which is true. But he does it for a few simpler reasons.

Your face in his hands. And a chance to admire you at the end of the day.

No matter how rough of a day it was. He could always count on this.

He cups your cheeks as he stands between your legs, massaging them gently. "My Baby." He whispers. So quiet you actually miss it. You're too busy melting into his affection. "You're my Baby." He speaks, however lowly.

"Mhm," you moan quietly, blinking up at him, not knowing what exactly he's meaning.

"Say it to me," he says. He pleads. His forehead rests on yours. Eyes growing wet as he uses your eyes as a window into your soul. "Please."

"I'm your baby," you whisper just as gently as he. Nodding against his head lightly. "I'm your baby, Mommy."

He nearly collapses as his shoulders finally relax. His mind flooding with happiness as he hears those words. You're all he's ever wanted. You're all he feels he truly has.

He knew it since the moment he saw you. So delicate, so beautiful and kind. He was overcome with an urge that he can only describe as a mix of pure love and anxiety. He loves you so deeply, how can he ever rest if he doesn't know for certain that your safe and taken care of? So he took matters into his own hands.

He's never felt it before. He knows he'll never feel it again. He will never. Never. Love someone as much as you. As much as his Baby.

You reach up and wipe his tears gently, the tiniest of smiles playing at your lips, "you gonna wash away all the stuff you jus' put on."

He can't help the chuckle that leaves him, leaning into your touch as it leaves a tingle on his skin, "you're right, Baby."

He gently, oh so gently, places a kiss on your lips before your routine resumes.

He leaves you to do your business as he goes to the living room and gathers your pajamas, and when he comes back he finds you all done, rubbing your bottom with a pout. "Oh, Baby, I'm so sorry! I forgot, it must have hurt on the toilet," a pout of his own forms as he crouches and rummages through the cabinet.

"Yeahm," you whine, watching him closely as he grabs a tube.

"Bend over, Baby." That simply sentence almost has you spiraling again before he reaches and rubs your head ever so gently. "It's okay, it's okay. It's numbing cream. Let Mommy put on you and it'll feel better, promise."

You hesitantly bend over the counter slightly, and are relieved to find he's telling the truth. He's barely touching your behind enough spread the cream, his touch is so light. But he manages to apply the treatment without causing you any more harm.

You know that this will be part of your nightly routine again when he sets the tube down with the rest of his products. It mocks you as you look at it. Knowing you'll have to hear those words over and over again until you're healed.

He helps you rid your dress and redresses you in one of his t-shirts before changing into his own pajamas.

As he carries you back to bed, you speak up while fiddling with the buttons on his shirt, "Mommy?"

"Yes, Baby?"

"Can sleep in my tent tonigh'?"

"Oh, Baby, you know I have to hold you to fall asleep. Baby can have a nap in there tomorrow, how about that?"

"No, Mommy too," you look to him with a pout as he closes the bedroom door behind you, "Mommy in the tent." You point to it as if he doesn't know what tent you're referring to, and it makes him laugh how adorable you are when you're so deep in little-space.

"Okay, Baby," he sets you down first and lets you crawl in, watching you with stars in his eyes as you curl up under the blankets and move to make room for him.

His feet poke out of the side even as he's curled spooning you, and he knows the sight is probably ridiculous. But it's very possibly the coziest he's been with you. The tent and the plushies inside of it smell like you. All of the soft blankets have accumulated into a weighted blanket of sorts and keeps you both warm in the cold October air. His chest pressed to your back and your numbed bottom snuggling back into his hips. Your soft, calm breaths luring him into a state of tranquility. He stays just like that, for a long time, it feels like. It almost feels like he's meditating. His soul being cleansed. He can see why you like it here-

Oh. Oh, he's really in here.

It dawns on him as he looks up. What is usually a white ceiling is a pink fabric just a few inches away from his face.

You invited him in.

Ever since he set it up three months ago, you made a strict 'BABY ONLY' policy. And you stuck to that. Not even Jongho, who was admittedly your favorite of his members, was allowed in. They were all confined to the play mat just outside.

But not anymore.

He thought after the pain he had caused, after the outside world had reminded you what he'd done, that your progress would be set back. That he'd back back to square one with a brat. But, you went ahead and proved him opposite.

You proved him that you are and will continue to be,

His Baby.

✿

[dulcewrites]

Hmm well now that Disney went and showed their asses (again), I feel like I can say this without putting bad juju out/jinxing anything. I honestly think the writing was on the wall when amandla, who was arguably the most excited pre the show coming out, essentially went radio silent. Then my gut feeling was only compounded by them (Disney - Lucasfilms - whoever) clearly pushing Qimir/Manny as the lead… which is just not how the show works??

There are possible reasons for that. As for pushing Qimir, it’s clear he (and maybe Sol as well) ended up being breakout characters from the show. I can’t begrudge that - Qimir is interesting as hell. But we see him through the eyes of our leads - he wants an acolyte. There is no acolyte without Osha and Mae. Also why isn’t Manny being pushed in tandem with the actually lead of the show. As for Amandla not being invited to things like d23 or swcj (like Manny), I’ve seen people be like “well, they could just be taking a break considering all of the racist stuff that’s been hurled at them”. And like yeah maybe, but you’d think the people that employed them, would ya know say something about it. Especially considering that Amandla has been burdened with dealing with racist since like the age of 12.

But this is Disney and Star Wars and Lucasfilms where everyone outside of the main story gets treated like shit.

Now for the thing that I didn’t want to put out there before actual news of s2 - I’m sorry but I can’t help but feel like this is them pushing the black nonbinary lead out so they pluck parts of the acolyte for something else. Because while I don’t cruelty pass them (releasing this news on Manny’s birthday is vile), something about them dragging Manny out in particular to several events knowing they were canceling the show just doesn’t make sense? Nothing is set in stone obviously but now I’m seeing people talk about them highlighting Qimir and Darth Plagueis (literally who gives af about that hag) but gutting the story of anything else.

I hope no one takes this as me saying Manny hasn’t dealt with his fair share of shit. He’s been outspoken about how hard it is being a Filipino man in Hollywood. But at the end of the day, Qimir (and by extension Manny) being a mysterious double lightsaber wilding MALE sith gives him an element of protection Osha and Mae (and by virtue Amandla) don’t have as characters. Because notice how much of the ire with the shows casting is about the lead character(s) being black women.

Anyway this is just me rambling about something that’s been on my mind. Tbh I actually have hope that it won’t happen simply because I don’t see the creator/writers of the show being down with that. Also Manny has been vocal about supporting Amandla and not being able do this without them

[goldenhourwriter]

˜”*°•𝔦 𝔠𝔞𝔫’𝔱 𝔴𝔬𝔫’𝔱 𝔣𝔦𝔤𝔥𝔱 𝔶𝔬𝔲•°*”˜

°pairing: miguel o'hara x wife!reader

°summary: your husband is against miles. you're for him. but, you two are still married, no matter what

°warning(s): couples fighting, angst, talks of violence and fighting, kissing, a tiny bit of fluff, and I only know like a chunk of Spanish. It was all checked through spanish dictionary, please correct me if I’m wrong

I swing into my room. Well, the room I have to share with my husband. I land silently, a quiet ‘thwip’ following my actions of flying through the air. I take a moment and look around, my heart thumping loudly.

I sigh, getting up and mumbling under my breath about hating this day. This whole week. Today was starting off rather well, but of course, being a Spider-Person in a while league of Spider-People, a disaster is always lurking.

“Miguel, back off,” I warn. He spares me a glance. “Mi princessa,” he begins, his tone signaling he’s done with the conversation. “¿En serio no está considerando todo lo que está en juego aquí? All the lives that we can actually lose?”

I bite my lip, and the entire Spider Society is staring at us. Hobie’s eyes, for once, hold shock. It’s so quiet you can hear a pin drop. Gwen doesn’t know how to react, Peter is standing there while Mayday coos and climbs over his head, letting out soft giggles. Miles doesn’t know what to do, how to stand, to even breathe or not. Everyone watches as we hold each other’s gaze, defensive.

Now, Miguel isn’t stupid. He knows exactly how this may end, but he can at least try to keep his wife from fighting against him.

“Y/N, listen-“ “No, Miguel, you’re not listening.” I shoot back. His gaze darkens as I cut him off. Frankly, I’m the only one who has the guts to, and the only one he at least tolerates here.

“This kid’s dad is in danger. You can at leatest relate to not wanting lose a loved one, imagine if it was me!”

“Y/N,” his tone is much darker now. “Don’t you dare go there.”

“Exactly, Miguel. You wouldn’t be able to stand it. Just try to put yourself in the kid’s shoes!” I raise my voice as he walks past me, his eyes now on Miles. “Miguel,” I call at him.

“I’m sorry, kid,” he says, taking out a device.

“Miguel, no!” I shout louder, my feet taking me at a sprint to get to him. Miles’s eyes widen in fear as Miguel hurls the device at him, a bubble then forming around him. People start to try to console a distressed Miles. Miguel holds me back from him, his one arm being strong enough to keep me in place.

“Miguel, you can’t, he will find a way out.”

He just keeps staring forward. My heart cracks as I look up at my husband.

Then, Miles makes the shield dissolve. I curse under my breath. He laughs nervously.

Then, he takes off running.

I shoot a web to the ceiling, flying up before Miguel could stop me. He tries to reach up for me, but I’m too fast. I swing after Miles, and he somersaults to try and get father from me.

“No, kid! I’m on your side!” I shout at him. He gives me a small smile.

Of course, in my adrenaline-run haze, I completely forgot I didn’t have my suit. Any of my good weapons. So, I had to swing back to my home. Only for the suit. That’s all.

That’s the only reason.

At least, that’s what I’ve been trying to convince myself. I breathe heavily as my nerves grow. I cross to my drawers, pulling open the top drawer. My mind races as I ruffle through it, finishing my suit.

“Come on, come on, come on,” I repeat under my breath. I grunt in displeasure as I find it’s tangled with some other clothes. I’m not really needed on missions, I’m more of the desk woman, so I don’t wear my suit that much. So, of course, it gets buried under all my other clothes.

Truly, I didn’t want to go against my husband. Of all people, but my beliefs don’t have to be his. And vice versa. He’s being crazy. He had no right to tell a kid that he was a disappointment, a mistake. I watched with anger on the train, and honesty, I know he’s the happiest with me right now. We’re both too stubborn to see each other’s side, much less give in and switch sides. Plus, I made Miles a promise.

I finally get it untangled, and I let out a small voice of victory, a smile growing on my face. I crouch down onto the floor to reach the bottom drawer, opening it. Before I can even remember what I’m looking for, a deep, rumbling voice calls out to me.

“Y/N.”

I freeze and suck in a breath, my head looking up, each one of my hairs standing up on my neck.

Oh, shit.

I heave out a sigh.

I grab my good webshooters quickly and stand up, walking right past him and to the window. I try to walk fast, wordlessly, but his red, laser-like web shoots out and grabs my arm. I look down at it, and then I look at him.

“What?” I ask shortly. His eyes hold some sadness at this, but his face remains stern.

“Y/N, what are you doing?” he questions, taking a step towards me. I don’t move towards him. I stay quiet. So, he softens his voice, he lets down the scary, mad, and broken persona for just a moment. “You have a duty, a responsibility that you promised to everyone-“

“No, no, Miguel! No!” I interject. I shake my head, grabbing the web and throwing it down, spinning around to look at him fully.

“I promised my own father to protect him. Then he was made fucking captain, he was given that dammed position, and he died! I promised him, and I promised Miles. I need to do this, you can’t stop me.” I turn around again, but his web grabs my back, and he pulls me back. I help as he spins me into him, and I collide with his rock-hard chest. He towers over me, and as he looks down, he’s almost begging me.

“Mi vida,” he whispers. My eyes search his, alternating between his left and right eye. “Don’t make me do this.”

His arm raises with the same device that he used on Miles, and I try to tug away. I grab his arm, pausing his movements. He and I both know he can easily overpower me any day, but he doesn’t. No, he won’t.

“Then don’t,” I respond simply.

He shakes his head. My spider-sense go off the hook, and I hop onto the ceiling, sticking to it. I look down at him, and in his other hand, he’s holding a stun gun. “Really, Miguel? You’re going to be that cliche?” I ask, crawling away from him.

“Dammit, Y/N! Just come here!” He shouts at me. He hops into the ceiling as well, his claws digging into the plaster. I gasp, and I use a web to sling over to the window, but he webs it shut before I can fly out. I fly into the now-closed window. I groan as I clutch my head, a small bump forming. I turn and Miguel is walking right up to me, and he pins me to the wall.

A moment of silence passes between us.

“Why?” I whisper.

He shakes his head, gritting his teeth, his fangs visible. We won’t get physical. We both know this. We can’t hurt each other even to save our own souls, it’s against our nature, against every instinct. Then, all the emotions of today come flooding to my heart. It hits me.

We’re at war.

My eyes flood with think, hot tears. I bring a shaky hand up to his cheek, and I gently cup it, my thumb coming to stroke his cheekbone. He shuts his eyes, and he leans ever so slightly into my touch. The weapons he has drops at his side, and he leans down to bury his head in my shoulder.

“I can’t let you oppose me,” he whispers to me, his hands coming to circle around my waist. “I-I can’t fight you. No, I won’t fight you.”

I nod, and I let my arms come around his neck, and I breathe him in, my eyes fluttering shut.

“I don’t want to, Miguel. I don’t. But I need to. I need to help Miles, because he needs his Dad. Wouldn’t you try anything to save someone you love?”

“I did,” he mumbles. And my heart sinks. His daughter. He doesn’t want another disaster like that, he doesn’t want other fathers to lose their daughters. I stay quiet, not wanting to disturb this moment of peace we have. Possibly the last moment of peace we’ll have in a good long while. He eventually pulls away, his eyes red. He grabs my left hand, and he looks down at my wedding ring. A simple diamond with a silver band. He traces over it with his thumb, and he leans down and kisses it. He leans down and presses his forehead against mine.

“Prométeme que te mantendrás segura, mi ángel.” He mumbles. I scrunch my eyebrows together in confusion, but before I can ask, he pulls the window open, a breeze coming in. I stare at him, and I give him a small nod.

Then, I reach my arm out behind me, but before I shoot out a web, I whisper out.

“I still love you.”

He smiles.

“And I love you.”

Then, I fly out the window.

[thelov3lybookworm]

Hi! I really like your writing style, and

I would like to request an Azriel x reader fic, but you can ignore this if you don't feel comfortable with it. So, lately I've been having a few problems with an ED (anorexia nervosa), and I think that reading how Azriel would react and deal with reader struggling with it, would help me and comfort me in some way.

I repeat, if you don't feel comfortable with writing this, it's completely okay, you don't have to do it. Whatever your choice will be, thank you in advance! ❤

With her.

Summary: Azriel finds out his mate's relationship with food, and tries to convince her to see Madja.

•○●⛦●○•

A/n: hello anon! Thank you for the ask, I love the idea. Also, I'm soo sorry you have to go through that and I hope you get better 🫶☺️ also any and all information I have was provided by Google, so please feel free to correct me if I write something wrong.

Hope you like it and hope it helps you in any way ❣️

•○🌑○•

Her chest heaved, her throat scratched as she hovered over the bowl, having just hurled her guts up. She slumped back against the wall, clutching her head.

Y/n stayed there for a couple of minutes before standing and turning to the mirror. She stared, then washed her face.

Before she left, though, she checked once to make sure the shield she had put up around the bathing room was up, because her newly found mate was in the house. She didn't want him to hear her.

And then all the blood drained from her face as she realised that she, while puking, had unintentionally left the shield down.

Her heart started beating wildly.

She was sure Azriel had heard her. There was no way he hadn't.

Even though the two of them had worked for Rhysand for centuries, they had barely had any interactions. And so, after they found out a month ago that they were mates, they were trying to get to know each other more. They'd been having dinner, and then she had excused herself, saying she needed to use the restroom.

She hesitantly stepped into her room, relieved but confused to find it empty. She had thought Azriel would be waiting in here to interrogate her. Did he not hear? Maybe she let the shield down after she was finished?

She decided to go down to the living room where Azriel was sitting before she left him there.

She found him staring into the fire, his jaw clenched.

"Hey, I'm back."

He turned to her and gave her a small smile. They then sat talking for some time, and with every moment that passed, the tension slowly bled from her shoulders. Maybe he hadn't heard anything, and she was worrying for no reason.

They talked carelessly, though Az continuously studied her.

"Are you in pain?" He asked, gesturing to her stomach.

She hadn't even realised she had wrapped her arms around herself until he pointed it out. But she was, in fact, in pain. She didn't think there was any harm in telling him about her abdominal pain, so she nodded.

"Nothing much though. It will subside."

"Are you nearing your cycle?"

She nearly laughed. "No. I haven't had my cycle in quite some time now."

"Why?" He asked, his stare intense.

She faltered. "Why what?"

"Why haven't you had your cycle?"

"Because..." That was when she realised that she was in deep shit. The male she was now taking to wasn't her mate. No, it was the Spymaster of the Night Court, and she was going to be interrogated.

"I always wondered why you made such elaborate meals for others but never ate them yourself. How you, somehow, never seem to be hungry. The unusual visits to the bathing room after eating."

"Azriel–"

"Are you having problems love?" He stood, coming towards her and crouching in front of her. His hands landed on her knees as he searched her face.

"You know that you can tell me anything, right?"

She nodded, blinking back tears.

"Then please tell me what you're going through. I want to help."

"I... I don't know how to tell you... its just–" She stopped speaking, wondering how to approach the topic. He stayed silent, rubbing circles on her thigh, letting her take her time. He wasn't going to let it go, so she had to tell him.

And then, all of it came out. She told him of how her mother had always wanted her to be perfect, and not being skinny was unacceptable. And so, in order to please her mother, she started eating less and less, eventually resorting to throwing up anything she ate.

"But your mother passed years ago. Why did you not stop?" He questioned gently, now sitting next to her.

She shook her head. "She had planted the image of perfection in my mind. If someone was not skinny, it took away from their beauty. I became obsessed with perfection. Or atleast what I thought was perfection.

"Whenever I looked at Mor, I would want to be perfect. And then, Feyre and her sisters came along. It worsened my obsession with being skinny."

"What are you saying?"

"They are just so damn beautiful. They have great figure, and even when they were mortal, they could have rivaled many fae females. And I want to be like them. Perfect. Someone who you could love. Someone worthy."

"No. Love, please don't think like that. I'm sorry you had to go through that, but you're beautiful as you are. I couldn't care less about your figure. I would love you no matter what."

Tears ran down his face as he said those words, and she instantly felt bad. She buried her face in his neck, trying to stop the tears.

"I'm sorry."

"What for? There is nothing you should be sorry about."

They stayed that way for quite some time, with him rubbing her back and constantly murmuring about how perfect she was and how she didn't need to do this. She sobbed into his chest, the guilt eating at her.

"Stop. Stop, don't feel guilty about it." She realised he could feel her emotions through the bond.

"Love? I suggest we go to Madja. She would know how to help."

"I don't need help." She mumbled, pulling away from him and clutching her knees to her chest.

"Y/n, darling, please..." When she again shook her head, he paused. Then, as if coming up with an idea, he spoke again. "How about we make a deal?"

"What deal?" She asked quietly.

"We go to Madja, and you follow her instructions and try to get better. In return, at the end of every week, I'll do anything you say."

She thought about it. She knew what she was doing was unhealthy, and she did want to get better. If not for herself, then for Azriel. Which was messed up, considering she should be doing this for herself. But this could be a start.

"Anything?" She whispered.

He grinned. "Anything."

"So if I tell you to wear a chicken costume and go out onto the streets and squawk around for the whole day, you'll do it?"

A blush rose to his cheeks, knowing how embarrassed he would be, but he leaned closer. "If that is what it takes."

She blushed, leaning back, but he followed her until their noses bumped. He pecked her lips once, twice, before resting his forehead on hers. "I'll do anything to make you happy."

She smiled.

If he was ready to do anything for her, even wear a chicken costume for her, to help her, then she'll be damned if she became a barrier stopping him from his goal.

"And, if you don't eat in a healthy way, you'll have no energy. And you need that for when we eventually accept the bond."

She stared at him for a moment, wondering what the hell he meant. But when she realised, she stood, sputtering, her face a burning mess. He grinned cockily, leaning back as his hands came to rest behind his head, his legs spread.

"I mean, it'll go on for a week at the least, maybe even a month. More than that, if all goes to plan. So, what do you say?"

She nodded, fighting the smile threatening to overtake her face. "Okay, I'll go." She sat back down, snuggling into his side.

He kissed her head, wrapping his arms and wings around her. "Love? I just want you to know that you don't need to hurry. Take it at your pace. Don't worry about anything else. I'll be there for you in this journey, every step of the way. And when you finally come out on the other side, I'll be waiting for you. I'll always wait for you."

She smiled. She knew it was true.

He would be there for her, no matter what.

And her situation didn't seem so bad, now that he was with her.

They would get through this. Together.

•○🌑○•

Taglist: @eos-princess @bubybubsters

[shieldofiron]

Dare Me

Frat Boy Stevie is life! Also on AO3!

Steve's mouth tasted like bad decisions and garbage. He groaned, rolling his head further into his pillow like an animal burrowing into the ground.

The hand around his waist answered by pulling him a closer, which sparked something in his brain. His body felt a little sore in some interesting places.

Of course his first thought was about Billy. It wasn't that uncommon for him to wake up like this after a night out at some gay bar, trying to lose his pointless crush on the dance floor.

But this was different. His sheets didn't smell right. His hair didn't smell right, not like his hairspray.

The night came back in bits and pieces, in between waves of nausea.

It had been Jason's idea, and Tommy was just sober enough to drive them through the night to the lights of Vegas, chanting their frat's chant whenever he started to get tired. Steve'd been stuffed in the backseat next to Billy, trying to ignore the searing heat of his thigh, the way he looked at Steve over his cell phone, blue bedroom eyes lit by the glow of his dating apps. The way he called Steve Bambi, all low and lilting. Smoother than tequila.

Drinking came easy, and besides, it was Vegas. Of course they got smashed, fighting their hangovers with more and more. Though the thought of taking even one sniff of alcohol now made him want to hurl.

Last night they'd been at some... show or something? An Elvis impersonator, he remembered that, and a woman in a showgirl outfit. He remembered crawling into the fountain at the Four Seasons and almost losing his Tau Sigma hat for... something.

The man next to him groaned, pulling Steve even closer and burying his face in the back of Steve's neck.

A name, he really needed to remember a name, but all that was coming forward was Billy... Billy in the fountain, laughing with his pant legs rolled up. Billy in the backseat of an uber, in the dark. Billy talking to Elvis, all blue bedroom eyes. Billy...

Oh no.

Steve shot up, swallowing against the urge to throw up.

Billy groaned, his hair sticking up in a frizzy halo around his head.

"Billy get up!" He shook at Billy's bronze shoulder.

"Five more minutes, baby, I'll make you breakfast."

Steve huffed, opening his mouth to reply before he bolted out of bed to throw his guts up.

He caught a glimpse of a cheap gold looking ring on his finger as he knelt down on the tile and let it rip, almost jumping when he felt a hand softly rub his shoulder blades.

"Billy," He groaned miserably, head hung in the toilet bowl, "We got married."

"What?"

Steve shoved back from the toilet, practically falling into Billy's arms, "I think we got married last night."

"Holy fuck, dude," Billy's brow furrowed, and then his eyes widened and he stared at Steve. Blue bedroom eyes. The whole nine yards.

"Do you remember anything?"

Billy's eyes slid to the ground, "Uh..."

Steve rubbed his hands over his face, "Oh my god, Billy. Fuck."

"Let's go back to bed. I'll order room service."

"Why are you not freaking out more?" Steve covered his eyes, "Billy I'm so fucking sorry."

"What are you sorry for, Bambi?"

"I just... I must have... dared you do do this or something. I'm so fucking sorry." He jerked away from Billy, scrambling against the tub.

Billy frowned, "And what makes you think I didn't do this... on my own."

"What do you mean?"

Billy just stared down at him, licking his lip, "Bambi..."

Steve shook his head, just a little, not understanding.

"Why would you have dared me?" Billy asked, cocking his head to the side.

"I mean, obviously... it's a j-joke or something."

"A joke?"

"No I mean...." Steve ran his hands through his hair.

"You like me, Bambi?" Billy smiled, and Steve's stomach dropped to the cold, nasty tile floor.

"I... I just mean..."

"Because I like you. Obviously."

Steve shifted, bumping into the bathtub.

"Don't fuck with me." Steve said softly.

Billy crawled closer. His eyes darted over Steve's face, blue gone electric in the shitty bathroom lighting.

"I'm not fuckin' with you."

Steve backed as far as he could against the tub, "You're not mad."

Billy shook his head, taking Steve's jaw in his hand, "I could never be mad at my husband."

Steve shivered, "Don't kiss me I just threw up."

Billy smiled, and his eyes lit up like the lights of Vegas, "Dare me?"