#he probably likes to do it while standing too

[hannism]

PRETTY FLOWER ✶ calling you pretty

enhypen x fem!reader 5OO kissing, skinship, fluff, non-idol au ! navigation

HEESEUNG

finds you the prettiest girl he’s ever met from the moment he laid his eyes on you. he doesn’t know what to do with himself half the time and would end up looking at you like you are his whole world. “baby, you’re so pretty,” he’d mumble against your neck, trailing kisses up and down it. when you giggle and try to push him away, he only holds you closer by the waist, “don’t shy away, pretty girl, let me show you how beautiful you are.”

JAY

it would happen to him on the most random of times. jay could be tired from work, walking in the apartment with exhaustion running in the lines of his face. but then he’d see you standing on the kitchen, wearing his shirt that’s two sizes bigger than you and the smell of whatever you’re cooking fill his lungs with warmth. he slides his hands on your waist and you squeal, feeling his head fall on your shoulder. “can’t believe you’re mine,” he hums on your neck, sliding his hands lower to rest on your hips, “my pretty girl.”

JAKE

jake is sitting across from you in a cafe, fidgeting with his own hands, you say something that wasn’t meant to be taken seriously, just a passing comment, but then, “i mean, i guess it’s because you’re really pretty,” jake says, he only realized a moment too late when he sees your stunned expression. his cheeks heat up, “i mean— you’re not that pretty, wait, no you are! it’s just—“ he gets cut off short by your laugh. his thoughts jumble together, ears tinged, eyes flicking everywhere in embarrassment.

SUNGHOON

you’re touching up your makeup on the vanity, applying your lipstick as your boyfriend waits for you. “when’s the reservation, anyway?” you hum, looking around for your bag. “hoon?” when you don’t hear a reply, you turn around to see him leaning against the doorframe while staring at you with a grin on his lips, “do you know how pretty you are?” he steps closer, sliding your bag from his hands to cup your jaw, “so, so pretty.” he mumbles before placing a kiss on your lips, when he pulls away you’re breathless, “i hate you,” you breathe. “love you too, baby,” he chuckles.

SUNOO

he’s only supposed to be dropping off some papers to you, because you were sick. but now that he’s face to face with you, glasses perched on your slightly pink nose with a large hoodie draped on you, he doesn’t know what to do with himself. “thanks for bringing these, sun— sorry i look a bit of a mess right now,” you say sniffling a bit. sunoo tilts his head, “you’re pretty,” he says like it’s fact, “like really pretty—“ “okay thanks, sunoo, bye,” you squeak before closing the front door on his face. his moment of shock quickly turns into a chuckle and a shake of his head, “cute.”

JUNGWON

jungwon’s blinking blearily through the morning sunlight. he groans and turns over and sees you, face an inch away from his. you’re still fast asleep, still breathing softly. your face is relaxed, except for the small pout you have on your lips, an unconscious habit jungwon found out you have after observing you too much. he reaches out to brush away the strands of hair falling over your face behind your ear, then his fingers slide down to your lips, tracing them before resting on your jaw. he scoots closer to you to press a kiss on your forehead, “love you, pretty girl,” mumbling against your skin. you stir slightly at that and unconsciously wrap your arm around him, pulling him closer to you.

RIKI

“hey, look at this,” riki says as you look up and slide closer to him on the couch, you lean over to see whatever’s on his phone and laugh. you say something, something rhetorical probably, something that has to do with the video but he can’t hear anything when you’re this close to him. body pressed up against his, with your head slightly laying on his chest, “-riki?” you turn to him with a look at his silence, “shit, you’re so pretty.” “what?” his head is tilted at you, a small smirk at the corner of his lips before his face gets closer to yours, breath fanning over your neck, “i said you’re pretty.”

[jakesimfromstatefarm]

──── EVEN WHEN IT'S HARD... ↳ one shot // also part of the no doubt series !

✎ᝰ .ᐟ aka the one where even when it's hard...sim jaeyun will always choose you.

── sim jaeyun x f!reader ౨ৎ wc. 1.1k ⌗ angst angst ANGST, reader is a lil self-sabotaging, jakey gets v v sad :(, but then comfort, reassurance, & fluff<3

↳ IMPORTANT NOTE .ᐟ ── this is part of my no doubt series ─ a sequel series of short drabbles that take place after the events of my fic no doubt, and show jake & reader's relationship throughout their first year together (& how jake wins her trust & love back hehe) ── THIS CAN BE READ AS A ONE-SHOT, however, there will be some easter eggs if you've read no doubt before!

↳ addie's ✉ .ᐟ ── hello pls don't be mad at me for this one,,,decided to throw another angsty one into the mix because once again─i really wanna make this series realistic and i totally see yn still getting into her own head every now & then. and it's totally normal & realistic for couples to have lil moments of miscommunication and i feel like this is how jake would handle it :') bc at the end of the day, he will always choose yn...

You don’t even know how you got here.

It probably started small.

Something barely noticeable—something as small as a mere thought in the back of your head. A flicker of doubt—the kind that’s been fading, slowly but surely, over time.

But still lingers.

Like a crack in glass you don’t notice until the whole thing shatters.

Maybe it was a comment.

A look.

Maybe the restaurant you recommended but it ended up being mediocre.

The too-long silence during the drive back home from dinner.

And now here you are.

Standing in the middle of your living room, your bag still half-slung off your shoulder, while Jake stands from across the space—watching you with his arms limp at his side, a pout on his lips, confused and concerned, like he doesn’t know what’s happening.

And you don’t even remember what you said.

Only the way Jake’s face fell.

The way his shoulders sank immediately, like something slipped through his fingers and he didn’t even realize he was holding it.

The way he blinked, slow and stunned—like he felt the crack before he could make sense of it.

“I just think—” you sigh, sharper than you mean to be, your arms folding across yourself, “I don’t know—maybe you shouldn’t assume things about how I feel.”

Jake’s brows knit together, his voice low but steady, “I’m not assuming anything, Y/N. I’m asking. You won’t talk to me, and I’m—I just…I’m trying to figure out where your head’s at.”

You turn away.

Try to blink it back—the tightness rising in your chest. The frustration.

You don’t even know why you’re upset.

At him? At yourself?

“Well maybe my head’s a mess right now,” you say, a bubble rising to your throat. “And I don’t need you trying to fix it.”

There’s a pause.

A shift in the air.

Jake lets out a soft breath. Barely audible.

But you hear it.

And you see it, too—the subtle way his expression drops.

And god, it hurts.

“Okay.” He nods slowly, his voice suddenly quieter, barely above a whisper. “So what do you need, then?”

You hesitate.

Because that’s just the thing. You don’t know.

Because it’s not him. Never him.

It’s not the quiet car ride home. Or the under-cooked steak at the restaurant. Or the stupid thing he said about maybe meeting his parents next month.

It’s you.

It’s everything else.

The pressure. The doubt. The sinking feeling in your chest that you don’t deserve something this good. Something as good as him.

“I think…” you start, your eyes meeting his, swallowing hard. “I think I need space.”

And it’s like you ripped the floor out from right under him.

You watch the words hit him.

Watch how he stumbles without even moving.

His eyes flick to yours like he misheard. His breath catches like you knocked the wind out of him.

His fingers tremble at his sides, helpless and twitching, like he doesn’t know what to hold on to anymore.

He exhales a shaky breath and—

“No.”

You blink.

“What?”

“I’m not giving you space.” His voice cracks. Barely holding it together. “Not like this. Not when I don’t even know what I did—”

“You didn’t do anything, Jake—”

“Then I’m staying.”

His voice breaks again. And when you look at him again—his eyes are glassy. His voice trembles in a way that shatters your heart more than you’ve ever known before.

And before you know it—

Jake crosses the living room and closes the distance between you two—like he’s trying to reach the part of you that’s slipping through his fingers.

And when he’s right in front of you, he stops.

Just looks at you.

Like you’re the only thing he sees. Like he’s begging you to see him too.

“Let me stay,” his voice unsteady, more desperate now. “Please.”

Your throat closes.

“You’re shutting me out again and I can feel it and I know I’m not perfect, but—God, Y/N—I love you.”

A breath. A blink. A beat.

“I’m trying. I’m here,” Jake continues, his eyes pleading. Breaking. “Please don’t push me away when I’m trying to stay.”

You stare at him.

And you hate it.

You hate how much he means it.

How sincere he sounds—how shattered he looks.

How his hands are clenched at his sides like he’s holding himself back from reaching for you, like he’s not sure he can.

And you hate that you’re the one making him feel that way.

Like love has limits.

Like maybe even he isn’t allowed to cross the invisible line you drew without even realizing it.

Because deep down—

You’re terrified.

Terrified that one day he’ll just say okay and walk out.

That he’ll stop trying. Stop fighting.

That your worst fear will come true: that you are too much. That you’re not worth all this effort.

“Jake…I’m scared,” you whisper—and it breaks.

The dam. The silence. You.

“I’m scared you’ll realize I’m not worth this,” you choke, your own vision blurring. “That I’m just—too much. Or not enough. Or both.”

Jake’s face crumbles.

Completely.

“Y/N.”

You shake your head, blinking fast—it’s all spilling now, messy and unfiltered and real.

“You could have anyone. You could find someone easier. Someone who doesn’t blow up over nothing or pull away every time it gets hard or—”

“Don’t.”

The sudden edge in his voice stops you—not sharp, but urgent.

Urgent, wrecked, and aching.

“Don’t you dare try to write me out of this story when I already know how it ends. Like I haven’t already chosen you.”

He takes a step forward.

“I don’t want easy. I don’t want someone else. I want you.”

Another step.

“Even when it’s messy. Even when you’re mad. Even when it’s hard.”

And before you can stop him, Jake’s hands cup your face—gentle, steady—like you’re something fragile and priceless at the same time.

“This is still you,” he murmurs, leaning down to press his forehead against your own. “And I still love you.”

Your lip quivers.

He brushes his thumb along your cheek—and only then do you realize you’re crying.

A broken breath escapes your lips.

“…I’m sorry,” you choke out, the tears falling out faster now—completely open and raw.

Jake lets out a small, breathy, almost sad laugh.

“Me too.”

And god.

You think that might’ve been the moment you fell completely, absolutely, irreversibly in love with him.

In a way you can’t describe.

In a way that sits in your chest and says this is it—even if you don’t know how to say it out loud yet.

So for now—

“Please stay.”

Jake smiles. It’s small. But so full of relief.

“Always, pretty.”

And he does.

Jake stays through the silence. Through the ache.

Through the heavy nights and the mornings when it’s better.

Because real love doesn’t run.

It reaches. And it stays.

Even when it’s hard.

Especially when it’s hard.

<< past || no doubt m. list || next >>

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@bluxjun @ki2rins @why-did-i-just-do-this @favoritten @lovialymisc @xylatox @vivimura @leehsngs @puma-riki @lezzleeferguson-120 @enhaprettystars @laurradoesloveu @sievenderz @somuchdard @kristynaah @hinryh @ltfirecracker @lov4hoon @taeheexx @niyzu @chunkzdeluluwife @jakeflvrz @fangirl125reader @0429jw @dreamy-carat @yuons @thestarinstarbucks @miszes @llearlert @ppeachyttae @hoomin10 @teddybeartaetae @tanisha2060 @therealmrsbahng @beomgyu-bears @ikeulove @jiyeons-closet @youngheejay @wxnderingthoughts @fuevrois @soobundle1009 @isoobie @enhypenova @zoemeltigloos @lizdevorak @deluluscenarios @bloomiize @hasuyv @ijustwannareadstuff20 @veilstqr @dreamiestay @jakeyyyjakexoxo

[gayasswitchbitch]

Searching for Warmth| Ace x F! reader.

Synopsis: It’s freezing ass cold and you can think of only one person that can help.

Warnings: none brah

It was a late night on the Moby Dick. You could hear the ship gently rocking through the waves, and a few snores coming from the room next door. The only thing lighting the room as you tried to doze off, was a candle on the night stand that had burned down to its end. It would be a peaceful night had it not been for the fact that it was absolutely freezing. Lying in bed, you’re tossing and turning, trying to find warmth in any way you can. Your eyes flicker to the candle. ‘Not much left. When it goes out I don’t think I’ll be able to stand it anymore. What will I do?’

As if the universe heard, and hated you, the candles flame gave out. Shivers run down your spine. There’s no way you’d make it through the night like this. It was just too cold. ‘Ace better be feeling real lucky right now.’ You think. ‘Must be nice to have fire powers.’ Suddenly, you get an idea. Is it a good idea? Probably not, but you’re desperate. You decide to ask Ace. ‘He’s so warm, just a hug will do.’ You roll yourself off the bed, wrapping the blanket around you. There’s no way you’d be leaving without it, and make your way to his room.

The hallway is dark and ambient. Not a soul in sight as you walk to Aces room. How the hell is everyone sleeping through this?’ You grumble to yourself.

Upon reaching Aces room, you can see he has a light on. ‘Thank gods hes awake!’ You think.

Knock, knock, knock.

Not but a second later you hear his voice calling from inside. “Come in!” He yells. He figured it would be Marco there to scold him for being up so late. Something about it being bad for your health. He didn’t expect to see you there when the door opened. He’s sprawled out on his bed. His hair disheveled, comic in hand. “Y/n?” He asked excitedly, throwing it to the side. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” He hopped off his bed and grabs your hand with one of his and uses the other to gently shut the door behind you both. In truth he just wanted to hold your hand, but he’ll say he was just helping you in.

You sigh. “Okay.. this might sound a little weird okay..”

Aces brows furrow. He’s intrigued. “Yeah? What’s up?” He’s standing across from you and it’s like his eyes are sparkling in the light. It makes your eyes wander to his buff arms down to his shirtless chest and how toned it is. How are you supposed to not make this weird when he looks so pretty? Ace thinks you look just as cute. Your hair is messed up as well, cheeks round and a little red from the cold. He thinks you’re the most adorable thing he’s seen.

“So.. it’s really freaking cold tonight and I can’t sleep because of it and I guess I was wondering if you could give me a hug for just like one second so I could warm up? Please?” He’s silent, like he’s thinking and suddenly you’re too nervous to be in his room anymore. You’ve embarrassed yourself enough and as you try to turn to the door to leave Ace suddenly grabs your arm and pulls you back.

“Wait! Of course I’ll warm you up but I don’t think just a hug is gonna do it.”

You look at him confused. What did he mean? A hug should be enough. His body is scalding all the time so it should be enough to hold you over until morning.

“Come here.” He says pulling you to him. Your face is right in his chest and he smells of bourbon. Ace starts to unravel the blanket. The cold air is hits you like a train.

“Ace! What are you doing?” You yelp. He answers by walking to the edge of the bed and flopping himself down, simultaneously bringing you with him. He lays on his side and without thinking you scoot yourself closer to cuddle to his chest again. He then warps the blanket around the both of you and squeezes himself closer while holding you.

He lets out a sigh of relief, like he had been the cold one. “Is that better?” He asks.

It’s a good thing he’s holding you so close. He can’t see the way your face is bright red, and it’s not due to the sudden heat. “Yes, but I only wanted a hug you didn’t need to do this.”

“I don’t mind. I don’t want you to be cold all night.” He chuckles and you notice his heart beating faster and his breathing is heavier.

“Your heart is pounding…”

He laughs. He had hoped you wouldn’t notice that. Seeing you looking so cute, like a sad little penguin waddling in here all bundled up, it drove him mad.

“Yeah. Sorry.” He laughs. “There’s a pretty girl in my bed and I’m nervous.”

You scoff at his words. You didn’t even want to be in his bed! (Liar) you only wanted a hug. “You’re the one that practically threw me on here!”

“Yeah yeah. I don’t see you complaining.”

[andvys]

The edges of your soul (I haven't seen yet) ⭐︎ chapter twelve

⭐︎ You're a bandit like me. Eyes full of stars

Warnings: 18+, minors don't interact! hurt/comfort, grumpy x sunshine, post apocalypse au, mentions of death, mentions of killing, mentions of sex, alcohol consumption

Pairing: Steve Harrington x fem!reader

Word count: 15k

Author's note: Here it is friends! I've been so excited for this chapter (and I hope you will be too, this has some good stuff). I struggled so much writing this, I have no idea why, it's literally one of my favorite moments in this story so far! But here it is now, and I wouldn't have done it without @hellfire--cult , she wrote a good portion of this (aka all the fun stuff between Steve and Sunshine hehe) so please give her some love ♡

series masterlist ⭐︎ previous chapter

☀︎

“We can cut through Idaho, Colorado, or we can drive straight through Utah.” Eddie explains with his hand. His eyes are focused on the map before him, eyebrows furrowed and eyes concentrated. 

Steve is standing beside him with his arms crossed, nodding as he thinks of what road seems the best. 

“Wasn’t Colorado crawling with infected when the news was still airing?” Steve mumbles. 

“When was that, Steve?” Eddie shrugs at his friend. “A year or two back? The cold temperatures have either wiped out the infected or they have moved down south by now.” 

Steve nods his head, “yeah, you might be right. What do you think, Nance?” 

Nancy isn’t focusing on the map, she isn’t even listening to them. Her eyes are set on you. You are sitting on the steps of the RV, your head leaning against the door frame. You are staring into blank space, fiddling with the loose string on your flannel. 

Someone who doesn’t know you would think that you are just enjoying the sunlight kissing your face, but it’s not that; she wishes it was that. You are quiet, and you have been quiet for the past few days now since the attack. She understands it, but she is concerned about you, scared that you are losing yourself and that there is nothing she or the guys can do about it. 

Steve’s eyes follow, and his face only falls further. He has been trying to get through to you for days now but it’s like your mind stayed there. You don’t talk much, you barely eat, and your lips are in a permanent straight line. He knows you need time and that you aren’t gone completely because even with your mental absence and your silence, you still let him hold your hand, you still sleep in the same bed with him, you still let him hold you at nights – it became a regular thing, after that day especially. 

Steve needs you close, he needs to feel you in his arms, he needs to know you are there, or else he can’t breathe, he can’t sleep, he can’t function. You are on the same page and, without much debating, you settled on spending every night, every perimeter check, every run into towns together. He knows that he is now going against everything he promised to himself when he first met you, but he can’t help it, he can’t help the way he feels about you now, the way he needs you around. 

He misses your voice, even more so, he misses your laughter and your smile. 

“A few weeks, give or take, and we’re in Nevada. That is, if we don’t get into too much trouble on the road. I’m talking weather conditions, blocked roads, hoards of infected–”

“You just said they moved south.” Nancy frowns, not looking away from you just yet. “Now you are talking about… hoards?” She squints her eyes. 

“Probably, yeah. I think they moved south, but I can’t know for sure, Wheeler. There might be a hoard gathering somewhere – which we’ll deal with, no problem. There also might be more demo shit monsters out there which we had the luck of avoiding so far. We don’t know what kind of trouble we’ll run into the rest of the road. Maybe we’ll even have to lay low for a while,” Eddie exclaims, throwing his hands up. “The winters are brutal out here, we’re lucky if we don’t get snowed in.”

“We will get snowed in at some point. I was stuck in a cabin for two weeks last year, I almost starved and froze to death.” 

Your voice catches everyone by surprise. Eddie and Steve glance at one another before they look at you. You are still staring straight ahead. 

Your words make Steve’s heart ache in his chest, even more so when he thinks about how he treated you when he first met you. How awful he was to you, how much he wanted you to leave, push you out the gates where you would have been all alone again, fighting for survival on your own, fighting the kind of people you have killed for him. 

“It’s gonna take two months or more until we get there.”

“It doesn’t matter how long it will take, Sweetheart.” Eddie says softly. “What matters is that we’ll get there and we will. You’ll see your family again!” He tries to lift you up, to make you see the point in this trip again. 

You will see them again, yeah. 

But what will they think of you after what you have done? 

Eddie notices the way your shoulders tense at his words, the way you suck in a sharp breath, the way your eyebrows furrow as you stare at the ground now. You suddenly get up and move forward. 

“I’m gonna check for more supplies,” you murmur as you walk towards the gas station that Eddie and Nancy have already gathered supplies at. 

Steve follows you without a second thought. Eyes filled with concern and body tense just like yours, “Sunshine–”

“I need a second.” You mumble without looking back. “Just one second…” 

One second to yourself. 

Steve’s face is etched with pain. Sadness flashing across his features, twinkling in his eyes. He halts in his tracks, staring at you in deflation. He wants to follow you, knowing exactly what is troubling you. He so badly wants to take you into his arms and comfort you, but he can’t, not when you are like this. 

Both Eddie and Nancy take a look at him. Pity flashes in both their features, he doesn’t have to look at them to see it. He hates it, hates the way they can see right through him. 

“Steve–”

“It’s fine, Nancy.” Steve grumbles as he takes a few steps back again, he leans against the side of the RV and crosses his arms over his chest. 

She sighs and looks back down at the map before her. Giving you the space that you need, giving him the space as well. 

But Eddie stares at the door you have shut behind you, watching you through the dirty window as you mindlessly walk around the store. His jaw clenches, not in anger at you but in anger for how you feel about yourself. He sees the way you avoid mirrors, the way you stare at your hands for a little too long. He can practically feel the horror you feel towards yourself. 

“I’ll talk to her.” 

Steve pushes himself off the RV again, eyes widening as he watches Eddie stomp after you. 

“Eddie–”

But Eddie doesn’t listen, and he flips his hand up, telling him to stay there. He opens the door and walks inside, not bothering to look back. He closes the door softly, not wanting to startle you. 

He is careful not to step on any broken cans or boxes that fell from the shelves as he looks for you. He walks past the aisles, looking into every one for you. He furrows his eyebrows, wondering where you had disappeared to so quickly in the second he had looked away. 

He searches for a moment until the sound of shuffling lures him into what once used to be an office or a break room. He finds you there, standing in front of a table with your back turned to him. You are holding something in your hand, staring down at it. 

Eddie walks inside, clearing his throat so he doesn’t startle you. You don’t budge. You stand still. He takes a deep breath before he looks over your shoulder and his shoulders tense, a frown appears on his face. 

A mixture of sadness and anger creeps up inside of him. 

“Sweetheart,” he whispers as he steps even closer and takes the note from your hand. He glances down at it one more time. He skims over it a second time: ‘If you turn into a monster is it still you inside?’ Eddie crumbles it up and throws it on the ground. 

He doesn’t know whether to pull you into his arms or to scold you. 

He wants to do both. 

Eddie wraps his hand around your bicep and he turns you around, forcing you to face him. 

“Look at me.” 

You hesitate but look up at him after taking a deep breath. 

Eddie’s gaze softens when he sees the vulnerability in your eyes. His shoulders slump and he sighs. 

“Sweetheart,” he whispers as he moves his hand up to your shoulder. “Don’t even think about it, don’t let your mind go there. You are not a monster.” 

You don’t regret what you did, not in the slightest. You would do it again and again if it meant saving your friend, if it meant saving him. You would do anything for your friends. You would do anything to keep him safe. 

“I murdered them–” 

“Monsters. You killed monsters.” He gives you a pointed look, trying to get it through that thick head of yours. “Do you think that’s what we think of you now? That you are some kind of monster too?” 

Your silence answers his question. 

Eddie shakes his head wildly, gripping your shoulder tighter. 

“You did what you had to do, what we couldn’t do but don’t… don’t think for one second that I, that we wouldn’t do the same for you. I would have ripped those bastards apart one by one to save you, and I know that Steve would have done the same.” 

Your eyes soften at his words. You know he is telling the truth, the look in his eyes is so determined and truthful. 

“You saved him, you saved us. I don’t care how you did it, you could have fed them to the infected – hell, I would have helped you drag them to their dinner table. But stop being so hard on yourself, stop living in there,” he taps your forehead. “I know what that evil part of your brain is trying to tell you and I can promise you that it’s all bullshit, okay? You’re a fucking saviour, Sweets. You are fucking hero.”

The tension on your face disappears little by little. Your lips start curling up a bit. 

“You’re not a monster, we don’t think that about you, and your family won’t either. Hell, your brother will be proud to have such a powerhouse as a sister.” 

A smile tugs on the corner of your lip, and you can’t help but chuckle, “stop that now…” 

Eddie feels successful when your laughter fills the room again. He squeezes your shoulder, smiling at you. 

“It’s nothing but the truth. You’re strong, really fucking strong. This world hasn’t gotten to you in all that time you’ve been out there by yourself. Don’t let it get to you now, not over some pieces of shits who had it coming – god knows how many potential victims you have saved.”

You nod at his words. You know he is right. He is right about them, they deserved it, every single one of them. 

“I don’t regret what I did,” you shrug, “I just… I didn’t know that I could turn into this.” 

“There’s a different side to everyone, Sunshine.” Eddie speaks softly and carefully. “Sometimes we have to resort to it… to save and protect the ones we love.” 

His eyes flash with something else, a distant memory that never strays away from him, always reminding him of the night he protected everyone too, the scars on his skin a forever reminder. 

You nod at his words, knowing that he is right about everything. 

“You sacrificed a little part of yourself… that doesn’t mean that you are lost completely, Darling.” He whispers as his eyes flicker to the forming scar on your cheekbone. 

Warmth spreads through you, and you feel the kind of comfort you always got from your brother whenever things got tough. He is like him – in a lot of ways. 

“Like you did…” You whisper, knowing about the night he almost gave his life to save everyone. 

His throat bobs as he nods. His dark eyes flashing with horrors that night tortured him with. 

“I’m sorry, Eddie.” You whisper, knowing how painful it must be to think back to that night. 

He gives you a smile, a soft and comforting one. 

“I’m sorry too,” he mumbles and pulls you closer, wrapping his arms around. He tugs you into his comforting embrace. Giving you a warm, big hug. 

A sigh falls from your lips as you close your eyes and wrap your arms around him, squeezing his waist. 

Eddie is a little surprised that you hugged back so quickly, but a satisfied smile appears on his face. He loves hugs. Unfortunately, Nancy hates them and Steve… is well Steve. He only allows you to get close nowadays. 

You stay in his embrace for a while, only now realizing how much you needed it, how much you needed the reassurance and the comforting words of someone who is now like a brother to you. 

“You smell really nice.” Eddie blurts out after a long few minutes of silence. 

You furrow your brows as an amused smile makes its way on your face. 

Eddie sniffs at your hair causing you to giggle, especially when you pull away and he follows. 

“What’s that scent? Is that raspberry?” Eddie questions, tilting his head to the side. “How do you smell so good?” 

You push him away with a giggle, rolling your eyes at his genuine curiosity. 

“I wash my hair? Duh.” 

“I wash mine too, smarty pants.” He rolls his eyes at you, poking your cheek. “Mine never smells like that.” 

“Gotta find yourself a new shampoo then.” You shrug and look down, blushing a little. You always made sure that you look decent, that you don’t smell, which isn’t always easy in a world like this considering you sometimes run out of water and have to resort to wet wipes until you find a lake to fill up your water tanks again and Eddie tends to use way too much of your body wash. 

But you always do your best to stay clean, to smell nice – especially, especially now that you share a bed with Steve and somehow always end up in his arms or even on top of him. 

You may or may not have a secret bottle of perfume hidden in one of your boxes. 

He hums, crossing his arms over his chest as he eyes you slowly. 

“It’s not the shampoo, is it?” He squints his eyes as a smirk tugs at his lips. “You got some sort of body spray or perfume hiding somewhere, don’t ya? No one can smell that nice from shampoo or body wash alone.”

You shrug, humming, “I do.”

But Eddie can see the way you avoid his eyes, the way a blush creeps up your face, and you grow flustered. He knows exactly why. 

He can’t help but poke your waist, chuckling when you flinch, “you little liar! You got perfume hidden somewhere, don’t you? Wanna smell nice for Stevie boy, huh?”

Your eyes widen and your lips part as you begin to stutter. 

“Oh, I knew it!” Eddie laughs loudly. “I mean, I get it, if I shared a bed with someone I have a big fat crush on, I’d do the same.” 

You roll your eyes at him and push his hand away, turning around, you walk back into the store. 

Crush is an understatement, you are way past that point. 

Eddie’s smile never fades as he follows you. “You didn’t deny it.” 

You didn’t, no. There is definitely no point in denying something so obvious. Eddie already knew it when you attacked him with that wet shirt. 

“Do you want me to deny it?” You scoff. 

“Nope. I know it already anyway,” he shrugs, following you with a satisfied smirk on his face. “Tell me, have you kissed yet?” 

You halt in your tracks, cheeks burning at this point. 

Eddie almost walks into you when you stop so suddenly. He raises his eyebrows as he stares at the back of your head. 

You turn around to face him, not bothering to hide your flustered face. 

“No…” You mumble, shaking your head. The thought of kissing Steve makes your cheeks burn hotter and your chest flutter. There was a moment, a fleeting moment, where you thought that he would kiss you, where you thought of making the move yourself and closing the gap between you, but he pulled away before you had the chance to. 

Your eyes flash with something that makes Eddie’s smile fall slowly. The teasing no longer evident in his eyes when he sees something more serious in your features. 

“You hesitated,” Eddie points out, tilting his head at you. “Did you try to…?”

You shake your head. Your mind wasn’t there in these past few days and before that you were too insecure to even think about it. But you want to, god, you want to kiss him so badly. 

“No. There was a moment…” 

Eddie raises his eyebrows at you to continue. 

You take a deep breath as you glance out the window, even through all the dust and the dirt on the glass, you can still see him. He is standing with his arms crossed, face etched in concern as he waits for you to come back out. 

Eddie’s impatient huff pulls your attention back to him. 

“When I saved the cub, Steve pulled me into his arms… to warm me up– Don’t look at me like that, he would have done the same for you or Nancy!” You frown, blushing furiously when the teasing grin is back on his face. Though the thought of Steve holding Nancy the way he held you makes you feel sour for some reason. 

“No, he wouldn’t.” Eddie snorts. “He’d throw a blanket over our shoulders and call it a day. Now, continue.” He waves with his hand. 

You huff at him, rolling your eyes as you look down at your hands. 

“There was a moment where he moved closer… and I-I thought that maybe… he would kiss me.” You shrug, trying to act like it doesn’t affect you that he didn’t do it. “But then he moved back again… so maybe I just… saw something that wasn’t even there.” 

Eddie’s eyes soften, and a sad smile tugs on his lips. You don’t even see the way he looks at you. 

“Sweetheart–”

“No, it’s fine.” You shake your head, hating that exposing vulnerable feeling rising up in you. 

“You wanted him to kiss you, didn’t you?” 

You bounce your knee and bite your lip as you feel the nerves clinging to your heart. Your ears burn too now. You don’t answer his question but you look at him through your lashes, allowing him to look into your eyes. 

Eddie’s eyes light up, his dimples show when his smile widens. 

“Aw, Sunshine.” He giggles as he leans closer and pinches your cheek. “You’re adorable.” 

“Stop!” You groan in embarrassment, pushing his hand off. 

“I mean I already knew there was something between y'all but… damn… just make the first move. What are you waiting for? For him to sweep you off your feet and kiss you stupid before putting his cowboy hat on you so you can–”

“Oh god,” you interrupt him, rolling your eyes, though with a smile on your face. 

“You make the first move, you’re an independent, strong woman, Sweetheart. Don’t wait on the guy, I think he lost all his charm, you gotta be the one to make the first step here.”

You shake your head, “nope, I don’t think he likes me like that.”

Eddie sighs at your words, “listen, my sweetheart used to bully me when we were still in high school, we hated each other, turned out we just needed to fuck to see the potential between us,” he shrugs. “Steve wasn’t a bully to you… but… he kinda was. Still, I saw him checking you out, even when we were still in Hawkins.” 

Your eyes widen, “w-what?”

“Oh, Honey.” Eddie chuckles, his eyes flickering with amusement. “You are so oblivious. You’re telling me you don’t notice when his eyes are glued to your ass?”

You swallow and you shake your head, feeling as though you will suffocate if you don’t get out of here. 

“I thought women notice that shit.” He chuckles. 

You only stare in response, not knowing what to say because no, you don’t notice. 

Eddie tilts his chin down and lowers his voice, “you’re telling me he never got hard during one of your cuddle sessions–”

“Eddie!” You slap his chest, blushing harder than ever before. Your reaction giving you away yet again. 

He laughs loudly, eyes widening. “Oh, so he did!” 

“Shut up!” You mumble as you turn around and continue your way towards the door. “He said it was… wasn’t like that…”

Eddie furrows his eyebrows, still laughing behind you. 

“He just got hard for the fun of it?”

You roll your eyes and turn back around, “it was cold, it was before I got sick, when we hid in the car during the storm… We warmed each other up and he… you know.” You say quietly. 

Eddie didn’t know that. Steve told him about the part where you had to ditch your clothes and cuddle to warm up, but he left this very interesting part out. 

He crosses his arms over his chest, unable to fight the smirk off his lips. 

“It doesn’t work like that, you know? At least not to me, I’m not gonna get hard because of someone I’m not attracted to, Sweets. No matter how close they are.”

Your eyes grow hopeful, and he sees it. 

“Besides, you can’t tell me that wasn’t the only time…” Eddie says slowly. 

You and Steve have been sharing a bed since you got sick, and more than once, Eddie walked in on you cuddling in your sleep. 

You breathe in sharply and Eddie laughs again. Oh, he is gonna enjoy his next conversation with Steve. 

“And you haven’t mounted that horse yet, Cowgirl?” 

“I am done with this conversation!” You say with a high pitched voice as you turn on your heel and make your way out the door. You breathe in the fresh air, hoping for the coldness to cool off your burning cheeks, but the moment your eyes lock with his, you are done for. 

Eddie clears his throat as he steps out behind you, he stops laughing, though the amusing smile on his face gives away the kind of conversation you had in there. 

Steve pushes himself off the RV, his concerned eyes moving across your face. Unlike before, you don’t seem tense, and your expression is softer, though there is something else now troubling you. You are flustered, he can tell that much, especially by the way Eddie is smirking. 

Eddie picks up the pace when he notices that Nancy isn’t outside anymore. He catches up to you and reaches out for your arm, wrapping his hand around your bicep, he leans down and whispers, “also, you better talk to that poor man again; he follows you around like some lost puppy.” 

Guilt surges through you as you glance at Steve, whose eyes are softer than ever as he eyes you. You know you have been neglecting conversations with him, struggling to talk the way you did before the attack. The look in his eyes is why you avoided eye contact with him – it’s killing you now. 

Who would have thought that you would ever turn him into this? 

Steve furrows his eyebrows as he looks between you, noticing the flustered look on your face right away. 

Eddie brushes past him after letting go of you, he pats his shoulder before he disappears into the RV, giving you a moment to talk. 

Steve never takes his eyes off you, his body moving on its own accord, towards you. His name falls from your lips softly. His voice forces you to look up at him. 

“Are you okay…?” Steve whispers, his hand slowly reaching towards yours. 

You nod, looking into his hazel eyes, feeling warmth flooding through you, settling in your chest and in your stomach. The feeling of comfort holding you strongly every time you are near him. 

“You know that you can talk to me, right?” He doesn’t even try to hide the desperation in his voice. He knows Eddie tried to get through to you, and he might have done, but he wanted to be the one. 

“I know,” you whisper, sighing as you look down at his hand. You can’t help but reach out and slowly wrap your pinky around his. 

Steve’s heart flutters in his chest, he looks down and envelopes your hand fully, giving it a squeeze. 

“I just… I needed some time.”

Steve nods, understanding it more than anyone. 

“But Eddie…”

“Eddie is just like my annoying brother. Impatient and forcing me to talk.” 

Steve doesn’t know why he feels the weight of relief at the words ‘Eddie’ and ‘brother’ in the same sentence. He was fearing that you might have a more special bond to Eddie than you do to him. 

He cracks a smile, his shoulders slumping as the tension slips off. You notice it, how his eyes soften and a breath of relief falls from his lips. It gives you a shimmer of hope. 

“I wanted you to talk to me but I didn’t want to pressure you,” he murmurs softly as he takes a step closer to you and looks down at you with an expression that hasn’t faltered, not even after that night. You were so scared to look into his eyes, to see fear or disgust after how you handled things but you find none of those things – if anything, the look in his eyes is even softer now, making you feel stupid for even worrying, for thinking that he could see you how you saw yourself.

“I would have talked to you,” you whisper. Your own eyes soften, your voice filled with guilt. You didn’t mean to push him away, you didn’t mean to be so distant. 

“Yeah?” Steve tilts his chin down, looking deeply into your eyes. 

You nod. 

“Good. I thought you might have ditched me for Eddie,” he jokes, caressing the top of your hand with his thumb. “Thought you’d kick me out of our bed to snuggle him instead.”

Our bed. 

Your heart skips a beat, cheeks burning hotly at the choice of his words that you like a little too much. 

“Never.” You giggle, your eyes glinting with amusement. 

Steve’s stomach flutters, his heart yearning to hear more of that sound. His eyes light up and his hand squeezes yours tighter. 

“I missed that.” He blurts out, redness taking over his cheeks. 

“Missed what?” 

You tilt your head to the side in a way that makes him feel weak, you just look so damn cute, with that line between your eyebrows and the slight pout on your lips. 

“Your smile, your laughter.” 

Your breath hitches in your throat, your heart nearly exploding. 

He missed your smile? Your laughter? 

The look on his face is serious, his eyes vulnerable. You never thought that you could have such an effect on the guy who didn’t even want you around at first. 

Now he is holding you in his sleep, needing to feel you in his arms at nights, yearning to see you smile, to hear your laugh, to have you with him. It drives you crazy. It makes you yearn for him even more. 

Lost puppy is what Eddie had called him, the look in his eyes resembles just that. 

You can’t even fight the sudden urge to hug him, you take a step towards him and let go of his hand to wrap your arms around him instead, strongly. It certainly is not your first hug but it still catches him off guard, especially after days and days of your silence and distance.

You lean your head against his chest and close your eyes, breathing in his scent and melting into his embrace when he slowly wraps his arms around your waist, hugging you back after a second of hesitation caused by surprise. 

Steve’s face crumbles completely, his eyes softening even more if that is even possible. His heart beats so strongly, threatening to expose the way he feels about this. He takes a deep breath, an inhale of your sweet scent that sets all his insides on fire every goddamn time. His breathing turns shaky as he leans down and tightens his hold on you. 

You don’t know how long you stay that way for, but a few minutes pass – and if it was up to you, both many more could pass, but you need to move, you need to get back on the road. 

You pull away reluctantly. He keeps his hands on you, not pulling away completely yet. Your eyes meet and they speak to each other, the way your hearts do too. If only you could voice out your feelings. 

You are a hopeful person; you have always been one. It isn’t easy to be one in a situation like this though – even when a part of you, the smallest one, hangs onto the weak string kept together by the little moments of his eyes flickering down to your lips or his hands holding onto you tightly, searching for your touch. 

Could he feel the same? Could he feel a sliver of what you are feeling? 

If so, will he ever make a move or was Eddie right about what he said about him? 

Will you have to be the one to try? 

You aren’t sure if you are ready to try but you know that you will regret it someday if you don’t take the leap. 

You notice the way he stares at your lips, you feel the way his fingers tighten around your arms. 

Your eyes move across his face, tracing every mole, every scar, his pink cheeks, his lips that look surprisingly soft given the cold weather. Too many nights you have gone to sleep wondering what it would feel like to kiss him. 

This isn’t the right moment, it definitely isn’t. 

But you have to test the waters, you just have to. 

“Come on, we should hit the road,” you whisper as you take another step closer, moving onto your tippy toes, you press your hands against his chest, avoiding his eyes as you lean closer and press your lips against his cheek, pecking it softly. 

Steve’s eyes widen and his breath hitches in his throat. The spot your lips touched tingling as his heart threatened to jump out of his throat. 

He stands there for a while, even after you have pulled away to make your way back into the RV. He stands there processing what just happened. 

It was an innocent kiss. It was the smallest peck, a sweet kiss on his cheek – nothing he hadn’t felt before, and yet it made his heart beat in a way nothing else ever did before. 

He can’t help but crave more, he can’t help but want more than just this. 

When he returns to the RV, his cheeks are still burning, his heart's still pounding. He tries to act like nothing happened, like this little moment didn’t affect his emotions. He closes the door behind him, locking it. 

He clears his throat as he looks around, his eyes meeting Eddie’s, who is smirking at him, eyes glinting. He saw the whole thing, of course he did, he watched it. 

Though the metalhead says nothing and only turns back around, getting comfortable in the passenger seat as Nancy throws the map into his lap. She glances over her shoulder after fastening her seatbelt, looking at you before her eyes meet his. 

“Ready?” 

Steve nods, scratching his neck awkwardly as he moves towards you and takes a seat beside you. 

“Hit the road, Nance.” Eddie hums, but not without looking back at you one more time, giving you a wink that doesn’t go unnoticed by Steve. 

He glances at you, though you turn away from him, blushing. 

Steve raises his eyebrows, still looking at you – so he isn’t the only one getting teased by the metalhead. 

That sparkle of hope lights up inside of him. And he doesn’t know how to feel about it because it grows fastly and strongly. 

When after a few minutes of the drive, you lay your head on his shoulder, his heart nearly combusts as his skin starts burning up. The little sparkle will quickly turn into a flame and then… what?

How will this end for him? 

He doesn’t want to think about it, he doesn’t want to worry. 

But it’s in his nature to worry, to drive himself crazy with the what if’s. 

But for now, he reaches for your hand and he intertwines his fingers with yours. 

The squeeze of your hand makes his heart flutter wildly and it shows him nothing but the fact that he is screwed, so very screwed. 

-

You have always heard about the harsh winters in Wyoming, the sudden snowstorms, the heavy wind, and extremely cold temperatures. Though you didn’t think that it would hit you so suddenly, the way it did, given the warmth of the sun you were grazed with earlier today. 

You’ve only spent three hours on the road before Nancy had to stop driving due to the worsening weather conditions. The snow started falling harder, making it difficult to see. Thunder started rumbling, the red lightning in the distance made you all a little anxious. 

She parked the RV on the side of the road, close to a sign leading to a town. Her and Eddie left to find shelter for the night but they had been gone for an hour now and the wind had picked up since.

You look out the window, bouncing your knee anxiously as the snow covers more and more of the road and the trees. 

The howling of the wind makes you feel slightly uneasy. You feel it, it’s causing the RV to sway, making the tires creak beneath you. 

Steve is pacing back and forth, unable to find rest, knowing his friends are out there and the storm is getting worse but you couldn’t all go together, it’s too risky to leave the RV standing on the side of the road. 

“They’ve been gone for an hour.” He stresses. 

“They’ll be fine.” You assure him as you pull away from the window and sit down on the bench. “It’s not that bad out yet. I’ve been stuck in worse storms.” You shrug, trying to act like you aren’t afraid, like he is. 

“Have you?” He asks softly, his eyes finding yours as he stops pacing. 

“Yeah. It was one of those storms.” You murmur as you gesture to the red lightning in the distance. 

Steve frowns as he glances at the sky. He knows that this means nothing good. The storm, the red lightning, means the town ahead of you is crawling with monsters. 

The thought that you have been stuck in one of those makes his heart clench in his chest. The thought that you could all get stuck in that again, makes him feel the paralyzing fear that he hates so much. 

“We should have kept driving.” He mumbles as he thinks of everything that could happen. 

“No, we could’ve gotten stuck right in there. We are still a good distance away from it, we just need a more stable… shelter for the night, and after that we can figure out how to avoid this area.” 

You are right, he knows it, yet he can’t stop his fear from spreading inside of him. 

The door bursts open, making both you and Steve flinch from the sudden noise. Nancy rushes in first. Her scarf is covering half of her face, her clothes are covered in white snow. She removes the scarf, revealing her red nose and her trembling lips. 

Eddie curses under his breath as he slams the door behind him and removes his scarf as well. “Jesus, it’s cold as shit!” He breathes as he rubs his hands together. His nose is glowing red too. 

“We found something.” Is all that Nancy says before she makes her way back into the driver's seat, not wasting any time to start the engine. 

Steve looks between her and Eddie with furrowed eyebrows. “Found what exactly?” 

Eddie keeps rubbing his hands together as he brushes past Steve and plops down into the passenger seat. “Big place with a garage and everything, we can leave the RV in there, no problem–”

Steve sits down beside you before Nancy starts driving. 

“Any infected?... Monsters?” 

Eddie shakes his head at him, “just one infected outside the gate, nothing else. We checked the area and the mansion–”

“Mansion!?” You ask, your eyes widen. 

Eddie chuckles at your reaction, he holds onto the back of Nancy’s seat as she drives down the road. He looks between you and Steve. “Yeah, the place hasn’t been touched in years, we checked inside as well. It’s clean, nothing except for dust in there.” 

“Yeah.” Nancy nods. “Looks like it was some sort of vacation house.” 

“Mhmm.” Eddie hums, his eyes flashing with something that you can’t read. “You’re gonna love it, Sweetheart.” 

“Why?” You tilt your head at him. 

“You’ll see,” he chuckles, wiggling his eyebrows at you. 

You and Steve look at each other, both frowning in confusion. He takes a deep breath and turns back to Eddie when the RV suddenly lurches forward. You begin to slip off your seat, gasping in surprise as you reach your hand out to grab the handle behind you, when you feel Steve’s heavy arm around your body. 

With his arm around your waist and your back pressed against his chest, he holds you tightly, saving you from the fall as he holds onto the table beside the bench you are both sharing. 

“Wheeler!” Eddie breathes, holding his hand to his chest as he stares at the girl gripping the steering wheel tightly. 

“Sorry! Must’ve been the infected!” She shrieks. 

You grab Steve’s wrist, holding on tightly even though the RV is moving normally again, driving smoothly. 

“Jesus!” Steve grumbles behind you as he turns around to face the two in the front. “You drove over an infected?” 

“I didn’t see it until it was too late!” Nancy snaps. 

“Doesn’t matter anyways, it was dead, it was also dead when I killed it.” Eddie shrugs as he settles back into his seat. “Now we know for sure! Nance sealed the deal!”

Nancy shakes her head at Eddie, huffing at him. 

The sound of your giggle fills the silence in the RV that followed after Eddie’s attempted joke. Steve freezes behind you, his hold only tightening around your body as his heart skips a beat. 

A smile tugs at Nancy’s lip as she glances at you again, watching the way you lean your head against Steve’s shoulder who is looking down at you like you are the sweetest thing to walk this tainted earth. 

“Oh man,” Eddie whispers quietly enough for only Nancy to hear. She narrows her eyes at him before she returns her attention back to the road. 

“Ten bucks she’ll make the first move,” Eddie murmurs as he leans closer to her. 

“Money has no worth anymore, Munson.” Nancy snorts. 

She straightens her back as she leans closer to the steering wheel, a soft smile appears on her face. “I’ll get you two packs of cigarettes if you’re right but I have faith that he’ll make the first move.” 

He is intrigued, he didn’t think that she would agree to this. A smirk tugs at his lip, he moves closer to her. 

“And what do you want if you win?”

Nancy hums, “a shotgun.” 

“Why did I even ask?” Eddie chuckles, shaking his head as he leans back again. 

“I don’t know, now shut up, I need to focus.” She mumbles. Her eyes squint as she drives through the snowstorm, getting heavier by the minute now, the sky darkening. She could almost sigh of relief when she saw her flashlight in the distance, guiding her towards the garage. It was her idea to leave it there, knowing she wouldn’t be able to see the roads with the falling snow.

You could still feel Steve’s arms around your waist as the RV kept swaying, and then, you felt a slight drop making you squeal and Steve’s grip only tightened as he cursed under his breath. Your eyes turned to the windows and it was pitch black. You frowned, slowly getting on your feet with Steve as Eddie got up from the passenger’s seat.

“Let’s lock ourselves up, and we’ll go inside.” You blinked a few times, looking down at your waist. Steve followed your eyes, and he ripped his hand off you, feeling himself burn in embarrassment from holding you even after you didn’t need holding anymore. He feels as if he had been caught red handed. 

“DON’T FORGET MY FLASHLIGHT!” Nancy yells as she sees Eddie walking out of the RV with a wave of his hand. She sighs, shutting down the RV and sighing out of exhaustion. “I can’t wait to just relax…”

She gets up from her seat and turns around to face you both. Instantly, her eyebrows furrow when she senses the sudden awkwardness as Steve is blushing furiously while trying to busy himself with taking out a few cans of food to take into the house. You are sitting down still, looking up at him with a flustered look on your face. 

She can’t help but chuckle. However, when you both turn to her, she covers it up with a cough. She takes a step towards the door and opens it. 

“Alright ladies and gentlemen, garage is locked.” Eddie’s voice echoes in the garage. “Let’s go inside! Sweets come on, you’re gonna wanna see this!” 

You jump up from your seat and make your way out the RV. It’s too dark in the garage to see anything, only the flashlight Eddie is holding lights up the space around you. 

“Come on,” he tilts his head into direction of the door which you assume leads into the house. 

Eddie is grinning at you as he opens the door. He uses his flashlight to guide you inside. You make your way inside, curiously looking around, but you can’t see much yet. 

“They have a generator in the basement, but we couldn’t find any gas.”  

“That’s fine, we can light up some candles and the fireplace if there is one.” You murmur as you walk further into the house with every step that you take. 

“Romantic.” Eddie chuckles as he turns around, pointing the flashlight at Steve, wiggling his eyebrows at him. 

The former jock only rolls his eyes in response. 

“Oh my god!” 

Your shriek startles everyone, but Eddie quickly recovers when he sees what you’re so excited about. 

“Give me that!” You rip the flashlight from his hand and point it at the wall, gasping.

You start jumping up and down, bouncing on your feet as you squeal in excitement.  

Steve steps closer to you, noticing how your eyes light up like the ones of a kid on christmas morning. His lips curl into a smile, a small chuckle falling from his lips.

The wall in the long hallway is decorated with cowboy hats and western style pictures, giving away the kind of people who lived here before. 

Nancy and Eddie laugh at your reaction as you stare at the collection of cowboy hats, already looking for your favorite one. 

“This is like Wayne’s collection except we were poor and these people were rich rich.” Eddie murmurs as he looks into the big living room. 

“Hey,” Nancy steps closer to you. “You wanna take a look in the closet upstairs? I think you’re gonna like it.” 

Your wide eyes meet hers, and even in the faint light, she can see the excitement swirling in your eyes. 

Steve doesn’t tear his eyes away from you, loving the genuine surprise in your features, the happiness that slowly makes its way into your eyes. 

“Looks like a couple lived here and they were gone before shit hit the fan,” Eddie mumbles behind you as he gestures to the plastic covers over the furniture but you aren’t even listening to him. Your eyes only light up even more as you stare at Nancy. 

Steve’s own eyes widen in surprise when he suddenly feels your hand holding his, and you begin to drag him away from the hallway and towards the big staircase in the middle, “come on, Stevie!” 

Nancy’s laughter echoes in the hallway, the look on Steve’s face is more than just amusing. 

“Stevie.” Eddie murmurs under his breath to her, chuckling softly. 

“Shush.” Nancy slaps his chest as she watches you both move up the stairs. “Come on.” 

“I knew she would love this.” Eddie smiles as he and Nancy follow you up onto the second floor, which they have checked out before already. “Do you think she’s gonna force Steve into a cowboy outfit?” 

“Is that even a question?” She chuckles. 

When Nancy mentioned a closet, you didn’t imagine it to be a walk-in closet, let alone one filled with clothes your heart desires the most. You look around with wide eyes, spotting the variety of cowboy boots on the shoe shelf, the leather jackets, the jeans and vests.

“Holy shit!” You whisper as you slowly let go of Steve’s hand. 

Steve squints his eyes as you walk away from him, leaving him in the dark as you use the flashlight to take a closer look at the clothes. 

“That is like a dream come true,” you whisper, putting the flashlight down to grab a pair of boots. “I wonder if these will fit me.” 

He leans against the wall as he watches you move around, his eyes soften, and a smile appears on his face. His heart melts, the tension slowly slips off his shoulders. It’s nice to see you like this again.

“Why don’t we dress up?” Eddie speaks from the doorway, smirking cockily at Steve, expecting him to shake his head though Steve only shrugs. 

“Are you kidding? Why do you even ask?” You exclaim as you start looking through the jeans, tapping off the layers of dust that have unfortunately covered the clothes. 

Eddie chuckles at your expression, at the bewildered look on your face. He steps closer to Steve and pats his shoulder, “why don’t we find you an outfit to impress the girl, cowboy?” He whispers to him. 

Steve glares at him, though only because his cheeks heat up at the thought of your reaction to him wearing something that you love. 

“Let’s do justice to your new nickname.” Eddie chuckles as he pushes him towards the side of the closet that has all the male clothing.

“Where is Nancy?” You frown, already picking out an outfit for her. 

“Looking for batteries for a table lamp.” Eddie explains. “Go on, get dressed, Sweets.” 

You shrug and turn your attention back to the clothes, picking out an outfit. You grab the pair of boots you liked the most before you start making your way out of the room. 

Steve’s eyes follow you until he can no longer see you, with a soft gaze and rosy cheeks. 

“Be right back, fellas!” Your giggle echoes in the hallway.

Eddie’s hand is still on Steve’s shoulder. His smirk bigger than it was before, eyes flashing with mischief. 

“Oh boy.” Eddie murmurs, enjoying Steve’s reaction already. “She’s adorable.” 

Steve's smile slowly falls, his expression hardens as he turns to face his friend. 

“Hey now, I didn’t mean it like that.” Eddie chuckles, his smirk never fading. “She’s all yours, man. Matter of fact, you can make her all yours tonight. We’re safe here, nothing’s out there and if there is, the storm will take care of it, nothing survives that shit out there,” Eddie points out the window, the snowstorm now raging stronger than before. 

Steve’s shoulders tense up again and he frowns, shaking his head. 

“Eddie–”

“Don’t. I know what I see, and I can see right through you. Whatever is going on in that big head of yours,” he pauses, flicking his forehead, making Steve frown harder. “Whatever is holding you back, delete that shit out of your brain, man. Don’t let her slip through your fingers. You waiting on that perfect moment? You got it now, perfect chance.” Eddie whispers, spreading his arms out as he gestures to the big space they’re standing in. “There’s even a king sized bed, you ain’t getting that opportunity again.”

“Dude.” Steve shakes his head, blushing at the last comment. 

“Don’t dude me,” Eddie sighs, rolling his eyes. He turns away from him and starts looking through the clothes. “Just watch the way she will drool when she sees you in… these… tight pants.” He murmurs as he hands him a pair of jeans, pressing them against his chest. 

Steve looks down, lifting his hand up slowly, and he grabs them, a sigh falling from his lips. 

“This is ridiculous–”

“Guys!” 

Eddie looks over Steve’s shoulder, taking a look at you. It’s dark in the room, the flashlight only gives little light but just enough to see you. His eyes widen, and he puts his hand back on Steve’s shoulder. 

“Tell me I look like a real cowgirl!” You giggle as you twirl around. 

Steve stares at you, not even blinking, not moving, not breathing. He is just staring. His lips are parted as he eyes you up and down. 

The jeans you are wearing are tight,hugging your curves, and your ass perfectly. The brown belt low on your hips. You could have chosen one of the many flannels in the closet, but you didn’t, instead you opted for a jean vest with a very low neckline. You buttoned it up, but it is still very open, very exposing – exposing to the point where he can see a little of your bra, the lace standing out underneath. You opened your hair, removed the hair ties around your braids. 

His eyes keep flickering between your ass and your chest, unable to look away. His stomach making somersaults at the look of you, his skin heating up beneath his clothes. 

“Well damn,” Eddie whistles at you, chuckling when you stand in front of the mirror and check yourself out with a squeal. “You look hot, Cowgirl.” He smirks, squeezing Steve’s shoulder. 

Steve swallows, unable to tear his eyes away from you. 

“What do you think!” You turn around, facing Steve. 

His eyes widen at your attention, his cheeks reddening underneath your gaze. He looks away from your chest and into your eyes, though finding it hard to after checking you out like a perv. 

“Y-You…” His voice breaks, which makes Eddie cackle behind him. Steve clenches his jaw, taking a deep breath. “You look amazing, Sunshine.” 

A giggle falls from your mouth and you bite your lip as you look down at the jeans in his hand, “come on, it’s your turn!” You smile excitedly, making your way towards him. “Let me pick out the rest of your outfit!” 

Steve and Eddie step aside, letting you do your thing. They both watch as you pick a flannel and a vest for him to wear. 

“You need any assistance, Eddie?” 

The metalhead chuckles, shaking his head as he keeps on watching Steve. 

“Nah, I got it. Just help this Cowboy here out.” 

Steve feels a little relieved when he finally gets to leave the room after you hand him the rest of his outfit. He takes a deep breath once out in the hallway, earning an amused smile from Nancy when she walks past him with the table lamp now in her hand. 

“You okay there?” She asks, glancing between his face and the clothes and boots in his arms. 

“Peachy.” He grumbles as he steps into the closest room he can find privacy in. 

Nancy can’t help but chuckle, already sensing what she will walk into. She steps inside the walk-in closet, lighting up the room with the lamp she found. Her eyes widen when she notices your new outfit. 

“Oh wow! You– Your ass looks amazing in those pants!” Nancy gushes over you, looking you up and down. 

A laugh falls from Eddie’s lips when he sees how flustered you get. 

“Nancy isn’t the only one who thinks that.” He wiggles his eyebrows. “You should keep them.” 

“Eddie!” You huff, slapping his shoulder. But you can’t fight the blush off your cheeks, thinking about how he might have checked you out. 

“Just telling the truth.” He cackles, stepping away from you and towards the hallway. “I’ll be right back, I got the best one.” 

Nancy crosses her arms over her chest, shaking her head at him with a smile. She takes a seat on one of the armchairs and glances at you. 

“Aren’t you cold?” She asks, eying your exposed arms. 

“I am, but I wanna enjoy this moment in this pretty vest.” You say, turning back towards the mirror. “Are you not gonna get changed?” 

Nancy shakes her head, “nope and don’t even try to convince me, this is not my style. It looks amazing on you though.” 

You pout at her, “not even a pair of boots?” 

She shakes her head, “I’m satisfied with my own. I’ll take a look at the rest of the clothes though, I’m sure there’s something other than western stuff, right?” 

“Let’s take a look.” You shrug. You busy yourself with the big closet, standing next to each other as you look through the drawers. 

Nancy opens another one, her eyes widening. 

“Wow.” Nancy whispers, blushing as she pulls out a thong. “You want those?”

You narrow your eyes, glancing at the lace in her hand. 

“Wear them during one of your cuddle sessions with Steve,” she giggles, wiggling her eyebrows at you the way Eddie always does. 

“Nancy! You are sounding just like Eddie.” You whisper and grab it from her hand, making her chuckle. You shake your head at her, cheeks burning. 

The floorboards creak in the doorway, causing you both to look over your shoulders. Your eyes widen as Nancy gasps. 

Eddie stands there, hair hanging loosely down his shoulders, cowboy hat on his head. He is wearing a black leather vest with nothing underneath, his tattoos and his scars on full display. You look down and you can’t help but laugh loudly. The leather pants are a little too tight on his crotch, leaving no room for imagination. 

“Ew, Munson! I can see your dick!” Nancy screeches and covers her eyes. 

Eddie walks over to the mirror, ignoring her reaction. A wide smile appears on his face as he checks himself out the way you did before. 

“Oh, I am definitely taking these! My sweetheart will love this!” 

You giggle at both his and Nancy’s reaction. 

“Don’t ever wear this in front of me again!” Nancy stresses, turning back towards the closet with red cheeks. 

“I’m wearing them now, Wheeler.” Eddie mumbles, not paying attention to her. “Just don’t look at my dick, perv.” 

“Fuck off.” 

You can’t help but shake your head in amusement at their interaction. 

“I think I get it now, Sunshine. I’m kind of digging this.” Steve mumbles, appearing in the doorway. 

You turn around to face him, opening your mouth to speak, though before you can even utter a single word, your breath gets caught in your throat and your eyes widen at the sight of him in this getup. Your lips part and a weird sensation rushes through your body as you take him in. 

He left the shirt under his vest unbuttoned at the top, showing off his chest hair. You eye the scar around his neck, taking a quick glance at his face to see him staring back at you already. You bite your lip without noticing as you take in the way the jeans hug him, the way the vest looks on him, the boots. 

He doesn’t even look dressed up, it just looks… good on him. 

Your heart flutters as he brings his hand up and runs it through his hair. 

You take a deep breath, sighing softly as you tilt your head. This is it, this is your cowboy. 

Nancy presses her lips together, holding back her laugh when she notices the way you stare at him. 

And Eddie, he only shakes his head at how obvious you are. 

“So…” Steve murmurs, smiling as he finally looks up. “What do you think, Sunshine?” 

You blink. 

Steve raises his eyebrows at you. He places his hands on his hips, eying your expression. Satisfaction grows strongly inside of him when he sees how flustered and speechless you are. 

Eddie looks between the two of you, his lips curling into a smirk. 

“Do you like what you see?” Steve adds, tilting his head down towards you. 

Finally, you blink yourself out of your stupor. Your whole body is burning up now, your lower stomach tingling, your knees weaken. 

“I-I… you look… you look—“

Nancy cringes a little at your stuttering, knowing that you are dying inside. 

“Yeah, Stevie looks hot doesn’t he?” Eddie chuckles, taking pity on you. “But not even he can beat this.” He gestures to himself, which luckily forces Steve’s attention away from you and towards him. 

Steve eyes him, his smirk falling as his eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “Dude…” He grumbles. “Are you trying out for your next job or…?” 

Nancy bursts out laughing, nodding. “I did see a dancing pole somewhere in here, might as well practice.” She jokes. 

Eddie’s smirk only widens at their teasing, “I would make a good stripper.” 

While the three of them continue to joke about Eddie’s potential stripper career, you are still staring at the pretty brunette, feeling taken aback by the effect he has on you. You have been attracted to people before, your ex-boyfriend for one, but it was never like this. He never stole your breath, he never made you feel weak in the knees, he never made your heart beat so strongly, not even when he broke it. 

You are screwed and it scares you a little. 

Your heart flutters strongly when he offers his arm out to you, acting charming. 

“Care to join me for dinner ‘round the fire, ma’am?” Steve attempts to imitate a southern accent. 

Your eyes widen and a surprised giggle falls from your lips. 

His eyes light up, his rosy cheeks glowing beneath the golden light of the table lamp. 

You hook your arm around his, biting your lip as you step closer to him, “why yes, sir. Do you have a horse to take me there?” You play along, using the same accent.

Steve chuckles as he leads you out of the room, grabbing the flashlight on the way out. 

Nancy watches you both leave the room with a smile on her face. 

“He sure does have one.” Eddie murmurs under his breath, chuckling. 

Nancy’s smile falls and she rolls her eyes at him, slapping his chest. 

“Why do you always have to be so gross?”

-

The fireplace in the living room is burning brightly, lighting up the room in a golden glow, the wood is crackling, music is playing softly from the radio Eddie had carried inside before dinner earlier.

You hear the howling of the wind outside and look out the window every once in a while to make sure that nothing followed you out here but both Nancy and Eddie keep repeating that you are safe for the night, that nothing will come even close to this mansion without getting stopped by the storm raging outside. 

They are right, you know they are but the red lightning in the distance makes you feel a little unsettled knowing that you might have to go through there tomorrow. 

“I have a proposition to make.” 

You push away from the window and draw the curtains close again, turning around, you face Eddie. 

He had changed into a different outfit earlier, a comfier one but you saw him stuffing the leather pants and vest into his backpack. 

Steve who had been looking at you, sitting close to the fire, tears his gaze away from you and glances at Eddie who is keeping one arm behind his back. 

“What is it?” Nancy murmurs without looking away from a book she found. 

Eddie grins as he reveals the whiskey bottle that he had been hiding behind his back. 

“Before anyone protests, I would like to remind you that this might be the only opportunity we have to relax and have some much needed fun.” He says, holding back a smirk as he looks between you and Steve. “We are safe here, you guys know we are, and we don’t know when we’ll ever get such an opportunity again.” 

Steve’s eyes find yours again. 

“You two deserve it especially.” He points between you. “You guys need to let loose.”

Nancy clears her throat and sits up on the sofa. 

“I think we all deserve to let loose. If these two are getting drunk, then so are you and I, Munson.” 

Eddie’s eyes widen in surprise, he turns to face her, “Wheeler, you never fail to impress me.” 

“Like you said, we’re safe here,” she shrugs. “And if anything happens, I’m an even better shooter when I’m drunk.” 

Eddie chuckles at her confidence. “Alright then,” he murmurs, turning back to you, he raises his eyebrows. 

You look between him and the whiskey bottle. The desire to forget about everything for a moment, to let loose, to have fun, is so strong. 

“You’re feeling better now, Sweets. You can drink,” he grins, tilting his head to the side. “Cowboy doc over there won’t say no, not tonight, am I right?” 

Steve licks his lips, taking a deep breath as he takes in the desire in your eyes. 

“No.” He shakes his head. 

“Okay…” You murmur, nodding. “But only if Steve drinks too.” 

“Oh, Sweetheart,” Eddie chuckles as he makes his way back to the bar in the corner of the room. “He’s already made his decision.” 

You make your way towards Steve, giving him a small smile as you sit down next to him. Nancy grabs a blanket and a pillow to sit on, throwing it down across from you, she plops down on it, giving you a curious smile, “when’s the last time you got drunk?” 

Eddie sits down beside her and places the cups on the ground. Opening the whiskey bottle, he fills them all up. 

“Uh… well, I haven’t had a single sip since all this shit had started,” you shrug, squinting your eyes. “Can’t even remember when that was.” 

Steve eyes your side profile, watching the way your dimple appears in your cheek when you smile. Your skin looks so soft beneath the golden light. There’s a scar forming from where you have been hit, he traces it every night, like he wants to cover the painful memory with another one – the way you do to him with his own scars. 

“Happy drunk or sad drunk?” 

You grab the cup and tilt your chin down as you raise it up to your lips, smelling the alcohol. 

“Happy drunk.” 

“Good, good.” Eddie nods. “This is gonna be fun then.” 

Steve pulls his knee up to his chest, grabbing the cup Eddie pushed towards him, he presses his hand against the floor, close to where yours is resting. 

“Do you get drunk quickly?” Steve asks as his fingers brush against yours. 

“Hmm, given the fact that I haven’t had any alcohol in over a year… probably yeah.” You nod. “But I am no lightweight usually!” 

Steve chuckles softly, finding you endearing. 

“Whatever you say, Honey.” 

Your cheeks heat up, and you look away from him, which makes his smile widen even more. The urge to tuck your hair behind your ear is growing strong. 

“Let’s drink!” Nancy cheers. 

Steve’s eyes stay on you, watching how you raise the cup to your lips and how you knock back the whiskey in one go, not even scrunching up your face in disgust. He gulps down his own and scoots closer to you, patting you on the back softly. 

“Atta girl.” 

You try to not feel affected by his words or his soft touch but it’s hard not to, especially when he speaks to you like that. 

You know this won’t be the only moment tonight that will make you feel weak in the knees, and you know that getting drunk might not be the best idea here, especially now with your feelings being so overwhelming. 

But you don’t care because one drink turns into two, two into three, and then into four. By the time Eddie is pouring your fifth cup, you have gone into a complete state of bliss. A permanent smile is stuck on your face, giggles fall from your lips at every joke made. 

And Steve feels no different, he is in the same state as you are. You have both scooted closer to each other, leaning towards one another every time you burst into laughter. His hand finds yours every time you fall into a fit of giggles at some stupid joke Eddie makes or tells a story from the past.

And in your drunken haze, you grow a little more confident, a little more daring, though waiting for an opportunity when it ends with just the two of you. It doesn’t take long for that to happen because soon Nancy passes out with her head on Eddie’s lap, the latter leaning against the couch, slowly falling asleep as well. The two of them too tired from driving all day. 

But you and Steve are far from it, not interested in sleeping at all. He is the first to get up, keeping his balance even with the alcohol in his system. He grabs the whiskey bottle that is half empty now. 

“Come on, Sunshine.” He whispers, turning to face you with a lazy smirk on his face. He reaches his hand down to you, “let’s get out of here.”

You giggle, gazing up into his eyes. Your heart flutters at the sight of his messy hair. His cheeks are rosy, sleeves rolled up, revealing all the veins in his arms. 

“Where are you taking me, sir?” You whisper as you put your hand in his and let him pull you up onto your feet. Your blanket falls off your shoulders, and you leave it on the ground, not caring to take it with you. 

“We’re gonna explore, Cowgirl.”

You giggle at that and he quickly moves his finger towards your lips, shushing you. “We don’t wanna wake them up.”

Your eyes widen, though a smirk tugs at your lips, “why, do you want me all to yourself?” You whisper, your head tilting to the side. 

All the worry, all those insecurities, all those what if’s that were coursing through his mind before are gone at this moment, and he can’t find it in himself to care to hold back. A part of him feels confident, the other intrigued, and the biggest part of him feels desire and yearning for this, for you. 

“What if I do?” He murmurs as his eyes flicker between your eyes and your lips, expecting you to get flustered, but instead, you take another step closer to him. 

“Well, you got me all to yourself now.”

Steve hums, his stomach flipping at your comment. He takes your hand, squeezing it as he smiles at you, “come on.”

You both tip toe out of the room, making sure not to wake either of them. You step out into the hallway, trying not to step on any creaking floorboards. 

“Where to first?” Steve whispers as he grabs the flashlight from his back pocket after handing you the bottle of whiskey. You instantly raise it up to your lips, taking a swig. 

“Hey now,” he shakes his head at you, “easy with the whiskey, little lady.” 

You can’t help but giggle at the deep tone in his voice and at the plastered frown on his pretty face. You take a step away from him, not letting go of his hand just yet. 

“Or what?” You raise your eyebrows. 

Steve lowers his eyebrows, a suggestive look flashing in his features. His eyes follow the drop of whiskey that rolls down your chin. Sober Steve would think about it but not do it, drunk Steve acts on his feelings though – he steps forward and brings his hand up to your face, cupping your cheek as he wipes away the drop of whiskey. 

Your breath gets caught in your throat at his action. Your stomach flipping with excitement and desire. You sink your teeth into your lower lip as you look into his eyes. 

Everything happened so quickly, so suddenly. It went from zero to one hundred. You don’t even know how it happened, how you went from shy touches to this but you aren’t complaining, not when he looks at you like this, not when he touches you like this, not when you see the chance of something more happening between you. 

The alcohol in your system makes this feeling between you so much stronger, like you threw fuel into the fire and the flames are burning higher and brighter now. 

Steve is looking at your lips, you are looking at his. All it would take is for one of you to make a move, just one step closer, just one. 

You aren’t your usual selves tonight, barely anything is holding you back and yet, the smallest part, the smallest voices in your heads, manage to break this moment apart. You don’t know who pulls away first, but a few seconds later, you are moving through the hallway again, still hand in hand. 

“I’ll pick out a hat for you.” You whisper to him, looking up at the collection of cowboy hats on the wall. 

“You don’t wanna wear one?” Steve asks, looking down at you. 

“No, I want you to wear one.” 

Steve aims the flashlight at the wall, though he isn’t looking at the hats, he is looking down at you. His heart thumping strongly, his stomach burning in desire. A mixture of emotions rushing through him. 

He watches the way your eyelashes flutter, the way you keep biting on your lip, the way you scrunch your nose up at certain hats. Steve swallows, the desire growing stronger with each passing second. Then his eyes move down to your neck, to the very revealing vest on your body, the black lace peeking out, your skin, your boobs–

“This one!” 

Steve blinks, swallowing harshly as you pull him out of his stupor. 

“I can’t reach it!” You pout as you look back at him, still holding your arm out towards the black hat. 

Steve doesn’t even think before he moves. He puts the flash light down and grabs the bottle of whiskey from your hand, placing it down on the ground as well before he steps up behind you. “I got it,” Steve murmurs into your ear, his lips getting caught in your hair. Instead of just taking the hat himself, he grabs your hips and he lifts you up with ease. 

You almost squeal in surprise, but you manage to hold it back. Your body heats up, burning like the flames in the fireplace, but you enjoy the moment, a little too much. His hands are big, his arms strong – you always knew, but this is making everything in you flutter. 

“Got it,” you giggle as you grab the hat off the hook. 

Steve puts you down again but he doesn’t let go of your hips just yet. His thumbs brush against your bare skin between your vest and your belt. Your skin is so soft, and you smell so sweet, so intoxicating. Your scent drives him crazy, every night when he goes to sleep with you, every morning when he wakes up with you in his arms but now… now it all feels more intense. 

His touch makes you feel weak, it brings out feelings in you that weren’t there before. And when you feel his breath on your neck, his nose in your hair, you almost lose it. Almost. You take a deep breath and turn around to face him. His hands are still holding your hips, grip never loosening. 

You bat your eyelashes at him as you rise up on your tippy toes, holding eye contact as you bring your hand up to fix his messy hair, the bang sticking up. 

His grip tightens on you in response, the feeling of your hands in his hair doing things to him that he can’t even explain. 

“There,” you whisper as you place the hat on his head. “Pretty Cowboy.”

Despite the cocky smirk appearing on his face, he also feels the heat spreading, feeling himself blushing, strongly. His heart skipping in his chest at your compliment. If only he could act upon his desire – he is already doing so, but still holding back. 

“Come on,” you whisper, reaching for his hand again. You bend down and retrieve the stuff from the floor. You press the whiskey bottle into his free hand and keep the flashlight in yours.

Steve tries to not look at your body when you walk up the stairs before him, but it’s hard not to do that when you move your hips the way you do, when your ass looks so good in those tight jeans. 

He swallows harshly, his eyes glued to you. His lower stomach flutters, and his breathing turns shaky. His desire for you had always been there, but never like this. The more he gets a taste of what it could be like to have you, the more his hunger grows. 

You make your way through the darkened hallway upstairs, finding a room that looks like it used to be an art room once. 

“Oh wow…” You breathe as you walk in further, eying all the drawings on the table, the paintings on the wall. You let go of Steve’s hand and pick up one of the wooden sculptures. 

Steve already misses the touch of your hand but he lets you explore the room. He looks around as well, noticing the camera on the shelf. He makes his way towards it, squinting his eyes because of the darkness in this room. He blows the dust off and picks it up, surprised to see it still turning on. He puts down the whiskey bottle, giving his entire focus to the camera. 

He polishes the camera lens with the sleeve of his flannel. He glances at you to see you standing close to the window now, the light of the flashlight kissing your features subtly. A smile tugs at his lips when your eyes light up. You look so beautiful. He raises the camera up, squinting one eye as he tries to get the perfect shot of you. 

You are so focused on the sculpture shaped into a horse that you don’t even hear the snap going off. 

“This is so nice,” you smile, putting down the sculpture. You turn to face Steve. Your eyes widen in surprise when you see the polaroid camera in his hand, not even noticing how he stuffed something into his back pocket. “Oh my god!” 

You rush towards him, taking the camera from his hand. 

“I’ve been looking for one everywhere!” You gasp, turning it in your hand. “Is it still working?” 

“Try it.” He smiles innocently. 

Your eyes flash with excitement as you take a step back. Bringing the camera up to your face, you aim it at him. “Perfect, now I get to keep a reminder of this.”

Steve chuckles. The never fading blush stays on his cheeks as he poses just for you. Not in a million years would he act this goofy with anyone. But he does it for you. So he holds the edge of his hat, almost tipping it as if saluting the camera, and his right hand is hooked on one of the belt loops of his pants. He hears the camera shutter going off, and you are smiling widely, bouncing on your feet as you hold your hand to the device to grab the picture developing already.

Once in your possession, you look at it in awe as you shake it, fanning it so it develops faster, and soon enough, your cowboy appears in the picture. He was born to wear these clothes. He sure is going to kill you someday. Your heart can barely handle it right now, but maybe the alcohol is helping with that one. The camera gets taken out of your hands, making you look at Steve, who is smirking already, a dangerous smirk that almost sends your knees to the floor.

You are startled when you feel a hat being placed on your head, his hat, and your thighs clench. You giggle a bit as you bite your bottom lip, your eyes finding his through your eyelashes, your hand stuffing the picture into your backpocket.

“Do you know the hat rule?” He tilts his head in question, a lazy smile on his lips, his body dangerously close as he moves a strand of your hair behind your ear. His voice almost a whisper.

“Why don’t you tell me?” He honestly doesn’t know what you are talking about but he also doesn’t even know when he got this close to you. He didn’t realize it. He also didn’t realize how his fingers were playing with your belt, and how your fingertips were running up and down his arms, almost without your knowledge.

“No, it’s more like… something that has to be shown.” Your eyes are fluttering and his chest is brushing with your own body and his lips are some tippy toes away. Your heart is hammering in your chest thanks to your emotions, to the alcohol, and to the heavy tension that hangs in the air, that hangs between the two of you. 

He wobbles in his place for a second, dizzy by just looking down at you. How bad leaning down could be?

But a rough rattling makes the two of you jump in your place, something having hit the side of the house and you wouldn’t be surprised it was either a tree or an infected. He steps away from you, feeling a bit more awkward than courageous now. He had to change the situation back to friendly. He had to. He points at you with the camera, a smile on his lips.

“Pose for me, cowgirl.” You smile widely, heading a few steps back, heading towards the large porcelain horse sculpture in the corner. Steve frowns because, when did that spawn? He shrugs, following you until he sees you pose, holding onto the horse that is standing on two of its feet. He snorts when you pretend to give the horse a kiss, and is that jealousy he feels for a piece of inanimate porcelain?

He swallows when you pull your vest down tighter, a more provocative pose. More skin of yours being revealed, more of your flesh that he wants to touch. He takes a picture and he is trying to think of something else to distract you from taking that last one for himself. He pretends to jump and turn around in his place. 

“What’s in the other rooms? I wonder if Eddie went into one of those.” He lies as he moves away and you jump up, rushing to get the whiskey bottle and following Steve as he holds the flashlight and camera. 

“Wait for me!” You whine. Steve is biting his bottom lip as he looks at the developing picture in the same hand he holds the flashlight. Mission accomplished. He sees you rush forward in front of him and– His eyes stuck to your ass again. You really should stop moving like this. Today is not the best day for you to show off that you look this good in tight jeans.

He sees you open the door from the room that is next to the one you two were just in. 

“Holy fuck…” A plastic wrap covers the entirety of it, protecting it from dust, bugs and humidity. Your eyes open like plates as well, sighing in surprise as you approach the massive mattress. 

Your hands immediately grab onto the plastic and you start ripping it off. Steve walks over to the dresser, wiping the surface off before placing the camera and then the flashlight on it, making it face the ceiling to turn it into a pretend lamp. It is very dim, but it works. He wobbles towards you, helping you with the weight of the plastic wrap. He almost tumbles a few times, which only makes you giggle. Once the plastic is off, you get on the bed, standing in the middle of it with your knees. 

“Sunshine–?” His voice gets cut off when you start bouncing, your hips going up and down and up and down, and your breasts and your body and– 

“Oh, this wasn’t made just for sleeping!” You giggle as if unaware of the images you just gave him. The fucking fantasies that flashed in his mind in a milisecond. You had just conjured images of yourself in many positions and with much less clothes than you had now, and you managed all that by just bouncing on a bed. 

He has to focus. The alcohol is making it all go south. It is going faster by the minute, and he is afraid of not being able to stop it. He feels sweaty, suffocated, and then you plop down on the bed with a huff, taking off the hat, you throw it on the bedside table. Laying on that bed would not be a good idea. Drunk Steve should leave. Drunk Steve should look away. Drunk Steve should leave you alone for the night.

But he can’t control himself. He wants to be near you. He wants to be close to you. So he lies down next to you, looking up at the ceiling. His head starts spinning in a good way, and oh fuck, he is sure having a hangover tomorrow. 

“I’m so fucking drunk that I feel so good, Stevie…” You mumble out, and he smiles, nodding.

“Me too.” He turns on his side to look at you properly, and you are still looking up.

“Does sex feel this good too? I imagine it does.” Your question catches him off guard. Sober Steve would have become nervous and wouldn’t have known what to properly say. He hums, making you look at him.

“It depends.”

“Depends?”

“Mhm. You can have sex, sure, but if the other person only cares for their own pleasure and is selfish? Kinda sucks. Or sex without feelings, that also sucks too.” You are caught off guard by his answer, making you turn on your side to face him. Despite the wide bed, you two are close, too close. Maybe one hand away from each other.

“So, you never had sex just because?” You ask, and he chuckles, nodding.

“I have, that’s why I can tell you that sex like that sucks.” You blink a few times, feeling a lump in your throat. Your head is spinning, and your heart is singing, and you don’t know if it is nausea or butterflies in your belly, but maybe it is a mix.

“And… would you do it again?” His eyes find yours at your question, and one of the qualities alcohol had was that it made you honest.

“Sex without feelings?... No. I wouldn’t, Sunshine.” And for some reason, that answer of his made you want to sigh out of relief. But the answer made you think a bit more, your eyes moving down from his.

“I wouldn’t do it normally… but I don’t think there’s another way for me to experience it… So I guess I would.” His heart plummeted at that. You would give your virginity away if the situation were to present itself. He felt his throat closing up at the thought of it, and rationally he should not care. Rationally, he should nod at it, and if it happened, good for you.

But fuck does he feel sick thinking of the possibility of another man touching you.

The horrible thought gets interrupted when you let out a big sigh, your eyes slowly closing.

“I hope my kids don’t get to see this, the world as it is now.” Your words shock him, making him raise up using his elbow for support, which kind of makes him dizzy.

“You… what kids?” You open your eyes to find his alarmed ones, making you giggle as you shake your head.

“I don’t have kids now! I meant– I meant my future kids, if medicine allows me to have them.” Your giggle dies down when you find him just staring at you. You feel a little intimidated and shy, making you pout. “I like the idea of having kids, sue me! I’m 22 years old!”

His heart becomes a furnace of pure warmth with your words, making his mind feel a little foggy, a little heavy. His eyes drift down for a second towards your belly… just one second. Fuck, oh no.

“I didn’t say anything, I was just surprised.” You see him lay back down with a sigh, staring up at the ceiling. “I want kids too. Six, to be exact.” 

“SIX!?” You yell, the emotion coming out naturally at the surprise. 

"I know, I know, it's a lot and the world isn't the best place to be right now but... I just want a big family. I always did.” He admits to you for the first time. Your eyes are looking at his profile, your mind filled with possibilities, with images of a future that started including little details you never expected.

"That sounds... nice. A big house... with a pool. A dog. Maybe one set of them are twins..." You start with your rambling, your eyes looking up at the ceiling as the image forms right in front of your eyes. Steve smiles, as if connected to you, as if he could see what you were imagining.

"Get to take them to the lake. Buying a suv." You giggle at those words, but nodding nonetheless. He follows you with a chuckle, looking at you at the same time you turn your head to look at him.

"Can't forget the family movie nights." He nods at that, and his voice starts lowering, his stomach flipping into itself as the words slip out of his lips before he could contain them.

"Yeah... and then when the kids are all sleeping, I can finally be alone with... my wife, partner. Have that solitude for each other." And you hum for a minute in thought, not realizing how Steve was looking at you.

"Honestly, with six kids? I think the one thing I would do is sleep." And you giggle but Steve keeps looking at you. Just looking at you.

"Yeah... you would definitely sleep." Steve smiles, still staring at you, never looking away from you, not even when he catches himself thinking of that future with you. Of walking into the living room after putting the last kid to bed, ready to spend the night on the couch with you, only to find you sleeping. The image of that is so endearing to him. His warm smile widens, his chest flutters with warmth. 

You close your eyes, humming at his words. A lazy, yet happy smile lingers on your face as you move closer to him, searching for his warmth, for his touch. 

“You getting tired, sleepy head?” He whispers, his eyes softening as he watches you snuggle up against him. 

You only nod in response. 

Your hand brushes against his, and he looks down, moving without thinking. He envelopes your hand in his, pressing his larger palm against your own. 

You open your eyes, and you are so close now that your nose almost brushes against his. Your breath hitches in your throat as his own does too. 

Steve’s eyes flicker across your face, staying on your lips for longer than they should, for it to mean nothing, for it to be friendly. You look down at his lips too, craving them on your own so badly. 

Your heart skips a beat. You want to kiss him, you want to kiss him so badly. And everything in the way he looks at you, in the way he squeezes your hand as he finally entwines his fingers with your own, tells you that he wants it too. 

And yet, neither of you make the final move. 

Neither of you step over the line that you both want to cross so badly. 

But you won’t lie and say that all his reactions, all his actions tonight, didn’t fill you with confidence. 

For tonight, you move closer, giving him one last smile and a squeeze to his hand before you curl into him, snuggling against his body and tucking your head under his chin. And your confidence only grows when he doesn’t hesitate to wrap his arms around you, to squeeze you, and pull you into his embrace. 

And then… he presses his lips to the top of your head, and your final decision is made. 

So maybe you won’t kiss him tonight, but you will kiss him tomorrow. 

☀︎

taglist: @prettyboyeddiemunson @pretentious-blonde @thecreelhouse @tvserie-s-world @thesickestqrmydcll @crispystarfishhottub @sophal22 @definitionwanderlust @talkativecarnation @mysticalwoolenfroglegs @ariesandwolves @mortqlprojections @sattlersquarry @sherrylyn0628 @purpleeyeswithgoldensparkles @micheledawn1975 @keepingitlokiii @littleromanoff2005 @sunshine-mrk @xxladymjxx @bananasplits-world @myharrington

[thatssofruity9]

John finally gets the bird he’s been watching

Cw: sex, implied sadist John, mostly just smut with little plot.

F!reader X John price

Zero self preservation, this girl.

John noticed it quickly, the way she was completely unaware of her surroundings, the way she smiled and apologized to each and every man that “accidentally” touched her, the way she politely chatted to blokes at the bar all while completely oblivious to their unmistakable advances. All sunshine and smiles, it makes him watch her closely, it’s intrigue maybe.

John is not a man most people would consider comfortable, he doesn’t care much for social graces, stands too close, stares too hard. He’s just not exactly the soft loving type that little thing probably needs. This fact doesn’t stop him though. She doesn’t stop him either.

She doesn’t seem to mind when his hand runs up her side while he’s talking to her, doesn’t seem to understand what is going on when he buys her drink after drink. This happens every weekend, she and her friends are here every Saturday at exactly 8 p.m. He’s got it down to a science at this point.

John has always been methodical about it. He wants that stupid girl, sure. But he wants it to stick, wants her to stay.

“What do ya want today, bird?”

He hums easing himself down onto the stool next to her, her friends have long disappeared like usual.

“Better friends.” John doesn’t miss the way she grumbled, the sour little expression on her face. They’ve always been such awful friends, he can tell but that’s okay birdie he can make it better.

“Mhm, be better off without 'em.” John rumbled out in response. He watched her, her sweet expression, the little half smile. Sweet, pretty thing.

“Yeah maybe.” She sighed but smiled at him, they’re friends. Or at least friends until he can get what he wants without spooking her.

“Well, you got me.” A smile fell over his face, meant to ease her, we are friends, bird, don’t worry. His hand softly eased up her back, she didn’t react, never does.

“I don’t even actually know you.” A little giggle followed her statement, she has a good point but that’s okay sweetheart that can be rectified.

“Mmhm and what would you like to know about me, little girl?” He watched in amusement as the blush crept onto her cheeks due to the little nickname, god she’s fucking cute. The conversation lasted all evening, hours longer than John would usually spend in this shit bar. Slowly her friends started leaving, going home with strangers like usual. She thankfully didn’t seem to mind all that much, her poor excuse for friends not putting a damper on their conversation.

Months John had been working on this sweetheart, talking, smiling, doing his best to stay respectful and friendly but today was different, it was time.

“Alright, we’ve had bout enough I think, we’re going, love.”

A frown followed by a confused eyebrow raise “Um…together?” She mumbled, sweet thing.

“Yeah bird, together. You’ve had a lot to drink, your friends are nowhere in sight and I’m not letting you find your way back home alone. You can sleep it off at mine.” John began getting up, grabbing his jacket with a small smile, an attempt to make his demand as nonthreatening as possible. To his delight she didn’t argue, didn’t even say another word, just got up and followed him. One day he’ll have to give her a lecture about trusting strangers but not tonight.

The walk back to his was quiet and peaceful. Just John leading his wife Bird to his house. She just followed him like the good girl he always knew she was. Not a single instinct to tell her she’s prey caught in a cage.

As soon as he shut the door behind them he made sure she was comfortable, sitting her on the couch, helping her unbuckle the strap on her shoe. God even her feet are pretty and John hates feet.

“Good princess?”

A little nod followed by a sleepy yawn, he couldn’t help the way his chest got tighter, she was perfect, adorable.

“Yeah? Do you need a shower? might sober you up a bit.” He hummed softly still squatting in front of where that beautiful creature sat on his couch.

“Uh…yeah if you don’t mind.” Her sweet voice muttered out. John only laughed a little placing a hand on her thigh.

“Of course not, love.” He led her through the house, into his bedroom, to the bathroom, showed her where all the things you’d need for a shower were kept, showed her where the towels were, grabbed her a t-shirt and an old pair of sweatpants she would no doubt be absolutely swimming in.

“Just yell if you need anything.” He had half a mind to just get in with her, to touch her, to taste her, to watch the way her body moves under the water but he didn’t. He’s trying probably harder than he ever had in his life to be a gentleman.

She nodded, and he left the room. He was antsy for some reason, he sat in the living room for the duration of her shower, trying to focus on either his cigar or the Telly but he couldn’t shake the thought of the sweet, naked woman just one room over.

When she emerged from the bedroom he realized for the first time that he might be actually getting old, worried for a small moment if he would have a heart attack. Makeup all washed away, hair still wet from the shower, sleepy expression. “Hi beautiful” There is no possible way at this point that she doesn’t realize he is flirting with her he has been flirting with her for months.

“Hi” soft, quiet. He watched her little feet hit the carpet, walking towards the couch, he almost let her but no, no this was his bird in his house and she was going to find out what happens when you let the older man at the bar take you home.

“C’mer bird.” It’s a demand though not an unkind one. She stops, turns, and hesitates for a moment before walking over to his recliner. John stubs out his cigar on the ashtray next to his chair and reaches his hands out to grab her, pulling her into his lap.

She gasps a little but overall doesn’t seem uncomfortable, he wants her to behave, listen, and be a good girl for him but he wants her comfortable enough to stick around after he has his way with her. “Bird, do you know what I want from you?” There is certainly no way she did not completely anyway.

“Um…yes.” Her answer sounded more like a question rather than a statement, it was cute and shy.

“You gonna give it to me?” He asked putting her back farther against his chest, resting his hand on her clothed thigh. He could feel the way her chest rose a fell heavier than normal.

She only nodded, that was all the permission he needed before his hand grabbed her chin, turning it to face him. He let his lips brush hers softly, doing his absolute best to control himself. John was not a man who regularly allowed himself things like this, he was too busy, and he had too many important things to think about, but this girl was his reward, she may not know it yet, but she was going to give him lots of things he hasn’t let himself have up until this point.

He felt like he was on cloud nine with her lips pressed against his. He didn’t waste much time getting her into his bed, she was visibly nervous, but that was nothing he couldn’t rectify.

He was on top of her, his mouth tasting hers, kissing her like he’d been waiting months to do so because he had.

“Lift your arms for me.” He whispered against her lips, he waited for her to obey, which she did without any protest. John barely pulled his t-shirt over her head before his mouth moved to her nipple, sucking and swirling his tongue around it just so he could hear the soft little noises she made. John likes to take his time when he has a woman in his bed.

He let his teeth graze over her swollen peak just to test the waters, just to see what she’d allow. He felt like he won the lottery when he heard her soft little whimper.

“J..John” Oh god this little thing was in trouble, big trouble.

“Yeah?” He spoke while moving his mouth from one perfect breast to the other. He had his hands exploring her body while continued to suck on her. If these are the noises she makes just from this he could not imagine what he could get her to do while inside of her. His cock twitched against his leg just at the thought.

His mouth didn’t leave hers when he slipped his hand down the sweatpants she was wearing. But he did groan when he just felt hair, no underwear.

“Don’t wear underwear?” He questioned, his breath becoming ragged.

“I..well I didn’t have any” she breathed out, of course she didn’t, his sweetheart didn’t have any clothes to change into here, she was wearing his pajamas.

“Mhm, we’ll remember that for next time” a subtle, silent, promise that there would in fact be a next time. He lifted his head from her chest to allow himself to see her, to see what he was touching. He ran his hand across her bush which he was not expecting her to have, but it’s absolutely not complaining about the existence of.

He watched her, the desperation on her face as he removed his hand to pull her pants down. “Oh so pretty” he muttered mostly to himself as he got the pants past her ankles. John pushed her knees apart, he didn’t even have to feel her to know how wet she was, it was all over her thighs.

John glanced at her face, she looked both incredibly nervous and excited at the same time. He moved his hand, his thumb running over her sensitive little bud and then running down her soaked folds. “Fuck, you’re so wet.”

She whined a precious sound he could get more than used to. He didn’t even have time to think before he was undoing his belt. She watched him as his jeans hit the floor along with his underwear. A gasp, god that stroked his ego.

“That's not going to fit.” She whined it would fit, he’d make damn sure of that, he pulled her thighs closer to his as he crawled back on top of her, placing himself between her legs.

“Oh it’ll fit, we’re going to make it fit.”

John is usually a very patient man, his job requires a lot of patience but he’s been after this bird for months, he’d be as gentle as he could but there’s no patience left.

John is a bit of a sadist, he couldn’t help but chuckle at the little whimper that left her lips as he dragged the tip of his cock against her slick sex.

“You gonna be good for me, love?”

He almost shuddered when her words hit his ears “Yes sir.” Fuck, he normally has to train his pets to behave like that, all that time he spent perusing her would have been worth it just to hear that.

“Fuckkk.” He growled as he pushed into her, she was so wet but so tight that it almost hurt. His bulbous tip was barely in before she started whining nonsense about it being too much, about him being too big.

“Shhh princess, take a deep breath, relax, let me in.” He rested his hand on her shoulder, a means to calm her. The second he felt her gummy walls relax around him he jerked his hips, bottoming out inside of her.

“Oh my god” she cried softly as he hit her cervix. John ran a hand up and down her side for a moment letting her settle, letting her get used to the stretch.

“That’s it, oh good girl.” His hips began rocking back and forth at a slow steady pace as he pushed her knees to her chest, he’s waited months to get in this cunt he was going to make sure they both enjoyed it.

With every moan or whimper that left her pretty lips, he picked up the pace, an obvious sign she was enjoying it was the green light he needed to really have his way with her.

“I knew you were a little slut. There you go baby, that's it.”

Every word he spoke was gritted out, every filthy sentence with a mix of praise and degradation. This was his woman even if she didn’t know she belonged to him yet.

With every deep thrust into her, he watched her expression change, watching the way her mouth hung open and her eyes glazed over. She got cock drunk faster than any woman he’s ever been with.

“Look at that, pretty baby. Dumb on my cock already.” He taunted her, she was too out of it to respond with anything other than incoherent babbling. It was like a reward for his patience with her

John rutted into her hard and fast, normally he’d touch her clit but he just wanted her to finish on his cock. Just wanted to feel her fall apart from only that. He bullied his way in and out of her until his wish came true until she was squirming and squeezing him so hard he could hardly move, feeling her body spasm around him.

She was saying something but he couldn’t understand it, just noises mostly. “Fuck baby squeezin me so hard.” He groaned out as he continued to fuck her through her orgasm.

John’s was not far behind, she was too wet, too warm and too excited. His pace quickened as he neared his end. It was brutal, she’d most definitely be bruised tomorrow. He probably should have asked if she was on birth control before he let go but it was just too late for that, his hips slowed as he released hot ropes into her.

He rode it out feeling himself soften inside of her. “You did so good” he murmured as he laid down pulling her against him. She just let out a little sleepy whine.

“Guess you have something more fun to do on Saturday nights from now on huh?”

[mrsbarnesblog]

the zipper

masterlist

summary: when you ask Bucky to help with your dress while you two at the gala, it doesn't go the way you planned

words count: 2.1k

warnings: semi-public sex, fingering, unprotected sex, dirty talk, mild dominance, light overstimulation,

a/n: I guess there are already tons of fics with congressman Bucky at the Gala (even though I still haven't read any of them), but this has been on my mind for a few days, so I have to give it to y'all.

also, do any of you want to be on my tag list? I thought about it randomly because many writers do it and I have so many followers... so if you would like to be tagged on my bucky fics, you can leave a comment or send me a message in my inbox🪼

The gala was in full swing, with way too many important people wandering around, talking, and pretending that they like each other. Bucky didn’t like it. He didn’t like the crowdedness, the tight and fancy suit, and the fact that he still couldn’t fully figure out what Valentina was doing irritated him even more. 

At least he had you by his side, and most of the time you were on his arm, soothingly rubbing his back or placing a kiss on his cheek when you noticed him getting overwhelmed. You were a good distraction—his favorite and only one. 

Though while he was talking to Congressman Gary, Bucky couldn’t stop thinking about the fact that you went to the bathroom about fifteen minutes ago and still didn’t come back. His mind started wandering off, barely listening to the man in front of him, even if it was extremely important. He just couldn’t focus when he didn’t know where you were and what was happening. 

In that exact same moment, his phone rang with a notification from you. 

Buck, I have a problem with a zipper. Could you come and help me, please?

He physically felt himself relaxing, knowing that you were just struggling with your dress, and he excused himself from the conversation as he went down the fancy hall. Bucky knocked a few times at the door until your head poked out of it with a shy smile, and you gestured to him to walk in. He locked the door before fully taking you in when you stepped further into the room. 

Hair pinned up, with a lip gloss in your hand, you applied it standing in front of the mirror. Bucky’s breath hitched when his eyes fell lower, at your chest, to be exact. Probably that was the reason you called him, because the zipper on your back was only halfway done, making the front part of your dress hang dangerously loose. The fabric barely covered your boobs, as it slid so low that Bucky could see that there was no bra underneath. 

You stood there unbothered, looking at yourself in a mirror, and completely unaware that within a second you caused him to have a hard-on. 

“...and I took it off to remove the label from the inside, but I can’t zip it back.” His ears caught only the last part of your sentence, while you were still innocently focused on your reflection. “I’ve tried so hard to reach it, but I’m afraid that I might break my nail… Buck, you okay?” Your soft voice snapped him out of his thoughts, and he stepped behind you, metal hand on your waist. 

“Yeah, just fine, doll.” He mumbled in a gruff voice. Bucky was higher than you, so standing behind your back, he could perfectly see that your loosely hanging dress left basically nothing for the imagination. He looked down at the smooth skin of your back, framed by the soft color of the silk fabric, letting out a deep sigh as his other hand hesitated in the air. 

His cock was pulsating in his suit pants, desperately craving your attention, the feeling of you. So before he could think of anything better, his hand tugged the zipper down to your ass, and he groaned, looking back in the mirror to see the full front part of your dress falling down and bunching at your hips. 

“Bucky!” You gasped at the feeling of cold air against your bare skin. Your hands instantly shot up to cover yourself, your lip gloss fell on the floor and was probably ruined, but Bucky moved quicker, wrapping one hand around your body. “We’re… at the gala…” 

“Like I care, baby. You don’t know what you’re doing to me.” His head fell forward into your neck, stubble scratching your delicate skin, lips ghosting just enough to send shivers down your spine. He pushed his hips forward, grinding his bulge against your ass and groaning at the feeling. You gasped again, instinctively melting in his arms, when his metal thumb brushed around your nipple. “No fucking bra, God damn, do you want to kill me here?”

“You don’t wear a bra in such dresses.” You mumbled weakly, throwing your head backwards and barely able to hold back your moans when Bucky teased each of your breasts. 

“Mhm, you should wear them more often then.” 

His other hand trailed down your stomach, using a high slit on your dress to sneak in between your thighs and press his palm against your core. He palmed you shamelessly, feeling the warmth of your pussy through the lacy material, which already started to get soaked. Bicky knew your body better than he knew himself, so the subtle movements like the tilt of your head to the side, parted lips, and barely noticeable rocking of your hips gave him everything he needed to take you right in this bathroom. 

You knew that you shouldn’t do anything in the middle of the gala, when you still had to go to the main room afterwards and face people, pretending that nothing had happened. But it was Bucky, the one who could make you feel lightheaded with only one touch, who always found an excuse to fuck you anywhere and everywhere, who was currently intoxicating you with his cologne and fingers that he already pushed inside of you.

“Oh, please—” You whimpered as he pumped his fingers into your dripping hole, pressing a thumb against your puffy clit. His other hand was still busy with your boobs, twisting and pinching your nipples, almost sending you to tears. 

“‘M gonna fuck you, baby. Fuck, you’re so hot like this.” He groaned against your ear, withdrawing his fingers with a loud, wet sound and immediately reaching for his pants. You felt him fidgeting with the buckle, then pushing your dress up for easy access. His hand softly pushed in between your shoulder blades until you bent over with your hands on the sink and your ass on display for him. 

Bucky’s metal hand pushed your legs further from each other, then slid your panties down until they were bunched around your ankles. At that point you wanted to cry from desperation, looking at him through the mirror and basically dripping from how horny you were. But then you felt the blunt tip of his cock sliding through your puffy folds, teasingly nudging your clit, as Bucky let out a loud moan. “Just soaking my cock, doll. You need it bad, huh?” He teased, slapping your ass once, just nudging your entrance but not pushing inside. “We got five minutes before someone notices. Think you can be quiet for me?”

“Yes. James, just please…” Your eyes rolled back the moment he slammed into you in one smooth motion, stretching you wide around him just the way you both liked, not even giving you time to think when he started slamming into you with full force. Bucky’s eyes stayed locked on the mirror, obsessed, addicted. Your reflection was pure sin—mouth parted, brows knitted in pleasure, tits bouncing with every savage snap of his hips. You tried to muffle your sounds, biting your lip until it hurt, but your breath kept catching on broken little gasps that made Bucky thrust even harder.

He groaned behind you, gripping the flesh of your ass, probably leaving marks on the skin, and keeping you still so he could use you the way he wanted. The wet sounds of your bodies slapping together filled the room, mixing with the faint music echoing from the gala. 

“Fuck, you feel so good.” He rasped, voice rough like gravel, forehead slick with sweat as he leaned over you. “You were made for me, doll. Fuckin’ made for me.” Your walls fluttered around his cock, making him twitch deep inside you, and Bucky let out another guttural groan. 

His relentless assault on your G-spot easily pushed you closer to the edge, making you gasp for air in poor attempts to not moan out loud. When an orgasm washed over you, Bucky didn’t stop or follow you the way you expected him to. Oh no, after mumbling a bunch of curses mixed with praise, the palm of his hand pressed on your lower stomach, and his fingers reached your clit, moving in circles. 

“Gonna cum again, doll? Soak my cock, huh?” He growled, breath hot against the shell of your ear, his fingers working your clit with maddening precision while his cock kept pushing into your sopping cunt.

Your answer was a strangled moan, your body trembling as overstimulation surged through you like fire. The first orgasm hadn’t even faded, and he was already pushing you into another, forcing your body to submit, to unravel under his touch again and again.

“Jesus, Bucky—” You whispered, your voice wrecked, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes as your thighs started to shake. “Too much, I—” He hushed you softly, his metal arm wrapping around your waist to keep you steady as he pounded into you mercilessly, lips brushing your ear.

“You can take it. You will take it. Give me another one, sweetheart. Be my good girl.”

That tipped you over the edge. Again.

Your mouth fell open in a silent scream, your nails scraping at the counter as another orgasm ripped through you, harsher this time, your vision nearly whiting out from how intense it was. Your whole body went limp, but Bucky held you upright, grunting as your walls clamped down on him like a vise.

“Fuck, baby—fuck.” He hissed, his thrusts losing rhythm as you dragged him over the edge with you. One final snap of his hips and he buried himself to the hilt, spilling into you with a moan and then pushing his cum into you like he didn’t want to waste a single drop. 

“You’re insane…” You managed to mumble, barely able to straighten up. Bucky shifted behind you, slowly pulling out with a groan and tucking himself back in his pants. He bent down to help you pull your panties back in place, and then, as if nothing had happened, he fixed the back of your dress, lifted up the front, and this time properly zipped it. 

“That’s your fault.” Bucky shrugged casually, giving you a shit-eating grin after spinning you to face him. You slightly wobbled in your heels, and you gripped his shoulders for some stability. He placed his hands on your waist, leaning in for a slow and soft kiss. Being a gentleman, as if he hadn’t just railed against the sink like there was no tomorrow. “Still shaky?” He whispered against your lips, the hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

You gave him a playful glare, but it was half-lidded and dazed. “Gee, I wonder why.” You took one look in the mirror—your hair still mostly intact, makeup a little disheveled but passable, and your eyes? Yeah, they were screaming just fucked, and you wondered how many people could pick up on that instantly. “I guess we have to go back now. Even though I look totally fucked. Both literary and figuratively.” 

“You look perfect, I promise.” Bucky chuckled lowly, his hand slipping into yours as he led you toward the door, his fingers lingering just a second longer than necessary. “I’m more interested in seeing how you’re gonna keep that poker face of yours. You’re gonna have to hold it together, doll. Until we get back home.”

You shot him a sidelong glance, fighting the flush that threatened to creep up your neck, knowing exactly what he meant. “Oh, I can do poker faces.”

“Mm-hmm.” He didn’t sound convinced, but the playful gleam in his eyes told you he was looking forward to watching you try.

[dedeinthewild]

lando norris x reader, early stages

-“Come on, Mr. McLaren. No Mrs., but definitely a sports car,”

summary : he bought the tickets "for her." she wore his shirt. tate sang sports car. he knew all the words. but no, he definitely doesn’t stream her on spotify.

As soon as they got in the car, she had connected her phone and, while Lando drove toward the arena, she sang along to every song on her playlist, wearing that rugby shirt she’d stolen from him and flashing the most beautiful smile he had ever seen.

Even if he would never admit it, the idea of going to that concert had been his. After talking to other drivers and some friends, he found out about the tour of the singer she always talked about—and he hadn’t hesitated to go back to Monaco, set his laptop on the table, and buy two tickets.

Lando had always pretended—with his usual smug arrogance—that the trending pop music of the moment was way beneath his musical tastes, never missing a chance to remind her of that.

“That’s lame white girl music,” he’d tease her while she slid on her blue light glasses and sat next to him, peeking at everything he was doing on screen.

But deep down, he liked it.

Just like he liked when his team texted him after the release of her new album, so full of imagery about a boy so handsome he was almost dangerous, driving a sports car that seemed just a little too much like him.

Then would come a cheeky comment, a few lyrics whistled intentionally in the paddock, but he’d never really considered going to one of her concerts—mostly to avoid worsening his groupie situation. They’d probably sell their souls to see him in the crowd at something like that.

But she had been enough.

She had chosen to wear one of the old merch t-shirts she found in his apartment in Monaco and had left all the decisions to him, barely hiding her excitement at the idea of flashing those tickets at the entrance of The O2 Arena.

“Tate McRae,” he let the singer’s name roll off his lips as they queued for the parking spot he’d reserved, his right hand on the lower part of the steering wheel, elbow resting out the window, soaking in the early summer breeze of London.

“Yes,” she replied, unable to hold back a smile as she looked out at the arena, nervously running a hand through her soft, fragrant hair.

“Maybe I should’ve brought tissues,” he said, giving her one of his signature infuriating smirks, while the car engine rumbled in idle, waiting to finally be parked.

“No,” she shot back, “but you should’ve brought a mirror.” Teasing him, knowing full well how he secretly loved those songs like they’d been written just for him—in every lyric and chorus, like they were soaked in the same scent he sprayed on himself just to watch her wrinkle her nose.

“What?” he feigned innocence, following the car ahead.

She shook her head playfully, already feeling the adrenaline of what she knew would be a special night—the kind of thrill that comes from seeing the artist you listen to every morning in the car, every afternoon walk, every evening while cooking.

Lando was good at pretending he didn’t care, like he’d done all this just to make her happy. As if he didn’t know their photos would be all over the internet in two hours, and a night that felt like a dream for them would become one for thousands of fans too.

Once inside, they realized how massive the arena was—it had even hosted the F1 pre-season gala earlier that year, where he’d been one of twenty stars, standing on the very stage where Tate would soon perform. The standing area was already packed, while some sections of seats were still waiting for people to arrive, stuck in London’s nightly traffic.

Thanks to one of his contacts, Lando had bought some of the priciest tickets, in a separate section that gave them the thrill of the crowd but with seats and a near front-row view—just as Charles had suggested after attending another popstar’s tour.

“Still time to leave,” he whispered in her ear, standing behind her with his hands in the pockets of the jeans he’d chosen, his shoulders straight in a black shirt that clung to his torso in a way that could easily be considered illegal.

“Still time to admit you secretly stream her on your Spotify,” she grinned, turning to him, catching the way he couldn’t wipe off that teasing little smirk he reserved for when he was winding her up—or realizing how easily he could charm whoever stood in front of him.

“Only ‘cause you made me a playlist,” he shot back, thinking of the long summer drives in his Audi, aimless, with the playlist he made almost blowing the speakers.

“Because I knew you’d relate.”

“To what? Being emotionally damaged and hot?” he laughed, adjusting the mullet he’d grown back after months of clean fades—on her gentle request, the same girl who had dragged him to the place where everyone wanted him to be.

“Exactly,” she said, grinning, as the tech crew finished setting the stage. The lighting matched the album colors—orange and soft neon—which lit up her face as she wore that same color.

He was curious, cautious, already tapping a rhythm on his thigh.

It was one of those moments girls dream about—sending outfit pics to friends, burning every second of a moment into memory instead of a phone video. Some were already sitting, phones in hand, while others kept their hands on their girlfriends’ shoulders, softly singing along to the pre-show songs. And some—like Lando—just stole the scene.

But that was the last thing he wanted. Because even if he loved attention, tonight was for her—even if he wouldn’t admit it. She had told him many times she’d never been to a concert before, or that she’d missed out on tickets. So this one—it was her concert.

“She’s not even out yet—”

The entire arena erupted into a scream that made her wrinkle her nose, tilting her head slightly toward Lando, who had rested his chin on her shoulder, scanning the crowd—spotting a few actors and footballers, but not caring much.

“That’s the point,” she said, her voice trembling with excitement. “Pre-scream.”

“You dragged me here for this?” he complained, grinning wider than she’d ever seen.

“You’re going to love it,” she laughed, shooting him a sideways glance, “even if it’s just lame white girl music.”

As the lights dimmed, he stood straight, his arm brushing hers as they looked at the wave of teens and girls with glittered cheeks and hairdos that had clearly taken hours.

It was hot, but the frenzy felt like cold air breathing down their necks, a thrill buzzing with anticipation.

Tate’s first songs rang out, met with the crowd’s loud approval. Lando vibed to the bass, hands in pockets, his wristband contrasting against his tan forearm, opposite his Richard Mille watch. He watched her sing every word, wearing his shirt tucked into her pants, with that wide smile showing she was having the time of her life—likely something she’d talk about for months.

And it made him smile too. Until the tension crept in—the weight of their undefined situation.

They’d been “something” for months now—joking like old friends, then flirting with an undertone they never named. Their “friendly” outings had him wearing his nicest shirts and asking for as many paddock passes as possible just to have her travel with him.

When Sports Car came on, his chest was lightly pressed against her back, hands high enough to graze her waist but not touch, his eyes fixed on the stage from above, savoring every word sung by the crowd.

It was his song now. Everyone said so.

"I think you know what this is I think you wanna uh No, you ain't got no Mrs. Oh, but you got a sports car"

He smiled—that smug, charming grin that somehow never made him unlikeable—as he stood there, muscles peeking through his shirt, those piercing green eyes glowing even more under the lights.

As the show went on, she realized the joy of being there was now sharing space with the awareness that she was there with Lando Norris—and with every word Tate sang, he claimed a little more of her space without ever feeling intrusive.

“Oh, don’t start,” he said as the beat dropped, chin slightly lifted.

“Come on, Mr. McLaren. No Mrs., but definitely a sports car,” she teased, biting her lip to hide a grin full of tension and butterflies. Lando was so close—to her, and no one else. And he never missed a chance to tease her.

“Okay, I’ll admit it. She’s good.”

She turned, savoring those five minutes that marked the last third of the concert—time had flown between lights and confetti.

His chain lay against his collarbones, creating a crease in his shirt that highlighted his chest and arms—always growing stronger from the effort he poured into reaching the top of his career.

He looked down at her, eyes locked, the kind of smile she wanted to steal right off his face. His skin smooth from the shave he remembered to do that morning—when she woke him up with the smell of pancakes.

“Maybe it’s the company,” he added, finally making her melt.

"I just want your two hands on me at all times, baby If you let go (I want your two hands) Better put 'em right back, fast Want your two hands on me like my life needs savin' Let 'em all know (I want your two hands) Can you do it like that? Yeah"

Lando had embraced the vibe—singing with her, helping a few girls take pictures with the venue behind them, showing that sweet, kind side of him she adored so much.

He looked fully in his element—hands up, taking photos for people, handing phones back gently, then leaning against the barricades and moving with the beat. Watching her like she wasn’t just some beautiful girl, but his.

“Think you can handle that?” he teased again, quoting the lyrics as she leaned closer, their elbows touching, trading warmth and that faint London humidity that kissed their skin.

“That’s a challenge?” she replied, her usual blush hidden by the pink lights.

Lando looked at his hands, licking his lips.

"Dear God, take his kiss right out of my brain Take the pleasure out of my pain Take the way he'd used to say I love you Dear God, get his imprint out of my bed Take away the way I still might want to"

She pulled out her phone and started a new note, jotting down all the songs that caught Lando’s attention the most. He watched her, amused—and in a way, thankful he came with her, doing one of his press-friendly fashion moves and giving her a perfect night.

“What are you doing?”

“Making you a playlist with a horrible title,” she smiled, like the song they’d just heard hadn’t been full of innuendos.

“You’re horrible,” he laughed, taking her hand, still leaning on the barricade.

“And yet you love me.”

Lando paused, looked into her eyes, then slightly down at her lips, still a little damp from singing—but instead of thinking about kissing them, he focused on that happy smile.

“I might,” he said softly. “You make it really hard not to.”

He didn’t let go of her hand. Not when the concert ended, as they took a few photos and joined in chanting for the singer before she left the stage. Not even as people started filing out, chasing a bit of fresh air after the heat of the night.

When she was ready to go and turn the night into a memory, he started walking toward the exit, her smaller hand still in his large driver’s hand—the one she’d always wanted to hold but never dared to, afraid it would ruin things.

Her eyes were locked on him, on how confidently he walked, the black shirt hugging his back and hinting at the return of that mullet that made him look even more stylish than he already was. How he’d turn and glance at her, pointing out small details they’d missed, keeping her close in the gentlest, most genuine way.

He stroked her palm. He knew she was behind him. That everyone knew he was there. That the gorgeous, seemingly unattainable Formula 1 driver—the one everyone said Tate McRae’s songs were about—had come to her concert. And he’d come with a girl.

“You’re kind of the hot boyfriend everyone wants right now,” she said once outside, as he sat on a concrete cylinder, arms resting on his knees with that post-concert calm she’d always dreamed of. Some girls walked past, still singing, snapping their final photos.

“Kind of?” he asked, tilting his head.

“Well, I’m still deciding,” she smirked, as he placed his hands on her waist and pulled her closer, locking eyes with her again.

“Decide now,” he said, wetting his lips. “You dragged me here just to roast me with pop music. And now you’re getting soft on me?”

“You liked the pop music.”

“I loved it.”

“And the lyrics?” she asked, burying her hands in his hair, still stunned that someone so impossibly handsome could be so impossibly hers.

“Could’ve been worse. Could’ve been a country concert.”

She rolled her eyes.

Knowing it was just the first of many concerts. And the start of a beautiful, messy, perfect unfolding.

guess whose birthday is it? if your lucky guess was me, then yeah, I'll gift you this little lando x reader 'cause you were right! I have been pondering for days if I should get tickets to tate or not, and the obvious answer is that I should but I've spent way too much lately...

[cheolieji]

unspoken pt 2 - choi seungcheol

wc: 4,534

idol au

14th member fic

angst angst angst and angst, did I mention angst?

guide for requesting on my page [17] please check it out before requesting!!

Scarlet's Masterlist

unspoken pt1

A/N: is it bad that I cried while writing this? oopsie lol

A/N2 : sorry this took a bit I dislocated my shoulder a while ago and after that I was too lazy to write hehe

The next morning, he tries again.

You’re in the kitchen, minding your own business, trying to act like you’re not shaking just holding a stupid glass of water. Everyone else is keeping their distance. Probably heard the fight. Probably heard the silence after. But not him. Of course not him.

He stands by the counter, arms crossed, but his face is softer than you’ve seen in days.

“Hey,” he says, like you’re not avoiding him on purpose. “Look, about yesterday…”

You don’t even blink.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “Really. I was an idiot. More than usual.”

You turn away. Start rinsing your glass even though it’s already clean.

“I was pissed off. And I took it out on you. I said stuff I didn’t mean. Stuff I knew would hurt. And I’m sorry. That’s not… that’s not who I want to be. Especially not with you.”

He follows when you move to put the glass away. He keeps going.

“I heard what you said to Jeonghan. I shouldn’t have. But I did. And it messed me up. Not because I don’t feel the same but because I do. I do, and it scared the hell out of me.”

You walk past him toward your room. He follows. Again.

“You think I didn’t notice you pulling away first? You think I didn’t see how you stopped looking at me when you thought I wasn’t watching? It killed me. And instead of being honest, I picked a fight. Like a dumbass.”

You reach your door, hand on the knob. He stops right behind you.

“You’re not selfish,” he says, voice lower now. “You’re not. I am. I’ve always been so focused on keeping everything together, I forgot about you. About us. That’s on me. I get it.”

You say nothing. The silence is so loud it drowns him out.

“I know you’re mad. You should be. You should hate me right now. I hate me right now. But I’m not giving up on you.”

He exhales, frustrated, running a hand through his hair.

“I’m not good at this. I’m not good at talking when it actually matters. But I’m trying. For you.”

Still nothing.

“I’m sorry. For every single word. For being a coward. For making you feel like you don’t belong here. You do. You always have.”

You open the door. About to step inside.

“I like you,” he says quickly. “A lot. More than I know how to handle sometimes. And I don’t want to lose you like this. Not like this.”

Your hand tightens on the handle.

“I’ll say it as many times as it takes,” he says. “I’ll say it until you believe me. Until you let me fix this. Please.”

But you step inside anyway. Quiet. Done.

He doesn’t follow this time.

But his voice comes soft through the door.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

He keeps trying.

That same night, your phone lights up.

cheol [22:42]: are you okay?

You ignore it.

cheol [22:58]: i know you’re not

cheol [23:05]: i’m sorry

cheol [23:10]: please talk to me

You mute the notifications.

The next day, he’s already waiting in the kitchen when you get up. He’s sitting there like he didn’t sleep, like maybe he’s been there all night. His eyes go to you the second you step in. You pretend not to see him.

“Morning,” he says quietly.

You don’t answer.

“Did you sleep at all?” he tries again. “You need to eat.”

You walk past him like he’s air.

When you leave, you hear him sigh. Not annoyed. Just tired. Just sad.

Later that day, another message.

cheol [15:26]: you left your jacket in the practice room

cheol [15:27]: i’ll bring it to your door

cheol [15:28]: i won’t bother you. just thought you’d want it back

You open the door five minutes later. The jacket is folded neatly on the floor. He’s nowhere in sight.

That night, you hear a knock.

“Hey,” his voice comes through, soft. “I’m not here to force you to talk. Just… I was thinking. About how much I miss hearing you laugh. How much I miss you sitting next to me even when we’re not saying anything.”

You close your eyes, leaning back against the door. His words feel like they sink straight through you.

“I hate that I made you feel like this,” he says. “I hate that I’m the reason you’re shutting me out. You didn’t deserve any of it.”

You hear him sit down. Right there, on the other side of the door.

“I’ll sit here as long as it takes,” he mumbles. “I’m stubborn. You know that.”

He stays for a while. Talking quietly. Just him and the wall between you.

When you finally open the door, long after he’s gone, there’s a little post-it stuck to it.

I’ll be here tomorrow too.

The days keep passing like that.

He texts you every morning.

cheol [08:12]: hope today feels a little less heavy

cheol [08:13]: even if you don’t wanna talk to me yet

cheol [08:14]: i’ll wait

You keep ignoring him. But he keeps showing up.

In the practice room, he’s careful. Never raises his voice. Never gets too close. But his eyes find you. Every time. Always that same look. Full of regret. Full of something he can’t say out loud anymore.

When you stay late to practice alone, you hear the door open. You don’t look, but you know it’s him.

“I’m not here to get in your way,” he says. “Just making sure you get home safe.”

You leave without a word. When you check your phone later, there’s a message.

cheol [23:02]: text me when you’re back safe?

cheol [23:20]: or don’t. just. please be careful.

You don’t reply.

But you know he waited for you to come back. You saw his shoes by the door. Still there. Still waiting.

The worst part is he never gets angry. Not anymore. Not when you ignore him. Not when you leave rooms just because he walked in. He takes all of it. Quiet. Patient. Like he thinks this is what he deserves.

And maybe it is.

But it still hurts to see him like that.

It hurts more to admit you want to forgive him. That a part of you misses him so much it physically aches. But you can’t forget what he said. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

You go to bed thinking about the way he said your name. Like it broke him to even say it.

The next morning, another text.

cheol [07:58]: it’s okay if you hate me right now

cheol [07:59]: i’m still not going anywhere

--

It happens after practice.

You’re already exhausted. The weight of pretending is suffocating. And then there he is again. Waiting outside the room like always. Watching you. Following you. Keeping his distance but never really leaving.

You snap.

“What do you want from me?” you spit, whirling around to face him. Your voice is sharp. Loud. It startles him.

He freezes. “I… I just wanted to—”

“To what, Seungcheol? Apologise again? Say sorry for the hundredth time? You already said it. Over and over. What do you want me to do with that?”

He takes a step closer. You take one back.

“I’m trying,” he says quietly.

“Yeah? You’re trying? You should have tried before you said all that shit to me. You should have thought about how it would feel to be treated like I was nothing to you.”

His face twists. He opens his mouth. Closes it again. You don’t let him speak.

“You made me feel like garbage, Seungcheol. Like I wasn’t even part of this team. Like I was a burden. Like I was disposable. And now you’re standing here acting like sorry is going to erase that?”

Your voice cracks. You hate that it does. You hate that he sees it.

“I know I messed up,” he says, desperate. “I know. You don’t have to remind me. I’ve been thinking about it every second since.”

“You should feel bad!” you shout. “Because I can’t stop hearing your voice in my head, repeating every awful thing you said. And it hurts. It hurts so much and you’re the one who put that there.”

Tears spill over. You wipe them away harshly, frustrated with yourself, frustrated with him, with everything.

“I hate you for this,” you choke out. “I hate you for knowing exactly how to break me. And still doing it anyway.”

His face falls. Completely. He looks wrecked.

“I’m sorry,” he says again, voice shaking. “I’m so sorry. I never wanted to hurt you like this. I was angry and I was scared and I handled it the worst way possible.”

“You think that changes anything?” you snap. “You think that fixes it?”

“I know it doesn’t,” he says. “But I’m still going to keep apologising. Because you deserve that. Because I was wrong.”

He steps closer.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” His voice gets softer with every word. “I’m sorry for the fight. I’m sorry for not saying how I felt sooner. I’m sorry for being a coward. I’m sorry for every single time I made you doubt yourself.”

You shake your head, but he keeps going.

“I’m sorry for not protecting you. For not choosing you when it mattered. For saying things I didn’t mean. For not stopping when I should have. For hurting you when all I ever wanted was to be close to you.”

Your chest feels tight. Your hands are clenched so hard they hurt.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

He reaches for you like you’re made of glass.

“I’m so sorry. Please. Please let me fix this. Please let me try.”

Your breath comes out in a sob.

“I don’t know how to forgive you,” you admit, broken.

“That’s okay,” he says right away. “That’s okay. Take your time. Take all the time you need. I’ll be here. I’m not going anywhere.”

He says it again.

“I’m sorry.”

He repeats it until his voice goes hoarse.

And for the first time, you don’t walk away.

[ellewritesx]

breach of contract

(part six of the sugar, baby series)

Summary: You give him silence. He gives you the truth.

Warnings: sugardaddy arrangement, mentions of past sex, lots of feels, that's it really

A/N: hi lovelies! a lot of you had a lot of different opinions on how this part should go. i wrote it in a way that feels natural to harry and y/n, and to me as the author. i hope you guys love it as much as i do!!! a song that really helped me while writing is ''back to december (taylor's version)'' by taylor swift which captures this part perfectly imo, definitely recommend listening to it as you read this x

Word Count: 3,531

...

The gallery is bathed in a soft light, the kind that glazes over skin and oil paint alike, smearing everything in gold. The room is warm with conversation, the low chatter of art lovers sipping cheap wine and throwing around words like ''contrast'' and ''intent''.

You stand somewhere near the center, smiling softly for the camera, one arm thrown around your friend's shoulder as she beams proudly in front of the exhibit wall.

You're in one of the photos. Well, you are the photo. Printed large, mounted on white canvas, your silhouette lit with honeyed shadows and smoke. You helped out with the shoot weeks ago, before everything fell apart. Before Harry stopped asking you to come over. Before you stopped waiting for him to ask.

Your friend had begged to take your photo when one of her models canceled last-minute. Something about an accident on the highway causing ''an impossible traffic jam, Y/N''. Despite your initial reluctance, you agreed. It was mortifying, being in front of the camera. You had felt your cheeks heat up in embarrassment when you recalled the events to Harry later that same night.

He'd said he would come. Said it so casually, in passing, fingers brushing your hip absentmindedly in bed. You didn't really believe him then, and you definitely don't now.

You wear something new tonight. Bought with your own money. A slip dress in a color that makes your skin glow and your eyes sharper than usual. You didn't put on much makeup, didn't fuss with your hair, prioritizing your own comfort. It'll be a long night, after all.

You don't see him at first.

But he sees you.

Harry walks in through the side entrance, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his dark wool coat. His hair is pushed back haphazardly, his jaw unshaven, like he hasn't really slept in a few days. He hasn't. Not properly, not since you walked out. The air in the gallery is cooler than he expected, but the moment he sees you there, speaking animately to a cluster of strangers, lit softly by gallery lights like the portrait of you on the wall, his skin heats from the inside.

He had worried he would never see your face again. He was sure you wouldn't hear him out if he asked, and he wouldn't know what to say to you even if you did. But then he remembered you mentioning it, offhandedly, weeks ago. Laying in his bed, bare-legged and sleepy, lips sticky from wine and your marshmellow lip balm. You had laughed bashfully, said something like, "She's showing her exhibition next month. I think she's using one of the shots I'm in. Can you believe it, Harry? Me? Hanging in an art gallery?"

He'd told you he would come. He wasn't sure if he would. Hadn't cared at the time. Or pretended not to.

But now he's here.

And there you are. Fucking radiant.

You're laughing, head tipped back, a glass of wine dangling from your fingers. There's a group of people around you, friends of your friend, probably. One of the guys leans in a bit too close when he talks, not quite flirting, but not just being friendly either.

Harry doesn't blink. Just watches.

Jealousy washes over his body like a current, but he doesn't move. Doesn't stomp over and drag you by the wrist like that night at the bar. He stays near the back, one hand clenched around a drink that's too weak for he's liking. He's not even sure how he got here. It's like he's been sleepwalking for weeks, just going through the motions, only snapping out of it when he saw you just now.

He doesn't belong here. Not in this state, wrinkled blouse, hair curled messily over his ears, a tiredness under his eyes that's deeper than just insomnia. It's regret. Resignation. But he's not leaving either.

And then you feel it.

That prickle at the base of your neck. The weight of his gaze.

You don't turn immediately, don't give in to the urge to search the room for that presence, looming in a dark corner like a storm cloud. But something in you stills. Anchors. When you finally glance over your shoulder, when your eyes land on the tall figure standing at the far edge of the gallery, spine straight against a wall, you know.

He came.

His eyes meet yours across the room. He doesn't look away.

Your stomach drops.

He looks out of place, like he didn't mean to be here but couldn't stay away. Dark trousers, open collar, silver rings glinting as he tugs his hand through his hair. He looks like he hasn't slept in days. Like he's been unraveling by the hour.

His jaw is set. You know that look. That rigid line of his jaw, clenched so tightly it could shatter teeth. You've seen it in bars and on planes, in arguments that left you breathless and silent treatments that lasted days. It's his tell, his dead giveaway. That he's spiraling. That he's seconds from doing something he'll regret.

And yet tonight, he stays rooted. One hand loose at his side, the other clutching his drink. Breathing through it. Usually he would have stalked over immediately, pulled you by the wrist, caused a scene. But he's not approaching, and that's the strangest part.

Harry Styles doesn't do restraint. Or at least, he didn't. Especially not when it came to you, when it came to his belongings. Every emotion he felt was something he let devour him, let spill onto you like a heavy rainfall: jealousy, fury, lust.

But now, standing across the gallery floor, you see the restraint in every inch of his body. The way he doesn't interrupt. Doesn't insert himself. Doesn't act like he owns you. And that quiet refusal to unravel says more than any apology ever could.

You're not sure why it matters so much, this one, subtle thing. The way he just stands there and watches. The way he lets you laugh and drink and exist without immediately laying claim. But it does matter. It matters because for once, you don't feel like a possession being policed. You feel like a person. Like someone he sees as separate from him. And God, that shouldn't feel revolutionary… but it does.

Your heart kicks up, but you don't let it show. Instead, you lift your chin and hold your ground as you approach him, deliberately, taking your time. And you're surprised he lets you. Doesn't try to assert dominance by beating you to it. Doesn't move to meet you halfway. For once, he just... watches you come to him on your own terms.

''Didn't think you'd come,'' you say, voice light.

His eyes flick toward the man not far behind you, the one who's already engaged in another conversation but keeps shooting you discreet glances, checking you out. He doesn't comment on it.

''You look good,'' he says instead, eyeing you up and down. His face is indifferent, but his voice is soft, vulnerable. You wouldn't have been able to tell if you didn't know him as well as you do.

You nod once. ''Thanks. I bought the dress myself.''

The words land like a knife. A silence stretches between you, taut and sparkling with tension. You don't offer him comfort. He doesn't reach for you. It's the first time you feel like you're equals.

''Well, it looks beautiful on you. You're beautiful,'' he tells you sincerely, offering you a small nod.

You quirk a brow in suspicion and meet his gaze, steady and unflinching. "Why are you really here, Harry?"

He swallows, hesitating. You don't say ''You weren't supposed to come''. Because he knows that. You don't say ''I didn't want to see you''. Because it would be a lie.

He says nothing for a moment. Then, quietly, "I said I'd come."

You stare at him. ''That was before.''

He nods. ''Still meant it.''

You don't know what to say to that. You blink.

Your mouth opens, then closes. He watches you carefully, as if memorizing your reaction. You can tell he wants to say more, it's clear in the way his lips part, the way his hands fidget subtly at his sides, but he stops himself. You notice it.

You glance back at your friends, who are entertaining a group of visitors that has just arrived while sending you looks that scream ''help!''. You're the one who's supposed to be showing people around the gallery, a task you didn't sign up for, but surprisingly haven't minded doing as much as you thought you would.

''They're waiting for me,'' you say quietly.

''I can wait too.''

That makes you pause.

Harry Styles. Waiting. He's been doing a lot of that today. Waiting for you to come to him, for you to speak. Let's see how long he's willing to wait before he loses his patience.

You nod slowly. ''Okay. Then wait.''

You walk away.

...

Harry doesn't know what he expected, showing up like this. All he knows is that when he opened that last box and saw the necklace, the one he'd put so much thought into, just imagining about how it would rest beneath your collarbone, something cracked. And the silence since then has been loud in a way money can't fix.

You had sent everything back. And yet, he still smells you in his apartment. Still hears your soft laughter in the way the air feels at night. Still wakes up reaching for something that isn't there.

He hadn't planned on coming. Not really. But his car pulled up to the gallery anyway, and he was already halfway through the doors before he realized what he was doing. Something about that damn necklace. The cold finality of it. The way it curled around itself in the box like it understood the weight of the gesture.

And now he's here. And he can't stop looking at you.

You're alive in a way he hasn't seen in days. Weeks, maybe. Your lips shine under the gallery lights, and your dress fits you like a glove, accentuating all your features.

Every second you don't look at him slices clean through the center of his chest.

He tells himself this is fine. You're allowed to live your own life. To have your own space. That's what he's supposed to do, right? Give you space? That's what a better man would do. And after that night, after the way he had let himself take out his anger on you, then discarded you like he couldn't even stand to be around you, he knows he doesn't get to decide anything anymore.

Still, his hands curl into fists every time someone leans in too close to whisper something in your ear.

Especially the guy in the grey blazer, who's had his hand on your waist for a beat too long. Harry swears the floor tilts beneath him.

He wants you to know he's here. Wants you to feel his presence, even if you won't touch him.

He wouldn't blame you if this was what you wanted. If that dress, that laugh, that softness you're wrapping the room in isn't meant for him anymore. Because maybe he really did ruin it. Maybe all the years of being wanted for what he could give, not who he was, have made it impossible for him to understand when someone chooses to stay. Maybe he wouldn't believe you ever would.

But he can't stop thinking about the way you curled into his side after he fucked you. The way your fingertips would brush his wrist when you were trying to say something you weren't sure he was ready to hear. The way you always bite the inside of your cheek when you try to stifle a giggle at one of his dumb jokes.

He can't stop thinking about that night in Paris. Not about the sex. Not about the view. Just the way you both stayed up talking long after the room went quiet, wine glasses half-full on the nightstand, your eyes sparkling in the dim light when you told him he wasn't as unreadable as he liked to think. That you saw through him. And that maybe that didn't have to be such a bad thing.

That was the moment he started to lose.

No, started to fall.

He doesn't want to admit it, not even now. He's not sure he's ready. But he's never been able to forget it.

And that necklace? He doesn't want it in a box. He wants it where it belongs, around your neck, where everybody can see it. Not to claim you. But to remind himself that not everything has to be bought to be cherished. That you chose him.

You glance in his direction, your eyes meeting across the room. You've been waiting. Not out of cruelty or revenge. Well, revenge is definitely a bonus. But mainly because you want to know what he'll do if you don't come running to him for once.

The look in your eyes does something to him. Because when you finally look at him, it's not cold. It's not kind, either. It's something in between. Something that tells him you're still deciding.

He straightens.

Because if you're still deciding… he still has a chance.

He takes a step forward. Your facial expression doesn't change. You don't stop him, but you don't turn toward him either.

So he waits. Just one more second. One more breath. If you want him to come to you, you'll make it clear. And if not… he'll stay here. He'll wait all night.

But if you give him the signal, any signal, he'll cross the fucking floor like he's reaching for salvation. He's not sure when it happened, but somewhere between the first payment and the last goodbye, he stopped wanting to own you.

And started wanting to deserve you.

You nod.

A small, almost imperceptible movement, but he catches it like a bullet to the chest. That tiny gesture is all the permission he's been holding out for. His limbs uncoil, and he moves, slow, cautious, like you're a flame he's afraid to smother. Or be burned by.

You excuse yourself from your group, ignoring the teasing grin your friend throws over her shoulder. Your heels click softly against the gallery's marble floors, the sound steady despite the unstable pounding in your chest. You don't wait to see if he follows.

You already know he will.

The elevator ride is silent. You press the button for the rooftop, never turning to look at him. You can feel his presence like a pull on your skin, taut and tense, straining between want and hesitance. The metal doors close and it's just you two now, caught in that strange in-between where anything could happen and nothing might.

When the doors slide open, you're the first to step out into the cool air. The rooftop is empty, just like you hoped. Everyone else is still inside, drinking, mingling, discussing art. The afterparty isn't for a few hours, so it's quiet here, the hum of the bustling city below you like a soft lullaby. String lights cast a faint golden glow overhead, softening the edges of everything.

But not him.

He's all sharp lines and shadows when he steps up beside you. Hands tucked into his coat pockets, jaw clenched, curls ruffled from the wind and repeatedly running his hand through them.

You stand with your arms crossed over your chest, pretending to admire the skyline while your pulse thunders under your skin. He lingers a few feet behind, just close enough for you to feel him. The heat of his body. The heaviness of his stare.

You can tell he's working something out in his head, because he's quiet, but you don't speak right away. Let the silence stretch, let it test him. Because the last time he opened his mouth, you walked out of his apartment with shaking hands and mascara-stained cheeks.

He breaks first.

''I didn't know if I'd ever see you again.''

You inhale slowly. ''And yet you came.''

His eyes flicker to yours. ''Said I would.''

''You said a lot of things, Harry.''

You hear the shift in his breath, a sharp inhale like he's bracing himself. ''You're angry.''

''No,'' you say. ''I'm tired.''

The words hit heavier than they should. He takes a tentative step closer, like he's afraid of startling you over the edge. ''Look, I didn't come here to fight—''

''Then why are you here?” You face him fully now, arms still folded as if to shield yourself from the upcoming conflict. ''Because if you're looking for a reason to punish me again, I'm fresh out.''

He flinches. ''I'm not. I'm not... Fuck. That night, I wasn't trying to—''

''You were angry,'' you cut in. ''And I was convenient. That's the whole point of the arrangement, isn't it?''

''No. It's not.'' His voice sharpens. ''It wasn't supposed to go like this.''

''But it did.''

He looks at you then, and you know he sees it, the shift in you. How this version of you doesn't cry, doesn't beg. You're not trying to change his mind or shrink yourself down just to fit into whatever space he was willing to make for you.

He runs a hand through his hair. ''You think I don't know I fucked up? That night... I wasn't angry at you. I was angry at myself. For letting it get that far. For wanting more. I lashed out. Because that's what I do, isn't it? I ruin things before they can ruin me.''

You look at him then, really look at him. And what you see isn't the controlled, calculated man who drew up contracts and handed you credit cards like they were shackles physically bounding you to him.

What you see is a man who's unraveling in front of you, who's scared, who's hurting, who doesn't know how to ask to be loved without bleeding out.

''You didn't just ruin things,'' you say softly. ''You ruined me, Harry.''

He looks like he might fall apart.

Your voice is steadier than you feel when you continue. ''I spent weeks wondering what I did wrong. What I could've said, or done, to make you want to keep me around. When I didn't hear from you after that night, I told myself that was it. That I needed to be strong. That if this was going to end, I'd end it with dignity.''

That shuts him up.

For a moment, all you can hear is the faint thump of music through the floor, the whistle of the wind around the rooftop. You glance over and find him staring at you like he's never seen you before. Or maybe like he's finally seeing you clearly.

''I got the boxes,'' he says suddenly.

Your stomach tightens. You look away, suddenly fascinated by a crack in the concrete beneath your feet. ''Good.''

Something cracks in his chest then. You see it, the way his jaw clenches, how he presses his tongue to the inside of his cheek like he's trying not to say something stupid.

''You returned everything,'' he says softly. ''Your dresses. Your perfume. That fucking necklace.''

Your fingers instinctively curl around the necklace you're wearing now. It doesn't mean nearly as much to you as that fucking daisy does. You miss it. The comfort of it, the reminder of Harry.

''You returned everything but the memories.''

You blink. ''What?''

''I've been going insane, Y/N,'' he chokes out, tugging on his hair in frustration. No, desperation. ''I've been moving through my apartment like a fucking zombie. I can't walk into my kitchen without seeing your coffee mug. I can't open my closet without thinking of you in my hoodie. You're not there, but it's like you never left.''

You watch him struggle. Watch him grip the railing before him like it's the only thing holding him upright, before continuing.

''Everything still smells like you. Your shampoo's in the shower. I find your hair ties everywhere. I can't throw out that fucking flower. And those boxes... Those boxes gutted me. Because you didn't just return my money. You returned everything that connected us. Every single thing I used to not lose the privilege of calling you mine.''

You swallow thickly, caught between wanting to scream and wanting to kiss him. ''It was in the contract,'' you say evenly.

''To hell with the contract,'' he spits, voice cracking. ''I'm fucking in love with you.''

The rooftop goes still.

Your heart slams into your ribs like it's trying to claw out of your chest. His eyes widen, terrified of what he just admitted, but there's a strange sense of relief in his expression too, like he just came up for a deep breath after nearly drowning.

You stare at him, lips parted, frozen in place. You don't move. Don't blink. The words hang between you like a match, suspended and burning. Harry stares at you, chest rising and falling heavily, like confessing the truth is the hardest thing he's ever done.

And maybe it is.

...

thank you so much for reading! i appreciate any and all support so remember to like, comment and reblog. requests are open! 💕

sugar, baby series tag list

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...

[stevieschrodinger]

Part One Two

NSFW + violence/injury

She’s...just a normal looking little kid. She’s absolutely swamped by one of Eddie’s hoodies, and is currently rocking it like a dress, bare legs ending in floppy, too big socks.

Eddie couldn’t bring himself to leave her in the fluid spattered, clinical white pajamas she had been wearing.

Her eyes are brown; human looking.

The peach fuzz haircut even kind of suits her. Or at least, doesn’t look out of place. She could definitely pass.

Eddie lets his whole body clench, briefly, in fear. Now he has two unregistered Synths in his apartment. Hadn’t seemed so bad last night in the face of Eddie’s exhaustion, when the kid was an inanimate object on his couch. Seems real now though.

Steve had hugged her. It was the first thing she’d done once she’s blinked alert; thrown herself at Steve. And they'd hugged. For ages.

Normal. Human.

Too human.

Affection of the kind that’s organic, that would be almost impossible to fake. Spontaneous. A need for touch and reassurance that is not, even remotely, born from anything synthetic.

“Eddie, meet Eleven.”

She’d shaken his hand, gentle and warm.

“Yeah, going to need to call you something other than Eleven.”

She’d looked to Steve then, for guidance, “how about just El, for now?”

She had nodded, frowned, and then the first words she spoke were, “where is Henry?”

Steve hadn’t hesitated, “Mars.”

“Do you have anything signal blocking? Preferably static resistant too?”

“I...should do?” Eddie rummages through his things, comes up with an anti-static parts bag and small signal blocking storage box.

“Okay if I break this?”

“I...sure,” Eddie answers weakly, and then watches as Steve cracks the box at the seams with his bare fucking hands. He uses about the same amount of effort Eddie would use to open an envelope. Maybe less.

Steve...makes a thing, while Eddie watches. He lies the bag lining flat inside a small towel, then broken slithers of the box plating, lined up neatly, before folding the whole thing over and trapping the shield inside.

Eddie watches, with no fucking clue what’s happening, as Steve pulls the whole thing over El’s face, like a blindfold, blocking her eyes and tying it at the back, “good?”

“Good.”

“Errr..what are you guys doing?”

“Just wait a minute,” Steve tells him.

Eddie does. He waits. He desperately wants to make himself a coffee, but the apartment is silent, and it kind of feels like he shouldn’t disturb that.

So he stands, leaning against the kitchen counter, watching as El...does nothing.

And it feels like it goes on for a while, even if it probably isn’t. Just all the nothing making the minutes drag.

Eddie jumps when Eleven drags the towel off her face. It’s sudden, fast, and then she’s blinking, and there’s a drip of green coolant leaking from her nose.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay, you’re here, you’re here with me,” Steve kneels in front of her, letting her grip at his shoulders as she orientates herself.

Steve shakes the loose parts out of the towel and uses the corner to clean the green goop off El’s face, “you’re okay,” he keeps saying, “you’re safe now, it’s fine, you did great.”

Eddie has no idea what she did great at, but he sees now why Steve is the babysitter.

El, finally, speaks. “I found him.”

A little, tiny, prickle of fear skitter up Eddie’s spine, “found...who?”

It’s a redundant fucking question, they all know who she found. Eddie knows who she found, he just...needs to ask.

El turns to look at him, “you have a ship?”

“Oh, wow, no,” Eddie waves his hands in front of himself, “time out. Absolutely not. Nu hu. No way-”

“Henry has an army. That’s what he’s been doing. He has ships.”

“An army?” Eddie asks, feeling kind of like the air has been knocked out of him at the news. At the implication. It comes out sounding weak, fearful, but Eddie is only just being to grasp what it could mean. “He’s been building Synths?”

El nods, ���thousands of them...but they don’t look like us.”

“What do they look like?”

“Monsters.”

Steve and El are sitting on the couch, watching Eddie pace.

“I can’t tell the girls, they’ll want to get involved. I can’t...they might get hurt. We can’t do that.”

“I agree,” Steve says calmly, “and we don’t have to take you, either.”

Eddie stops pacing, rounds on them both, “like hell, it’s my fucking ship.” He starts pacing again, “besides, we need to smuggle you out. Get you past customs and whatever. It’s easier, on the way out, they care less about the shit you might want to take away. You kind of need a human.”

Steve concedes with a nod, and they don’t talk about that any more, at least.

“We should tell the government, or something.”

“They would lock us up again,” El replies, immediately.

Eddie huffs, “yeah but you guys are...telling them something that could like, save the world, surely they have to listen-”

“We can’t ignore the probability that they already know.”

Eddie stops pacing again, “what? No…” but Eddie trails off because...that makes a huge amount of sense doesn’t it. Of course they already know. How could they not know? It makes so much sense. The uprising, the death of every human colonizer on Mars. The end of the terraforming project. Synths continuing to mine the belt...if they’re mining...then they’re building.

They would know everything about Henry, because it was the government that fucking built Henry in the first place. And everyone who would have been alive when the project was happening would be...well, they all would have died of old age fifty fucking years ago, so no help there.

“Well why haven’t the just like, nuked him or something then?”

Steve shrugs again, “it would admit culpability. And create a fear of Synthetics if the truth came out.”

“So??” Eddie chews his nails desperately, “worst case scenario Synths get like, outlawed, or something-”

“Eddie, what percentage of the work force is Synthetic? The richest people in the world would not be willing to give up their lifestyles just because of a possible threat from a different planet.”

Eddie paces in a tight circle, pretty horrified by the obvious logic; the richest people in the world almost certainly own the government too, or at least have some good friends there, considering the amount of taxes those companies seem to dodge with no repercussions whatsoever. “Well, fuck.”

“So you will take us?”

“What the fuck are the three of us going to do against an army of fucking Synths on a different fucking planet?” Eddie knows he’s being a little too loud, so he goes back to pacing a chewing his fingernails off.

“Henry is...arrogant. It will have made him careless.”

“And the new Synths are dormant, waiting.” El tells them, “the original Mars Synths are building them...but they’re basic models. Old, now.”

“You guys are old,” Eddie points out, waving a hand.

Steve stands, getting up and moving to block Eddie’s path. He takes Eddie’s hand away from his mouth, cradling it gently. Steve’s hand is warm, human. “There are no Synths like us Eddie, you know that. Nothing like us has ever been built, not before or since. We are the only ones left. Us and Henry. We have to do this. Only we can do this.”

“Oh this is such a bad idea,” Eddie breathes out quietly.

The ship has been fixed up, refueled. Eddie stares down at what he owes, looking, specifically at the labor cost for the airlock repair.

God damn rip off is what that is.

Eddie is very aware of the fact that he might be dead in less than a month, “what can you guys do for like, delayed payment? Or like, a payment plan?” Because fuck these guys, you can’t get cash out of a corpse.

Eddie sits with his head in his hands. It’s been a long time since he’s done this; Chrissy is his pilot. Turns out it all just came back to him, the second he sat in this seat. And now he’s waiting, waiting for the flashing comms light. A small, guilty part of Eddie hopes they get caught, and he won’t have to go through with this.

The light flashes, “clear for departure,” the bored sounding woman tells him.

Eddie remembers to close the channel before he swears up a storm.

“Uhm, here,” Eddie tells El, you can have this room.

She blinks at Chrissy’s unmade nest of a bed, “what for?”

“Just in case you…” well she doesn’t fucking sleep, does she? “want some privacy?” Eddie tries, before he scuttles away.

Eddie peels the foil off the steaming tray, sitting in the cockpit to eat, since he’s the only one on board who does that now. Eat.

The little compartments of vegetables and unidentified meat in semi congealed sauce look even more sad than usual, and Eddie stares at the blinking light he’s been ignoring for a day and a half now.

Once the mostly empty tray is discarded, Eddie hits the overhead lights, and sits in the dark. He watches the stars, and doesn’t look at the blinking red light.

He doesn’t know how long it’s been when Steve appears with a coffee for him, “thank you.”

It’s shit coffee, but you get used to it. Then you go to Earth, and you drink the good stuff for a few days or a week, and then you’re not used to it any more. Tastes like disappointment for the first fortnight or so, at least.

“Are you going to listen to it?”

Eddie shakes his head, “I can’t reply, can’t risk it being picked up by someone else, it’s not secure, like short range. I don’t want to lie to them.”

Steve nods, like that’s sensible, “you could still listen.”

Eddie rubs his knuckles at the middle of his chest, trying to will away the ache, “no, I can’t.”

Steve sits next to him then, not saying anything else, just solace in the face of all those stars. After what feels like a really long time, Steve speaks again, “you’ll answer it, right before we get there.”

It’s not a question, but Eddie nods anyway.

Eddie can’t do jack shit in the face of a Synth. He’s less than an insect to them, physically. He has a weapon, but realistically even that’s no good if his target can move faster than he can track. At best he’s their get away driver, at worst he will be a sacrificial distraction.

“El will stay on the ship, with you.”

Eddie takes a breath, because although she looks, for all intents and purposes, like a little kid, that does make him feel better, “okay, you going to do your trick with the, you know,” Eddie vaguely mimes pulling something across his eyes.

She nods, “I will help Steve as much as I can.”

“You’ll drop me off, you can safely lower to around forty meters, I’ll be fine from that height at Mars gravity, and El can work from a low orbit. First sign of trouble, you guys get out of there.”

“We’re not going to just leave you-” Eddie starts to protest.

“You will if you have to,” Steve says, and he brooks no argument about it.

“Did you do something? You look different?” Eddie idly tinkers, watching Steve play some sort of Mahjong solitaire type thing with the girls tiles.

“I washed the jump suit last night.” Steve tells him, and yeah. Steve hasn’t changed his clothes since Eddie handed them to him a few weeks ago. But synths don’t sweat or anything like that, and Steve doesn’t have those usual opportunities to drop food down himself that humans have, so there’s been no real need for him to change.

Eddie feels kind of bad, “should have gotten you some actual clothes while we were on Earth.”

“We were a bit busy for that Ed’s,” Steve smiles softly at him. Kind. Full of fondness.

Eventually, Eddie makes himself look away, blush warming his cheeks, but he can still feel Steve watching him.

There’s no fucking chance Eddie’s going to get any sleep. He’s tried. He’s taken his bedding with him, the ship turning chilly through lack of power.

He lies in the cockpit, lights off, seat reclined all the way, the whole ship running dark. It’ll be enough to keep them hidden. In Eddie’s peripheral vision, the message light still flashes dully.

Mars is just visible if Eddie squints.

Close enough to make him nervous. He’s going to get closer to Mars than any human has for a century, more or less.

Only the hushed whisper of the material of Steve’s jump suit gives him away. He makes just enough noise so as to not startle Eddie by just appearing.

“How is she?”

“She’s okay I think, I’ve told her not to do any more today. All of Henry’s monsters are still dormant...she thinks she has a plan.”

“Yeah?”

“She thinks she might be able to wake some of them up, take control. She’s going to try, anyway.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah.”

They sit in silence for a little while, the ship moving basically on inertia alone now, and the stars don’t really look like they’re moving. It feels unnaturally quiet to Eddie, who has lived for months and years by the hum of the engine.

“Are you going to answer?” Steve finally asks.

“Nah,” and it isn’t like Eddie hasn’t given it plenty of thought, “what the hell could I even say?”

Eddie finally turns, looking at Steve. He’s closer than Eddie thought he would be, having turned the co pilot seat as far as it will go, hunched up with his elbows on his knees, “you can answer them tomorrow, when it’s over,” his voice is whisper soft, but confident.

“Yeah,” Eddie swallows thickly, looking back up at the stars, and tries not to let the fear swallow him.

“I’ve...remembered some more things,” Steve’s voice still low, close by in the quiet dark.

Eddie looks back at him again, hair rustling against the seat, he tugs his blanket up higher, cocooning himself where he’s curled up, “yeah?”

Steve moves cautiously, slow, giving Eddie plenty of time to move away. Steve’s thumb is warm when it presses against the fullest part of Eddie’s lower lip, “yeah.”

Eddie’s tongue pokes out, a cautious touch; Steve doesn’t taste human. He feels human, but he doesn’t have the subtle taste that skin carries with it.

When Steve leans close, Eddie lifts his head a little to meet him. The kiss is soft, gentle. Just a touch to begin with. A soft exploration, a quiet hello.

It turns hungry quickly, Eddie shifting up and letting the covers fall away again, desperately ignoring the chill of the air as it sinks into his clothes. Eddie is half sitting, drags himself closer with fingers tangled in the orange material of Steve’s clothes, pulling fiercely, frantically.

Steve moves easily, half standing out of the chair to hover over Eddie. When Steve easily scoops Eddie up, Eddie goes with it, Steve taking his place smoothly in the reclined pilots chair, it creaks with the added weight of Steve. Eddie grips Steve tighter, not wanting to break the kiss despite the way he’s being manhandled and deposited easily, lying on top of Steve.

“Wait,” Steve speaks in between biting kisses, “wait it’s cold,” and he snags the blankets up, making sure Eddie is covered over where he’s laying over Steve. Eddie’s fingers feel clumsy, trying to work the poppers and zipper to get at Steve’s skin. It’s awkward in the tight confines of the chair, but Steve is just, so strong, he easily manages to take Eddie’s weight and wriggle the material down, the back of his jump suit is caught under his ass, but between them they work it low enough to get his dick out, all the while Eddie making whiny, wanting noises against Steve’s lips.

Steve never breaks the kiss, not for any reason; Steve doesn’t need to breathe.

Steve’s hard and, of course, perfect to look at, thick and heavy. Eddie has no idea just how functional Steve was built, “can you come?” he asks, a little breathless from struggling now to get his own pants off. They should have just stood up and done this, but at least Eddie is still warm. He doesn’t bother trying to strip his shirts off, and when the poppers on the ankle cuff catch he gives up on that too, leaving one leg of his pants dangling from the side of the chair and onto the floor.

“Yeah,” Eddie gives up with his clothes, popping up from under the blanket to kiss Steve again, Steve’s cock long and hot pressing next to Eddie’s, “you can just get inside me, if you want.”

Eddie reaches between them, giving Steve’s cock a squeeze. Steve’s eyes, for a split second, flicker white and back again, “I wanted you in me.”

“Okay. Okay yeah,” Steve’s hand is brushing Eddie’s off, the head of his dick suddenly leaking fucking profusely.

“That works,” Eddie’s already shifting, struggling to wedge his knees up around Steve’s hips, movements sharp and jerky with desperation, Steve’s fingers dripping wet from his cock and he shoves his hand between Eddie’s spread thighs.

They should probably talk about this. Eddie should probably say more than he has. He doesn’t, the need inside him overriding sensible thought. Steve’s hands are smooth and firm and he understands Eddie’s urgency perfectly, easily sliding in one finger, slicking Eddie good, and then following it with another almost immediately.

Eddie’s knees are wedged either side of Steve’s hips, his forearms resting on Steve’s chest so he can grip at Steve’s shoulders, cup the side of Steve’s neck, run a hand into Steve's perfect hair and tug harsh. Steve’s head moves with it, head tilted back, Eddie taking the opportunity to bite along Steve’s perfect, smooth jaw, feeling frantic with it now. Eddie can’t help but do his best to rut his cock against Steve, made difficult since he can’t spread his legs he ends up humping air half the time, until Steve grips his hip with a firm hand and holds him still.

Forces him to be still.

The third finger follows immediately after, feeling like it knocks the air out of Eddie’s lungs.

“Too much?”

“No,” Eddie insists, kissing his way back to Steve's mouth, “don’t stop.” Steve takes him at his word, and Eddie knows it hasn’t been enough before he insists, “in me. Please, now. Please Steve.”

“I don’t want to hurt you-”

“You’re so wet, you won’t, you won’t, please, need you.” And Eddie does. Needs to be filled with a burning ache, needs to have Steve close, replace his fear with something else.

Steve pulls his fingers free, guiding Eddie down with the hand resting tight on Eddie’s hip, the head of Steve’s cock breaches Eddie with stinging pressure, but Eddie feels empty, so empty, and he’s desperate to be filled. Steve’s leaking enough that Eddie starts to slip down almost immediately. Steve’s thick and wet and perfect, and Eddie burns to have him inside.

He takes Steve a little too fast, but Steve doesn’t stop him, the pain is delicious, the sting soon soothed by Steve’s fluids.

Steve holds him still, despite Eddie’s best efforts to shift, to move, to somehow ease the feeling of Steve taking up too much space inside him.

Steve holds him still. Forces him to feel it. Bites at Eddie’s lips, licking away the sting of it.

“Steve,” Eddie whines, pants against Steve’s lips, hands clawing at Steve's shoulders, he can’t think past the feeling of being fucking impaled, breath coming short, “Steve please, I need-”

“Not yet,” Steve shushes him, the grip on Eddie’s hip like a vice, like steel, Steve’s hand reaching between them, running fingers through the wet and sticky mess he’d left on his own stomach, before reaching further to grasp Eddie’s cock.

Steve might be underneath, but Eddie is completely pinned, ass forced tight into the cradle of Steve’s hips.

Steve starts to work him, but still won’t let him move. Eddie’s probably going to give himself bruises fighting against Steve’s grip, but the sting is grounding and feeds Eddie’s overwhelmed senses and Eddie can’t help but lean into the touch. He’s desperate, wants to buck his hips into the sensation of being filled, the tight grip Steve has on his cock.

Eddie whines, and Steve just swallows the noise down, Eddie’s eyes screwed tight shut as Steve starts to work him in earnest, firm strokes, and all Eddie’s body can do is clench down hard on the fierce intrusion that Steve is inside him.

Steve works him harder yet, hand jacking Eddie mercilessly, Eddie breaking away with a cry, back arching, muscles fighting to thrust, thighs desperate to pull together as Steve forces Eddie to the precipice far too fast. All he can do is sit and take it, caught between Steve’s hands, completely filled up with Steve, he can’t writhe to get away, he’s pinned, his body clenching rhythmically down on Steve, asshole fluttering and pulsing as his orgasm builds rapidly, forced to feel all of everything.

Still Steve doesn’t move. Eddie forces his eyes open, blinking down at Steve, Steve’s already watching him in return, eyes greener than Eddie’s ever seen them. It’s too much, the build too fast, Steve jacking him now a touch too fast to be human.

“Steve, Steve I’m gonna’ come, I’m gonna’ come shit I-” It’s dragged out of him almost, forced over the edge violently, Eddie’s body gripping Steve’s so tight he feels it when Steve’s cock kicks inside him, pulses. Pulses really fucking noticeably, the rhythmic orgasmic clenching of Eddie’s asshole dripping with bursts of Steve’s synthetic come. “Shit, Steve, Jesus fuck-”

Steve drags him back down, pulls Eddie in for a kiss even as Eddie is still making a mess of them both, last spurts of come dribbling weakly out onto Steve’s fingers.

Eddie ends up lying in it, pulled down flush to Steve’s chest, Steve's softening cock slipping free with a gush of wet, Eddie’s asshole continuing to drool long after.

Eddie’s heartbeat finally slows, his ragged breathing softens, Steve gentling Eddie with soothing touches.

Eddie didn’t realize he was nodding off; tired enough that sleep was taking him quickly, but he jerks awake when Steve shifts, carrying Eddie and all his bedding back to his bunk, one pants leg still hanging off his ankle, “stay?”

Steve doesn’t answer, not really, but he kisses Eddie’s curls and tells him, “I’ll wake you when it’s time.”

It’s easy to spot the place where Henry must be. The reddish surface of Mars is littered with black, creeping cables that curl like dead vines across the rocky ground. They all lead inward, circling a central point that’s thickest with Synth activity. It’s easily visible; the largest cables must be thirty or forty feet across. Eddie suspects the veiny network is much larger and more complex than he can see from here.

Any and all human buildings and supplies seem to have been cannibalized by Henry’s efforts.

“Okay,” Eddie tries to reassure himself, it doesn’t work, “okay.” Eddie slowly starts restarting the ship, bare minimum systems so as not to alert anyone too fast, but realistically he has to bring the engines back up, at this kind of range they’ll be caught by Mars’ weak gravity and end up crashing into the surface.

Eddie flicks the comms panel, and the screens above it, bringing up the airlock. Steve is already standing there, waiting, “ready?” Eddie asks.

Steve turns to look up at the camera, “yes,” he answers, nodding for Eddie’s benefit, before turning back to the airlock.

Eddie turns off the comms, looking over at where El is sitting, legs drawn up criss cross in the co pilot seat. She has her makeshift blindfold on, “super girl, you good?”

“Ready, Eddie.”

Eddie does his best to remember he’s piloting a fucking ship and that should be his focus, “okay,” he takes a deep breath, “this is all totally fine.” Once they’re low enough, Eddie deactivates the airlock door, and forces himself to watch as Steve opens it, then clings to the outside of the door, pushing off to push it closed behind him.

The light above the door flashes as the locks re-engage, and Eddie’s stomach feels like it’s trying to crawl up his throat.

“Steve’s out.”

El doesn’t respond. It was probably redundant; she already knows.

It’s quiet. Just the hum of the ship. Eddie can’t see a single thing going on beneath them, just Mars' strange horizon, nothing looks any different.

There’s a thud, it echoes along the empty corridor, and it’s quiet enough that Eddie eventually dismisses it.

Until it happens again.

“Eddie,” there’s green coolant dripping from El’s nose, “Henry’s waking them, there’s too many,” the arm rests of the chair groan and creek under her grip.

The noise startles Eddie half standing; a solid thud. Something that looks like a giant fucking monster bat just flung itself at the cockpit window.

“What do you need?” Eddie turns the ship, twisting sharply away from the cloud of creatures coming for them from the surface.

“I need to get closer.”

“Oh this is going to suck,” Eddie says through gritted teeth, even as he angles the ship down.

There’s hundreds of them, huge leathery looking wings and long articulated tails. They batter the hull as Eddie crashes the ship through them, sounding like the worst hail storm Eddie’s ever heard.

He prays he’s killing them.

Panic rises as more of them latch to the front of the ship, round mouths full of metal teeth banging on the glass, wings obscuring the outside, Eddie’s equipment showing a snowstorm of static and interference, “I can’t see. Can’t land if I can’t see.”

Except, he can land, he knows it, it’ll just be a really fucking bad landing. And he’s close already, they were hovering low, Eddie pulls up on instinct.

El stands, dragging the towel off her face, shards of material dropping away, she roars in effort, flinging her arm out, the windscreen clears of all the creatures, all flung off to the side, moved by an invisible force.

Eddie has a second to react to the freshly cleared view, making a sharp turn, the ships hull scraping along the side of one of those huge cables, an agonizing shrieking of metal on metal feeling like it goes on forever and yet ends almost before it begun, before the ship finally comes to rest in a gully created by two monster cables.

The sudden silence is oppressive, Eddie’s breathing by far the loudest thing over the odd plinking sound of cooling metal and cycling down engines.

Eddie’s voice sounds funny in his own ears when he finally has the wherewithal to ask, “you okay?”

El blinks, wide eyed, she looks as stunned as Eddie. Just like a kid, and she really is a kid, in some ways. But she pulls herself together faster than Eddie does, “I need to get outside.”

It feels like a bad idea, but they’re past the point of no return now. Eddie just nods, hands shaking so badly it takes him two tries to get into the weapons cache. It won’t do him any good, but he feels better for having it.

The outer airlock door is fucked again; of course it is. It gives just fine when El leans against it. Eddie’s panicked breathing is fogging up his helmet, and he desperately tries to slow himself, counting in his head as he looks around. He holds his weapon closer; safety deactivated before Eddie pulled on his gloves.

The sky is a strange reddish pink that distracts Eddie for all of a moment, and then he’s chasing after El as she marches off with no hesitation. Eddie immediately falls behind, stumbling as he leaves the ships artificial gravity. It doesn’t seem to bother El, but Eddie’s steps are suddenly almost bouncy with the lower gravity. It takes Eddie a few seconds to orientate himself to follow her.

She finds a likely spot on the nearest cable, all of the black coated in a fine layer of red dust. She doesn’t hesitate to drive both hands through the cabling wall.

Eddie lets her do her thing, looking back at the ship, she’s dinged up but looks okay, a bat corpse drops off the hull, landing with a dull thud in the dust.

Eddie raises his weapon, looking around warily; the sky is clear. All Eddie can hear is his own breathing and the dull thrum of whatever power it is that’s passing through the cables. Eddie’s sure he can feel it vibrating through the ground under him.

The chittering noise starts quietly, but Eddie looks up. Bats. A fucking lot of bats, “uh. El. Kind of have incoming.”

“I can stop them,” she frowns, Eddie backing up as much as he can to keep El and the cloud of bats in line of sight, side pressed against the black material.

“Uh hu. You sure? You better be sure?”

“Eddie.”

“Right, right yeah,” the nearest of the bats are close enough now that Eddie can clearly pick out the individuals, and he raises his weapon again, “El…”

As one, the whole cloud of them banks away, moving along the path of the cables.

Eddie breathes out a quiet, “holy shit.”

“I’ve found Steve. And Henry.”

Eddie has never, not once, felt more useless in his entire life. So helpless. All he can do is stand here and wait.

The boom is loud enough that a shock wave travels ahead of it. A cloud of dust and sand lifted and billowed out in a wave that batters and coats everything in it’s path. Eddie covers El with his body as best as he can, she has her eyes squeezed shut in concentration anyway. It takes minutes for the dust to settle from the air, the sound so loud Eddie feels like his ears are actually ringing, his brain shaken around in his head.

Eddie has to resist the urge to brush the dust out of her peach fuzz hair, but he can’t disturb her from where she’s elbow deep. There’s a faint blue glow beginning to shine around her forearms from where she’s entrenched in the cabling.

Eddie keeps her at his back, sheltered in case it happens again.

In Eddie’s peripheral vision; something moves.

A little red dust falls from it’s white skin as it stands. It’s tall, only vaguely humanoid shaped; skinny, and it doesn’t seem to have a face.

Eddie lifts his weapon, “El,” he whispers, but this time he gets no answer.

The thing tilts it’s head, then it twitches sharply. Damaged, Eddie guesses. It happens slowly, but place where it’s face should be opens up, petals peeling apart, dripping yellow black fluid from row upon row of curved metal teeth.

“Come on El,” Eddie tries again, but still, no response.

More red dust falls from the thing as it moves closer. The red dust sticks thickly to the things leg, mixing with something that’s leaking out, it’s definitely damaged, head twitching again, out of the things control. It charges, moving slow for a Synth, Eddie’s weapon firing reflexively, the thing twitching with the hit, a smoking black smear left on it’s shoulder. Eddie twists away on instinct, getting the danger away from El, the Synth suddenly moving faster than Eddie can track, he fires blindly. The Synth crashes into Eddie, and they both go down, Eddie can feel it when something in his chest cracks at the impact.

His weapon caught between them, Eddie pulls the trigger, the monsters wide open face dripping crap all over Eddie’s breathing mask.

The heat between them is beyond pain, but Eddie doesn’t take his finger off the trigger, the weapon whining as it fires repeatedly, Eddie’s mask scratched and then cracking as the thing bites at him, long clawed fingers slicing into the flesh of Eddie’s arms and shoulders.

Eddie doesn’t have the air to scream, the thing on him is so heavy, the burn from firing the weapon point blank searing Eddie’s skin.

The creature on top of Eddie suddenly seizes, becomes even more of a dead weight, and it takes several seconds for Eddie to realize he can stop, and takes his finger off the trigger.

Eddie lies there, panting. Pinned by the creature, he can’t get a full breath in, and he can’t see through the mess of his mask. He can taste chemicals and burning in the air where his cracked face cover must be leaking. He can’t feel his hands, the burning pain across his stomach is all consuming.

It’s all Eddie can do to wriggle, screaming with the pain and effort, twisting sideways just enough that the thing slides off him, and Eddie can just wriggle out from beneath it.

Eddie’s gasping now, short on air, he wipes his bare hand across his mask, smearing the goop and shit but making just so he can see movement, the outline of something coming for him, blurry and indistinct as Eddie’s vision fades.

It uses the last of Eddie’s energy when he raises his weapon.

Eddie’s eyes are gummy and his mouth is dry and shitty feeling, but Eddie’s pretty sure that means he’s not dead.

Yet.

He might be in a minute, if the searing pain is anything to go by. Eddie tries to get away from it on instinct, twisting sideways in pain fueled panic before strong hands press him back. “Hurts,” Eddie manages to whimper.

“I know, I got you,” Steve’s voice answers. The pain recedes, and Eddie floats off to a place that is half awake and half asleep. He’s pretty sure he can hear himself snoring, but he feels pretty out of it and it’s easy to dismiss.

El is there, the next time Eddie blinks awake, peering down at him, “hello Eddie.”

“Hi,” Eddie croaks, immediately relieved that he’s in very familiar surroundings. He can’t hear the engines, but years and years of familiarity tells him that they’re running fine. He can feel it in his bones.

El is passing him a coffee mug of water, keeping hold of it for him so he’s not fully responsible, guiding the straw around with her free hand.

After sloshing some around his mouth and taking several long pulls, Eddie feels better. “Does this mean we won?”

“Yes, I am sorry you got hurt. There were too many.”

“That’s okay super girl, I know you were doing your best. You helped Steve though right? Henry’s dead, so you saved the whole world.”

“Yes,” she smiles, but it’s sad. She has a look on her face that’s far too knowing, far too worn for the young face it’s on.

“I...he must have been your friend once, right?” And despite how fluffy Eddie’s head feels with the painkillers, it’s not until now, with that look on El’s face, that Eddie makes that connection.

“He was my brother. Steve says the...things that were wrong with Henry, they weren't all his fault. It wasn’t his fault he was built.”

She’s looking at him expectantly, waiting for Eddie to throw his hat in the ring. Doesn’t feel fair to have this kind of pressure on him within minutes of waking up, “yeah, I think Steve’s probably right. Regular plain old people are good or bad, too.”

She nods, clearly absorbing that, “I’m going to try and be good,” she says, child like and earnest again.

“Yeah. You and me both, super girl.”

Eddie’s picking at the bandages when Steve walks in, “I wouldn’t.”

“Is it bad?”

“In places,” Steve hedges, taking El’s empty seat.

He goes to take Eddie’s hand, then stalls out, like he’s not welcome. Eddie drops the edge of the bandage, laying his hand on the covers instead, palm up and open in invitation. Steve watches him for a long time, but whatever he sees in Eddie’s face means he’s linking their fingers together a moment later.

“So uhm...what happens now?”

Steve shrugs, “I have Henry’s remains-”

“On my fucking ship-!”

Steve shushes him, squeezing his hand, “what’s left of Henry’s remains. I’ve been salvaging some of his memories.”

Well that’s only vaguely terrifying, “put him out the airlock the second you’re done.”

“I will, but I need to keep El safe. His memories are...proof.”

Eddie tips his head, looking at Steve though slitted eyes, “you mean insurance?”

Steve smiles, “that too.”

“And...blackmail material?”

“Just a tiny bit.”

“Ohhhh,” Eddie nods, grinning at Steve’s mock innocence, “just a tiny bit.”

Steve shrugs, “might get us some identification. Get us left alone, at least.”

“Does that mean,” Eddie flinches as he sits himself up a little better, stomach muscles pulling and burning, “that you guys are going to be looking for work? Might have an opening.”

“Maybe,” Steve smiles again.

Eddie had insisted that he could fucking walk himself, thank you very much. Turned out pretty fast that he couldn’t, like, at all. His collar bone is broken, and the pain is sharp at the strangest times.

Steve carries him through the ship, wrapped safe in a blanket. When Steve sits him in the pilots chair, Eddie feels himself blushing at the memory. Steve smirks at him, before telling him, “when you’re better,” voice prim.

And then Steve leaves Eddie alone with the flashing comms button. Eddie doesn’t bother to listen to it. Eddie takes a moment, centers himself, before flicking a switch to start recording his own message instead, “ladies! Settle yourselves in for an epic tale of heroic derring-do...”

[darnell-la]

MADE THE FIRST MOVE

pairing: Robert “Bob” Reynolds x reader

summary: y/n knew her job as a hero would be difficult, and most people don’t look after Bob like she does. somehow, she enjoyed it, and couldn’t help but fall for the guy. sadly, his depression kept her back from showing any feeling. that was until he surprised her with the first move.

warnings: smut, depression mentioned, mutants, etc

———

Bob has always been an insurance guy. Ever since y/n got to know him, she’s tried to build his confidence. Even after he almost wiped out everyone in New York a few mo the ago.

The Avengerz live in the old Tony Stark tower, helping each other out in life, even after saying multiple times how they couldn’t stand each other.

Y/n and Bob were the only ones who loved being around each other. After a while, they’ve became close, so close Bob could barely function around y/n. It’s almost like his heart would stop any time she’d come around.

“I’m sorry about like this — Usually I’m fine, but he’s just being difficult right now,” Bob said, speaking above the Void who had started getting to close to taking Bob over again.

For the past month, Bob grew a huge heart for y/n, and Void began taking the chance to make Bog over think every possible detail about y/n and him being anything but friends.

“It’s fine, Bob — Really,” y/n said as she slipped off her house shoes and got under the covers. Y/n had been staying with Bob for the night to make sure he felt needed and wanted. Not in any sexual way, but as a friend.

She would be lying if she said she had no feelings for Bob. She just couldn’t bring herself explain it to him or anyone. She felt like it was wrong, especially with that Bob had going on with himself.

“Why do you do this? I know you see something in me, but y/n- I’m a grown man. And, adult, and I can’t even control my emotions. I suck so bad at it that if I feel too down, I could get rid off the whole city in seconds,”

Bob wouldn’t stop speaking down about himself, as y/n switched the TV off to have something going on in the background as they rested for the night.

“Bob, look — We’ve all got our problems, but that doesn’t mean you don’t deserve help. Why would I watch you and ignore you when u can help? You’re not bothering in any kind of way. Trust me,” y/n said as she turned to look at Bob.

Y/n’s stomached filled with butterflies at the way Bob was looking at her. “I appreciate you, y/n, you know that, right?” Bob asked as he scanned her face, falling in love with her for probably the thousandth time today.

“And, why is that?” Y/n asked, knowing why, but wanting him to speak about her in a way that may make her fall for him harder. “I mean- Just look at you. A gorgeous girl wanting to take care of me — That sounds like a dream,”

“I think you’re over exaggerating just a little bit,” y/n said as she went to tuck under her covers but Bob stopped her by moving closer to put his hand in her cheek. “Not even a little,” Bob said, feeling some courage to show her how much he appreciates her.

“I don’t know what to say,” y/n spoke low, now feeling shy. “You never have to say anything to make me happy,” Bob said as his eyes sprightly glowed yellow. “You’re perfect no matter what you do or say,” y/n was at a loss for words at the moment.

Bob has never been then type of man to have confidence and show it. This was very new for him and her, and she didn’t know how to react. She was happy, yet too shocked to say anything.

“I think I’m actually happy,” was the last thing Bob said before he leaned into y/n, connecting his lips onto hers. Before either of them could settle in, Bob deepened the kiss as he moved on top of her.

“Tell me if you’re uncomfortable, and I’ll stop — I promise,” Bob pulled back to make sure he wasn’t ruining anything by his quick decisions. “I would never tell you to stop. Ever,”

That’s all it took for y/n and Bob to be sweating, moaning, and shaking underneath the covers. They both weren’t to experienced, or had a great person to do this with. Now, they finally do.

“I swear, I love you, y/n — I really do. You’ve changed my perspective on life — On living,” Bob said as he softly, but same time roughly thrusted down into y/n. “I-I’m glad I could h-help,” y/n stuttered as her back arched.

“I want you to — I need you,

[marlynnofmany]

Snap Crackle and Ouch

I sat on the empty hoversled and waited. It didn’t make a great chair. Smooth enough, but no backrest, and slightly too low for my long-legged human preferences. I considered asking Mur to change the hover height since he was sitting next to the controls, but decided it wasn’t worth it. We’d probably get to start walking again soon. Probably.

Mur stood up on stiff tentacles, trying to see past the people in line ahead of us. “I think someone’s coming,” he said.

I leaned to peer around a hovercycle and several pedestrians. (Are they still called pedestrians if they don’t use feet? Tentacle-estrians? Anyways, they were on the ground.) The guarded gate at the front of the line was still mostly closed, but it had just opened enough for a new Strongarm to squeeze out and talk to the guards.

The rest of the grumpy traffic jam was catching on; people straightened up and edged forward, everyone hoping that whatever mess had blocked the road was now cleared away.

No such luck. The tentacular messenger glanced out at the long line of impatient people waiting to get into the spaceport, grimaced, then ducked back through the door and closed it.

“Aw, man,” I said while people around us grumbled.

Mur slapped a tentacle on the sled. “We are going to be late.”

“At least we got the delivery done,” I said.

“Yes, that’s great, but the next one is on a strict timeline!” Mur wove his tentacles together in an irritated pattern. “I’d say we should walk around to the other entrance, but that would take forever too.”

“I wonder if there’s any guess about when they’ll open up,” I said. “Looks like that person is going to ask.” I pointed at a small Strongarm patterned in deep greens who was tentacle-walking up to the guards.

We both quieted to listen over the ambient grumbling and city noise. Luckily, the guard who replied spoke in a loud enough voice for everyone nearby to hear. Probably so she didn’t have to repeat herself.

“They estimate one hour; medical emergencies only through this gate; the other gate is open with no waiting.”

“An hour?” I said. “Can’t they just shovel everything to the side and let people through one at a time? What the heck did they spill?” The earlier announcement had been remarkably vague.

Mur looked off to the side as if he could see the entire route to the other entrance. “It could take just as long to go around. The roads here are dense. Can’t believe this. I’d better call the captain.” He opened up the storage compartment near the controls and got out a communicator.

“Hang on; we’re moving up a little,” I said as several people ahead of us bailed out and took a side street. When the hovercycle zoomed away with an unnecessary engine rev, I scooted us forward with my feet. No point in standing up properly when it was such a short distance. We stopped again behind several Strongarms and a different sled, this one stacked with heavy machine parts.

“Delightful,” Mur said. “Zero percent improvement. Now we have a better view of the closed door. Too bad we don’t have a plausible medical emergency.”

“Yeah, I suppose it would be suspicious if somebody’s internal organs were suddenly in extreme pain right now.” I eyed the guards, with their tentacles and lack of bones. “Do you think they even know how human internal organs work?”

“I think they’d be reluctant to take your word for it,” Mur said, activating the communicator. “Hi, Kavlae. Is the captain around? I have bad news about our timing.”

More people jostled around in line. Somebody bumped the controls of the sled in front of us, which led to a giant gear shaft or whatever falling off and embedding itself in the pavement, much to the owners’ dismay. It didn’t hit anybody though. The was good.

Could have been a medical emergency right there, I thought. But not a pleasant one. I pulled my feet up onto the sled in case anything else felt like tumbling off. The owners got the sled stabilized, then fussed about how to get the thing back onboard. One made a phone call of their own while another tried to angle the sled’s lifting attachment to reach it. Somebody else showed up from further back in the line, carrying a prying tool to work it free from the pavement.

I didn’t have anything useful to contribute to that any more than I did to our own problem. I leaned back with a sigh, trying to think of any solutions.

Mur finished the call. “The captain’s going to check the space lanes and call me back. They might have to leave without us and come back later, but no one is really excited about that.”

“I’ll say!” I agreed.

Mur flopped down into a pile of tentacles, clutching the communicator. “Those people are going to sprain something,” he said with a gesture towards the folks trying to pry the gear out of the ground.

“At least then they might be let through,” I said. “Though that might not count as an emergency.” I started to lift my arms for a nice back-cracking stretch, then stopped.

I had an idea.

It was a stupid idea, but it might be enough to keep us from being left behind on an alien planet.

“Hold that thought,” I told Mur, standing up carefully.

“What are you going to do?” he asked with some suspicion.

I told him, “Possibly sprain something.” Then I walked up to the people struggling with the gear and offered to help.

I made a good show of it. Hoping that I wasn’t about to make them feel very guilty (or make myself look like a colossal idiot), I struck a lifting posture with my hands positioned just so, then strained skyward, giving it a bit of a twist.

Multiple joints cracked audibly. It even hurt a little where I turned one wrist too far, which just made the acting easier when I fell down and let out a string of swear words. Gasps of alarm surrounded me.

Mur was on top of it, though. He jumped down and yelled about how the human had broken its fragile human bones, and needed medical attention right away. He’d seen this happen before. It was urgent.

I kept my eyes shut and my face screwed up in what hopefully looked like convincing pain. I tried not to be embarrassed when somebody used that lifting scoop on me, hauling me up onto my own hoversled while Mur gave directions and somebody lifted my feet. I just hissed and winced and swore louder.

Then lo and behold, we were moving to the front of the line where the door opened for us, and the guards only looked a little skeptical when I snuck a peek. Then we were through.

I opted for silent wincing now. Mur towed the sled down the center of the street, which did in fact have enough open space to walk down. He didn’t make eye contact with any of the many officials who were busy gathering the rainbowy whatevers that were scattered everywhere. I opened my eyes a little further to see that these were seashells of some kind. A memory pinged to remind me that local currency was based on particularly noteworthy shells. Ohhh. It was money spilled everywhere, and they didn’t want people to take it.

What an annoying but understandable reason for keeping the gate closed, I thought as the scene slid by me. Soon we were passing another set of guards at the other end, and Mur was explaining that he was taking the poor broken human to the medical bay on our ship, which was set up for such things.

No arguments there. They gave us unnecessary directions and waved us on our way. Mur hurried forward, waiting until we were around a corner where pedestrians ignored us before he stopped walking.

“So. How much are you actually hurt?”

I lifted my head and smiled. “Not at all. Glad that worked.”

He looked more than a little exasperated. “Me too! How did you manage to break your bones without actually breaking them?”

I sat up. “The joints just make noise sometimes. Something about gas buildup. My elbows do it the most.” I stretched an arm, but it was comfortably quiet now.

“That is an incredibly strange party trick,” Mur announced, getting out the communicator again. “I’m glad you don’t do it often.”

“Yeah, I made a point not to after Paint was really worried one time. And some people can crack their necks really loud! I would have done that if I could, but it might have been too much of an emergency.”

Mur gazed at me in mild horror, then had to blink and re-focus when the captain answered the phone. “Hello! Yes, never mind! We’re on the way.”

I got ready to pull the sled again, snapping one last finger joint very quietly.

~~~

These are the ongoing backstory adventures of the main character from this book.

Shared early on Patreon! There’s even a free tier to get them on the same day as the rest of the world.

The sequel novel is in progress (and will include characters from these stories. I hadn’t thought all of them up when I wrote the first book, but they’re too much fun to leave out of the second).

[coldbronzemoon]

Hm more thoughts actually--

I imagine most of Stan's (he probably goes by 'Pan' rather than Panley, seeing as Pan is like... an actual name) starting work is like, low-budget horror and comedy. He's particularly fond of the horror stuff, since I like to think both Stan twins were way into schlocky stuff like that when they were younger. And he gets a lot of work in that genre because he's very, very good at pretending to get maimed and murdered. Like, if you need a guy to get chainsaw'd in a movie, Stan's your man. And he gets into low-budget action because sometimes people get knifed and/or chainsaw'd in those, too. It's like Sean Bean dying in a movie.

He starts climbing up from low-budget to high-budget, and starts getting roles where he can put a little more than usual into his characters. He's still mostly there to get murdered, but he has fun with it. (In this universe, Stan gets thrown in a car trunk in the middle of the hot desert to die and has to chew his way out of it...and at the end is handed a water bottle by a disgruntled PA muttering about having to do this scene in the real goddamn desert. He spits out fake teeth to take a drink, blissfully unaware that his dimensional counterparts are losing actual teeth at this point.) I think a turning point for him is getting a supporting role for really big blockbuster that gives him room to show off his humor, his emotional chops, and, of course, how well he can get chainsaw'd.

At some point after this he gets a really good opportunity--they're making a movie based off of his and Ford's favorite childhood show, Discount Star Trek Space Track, and he landed the main character Sargent Kick! Ford, unable to help himself after learning this, sends Stan a ten-page dissertation on Kick and his character and his motivations (and how his cool space gun works.) Stan is also unable to help himself and incorporates a lot of Ford's reasoning in how he plays the character. He also can't help but model his Kick voice after Ford's, with only a little modification. Fans agree that while the fascination and glee towards the unknown that underpins all of Kick's actions in this portrayal isn't quite the same as the Kick of the original series, it's still a damn fun role and Pan Stines plays it with surprising depth.

Once he's fully aware that Ford is keeping tabs on his career and he starts being able to expand his range, Stan starts going for sciencey roles when he can. He doesn't always get them--he's a bit beefy for the common nerd archetype--but when he does he always goes for a specific voice and tends to have certain mannerisms like a pacing problem and always tucking one hand behind his back while gesturing with the other. Ford fucking knows he's the inspiration for these tics and passive-aggressively sends voicemails demanding compensation.

(I like to imagine that Ford specifically sends voicemails because Stan doesn't pick up the phone for his brother. Call it petty revenge. Call it him not having any idea what to say to his brother if Ford could actually hear him. Whichever way you slice it, Stan never responds with a call or a letter. He always just does something in public he knows will get back to Ford. Ford seethes.)

At some point Stan lands a very specific role: Frankenstein's Monster. The genre is campy horror.

Ford can't bring himself to watch it, not how he's been keeping up with all of the rest of Stan's movies. (Not because he's proud or nostalgic or anything like that. He has to know what to complain about on the phone. That's all, he swears.) He can't stand the idea of watching Stan taking a character Ford had related to way too hard with during his teenage years--a being created to be the best, one who is saddled with the expectations of its 'father' who scorns it when it turns out physically different from a normal human despite being smart and clever--and treating it all like a joke like the classic Frankenstein movie. It'll just remind him of what Stan breaking his project taught him: Stan doesn't really care. He never really cared. All of the support that Stan showed him as a child was as conditional as everyone else's attention and admiration; when Ford stopped obeying Stan's whims, Stan ruined his chances and walked away. That's how he sees it. Watching Stan play Frankenstein's Monster like something less than human now that he didn't have to pretend to be sympathetic to Ford would just be an ugly addition. And Stan will make a mockery of it, Ford's sure, because he's already been mocking Ford with every scientist he plays.

Eventually it's Fiddleford--the only one who believes Ford about Stan being his twin, mostly because he's the only one Ford trusts enough to show childhood photos and explain the estrangement to--who watches the movie first and reassures Ford that he'll enjoy it. Because while the movie is still campy horror, Stan plays Frankenstein's Monster with genuine pathos. He makes the Monster smart, just lacking in cultural understanding to explain itself or react appropriately to things. He treats the role with care, makes the Monster a person.

And Ford doesn't know what to do with that. Because that feels like something Stan would do only if he still really cared about Ford's opinions, about Ford. But he can't care. Because if he did, he wouldn't have broken Ford's project and run off to strike it big...

Right?

An au concept that's been ping-ponging around in my head:

Instead of the life of crime route, Stan goes from his canon scammy products to ending up in Hollywood and becoming an actor. Maybe some agent spots his stupid ads, laughs their ass off and then goes 'hey, maybe there's something there' or maybe Stan himself goes to Hollywood because that's where the parties and babes are and auditions for stuff on a lark.

Either way, he starts actually landing roles. And first they aren't that big, and mostly comedic--he has a very over-the-top-personality, after all--but slowly he moves more into action movie land and starts becoming more of a known name. A known face. Doesn't land lead, exactly, but a prominent supporting role in the action blockbuster of the season.

Thus, Stanley Pines (or perhaps... Panley Stine) is a rising star.

A few hundred thousand miles away lives a very unhappy Ford Pines. His feelings on Stan making it and becoming a known actor are... complex (Part of him is relieved that Stan is doing well, part of him resents it, part of him feels validated for not standing up to their dad because Stan being kicked out helped Stan become famous in a way, part of him wishes he wasn't only seeing his brother on posters, so on, so forth) but he has one big problem:

Literally fucking everyone opens conversations with him with "Hey, you look like that one guy from the Extinguisher!" and even worse, no one ever believes him when he says that said actor is his twin brother. They tend to think he's lying as a joke or for attention.

So one day Stan receives a letter. It says "Stanley, please go back to the mustache. Everyone thinks I'm you otherwise. Yours, Ford. Ps. I told you that you should've joined the drama club."

Stan's damn well hacked off. Radio silence from his brother for a couple years at this point, and THIS is the first thing Ford has to say to him? The gall.

He keeps himself clean-shaven. He even starts wearing glasses like he's needed to for most of his life. Exactly the style of glasses Ford always wore, even.

Ford sends a second, even more terse letter.

Thus begins the most passive-aggressive communication between brothers possible, starting as letters and later turning into voicemails from Ford with legally dubious phone number-retrieving help from Fiddleford. Ford bitches about a recent choice Stan's made. Stan doubles-down and finds a new thing to piss him off with as well. Rinse and repeat.

In this universe, Ford goes to Gravity Falls not only because it's so full of anomalies, but because it's so backwater he hopes they won't know about Panley Stine at all.

[earthsparked]

Sparking Flames

Part Two | one two three four intermission five (AO3 link)

Hot Rod hissed as he was thrown away from the little organic he’d found, knocked off his pedes entirely. He lost his rifle, and could only grapple with Brawl as the bigger mech rolled them both into a building. The red-and-orange speedster winced as he heard other organics crying out. He might have only just downloaded the translation pack a few klicks ago, but it didn’t take a genius like Percy or Wheeljack to know screaming was bad.

So he’d better teach these ‘Cons who they were messing with. Hot Rod had arrived, and soon they were going to tremble at his name. Megatron himself would flee at the sight of him!

Brawl was, inconveniently, not fleeing. Yet.

Knock-knock, Brawly, Hot Rod drawled, getting hold of the mech’s helmet. He emphasized the words by slamming the Decepticon’s head, twice, into what remained of the building.

<<I’ll tear your struts out, you slagger,>> Brawl answered, and almost ripped off part of the Autobot’s arm. Hot Rod raised a pede and twisted to kick him in the knee, a very slick move he’d been wanting to try since he saw Sunstreaker do it. Brawl snarled and tripped, letting the smaller mech dance away. He had his arm transformed into a plasma gun in a split second, pointed at the ‘Con.

Nope! You’re supposed to say, “Who’s there?” he said cheerfully, taunting the ‘Con in the local language. Brawl probably hadn’t bothered to learn the Earth dialects; so it was even more fun to trash-talk him, knowing he couldn’t understand.

Come on, it’s a local thing. It’s funny. Just go with it. When in Polyhex…!

His only warning was a sudden comm from Bluestreak, perched somewhere with a better vantage point than he had. <<Roddy, Lazerbeak on your six! Duck!>>

Duck? Not a chance! Hot Rod was already firing into the air as he spun. His shot missed the flying symbiont by the length of a runty glitch-mouse, but it made Lazerbeak swerve and squawk his displeasure. The symbiont had very little armor, and having lost the element of surprise, backwinged and fled. Undoubtedly retreating to his carrier, probably still lurking in the humans’ satellites amid the space junk.

He barely had time to react when Brawl took advantage of the distraction. The ‘Con fired one final shot at him, before flinging himself messily into alt mode and running for it. All the ‘Cons appeared to be in retreat, now, and from the radio chatter the battle had actually gone well for the Autobots. No casualties; minor injuries. <<Autobots, stand down,>> the mellifluous tones of Optimus’ voice came over the comms.

The fiery mech flared his armor and preened, hands on his hips, radiating heat-waves of satisfaction.

Knock-knock. Who’s there? It’s Hot Rod, bitch.

Language, a clipped, calm voice drifted to him. Prowl stepped out of the clouds of dust, doorwings tucked close to his frame. His optics were battle-bright, his meticulously clean armor without a scratch. Hot Rod vented a rebellious snort.

Yeah, it’s called English, motherfucker. Do you speak it?

Burning rubber squealed down the street before the frowning tactician could scold him again. Jazz laughed as he spun onto the scene, leaping from alt mode to bipedal form with the grace of a dancer. Already digging into the cultural media files, my mech? You’re gonna fit in just fine here.

The Autobots’ SIC slapped the TIC’s shoulders, distracting him from any further behavioral concerns with one newly-arrived, rather young soldier.

Prowler, we got prisoners. Where you want ‘em? Ratch has one in stasis, and the other -

There was a howl, a fwump, and the sounds of Sideswipe and his brother chasing after the other prisoner. Too late to catch him, as the jet transformed and fled, trailing smoke that said at least he wasn’t unscathed. Shots from the yellow and red mechs pursued him, uselessly.

- well it was Starscream, Jazz quipped. Oooh, they’re gonna be pissed. Maybe put the Terror Twins on patrol for a while, till they get it outta their system.

Prowl did not give a very long-suffering vent, because long-suffering vents were Optimus’ oeuvre. He gave a sharp nod. Get the prisoner back to base and question them. We still have no definitive answers why they struck here. Have Ratchet focus on our wounded. First Aid and Hound are with Bumblebee, helping the humans. Optimus is busy coordinating with Fowler to assist with recovery efforts.

Huh, hey, Hot Rod said, suddenly remembering now that the battle was over. He shifted on his pedes. I, uh, kind of grabbed one of the locals to get them out of the street. They looked like forty klicks of bad road. Can we get them to ‘Aid, or Hoist?

Both black-and-white mechs stiffened - Prowl obviously so, while Jazz merely went ominously still.

And you left them alone, Autobot? Prowl asked, and it’s not a tone of voice Hot Rod likes.

No! Slag, no! Brawl came at me! We’d have trampled the poor thing! I left them under cover, right - right over -

His scorching hot energon lines feel unaccountably cold. He’s striding away without another word to his superior officers. Instead, calling Sparklet? Human? Hey, uh - you? Whatever your designation is! You all right?

Because the brick wall where he’d left you is a pile of rubble, like so much of the tiny town around him. Awful, sinking thoughts of destroyed cities on Cybertron rise up in his processor. No. No, this couldn’t be happening. Not on another planet. Not right in front of his optics. You’d been hurt but alive, the terror in your field screaming to his senses that you were so, so afraid. So confused. But so alive. Nothing modulating your field, everything you felt like a live-wire of sensation. Like nothing he’d ever encountered in any other organic species. You were lost as a sparkling fresh from the Allspark, only you had no weapons, no armor. Just him. He’d been so proud to swoop to your rescue.

And he’d failed you.

His servos shook as he clawed through the rubble. Like he’d had to do so many times on so many other worlds. To no avail. He can’t feel you anymore. Hot Rod strained his sensors to the max, flicking through his HUD with everything he had in the sensor-suite. He was vaguely aware of Prowl and Jazz coming up beside him, Prowl on comms calmly speaking with the mechs on the search and rescue team.

There are other humans now, being helped out of the wreckage by people in green uniforms. The forest service, their insignia proclaims, probably the closest thing to a military a tiny place like this would have. Hot Rod briefly scans for you among the survivors, and then, tentatively, among the bodies being zipped up in black bags. You’re not there. You’re not anywhere.

His spark sinks into his pedes. His first day on this planet, and he’d failed.

Jazz’s servos, those tools of nightmares and whispered rumors, were gentle as they landed on his shoulders as he stood, staring, his own EM field blaring distress. He’d never bothered much to hide how he felt. His outlier ability was usually a dead giveaway, anyway.

Easy, mech. I don’t see ‘em here, do you? No body. Maybe they took shelter somewhere else.

He frowned and lifted his servo from Roddy; the speedster dully realized it had energon on it. His.

Took a hit back there. You need to go see Ratchet, Jazz said in a tone that brooked no argument. We’ll get Bee and Hound over here, and -

Hot Rod startled suddenly, engine revving with excitement. Look! There!

His scanners had been looking for organics, not energon signatures, but now that Jazz had pointed it out…

Tiny footprints, with traces of energon. The trail petered out after only a few yards, but it was all the evidence he needed. You had been alive, at least when you’d run from here. But there were ‘Cons on the loose, and in fleeing the battle - anything could have happened to you!

But there was still a chance. Ignoring Prowl’s sharp words of warning and Jazz’s drawling orders, and the jolt of pain when he transformed, Hot Rod flung himself into alt mode and peeled off, hot on your trail. He wasn’t going to fail his first-ever mission on Earth, he wasn’t going to disappoint Optimus, and he wasn’t going to break his word to you that you would be all right.

And if you weren’t all right, he would make whoever hurt you burn.

His tires screeched as he flew past the water tower, following your only possible path: a lonely country highway, that disappeared into miles and miles of forest.

——————-

You’ve lost track of time.

You’re so tired that it’s a fight just to keep putting one foot in front of the other. The adrenaline got you to the water tower, down the road, and onto the dirt turnoff that led to the conservation land. The sounds of battle had died down as you slipped into the trees, their tall trunks and broad canopies muffling any outside noise.

But as you walked under the trees, following a nearly invisible dirt track to the fire tower up on the ridge, the adrenaline had worn off. You weren’t being chased by giant robots, you were so exhausted from the awful fear, and your whole body ached abominably from how hard your muscles had clenched up from the stress. You stank of fear-sweat, blood, and whatever the pink substance was. For some reason, it didn’t seem to want to dry, and you found yourself leaving tiny smears of it when you leaned against a tree to catch your breath.

In taking stock of your condition, you discovered some road rash along your side and hip, undoubtedly from being thrown to the ground by one of the first explosions. The slight discoloration that foretold what would undoubtedly become monstrous bruising was widespread enough across your body that you suspected you’d been thrown around more than once, in those confused moments you can’t quite remember. You still felt weird from that pink stuff, but stripping your clothes off was a step too far; it wouldn’t occur to you until much later that you probably should have been worried about radiation.

Your thoughts turned to the chaos you’d left behind. That robot had helped you; protected you. Been kind to you and comforted you. And the further you got from town, the worse you felt about running off and leaving it. It didn’t matter that you couldn’t fight a monster the size of a house, you should have done something! You owed the robot an apology, if it wasn’t just a pile of scrap metal by now.

And the people. Your coworkers. Mrs. Miller who ran the bakery with the donuts that were always slightly stale, but the good coffee you liked, and cinnamon rolls that were to die for. You’d just come from there, hadn’t you? When it had happened. The smells of coffee and cinnamon stir something in your memory.

Then, still leaning against a big oak - you feel it. You’re not unfamiliar with these woods. Usually the trees are welcoming to you. The peace and quiet a balm to your nerves when life gets a little too noisy. Not today, though. Today the woods have gone still and silent, the birds quiet in a different way. It hits you with a sudden sizzle of electricity up your spine, a certainty so inescapable that you don’t question your intuition for a millisecond.

You are being hunted.

You feel it, you know it. There is something alive out here that is prowling these woods. It’s got the birds frightened. Not even a squirrel stirs on the ground or moves in the branches overhead.

And you thought you were afraid before. This is somehow worse, the most instinctual part of you is screaming. You are alone. You have no weapons. You are being hunted. No one even knows you’re here among the trees. Every hair on your body is standing up in a pathetic attempt to look bigger, more threatening to whatever is after you.

This is insane. There can’t be any of those giant creatures in here with you. There can’t be. The trees would be knocked over, there would be devastation all around. You take a deep breath. You step forward as quietly as you can. Whatever is out here, you can either wait for it to find you; or you can get to the fire tower and call for help for the people you left behind.

Putting it that way there’s really no other option. Expecting every step to be your last, you push on, darting from tree to tree and underbrush to underbrush like a partridge under the eye of a hawk. Keep going, just keep going. You half-imagine the ghostly feel of giant metal fingers trailing down your back, and, oddly, find yourself wishing it was here now, shadowing your every step with that big fuck-off gun.

But you’d left it behind. Gritting your teeth, you pick up the pace. Don’t get scrapped, robot. I never got to tell you what a lawnmower is.

[karikarasuno]

part two | part three | wc: 2.1k

“Oh, shit.” Ace hears you before he sees you. And he tries to keep the memories at bay. But one look at you and his senses are flooded with images of you from last weekend. The two of you cramped in the cabin of your pick up. You on your back with your knees pushed to your chest. Your calves hooked over his elbow. He shouldn’t have folded you in half. He probably shouldn’t even have fucked you. 

Too late now. 

“This is my brother Ace!” Luffy shouts beside you. Pointing at Ace. Completely unaware of how familiar you already are with each other. Ace should’ve known better. Everyone knows everyone. He knew he would be running into you again. This is just the last place he expected to find you. 

“We’ve met,” you say, shifting awkwardly away from Luffy and pointedly not looking at Ace. If it was anyone else maybe he’d be offended. But knowing why you’re not looking at him scratches a satisfied itch Ace didn’t even know he had. 

“Yeah at Whitebeard’s,” he clarifies, even though it’s essentially unnecessary since he knows Luffy doesn’t care about the details. “But how do you know each other?”

“Apparently Luffy works for me,” you explain, but you’re looking at Marco. Ace cannot help the small smile that tugs at his lips. “Technically he was my grandpa’s employee. I just inherited him with the property.”

“Yeah she almost shot me this mornin’,” Luffy says casually and with a cackle. 

“He was going through my fridge at 6am. I thought he was a burglar,” you say, eyeing Luffy like he’s lost his mind. And whenever people first meet him that’s usually their initial impression. But he grows on you quickly. 

“She’s got some terrible aim on her though,” Luffy replies. “Maybe you can teach her to shoot, Ace!”

“No,” you say immediately. “I mean that’s not necessary. I don’t plan on shooting you ever again. Just warn me the next time you’re in my house.”

“I thought he got kicked in the head by a horse?” Ace looks at Marco. Confused as all hell. 

“I did,” Luffy says at the same time as you go “he did.”

“Seems like y’all had a busy mornin’,” Ace chuckles, eyes still glued to you. 

“About that.” You hop off the bed and wipe your hands on your pants. “I’ve gotta get to work. Thanks again, Marco.”

“Yeah, no problem, kid,” he answers, looking suspiciously between you and Ace.

“Nice seeing you,” you nod to him as you walk towards the door. The one he’s currently blocking. “Again.”

He doesn’t move, though. Not when you’re standing a few inches from him and waiting expectantly for him to do something. You look up at him through your lashes. Just like you did that night. Right before you– “Excuse me.”

Ace almost jumps out of the way, your words forcing him out of the flashback. “Sorry.”

“See you later, Luffy,” you call out over your shoulder, hurrying out of the room without another word. Ace watches you go. He doesn’t intend to. You’re just so interesting. 

“What was that about?” Marco says, clearly amused. And smart enough to read between the lines. 

“What was what about?” Ace asks, turning towards Marco trying his hardest to remain nonchalant. It’s not really working though. Marco knows him too well.

“What did you do?” Marco presses, crossing his arms over his chest absolutely amused. 

“Why do you think I did somethin’?” 

“Well, she was fine until you showed up,” Marco adds, lips shifting into a smirk that Ace knows well. “You made her run.”

“I don’t know if you heard her, but she said she had to get to work. Maybe this idiot made her late,” Ace points at Luffy, who’s watching the exchange curiously while his feet kick over the edge of the hospital bed. 

“Is she the one you were talking to Sabo about?” Luffy adds, not helping Ace’s case in the slightest. “Something about doin’ it in her truck?”

Ace pales. Or maybe he bursts bright red. He can’t tell. Other than the fact that he’s both ice cold and burning hot. He reaches over and grabs Luffy by the collar, bunching his shirt in a fist and yanking him off of the bed in one movement. 

“How hard did you get hit in the head? Must’ve affected your memory,” Ace says, avoiding Marco’s eyes entirely. 

“Nope,” Luffy grins, “Memory’s all good. Doc said so himself.”

“We’re leavin’ then,” Ace grumbles, ready to strangle Luffy but he’s already in the hospital. And three attempts on his life in a single morning would be overkill. Ace will just have to wait until tomorrow. 

“We’ll talk about this later,” Marco yells to Ace’s back. He can hear the laugh in his voice. But he refuses to turn around. 

“Nothin’ to talk about!” 

****

Ace doesn’t think your hook up was a mistake. It’s actually the opposite. He wants to do it again. And then a third time. Perhaps maybe even a fourth if you’re up to it. What he regrets are the circumstances. Ace isn’t one for one night stands. He never has been. And in a town as small as this one, they are never a good idea. The only person who seems to get away unscathed and without a scarlet letter stamped to their forehead is Sabo. He doesn’t get it. But some things aren’t meant for Ace to understand. 

“So what exactly were you doin’ in SJ’s truck?” Luffy asks from beside Ace in his own truck this time. It’s much larger than yours. More leg room. But he refuses to spiral down that thought process.

“Who the hell is SJ?” Ace replies, slowing to a stop at a red light. They’re passing through the main part of town now. The dance studio is a block or so ahead. Ace wonders if you’re already there. 

“Are ya dumb? We were just with her,” Luffy laughs, removing the ice pack from his head entirely. 

“That’s not her name,” Ace says shortly, not really in the mood to entertain his little brother’s antics. 

“Yeah, but I can’t remember what it really is,” he shrugs, staring out the window. “And I don’t think she’d like it if I called her small Jinbe.”

“Probably not,” Ace agrees. 

“So what were you do-”

“We’re not talkin’ bout this.” Ace pulls into the diner and parks near the door. He’s starving. And he’s sure Luffy is too considering all the energy he’s burned in the few short hours they’ve been separated.  

Ace jumps out the car and Luffy follows, jabbering senselessly behind him. Ace isn’t listening though. He’s stuck thinking about you. He hasn’t really been able to stop since he saw you at the bar. He wouldn’t describe what he’s feeling as a crush though. It feels childish. Immature. And he doesn’t know you well enough to admit he likes you. Not like that anyway. But you’re obviously attracted to each other. And the chemistry is insane, especially considering you only spent a single night together and he can't seem to get you out of his head. 

Maybe it’s infatuation. It’s been awhile since Ace has actually felt anything at all for someone, so it feels like a bigger deal than it probably is. 

The bell chimes above his head. The diner isn’t crowded but the regulars are here. In their usual seats spread out amongst the tables. When Ace’s gaze falls on the cook and owner of the diner he suppresses a groan. One because Sanji is shamelessly flirting with the girl picking up her order. Two, that girl happens to be you. He quite literally cannot escape you.

“How much do I owe you?” You ask politely, sticking your hand in your bag to pull out some cash. 

“On the house,” Sanji replies, pushing the small paper bag towards you along with four drinks. 

“I can’t accept this without paying,” you urge him, pulling out a few dollars from your stack of cash. 

“A smile from a pretty girl like you is payment enough,” he says, leaning over the counter and into your space. Ace witnesses the way you smile and look away. Bashful. Well, now he’s jealous. That’s fucking great.

“Fine, but I’m at least tipping you.” You stick the dollars you counted before into the tip jar by the register. “Can’t have you thinking I’m taking advantage of your kindness.”

“Oh, sugar, I’d let ya do whatever–”

“Hiya, Sanji,” Ace interrupts, “we’ll have our usual.”

Perhaps, maybe just a little, Ace’s feelings for you are childish. A tad bit immature. He doesn’t like watching Sanji flirt with you. Even though he knows full well, as well as half the people in this town, that Sanji’s fucking the butcher. It’s harmless. Doesn’t make Ace like it any more, though. 

Sanji’s eyes slide over to Ace. He hears the edge in Ace’s tone, but he doesn’t say anything. Sanji is also very aware that Ace never orders at the counter. Luffy has a booth practically assigned to him at the diner. He sits in the same spot every time he comes in to eat. So obviously Sanji is skeptical. But thankfully he spares Ace the awkward confrontation and says “you got it.”

Before turning back to you and saying, “have a great day, beautiful. I’ll see you later.”

Ace watches you look through the bag to make sure everything is there before you glance over at him. It hasn’t even been thirty minutes since you were last together, yet Ace feels the silence between you starting to balloon uncomfortably. 

“Are you following me?” You pop it first. And he’s grateful that you sound much more playful than you did earlier. 

“No,” he smiles at you. “Seems like a coincidence if ya ask me.”

“Mm, right,” you nod, gathering your order in your arms. “Two times in an hour. What did I do to be so lucky?”

“I have an idea,” he says with a slight shrug. He knows what he’s insinuating and you seem to catch on quickly when the air shifts into something a little more thick. Dense. Flashes of lips, hands, tangling limbs is all Ace can think of. You’re standing so close he can smell you. Makes him feel like a creep. But he can’t control it. You had sex one time and it’s as though you’ve already permanently branded yourself to his memory. His senses. 

He doesn’t even know how. Or why. 

You bite down on your bottom lip. Chewing it between your teeth. He doesn’t have to be a mind reader to know your thoughts are probably going down the same tracks as his. He can see it in your eyes. In the way you return his gaze. 

“Listen, I usua–”

“SJ!” Luffy interrupts loudly. So loud it's as if he shakes the air around the two of you. Ace almost forgot you aren’t alone. But in public. “You joinin’ us for breakfast? Sanji makes the best corned beef hash!” 

“SJ?” You look over at Ace, evidently confused. 

“I’ll explain later,” he dismisses, not really in the mood to get into Luffy’s tendency to assign names to people.

“No,” you answer, turning your attention back to Luffy. “I just came over to pick up some coffees for the crew.”

“Bummer,” Luffy says before walking behind the counter and letting himself into the kitchen. 

“Does he always do whatever he wants?” You ask curiously, peeking over the counter through the small window to watch Luffy pester Sanji while he cooks. 

“Yes. All the time. Consequences be damned.”

“Ok well that’s good to know considering how often I will be seeing him.”

Ace chuckles at the concerned look on your face. He finds it endearing how you can’t seem to control your expressions. You wouldn’t even have to say anything and Ace could probably guess what you’re thinking. 

“Anyway, I should get going.” You angle yourself towards the door. “Can’t have Nami’s coffee getting cold.”

“I’ll see you around,” he tilts his head in goodbye. And this time when you leave instead of scurrying away from him, you smile at him over your shoulder. A feeling, weird and full and dizzying, fills his chest. 

“Can’t believe you already slept with her,” Sanji interrupts Ace’s thoughts abruptly. The feeling that he was indulging in immediately solidifies and falls rock solid into his gut. His head whips around to look at Sanji, who’s balancing three plates on his forearm and wearing an expression so casual that Ace is convinced he misheard him.

“What?”

taglist: @a-girl-cant-decide-on-a-name @nico-ith @chillerkiller @jozhenji @starchild-unnamed @certain-tragedies @hannahbarberra162 @kanekisheart

[doodle-pops]

When They See You In Someone Else’s Clothes

Characters: Maedhros, Turgon, Finrod, Ecthelion, Gil-Galad

A/N: Just lovable elves going green and denying it…typical of them.

Synopsis: When their friend or brother lent you their clothes to keep you warm or covered, and your lover caught the green-eyed monster.

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Maedhros — you wore Maglor’s old cloak

• He had just returned from an early council ride, dismounting with boots coated in snow and mud and hair slightly damp when he caught sight of you by the fire, cocooned in a long, deep-blue velvet cloak embroidered with silver thread that looked...suspiciously familiar.

• His whole body practically paused mid-step, and the usual composed ginger expression flickered, just a twitch—but enough for his brothers to smirk knowingly in the background.

• He tried to be subtle, really (failed). But the way his eyes narrowed at the shoulder seams like he was trying to measure them against your frame in such a not subtle manner.

• “That’s not mine,” he muttered grumpily, definitely unable to hide his discomfort. “Clearly.”

• You merely rolled your eyes at the bubbling of his little green monster and told him that his brother, Maglor, gave you the cloak when you left the archives because you didn’t have yours with you and you were cold.

• Knowing Maedhros, he said nothing, except a twitch of his eyes and probably a stroke from the way his jaw was clenched.

• All he could do was stand there and glare at the cloak like it had personally offended him. You could almost hear him mentally interrogating every hem: Why is it still on? Surely you’re warm now? Why haven’t you taken it off?

• He didn’t say anything more—at first. But then he casually added, “I don’t know why he still has that old thing. It’s probably infested with harp string fibres and misplaced poetry.”

• “You sound like the green-eyed monster over your brother caring for me,” you laughed. Clearly humoured by his ridiculous jealousy over a cloak. “I’m not jealous,” he said, so very, very calmly.

• Guaranteed, the next morning, a folded russet cloak with a faint scent of pine and iron was left on your chair. Not a word. No note. But it was Maedhros-sized, finely stitched, warm, and unmistakably for you.

• “Just wear that next time,” he muttered later, when you asked. “At least it won’t smell like stage fright.”

• His brothers refused to let him live it down for weeks. Caranthir made snide commentary about “Maedhros establishing dominance through outerwear” while Celegorm fake-shivered, throwing his hand over his face, pretending to faint and yelled, “Lend me your cloak, Maglor! I’m cold and pretty!”

• At some point, when the two of you were walking, he gently brushed the cloak back from your shoulder and said quietly, “Mine would always fit better. Just saying.”

Turgon — you wore Fingon’s tunic

• You were seen exiting the stables wearing a deep green and gold tunic, far too big for you but artfully belted—evidently Fingon had offered it after your riding shirt got soaked in the rain.

• And your broody lover was chatting with a courtier when he noticed. The conversation just ended mid-sentence as he simply…walked off. Leaving the poor elf awkwardly blinking.

• “Is that Fingon’s?” he asked, cutting directly to the point with a sort of scowling majesty only a Nolofinwion could conjure.

• “It was either that or catching frostbite. He said it’s an old one.”

• “Clearly. The embroidery is years out of date.”

• You raised a brow at his pettiness. Typical coming from him. “You memorise his wardrobe rotations now?”

• “Of course not. That would be ridiculous,” he replied, while immediately changing the subject.

• That night, he insisted on giving you a new riding outfit “fit for your station,” a clear upgrade in quality, stitched with white and silver threads in a pattern resembling the stars of Varda. It was mysteriously delivered, but you knew who had commissioned it.

• “And burn that tunic!” he told Fingon later in a not-so-quiet voice, unaware you were within earshot. “Burn it, offer it to Ulmo, drown it in the sea—I don’t care!”

• His brother just laughed at the typical level of jealousy to be expected of his younger brother. “Jealous over the fact that your brother politely keep your beloved from freezing?”

• “Not of you, brother,” he sniffed. “Merely concerned for aesthetic decency.”

• That didn’t stop him from giving you his own formal robe, heavy with pearl-edged detailing, “just to wear when you visit court.” It trailed on the floor slightly, but he helped adjust it himself.

• “There. You see?” he said, clearly pleased once it was settled. “Now that is what elegance looks like.”

• After that, any garment Fingon wore mysteriously vanished if left unattended. Turgon claimed “laundry rotation” but no one believed him.

Finrod — you wore Angrod’s travelling robe

• You were chatting with some scholars in the library, wrapped in a soft ochre robe that swayed around your ankles, a little too broad at the shoulders, with faded trim. Angrod had loaned it to you when the mountain air turned chilly during an evening stroll.

• And in strolled Finrod mid-conversation, stopping in his tracks, tilting his head slightly, and staring at you as though you’d announced you were betrothed to a dragon.

• “I see. My brother has taken to clothing you?” That was a he said at first, so calmly and softly, it was too gentle of him which made you suspicious.

• “I was cold.”

• “So naturally, he assumed you lacked any protection from the elements and leapt in with his extensive robe collection.” He sat beside you and draped his arm dramatically along the back of your seat. “Touching.”

• Finrod remained poised but could not stop himself from prodding the sleeve of the robe like it was personally offensive. “Faded trim. Unlined seams. Is that a scorch mark?”

• “Cooking accident, apparently.”

• “He can’t cook. That’s the accident.”

• Before the day was over, you found a pristine white and gold cloak folded neatly in your room with a note in his handwriting: This won’t catch fire. Nor will it fall apart when you breathe near it. Yours – F.

• That evening, he pretended not to notice when you wore it, but he kept smiling quietly every time you passed by.

• He also casually mentioned in dinner conversation that “golden tones are too harsh for most complexions. It takes a rare one to wear them well.”

• Angrod rolled his eyes and muttered, “Try saying you’re possessive in fewer words.”

• “Oh, I’m not possessive,” Finrod replied brightly. “I’m refined. There’s a difference.”

• The next time you needed a cloak, he personally fastened it at your throat with a soft, self-satisfied hum. “You’ll never need to borrow Angrod’s again,” he told you firmly. “Unless you wish to disappear into mediocrity.”

• He also added, in a murmur as he leaned in, “If you wanted to wear something of mine, you need only ask. Preferably something I’ve washed recently.”

Ecthelion — you wore Glorfindel’s cloak

• The picture of calm grace when he entered the courtyard…until he saw you tucked on a bench by the window, a thick sapphire-blue cloak wrapped around your shoulders, lined with golden embroidery at the edges. The familiar clasp caught the light.

• He stopped mid-stride. Blinked. Then gave the cloak the kind of look reserved for mild insults to one’s dignity.

• “Is that Glorfindel’s?” he asked, a little too neutrally.

• “Yes—he lent it to me. I got caught in that storm on the way back from the eastern slope. My sleeves were soaked through.”

• He nodded too composed and sat beside you. Very close. “Mm. Practical. Warm. Slightly gaudy.”

• You tried not to smile. “You sound awfully green.”

• “I am not,” he said immediately—too quickly—eyes narrowed like a cat who just fell off a ledge but would rather die than admit it. “I am simply dismayed at your lack of appropriate aesthetic standards.”

• So casually, he flicked the hem over your knee. “These tassels look like they were stolen from a curtain.”

• You can pretty much guess that before the day was over, you got a new cloak—steel grey with blue silk lining, clasped with an elegant lily-shaped pin.

• “This is for you. So I don’t have to suffer the visual assault of that again,” he said, nodding toward Glorfindel’s cloak folded nearby. “You have delicate sensibilities. They ought to be dressed accordingly.”

• When Glorfindel found out, he just grinned and clapped Ecthelion on the back, saying, “Didn’t know I had competition in haberdashery.”

• “You don’t. You had a crisis in taste. It’s been resolved.”

• From then on, Ecthelion made a point of always having something to lend you himself—cloaks, scarves, gloves—just in case.

• “You’ll catch cold,” he’d say casually. “And Glorfindel’s wardrobe has suffered enough.”

Gil-Galad — you wore Elrond’s robe

• You walked into the high tower after a long ride from Imladris, bundled in a silver-grey robe with pale blue trim—clearly Elrond’s, given the slightly oversized sleeves and the scholar’s clasp at the collar.

• And when Gil-Galad had spotted yo u in that gaudy, atrocious attire, his entire face blanked. Then the scroll went down. “And what in the name of the Valar are you wearing?”

• “It was cold and Elrond had a spare.”

• “Fun that he has a spare,” he muttered, frowning. “You’re swimming in it. Is that embroidery? Are those herbs in the lining?” He leaned in, sniffed once, and grimaced. “You smell like a medicinal garden.”

• You chuckled. “It’s just sage. He said it helps with headaches.”

• “I have a headache now,” he deadpanned.

• Within the hour, he summoned a tailor and ordered a robe in rich midnight blue lined with velvet. “For official use,” he said grandly. “And warmth. And appearances. And taste.”

• Before you could even comment on his jealousy, he said immediately. “I simply believe rulers of realms should not go about looking like someone’s footman.”

• You wore the new robe the next day, and he looked excessively pleased.

• “Much better,” he said, looping his arm through yours with smug satisfaction. “Now people might actually mistake you for someone regal.”

• Later, when Elrond passed by and gave you a smile and a wave, Gil-Galad leaned closer and whispered, “You still don’t have his robe, do you?”

• “Yes.” “Burn it.” “No.”

• “…Fine. But if I catch you in anything that smells like lavender tincture, I’m confiscating it.”

• He’d pretend not to care, but every time he saw you even talking to Elrond while wearing something vaguely grey, he’d start fidgeting with his rings.

• Eventually, he gifted you a full wardrobe of deep blues, blacks, and rich emeralds—entirely coincidental, he claimed. “A royal should have options. Even if they’re not one yet.”

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