#maybe he DOES look like an unmade bed and WHAT

[sulphur-and-honey]

COLUMBO

1x3 | “Dead Weight” 

[upsidedownwithsteve]

Steve Harrington x fem!reader [3.4K] request from anon: what about Steve teaching reader how to really kiss? Like she’s only ever had bad ones before? 

“Sloppy?” Steve grimaced, smiling through your word choice despite the disappointment he felt for you. 

You shrugged, nose crinkled as you remembered. “Yeah. Wet, y’know? And not like— it was just too much…tongue.”

There was a silence, a sad kind that filled the room. Steve wasn’t sure what to say. You kind of regretted telling the boy. So you sighed and shrugged it off again, biting the head off of red Sour Patch Kid.

“Maybe I just don’t like making out,” you sounded defeated and Steve hated it, frowning as he watched you chew your candy mournfully, your back pressed to the side of his unmade bed. “That’s normal, right? Like, some people just don’t like things like that and—”

“Hey, hey,” Steve knocked his foot against yours, legs stretched out across his bedroom floor. The pack of playing cards had been abandoned beside some unopened twizzlers and Steve’s can of cherry soda. “Look, of course that’s normal. And— and if that’s how you feel, that’s totally okay, alright?”

The boy hesitated, worried his bottom lip between his teeth and wondered if he should keep talking. You watched him, brows raised expectantly. 

“I just think—” Steve cleared his throat, his pointer finger dragging patterned across his carpet. He shrugged, all faux nonchalance. He didn’t want to sound like a creep, not to his best friend. Not to you. “I just think that maybe you’ve not had a good kiss, y’know?”

You didn’t answer, not right away. And Steve didn’t try and backtrack, or explain himself, he just waited, watching you think. His bedroom window was open, the sounds of the early evening slipping through. Someone’s backyard pool filter, their sprinklers out the front, the quiet spin of a kids bike going down the sidewalk.  

You didn’t look at Steve when you finally asked, “well, what is a good kiss?”

You felt stupid, asking such a thing at your age but maybe you’d grown up picking all the wrong kinds of guys. Impatient boys, greedy boys, selfish boys. Boys who turned into men who didn’t have the time of day to take it slow with a girl like you. Boys who thought they were men, who used too much teeth and tongue and pressure and tasted like cheap party beer and the leftover smoke of their cigarette. 

Guys who got too handsy too quick, guys who didn’t care that when they pulled away from your lips, you swiped the back of your hand over your mouth and tried not to frown. 

Steve shifted a little, cheeks turning pink as his eyes found yours. “Well,” he gestured at you, awkward. His gaze settled on your lips before he blinked and looked away. “I mean, it helps when you really like the person, y’know? The uh, the chemistry of it all.”

You swallowed, throat feeling tight, chest feeling too warm. You remember Nancy talking about those kinds of feelings when she first kissed Jonathan, a dopey, soft smile on her lips as she recounted it, telling you of the buzz under her skin, the flips that her stomach did when he leaned in to meet her, eyes closing. 

“Sure,” you agreed. You don’t think you’d ever felt that way about the boys you had kissed. “Right.”  

“But I guess you’re supposed to take your time with it? I mean, at first, when you’re getting to know someone.” Steve smiled, soft, reassuring. His knee knocked yours. “You find out what they like.”

“What they like?” You asked, voice cracking a little. You didn’t know where to look, what to do with your hands. You picked up a green sour patch and bit its leg. “What does that mean?”

Steve looked bashful, miles apart from the boy you’d know in high school, with a girl on his arm in the hallways, a different one in his lap at a party that weekend. 

“I’d, uh, I mean— person A would go slow with person B, right? They’d start soft. Gentle, I guess? You gotta— they’d have to figure out how the other person likes to be kissed. Not everyone shoves their tongue down your throat, y’know.”

You huffed out a laugh but it sounded weak, too breathy. You wanted the boy to keep talking, you wanted to watch his pink cheeks and his pretty eyes dart across your face, like he was searching for something. 

You wondered if he’d find it. 

“Not everyone?” You whispered. 

“No,” Steve shook his head, his smile wry. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees and he was closer now, closer than before and you could smell his cologne, the cherry soda fizz that hung in the air along with Mr Jackson’s freshly mown grass. “No, no, not everyone. I’d give the girl a peck at first, yeah? Just something PG-13. Then, when she relaxes and you know, she moves closer, kisses me back, I’d—”

Steve broke off, blinking like he was getting rid of something hazy. He’d been looking at you as he spoke, words coming too easy, the air between you both warm despite the setting sun. He licked his lips, suddenly nervous, awkward again, a bashful thing that made him suddenly even more endearing than you thought he ever could be. 

“You’d what, Steve?” You blinked, feeling warm, wondering if the boy could tell. You didn’t know what to do so you moved, leaning forward until you could fold your legs underneath yourself and your thigh bumped Steve’s shin. “You’d what?”

Steve’s eyes searched yours, his gaze falling to your lips and back again. You thought he found it then, that thing he seemed to be looking for. Because he cleared his throat and let one hand fall to the carpet between you, his fingers brushing over your socked toes and you almost jumped at the contact. 

The silence was too loud now. 

“I could show you, if you wanted.”

Someone’s lawn mower started up a few yards over, white noise buzzing in the distance as you tried to take in what Steve had just said. He was watching you, head tilted to the side, cheeks still rosy and when you looked at him carefully, you could see the barely concealed panic in his brown eyes. 

He pressed his lips together and tried to smile, tight and nervous and he was picking at the carpet, fingers fidgeting as you sat there dumbly. You heard the shake in his voice when he tried to say, “I am—,” he choked on his words, panicked. “—so, so sorry, I shouldn’t have—”

“Steve,” you stopped the boy with a hand on his shin, your warm palm against the denim. “We’re friends, right?”

The word seemed to burn on your tongue, like it tasted like a lie, like it was as dangerous as one. You waited, breath held, wondering if you wanted Steve to agree or not. 

“Yeah,” he nodded, suddenly so serious. “Yeah, yeah, ‘course we are.” He worried at his bottom lip again, looking at your own. “Best friends.”

You nodded, tongue feeling too big for your mouth to speak. Words felt clumsy, your skin too warm. Buzzing. Fizzing. You weren’t sure if it was you or the air. 

“Show me.”

You thought Steve would maybe hesitate, maybe he’d back out or shout, ‘got you!’ like those prank shows Dustin liked to watch. You thought he’d maybe lay down some rules, maybe he’d tell you how this didn’t mean anything and really, he was only doing his sad friend a favour. 

He didn’t do any of that. In fact he didn’t say anything else at all. Steve just let out a breath and nodded once, almost to himself before he let his hand curl around the back of your calf and he tugged, gentle. 

He lifted his chin, a casual ‘c’mere’ that had your heart thundering and you wondered if this confidence, this way of acting so sure of himself, was how he got all the girls. 

A quiet sort of assertiveness that made your stomach flip inside out. 

You unfurled yourself from your sitting position, shuffling to your knees as you moved across Steve’s bedroom floor, bare shins burning against the carpet. You leaned back on your heels, brought yourself down to Steve’s level where he sat against his wall, legs stretched out before him. 

He didn’t warn you when he brought his hand to your face, fingers cupping your cheek and his thumb brushed the corner of your mouth and you were suddenly left wondering when Steve’s hands had gotten so big. You’d watched him grow, from a middle school kid to king Steve the senior. You’d seen the new muscles, the height, the hair. You’d never noticed his hands before but now they were on you, it’s all you could think about.

Dizzy. You felt dizzy. 

“Okay?” Was all he asked, voice softer and quieter now he was so much closer. 

You nodded, face too warm and licking across your bottom lip like a reflex. You weren’t sure where to look. Or where to put your hands. Most kisses you’d shared had happened in the crowds at parties or in the front seat of a boy’s car after a date. You usually lay your palms on their shoulders, holding on and wondering if every boy took these opportunities to grope your ass like a pile of dough. 

“We can stop,” Steve told you. He looked nervous and if anything, it made you feel more anxious than ever. “Whenever you want, ‘kay?” 

You nodded again, unable to really speak, too scared that your voice would crack or something equally stupid would happen. And maybe Steve knew this, maybe he knew you so much better than you ever thought he would, because he smiled and nodded too. 

“Okay,” he announced, quiet and soft and he was moving closer, noses bumping, his eyes fluttering shut. “Here goes.”

“Wait.”

Steve paused, gaze back on your own and he looked concerned, he looked worried and before he could ask you what was wrong you were sucking in a panicked breath and asking: “what if I’m the bad kisser?”

“What?” Steve let out a laugh, breathy and disbelieving and he was still so close, his hand on your jaw and his thumb rubbing absentmindedly over the apple of your cheek. He was shaking his head, smiling, looking too pretty and suddenly this seemed like a monumental thing, something gargantuan. “No, there’s no way.”

You squirmed on the floor, shifting further and then closer and Steve loosened his hold on you but you didn’t go anywhere. You just blinked at him, pained with worry. “How could you know?”

Steve paused as he thought and you wondered if he had an answer, if he was going to say something truthful or he was simply thinking of something sweet to say to placate you. Instead, he looked into your eyes and seemed to search for that… thing, again. 

I— I just—” Steve didn’t say anything, he didn’t give you an explanation or a reason. 

He simply pressed his lips to yours. 

It was chaste and sweet and entirely innocent, lips closed and nothing close to scandalous. But then he parted from you just a breath, looking at you from heavy lidded eyes, watching you from beneath his lashes. And when you didn’t move, you didn’t panic, Steve leaned in again, kissing you the same way until he nudged your chin up with his hand and his lips slotted between your own. 

He moved slowly, carefully, with a practised ease that made your toes curl and it was still sweet, it made your tummy warm and your head spin and Steve’s lips were soft, tasting like cherry soda and sugar. 

You caught up after a beat or two, your hand that wasn’t braced on the floor reaching up to cling to where you could reach. Your fingers found the collar of Steve’s t-shirt, fisting the soft material and doing everything to make sure he didn’t move away. You moved with him, lips meeting and parting over and over until Steve sucked in a breath and tilted his head to the other side, pressing closer, a little deeper. 

After another soft peck, he pulled away, eyes still closed and his thumb on your chin as he whispered, voice hoarse. “See? Nothin’ to worry about.” He brushed your hair behind your ear, pressed his fingers under your jaw. “And now, a guy should be testing the waters, right?”

“They should?” You whispered back. Your eyes were still closed too, your fingers sneaking up past Steve’s collar to stroke at the skin at the base of his throat, experimental, adventurous. “How’d they do that?”

You were sure you felt the boy smile, sensed it. A warm breath across your lips as he moved closer again. “Like this—” 

Another kiss, the same as before, once, twice and then Steve was parting his mouth over your own and letting the tip of his tongue lick over your bottom lip. It was a fleeting touch, a zap, a buzz, a tingle down your spine and you gasped without thinking about it, lips parting for the boy and you followed suit, tongue moving past Steve’s lips to meet his own. 

He groaned then, a vibration against you, his hand skating back from your cheek to thread into your hair and he let his tongue move over your own, lips clicking every time they parted. It was slower than you’d been kissed before, something sensual about it despite being sat on your best friend’s bedroom floor and it made your insides somersault, the skin where Steve slouched burning. 

“Told you,” he murmured, breath heavy as he spoke. “Nothing to worry about,” he repeated and when you finally opened your eyes to look at him, face blazing with heat, Steve was looking at you like he didn’t know what to do with himself. 

“Mhmm,” you agreed, barely listening, eyes still on the boy’s mouth, fingering the collar of his shirt, not ready to let go yet. “You must be a good teacher, or something.”

Steve looked distracted, Adam’s apple bobbing, gaze on your lips too. You weren’t sure he had stopped looking at them. “Yeah, yeah. Or something.” He swallowed, throat tight. “Do you wanna stop? Or—?”

“No,” you said, maybe too quickly. “Do you?”

“God, no,” Steve agreed just as fast. “You can keep going— just— what do you want…?”

Steve’s words died on his lips as you moved suddenly, rising to your knees only to push Steve back to the wall. His hands fell to his sides, hovering in mid air as he stared, watching as you swung a leg over his knees and sat carefully on his lap. You were cautious, more on his thighs that closer to anything else but you tried to breathe evenly as you took in the position. 

“Okay?” You asked him, voice caught sticky in your throat with nerves but Steve nodded, head bobbing hurriedly. You sucked in a breath, smoothing your hands over Steve’s shoulders before you did as he had, smoothing them up the sides of his neck and holding his jaw carefully. “What do I do now?”

‘Whatever you want,’ Steve wanted to beg. But apparently this was a lesson of sorts and he  had something to teach you. So he cleared his throat to make sure his voice wouldn’t crack and held your hips, hands gentle and polite. “You, uh, you find out what I like.”

You nails scratched at the back of his neck, unconsciously. You licked your lips. “How do I do that?”

Steve’s hands flexed on your hips, climbing to your waist, holding you a little tighter. Something seemed to shift then, his eyes lighting up. He looked like he was ready to fight, like you’d asked him if he were up for a challenge. It made you grin. 

“Kiss me.”

 So you did. 

You did as Steve had at the start, kissing him soft and slow and chaste, pulling away before he could catch you, teasing, nose bumping his and breaths mixing, cherry soda to fizzy candy. And just before Steve was about to groan, frustrated, you shifted closer, chest pressed to his and you parted your lips, catching his bottom lip between your own. 

It was a greedier kiss and Steve let his head fall back against the wall with a dull thunk, opening his mouth for you, nails digging into your sides when you licked over his tongue, exploratory, gentle. You felt him nod, the tip of his nose smushed to your cheek and you smiled, amused at his praise. 

“Like that?” You asked, breathless, barley parting from him to speak. 

“Yeah, like that,” Steve agreed, sounding just as wrecked. “Keep going, please.”

He didn’t have to ask again. Fuck, he didn’t even have to ask as nicely as he did because you were back on him in a heartbeat, kissing your best friend like you didn’t want him to remember anyone else. 

“Slower,” he whispered, muttering instructions against your mouth and you didn’t feel scolded, you didn’t feel embarrassed you just followed Steve’s instructions, pulling back slightly to kiss him softer, lips moving with his slower, slower, slower. 

You heard him groan, felt his chest rumble and his hands squeeze at you in silent praise and you knew then he liked it like that, liked to be teased. You nosed at his cheek, did as he had done and pushed your thumb under his jaw to bring his mouth up to yours, his head tipping back, back, back. You pecked over his cheeks then, over the bridge of his nose and at the corner of his lips until he was panting, waiting for you. 

“Yeah?” Was all you asked. 

“Yeah,” he hummed, feeling like he was vibrating. He let his eyes shutter closed, waiting for your next touch. “Yeah.”

You felt bolder, brazen, pushing your lips back to Steve’s and when you pulled away this time, you nipped at the boy’s bottom lip, pulling at it gently with your teeth and until it popped softly back into place and Steve swore, he cursed, he grunted and his hips shifted under yours. 

“You like that,” you noted with a smile and it wasn’t a question. 

Steve didn’t speak, he couldn’t. Instead he stared up at you and nodded, dazed, throat bobbing as he swallowed tightly and tried to get himself under control. 

You moved into each other again without discussion, an unconscious need that didn’t need a conversation. Your hands went to his hair, holding onto the messy ends at the nape of his neck as his travelled the expanse of your back, fingertips lifting the hem of your shirt every downstroke, his skin on yours. It was enough for you to make soft noises against him, nudging closer and Steve helped, his hands pulling at your waist until your chest pressed against his and were seated over his crotch. 

You felt him then, hard and pressed underneath his jeans and it made you kiss him like you had something to prove, mouths moving together, open and panting, tongues touching teasingly, teeth grazing against lips to try and make the other moan louder. 

And when Steve’s garage door opened, a groaning, grating sound below his window, it was an interruption that told you both his father had arrived home. 

You slid from his lap, chest heaving and eyes heavy on Steve’s pink cheeks. His lips were shiny from your work, his hands leaving your waist at the very last second, your butt hitting his carpet rather ungracefully as you backed away, suddenly so aware of the line that had been crossed. 

You were burning still, an ache between your legs that hadn’t quite been satisfied and your lips buzzed from Steve’s kisses, the slow, careful way he’d pressed his to your own. He’d paid attention, you realised, picked up on every noise you made, every shift against him, the way you kissed him back eagerly when he did something you liked. And you’d done the same, taking in his gasps and sighs, stomach flipping when his hips bucked and his chest moved a little quicker than before. 

Your fingers touched your bottom lip before you pressed the back of your hand to it, as if to hide the evidence. Steve was still staring at you, panting, doing nothing to hide the obvious bulge in his jeans. 

And when his front door opened and closed and you could hear his fathers footsteps lead into his office, Steve stayed quiet. Only when the sound of the door clicking shut filled the silent house did he smile, boyish and all charm.

“See?” He reminded you, cheeks still burning. His hair was a mess from where you’d pulled on it. He looked rumpled, undone at the seams. “Told you, you weren’t a bad kisser.”

[mcdynamite]

Kissing has never done all that much for Steve, if he’s honest.

It's just not really something he's ever given much thought to before - the way someone kisses - despite the fact that he's locked lips with plenty of people. For him, kissing has always been something nice, but not particularly special. It's never been earth-shattering. Never taken his breath away, the way people talk about in movies and books. It's just a way to be closer to someone, and it's nice, but it's never anything more than that.

Then, Steve kisses Eddie for the first time, and suddenly he gets it.

They're high when it happens, laying side by side in Eddie's unmade bed while the weed sinks into their bones. Steve loves the way it seems to slow down the world around them - makes everything syrupy and sweet, so he feels every brush of Eddie's fingers against his own in every inch of his body as they pass the joint back and forth.

The casual contact makes him long for more, and when he's high, Steve just...gives into the longing. He lets himself drift closer until they're pressed together so closely that Eddie can hide his face in Steve's uncharacteristically messy hair when he's trying to cover up a snort of laughter in response to Steve's deranged weed-induced musings.

Tonight, they meander their way through a directionless conversation - as they so often do when they get high together - until the joint is so small it nearly singes their fingertips. When Eddie finally sits up to stamp it out in the ashtray on the bedside table, Steve tries not to miss the feeling of Eddie's body against his own too much, knowing it'll be back soon enough.

"I'm thinking of handing over the DM throne to Will for the next oneshot, after we finish this campaign," Eddie says, speech slow and thoughtful as he puts out the blunt. "Think he'll be good at it."

Steve just hums, eyes heavy-lidded, gaze fixed on the curls he wants so badly to run his fingers through, just to know what it feels like. He's high enough to not care about the consequences when he decides fuck it, and reaches out to feel the soft ringlets beneath his fingertips.

"You're good at it," he muses - a delayed response to Eddie's comment. If Eddie is bothered by the way Steve is carefully petting his hair, he doesn't show it. Instead, he turns back to look down at Steve with a soft smile that makes Steve's insides feel all gooey.

"Yeah?" Eddie asks, a hint of a smirk overtaking the softness. "You ready to admit that you like watching me play my little nerd game, Harrington?"

Steve blames the quiet whine that escapes his throat on the weed, along with the way he honest-to-God pouts in response to Eddie's words. He tugs on a lock of Eddie's hair petulantly. "Don't like it when you call me that."

Eddie's face does something strange then, and Steve can't quite parse out what it means with the weed making his brain all foggy. He looks...surprised? Fond? Maybe both?

"Sorry, Stevie," he replies, teasing but somehow genuine at the same time. Steve smiles dopily, an expression that Eddie returns. "That better?"

Satisfied, Steve nods. Hums in affirmation. "Yeah. I like that one."

And it's true. Steve loves when Eddie calls him Stevie, because Eddie always sounds so fond when he does, and it makes Steve's heart feel too big for his chest.

"Oh, yeah?" Eddie asks, still grinning as he leans down until he's propped up on one elbow, hovering just over Steve on the bed. "What else do you want me to call you, hm? Stevie? Steve? M'lord?"

The last one makes Steve laugh and close his eyes, happy to bask in the sound of Eddie's voice as he floats along with their conversation.

"Sir Steven? Sweetheart?" Eddie continues, and Steve's heart jumps just a bit at the second one. Then, Eddie murmurs, "Baby?" 

And Steve's eyes fly open.

Steve stares at his friend with wide eyes - lips parted as a soft, punched-out oh escapes him - and it's weird, is the thing. Because Steve has been called baby before, lovingly by his grandmother when he was still a little boy causing mischief while his parents weren't watching, meanly by boys on the playground when he cried over something silly like a scraped knee…and when he got older, teasingly by the girls he took on dates.

It's not a new name for him, but it feels groundbreaking nonetheless.

Because the word sounds so much better coming from Eddie's mouth than anyone else's. It's soft, and fond, and knowing, and...

It's longing.

"Yeah,” Steve croaks. "Yeah."

"Which one? Sir Steven?" Eddie asks playfully, cocking his head to the side like a puppy. He grins maniacally when Steve huffs and shakes his head in disappointment. "No? Which one was it, then, that you liked the most?"

"Eddieeee," Steve complains, burying his flushed face into the pillow and avoiding his friend's gaze. "You know which one."

Eddie shakes his head in an almost scolding manner and Steve is convinced he must've moved closer, because Steve can feel Eddie's breath against his skin, and the air in the room feels about a hundred degrees hotter.

"Nuh-uh, Stevie," Eddie says, poking him playfully in the ribs. "You gotta tell me which one."

Steve hesitates, feeling more and more self-conscious by the second. He sort of wants to hide, but he also really wants Eddie to call him that again. It's probably thanks to his intoxicated brain that he allows himself to answer truthfully. "Baby," he murmurs, uncharacteristically shy.

"Yeah?" Eddie says, voice and smile softening in tandem. "You like when I call you baby, Stevie?"

Steve stares up at him with wide eyes, hardly able to believe this is really happening, and nods. "Yeah. That one."

Eddie is so close, now, that Steve can feel the warmth that emanates from his skin; can see the flecks of gold in his eyes amongst the molten chocolate brown. He's got freckles - Steve realizes. Tiny little dots across the bridge of his nose and the apples of his cheeks that form constellations on his skin. Steve thinks, maybe a bit deliriously, that he would be perfectly happy spending hours tracing them, the way astronomers of old once traced the stars.

"Eddie..." he breathes, heart pounding as he begins to feel more and more desperate for...for something. Anything to let him know that he's not the only one succumbing to the gravitational pull between them.

Eddie blinks slowly, and his eyes widen as though he's just realized something important. Steve watches his throat bob nervously before Eddie finally whispers, "Yeah, baby?"

Steve inhales sharply through parted lips - a soft, plaintive gasp that draws Eddie's eyes to his lips, and-

Oh.

That's what Steve wants, isn't it?

"I-" Steve tries, helpless to stop his own gaze from falling on Eddie's lips - pink and parted and just a little bit chapped, and so, so close.

"Baby," Eddie says again, and this time it's different. Unintentional. Like Eddie said it without meaning to. And maybe it's just the weed, but Steve swears he can feel the word burrowing its way into his chest and settling around his heart like a blanket. It makes his whole body feel warm - something only made worse by the hot coal of desire that begins smoldering low in his gut.

He's so lost in it all that he can't even bring himself to feel embarrassed when he whispers, "Please."

Steve waits with bated breath until finally, any remaining nervousness retreats from Eddie's eyes, and Eddie smiles in that way that makes Steve's stomach flutter. It's such a pretty smile. Steve can only watch as it grows closer, going cross-eyed for the briefest moment in his quest to to stare at Eddie's lips until suddenly his eyes are fluttering shut, because...because...

Because Eddie kisses him with lips still curled into a smile, and Steve thinks - utterly nonsensically - that feeling Eddie's lips against his own is so much better than just looking at them. The thought makes him giggle, just a bit, and he finds himself grinning into the kiss, too.

They part for a moment so Steve can let out another quiet giggle, and Eddie seems to pause for a moment, smiling down at Steve with poorly concealed affection. "Baby," he murmurs reverently, and then he's leaning down to capture Steve's lips in another kiss.

This time, Steve is ready for it, but it draws a muffled whimper out of him nonetheless. His nose fills with the scent of weed and cigarettes and cheap cologne - the smell of Eddie - and it's so overwhelmingly good. He lets his lips fall open on a gasp...doesn't close them when Eddie tentatively brushes his tongue against Steve's own. He shuts his eyes, because the press of Eddie's hand to his cheek and Eddie's chest to his own feel like so much more like that.

Eddie breaks the kiss to gasp in a breath, and inexplicably, that's what really sends every last bit of restraint in Steve's brain packing. It's so simple, so ordinary - the soft, quick sip of air Eddie takes in. It's a breathy little sound that Steve has heard from countless others before, but maybe that's why it puts him in this unfamiliar chokehold of wanting.

This isn't just anyone.

This is Eddie.

And Eddie is making those quiet, lovely little sounds because he's kissing Steve, and Steve is very rapidly realizing that he is utterly incapable of being normal about any of this.

He feels his cheeks go hot as he forces his heavy limbs to move so he can tangle his fingers in Eddie's curls, holding him close (because Steve thinks he might die if Eddie stops kissing him, now). And it's bliss. It's addictive. It's ruinously tender, and Steve feels himself unraveling from within. Feels the knots in his heart - left behind by absent parents, cruel friends, and distant girlfriends - turn to dust at the gentlest brush of Eddie's lips.

He whimpers into Eddie's mouth and clings to him even tighter, feeling his throat grow strangely tight as his eyes sting at the corners, and when Eddie pulls away he's got a small furrow in his brow, just under his bangs. 

"Stevie?" Eddie murmurs. His eyes dart to Steve's cheeks, and when he brushes his thumb along the skin just under Steve's eye, it drags a bit of wetness with it. Only then does Steve realize...he's crying.

And Eddie is wiping away his tears.

"I..." Steve croaks, eyes wide and spilling more tears with every blink. He drags his hands down from Eddie's hair to rest on his chest, beginning to curl into himself as the embarrassment sinks in.

Christ, he's crying. And all they've done is kiss.

Eddie's frown deepens, but he doesn't pull away completely. Instead, he lets their noses brush and breathes, "Baby..."

Steve's breath hitches.

"You're shaking, sweetheart," Eddie continues, still brushing Steve's tears away with gentle fingers. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing!" Steve gasps hurriedly, because as far as he understands, it's the truth. "Nothing's wrong, I just..." He closes his eyes. Swallows the lump in his throat and admits with a trembling voice, "I didn't know it could be like this."

He opens his eyes and sees Eddie's expression soften, but the concern remains. "What do you mean?"

"I just..." Steve tries, sniffling and letting out a quiet, distressed laugh. He slams his eyes shut again and rubs them roughly with his palms, trying to force the tears back into his body. "Jesus, this is fucking embarrassing, man."

"Steve..." Eddie murmurs. He sounds sad. Conflicted. Like he's not sure what to do or how to help - if he should stay or go - and that just won't do, because Steve is certain he'll drift away on the breeze without Eddie to ground him. He's got to try to explain, even with his thoughts still feeling syrupy slow from the weed.

He wants to tell Eddie that he's kissed dozens of people before, but kissing them never felt like this. He wants to explain that he's used to taking the lead, and that it's nice having someone else set the pace, for once. He wants to tell Eddie about the way most people he's kissed have done so - frantically...lustfully. Kissing has always been a simple means to an end. And it's never made Steve feel like this.

What he actually manages to say is slightly different, though.

"No one's ever kissed me like they love me, before."

His eyes are still covered by his own hands, so he can't see what is surely a stunned expression on Eddie's face, but he can hear the way Eddie gasps in response to Steve's words.

It’s too much, he thinks. He's said too much, fast-forwarded too far into the movie. It's too early to be talking about love. Steve knows this. It's just...

His stupid, floaty little brain can't envision a world where someone kisses the way Eddie does without being hopelessly, irrevocably in love.

"Shit," Steve breathes after several minutes of silence. Or maybe it's several seconds. He really doesn't know. Time feels funny, when he's high. "I know that's, like, way too much. I'm too much. I don't know why I-"

"Steve," Eddie interrupts, and Steve snaps his mouth shut. He feels Eddie's hands wrap carefully around his wrists to pull them from his eyes. Eddie is being so careful with him...like he can't see that his tenderness is exactly the thing that’s ripping Steve apart at the seams.

Steve wants to scream. He wants to cry. He wants to drag Eddie back down and kiss him until he can't breathe. Until Eddie's sweetness becomes warm and comforting instead of feeling like the scalding heat of jumping into a hot tub after a dip in the cold waters of the pool.

"Baby, look at me," Eddie says softly.

Steve is helpless but to obey.

Eddie's gaze is sad but kind when Steve finally meets it with his own. He's got the barest hint of a smile on his pretty lips - the same ones Steve so desperately wants to feel against his own, again - and Steve feels his stomach swirl with something he can't quite describe.

"It's not too much," Eddie continues, voice steady. "And neither are you, okay? You, Steve Harrington, are never too much. Not to me."

The words settle over Steve like a blanket, and he can't decide whether it's comforting or suffocating. He just wants to stop talking about things so they can move on. He just wants Eddie.

"Eds..." he rasps desperately. "I don't- I just want-" He cuts himself off with the hitching breath of what may be a sob. He's not really sure, at this point.

"What can I do, honey?" Eddie says, and he really needs to stop with the pet names, or Steve might genuinely fracture into pieces. "What do you want?"

Steve is sunk too deep into the syrupy slow feeling of the weed - too desperate to feel Eddie pressed against him again - to do anything but tell the truth.

"Just want you," he says.

Eddie smiles - eyes crinkling at the corners - and Steve breathes the sight in like oxygen. "You have me, baby," Eddie murmurs. He's rubbing small, comforting circle into the sensitive skin of Steve's wrists now, and it's perfect. It's wonderfully, disgustingly perfect.

"I do?" Steve asks dumbly. His brain feels fifteen seconds behind everything, but he thinks that's probably okay. Eddie seems to be just fine waiting for him to catch up.

"Yeah, Stevie," Eddie chuckles quietly. "Had me for a long time, now. Just wasn't sure if you would want me the way I wanted you."

"You want me," Steve says breathlessly, more to himself than to Eddie. "You wanna kiss me."

Eddie's resulting laugh is a bit louder, a bit brighter, this time. "I do," he says. The sadness is fading from his eyes, giving way to something that looks an awful lot like elation. Steve remains still and watches, entranced, as Eddie carefully hauls himself up until he can swing a leg over Steve's to straddle him.

Still smiling broadly, Eddie leans down until their faces are mere inches apart, studying Steve with those big, brown eyes. "You gonna let me?" he asks Steve, a teasing lilt to his voice.

Steve nods, lips parted in surprise he can't quite seem to shake, and Eddie's expression softens.

"Gonna let me kiss you like I love you, Stevie?" Eddie whispers.

Steve's not sure when, exactly, his tears had begun to dry up, but he knows they must have at some point, because they're returning with a vengeance, now. "Please," he breathes.

Eddie shifts, and Steve expects Eddie to go right back to kissing him, but that's not what he does.

Instead, Eddie releases one of Steve's wrists and cups his cheek tenderly. This time, the feeling of his thumb brushing the tears away is a familiar one, and it makes Steve smile dopily.

"You know the reason I kiss you like I love you?" Eddie asks. Steve shakes his head and tracks Eddie's gaze as it drifts towards the place where his fingers are still wrapped around Steve's wrist. His lips quirk into a smile as he uses his grip to pin Steve's hand to the mattress, right beside Steve's head, and laces their fingers together.

Their noses are brushing, now, and Eddie's hips are resting on Steve's, and Eddie's hair has fallen around them like a curtain to keep the rest of the world out, and it's so much. Eddie is everywhere, and he's everything, and Steve is completely, unquestioningly in love with him - probably has been in love with him for ages, now, and just never let himself think too hard about it.

"I kiss you like I love you, Steve Harrington," Eddie breathes, and their lips brush as he speaks. "Because I love you."

And the thing is…Steve has spent his entire life wondering what it would feel like to know, without a shadow of a doubt, that he was loved. It's something that's eluded him for twenty years.

So it's all the more miraculous when Eddie kisses him again, and suddenly, Steve knows. He knows that Eddie Munson loves him. He feels it in the way Eddie kisses him slowly and deliberately, like it would never have crossed Eddie's mind not to. He feels it in their linked hands, in the way Eddie squeezes his hand when Steve makes a desperate, wanton sound into his mouth.

He feels it when Eddie brushes the hair out of his eyes and smiles before kissing Steve's forehead, then his nose, and then his lips again.

Feels it when Eddie's lips begin to wander down his neck.

When Eddie sucks a mark into the thin skin above his collar bone, just because Steve begs him too.

When Eddie pulls Steve's shirt over his head with careful hands, then lets Steve do the same, because Steve needs the intimacy of skin on skin.

He feels it when Eddie stops Steve's wandering hands from venturing too far south with a firm grip and apologetic eyes, because Eddie wants him - of course he does - but not when they've been smoking. Not when there's even the slightest chance that Steve might wake up and regret it in the morning.

And he hears it, too, later that night when they're laying in Eddie's bed exchanging soft, sleepy kisses, unwilling to drift off and let the night end, just yet.

Their legs are woven together - bare, aside from their boxers - and Steve has lost track of how long they've been tangled up in each other like this. He doesn't particularly care, though. He's pretty sure he could happily spend the rest of his life exactly like this.

"Love you, Stevie," Eddie whispers against his lips. They both smile into the next kiss, and Steve's heart is full to bursting, because he believes it. He knows, now, what it feels like to be loved...to be adored.

"I love you," he murmurs in reply, relishing in Eddie's sharp intake of breath. He giggles a bit, for no reason other than the pure joy that's been coursing through his body all night. "God," he laughs. "I fucking love you, Eddie Munson.

Eddie is quiet for a moment before his face splits into a grin that could rival Steve's own, and he's so goddamn beautiful that Steve almost feels like crying again.

He doesn't cry, though. He just watches adoringly as Eddie smiles and nudges Steve's nose with his own. "Yeah, baby?" Eddie teases.

"Yeah, Eds," he answers simply.

And he's pretty sure Eddie knows - is pretty sure Eddie can feel it - because Steve kisses him for the umpteenth time that night, and he pours every ounce of his heart into it. 

Steve kisses Eddie like he loves him, because he does. God, help him, he does.

And Eddie?

Eddie kisses Steve like he loves him back, and Steve gets it now, because it’s more than just a kiss.

It’s perfect.

It’s earth-shattering.

It’s everything.

--

Shout-out to @lyphyshard for the beta!

For more of my Steddie blurbs and one-shots, check out my masterlist!

[meownotgood]

cpr. / dan heng x gn!reader, fluff, soft kisses, dan heng teaches you how to do "cpr" (poorly)

I want to teach you the basics of first aid. Come to my room as soon as possible. 

That's it. 

There's no, Would you like to come to my room? or, Learning first aid would be helpful for you, what do you think? Dan Heng is just as to-the-point as the first time you met him, and even though you try to pretend like it gets on your nerves, huffing your complaints to March and texting back an annoyed K, you still find yourself shuffling over to his quiet room on the Astral Express the moment your phone pinged you with the notification. 

You're silently thinking to yourself as you make your way there, rounding the hallway as slow as you can to give yourself a few extra seconds, or possibly to make Dan Heng wait for longer — or maybe it's both. 

Yet despite how much you ponder, even though you've known him for long enough to start understanding him, you can't decide if he's so direct because he's just that way with everyone, or if it's because he knows you'll always listen. 

Upon entering, his cabin looks the same as it always does: books strewn about and left open on important pages, glowing circuitry lining every wall, his bed unmade, pillow askew, blanket balled up in the corner. When you step in and slide the door closed behind you, he doesn't bother to look up from where he's sat cross-legged and hunched over a data screen, he simply pats the floor next to him with his palm and cocks his head to signal you to come sit down. 

"You almost got yourself killed on our trip to Belobog. Multiple times." Dan Heng explains, tone stern and resolute, not exactly rude, just matter-of-fact. Your knees knock his own once you've settled next to him. Your heart stutters a bit at the proximity, but he doesn't seem to mind. While he speaks, his eyes never stop scanning the screen. 

"We'll reach the Luofu soon, and I won't be coming with you. My biggest concern is you not knowing what to do in an emergency." He turns towards you finally, sharp and serious gaze meeting yours. "I'm already not excited about this, but I'd feel better if you let me run you through a few exercises." 

"I'll be alright. Don't worry about me. I know enough. I think." 

Dan Heng stares back with narrowed eyes and with his arms crossed over his chest, unconvinced. 

In a moment, he pushes himself to his feet, walking over to the desk and rooting around its contents, all while completely disregarding your last statement: "I'll lend you a first aid kit. If we start now, I should have enough time to teach you everything you need to know, mostly everything. I'm serious about this, so please try and pay attention. For your own sake." 

Right. That's fine. You can handle it. You're a pretty fast learner, you think. And thankfully, mostly everything consists of things you already sort of knew or techniques that are relatively simple to comprehend. 

Dan Heng walks you through the steps to bandage a wound — He holds your arm gently as he's showing you the proper way to wrap it, pulling on the bandage tightly and then softly, idly rubbing circles onto your skin with his thumb. 

How to treat a fractured bone, what to do if someone is choking — Dan Heng wraps his arms around you and shows you where to place your hands, resting yours on top of his in the center of your stomach. His chest presses flat against your back, his hair tickles the side of your face and you almost miss when he says into your ear, "Shove forcibly right here, and keep going until… Are you listening?" 

"Yes," You answer. "Er, sort of." You rectify. 

Dan Heng expels a heavy sigh. Right then, you half expect him to give up and kick you out, but instead he holds your shoulder and shifts back, he mutters a barely audible C'mere and guides you to rest your head squarely in his lap, leaving you laying down and peering up at him. 

He admits honestly, "I'm worried about you. If something were to happen to you there, I mean I trust everyone to look after you, but…" 

It isn't like him to trail off. "But what?" 

"But you need to know how to take care of yourself."

Shifting his hand underneath you, he props your head up further with his arm, the metal of his bracer firm on the back of your head. "For now, I'll teach you how to perform CPR. Pay attention to what I do. After this, we'll be done." 

The room's silence seems to stretch on. The endless hum from the systems and analyzers echoes in your ears, your heart pounds in them even louder. Dan Heng brushes his nimble fingers over your chest, right between your ribs, as his eyes scan your face they start to take on a certain sort of softness. 

He composes himself with a sharp breath out, a deep breath in. And then, he's leaning close, too close, gripping your chin deft between his thumb and forefinger, tilting it upwards. You watch his eyes flutter shut and you follow his lead. 

Your heart continues to thump so hard you're certain he can feel it: once, twice. Warm lips brush your own, clearly hesitant, and it's nothing like the straightforwardness you've always been used to getting out of him. No, Dan Heng seems nervous this time, and as he connects with you in an open-mouthed kiss, his hands getting sweaty, warmth pooling in his chest, he can't help his mind from becoming a total mess. 

He isn't thinking all of the sudden, isn't considering any of the consequences, like he's always tried to do. Your lips are on his, he didn't lock the door; he nearly forgets to breathe a steady puff of air into your mouth once the tingling feeling and the heat rising to his cheeks commands all of his attention. 

Almost as quickly as he leaned in, he's forcing himself to tear away from you, his eyes opening slowly, his expression completely unreadable. 

"It's self-explanatory." He reasons, sure of himself, but you swear his voice sounds quieter than it did before. Any louder and he'd trip over his own words, "You got it, or do you need another demonstration?"

"Show me one more time. Just in case." 

If anything were to happen to you, if you died and he wasn't there… 

And once more, Dan Heng is closing the distance, this time briefly reaching up to brush a few strands of stray hair away from his eyes before tilting his head and pulling you closer. 

He's gained a bit more confidence, and he kisses you hard, stops for a moment, caresses your jaw with his fingers and meshes his lips with yours to kiss you again — and you can't help yourself from reaching up, settling your arms around his shoulders to tug him in as close as you can get him. And he lets you. 

You'll be fine, won't you? He isn't sure, and he hates that he isn't sure. 

He'll have to ask you to promise him. 

You freeze, and he pulls away, only by a couple of centimeters, enough to breathe but to still feel his breath fan over your skin when he exhales. He's blushing fully now, you sigh his name against his mouth and it's the sweetest sound he's ever heard; he shivers all the way from his neck to the base of his spine. 

His head goes fuzzy, his heart throbs and twists like a burning star — God, he doesn't know what to say. His thoughts were moving a mile a minute, but the more he stares down at you, the longer you hold his gaze and let the seconds revolve around and around, he starts to forget it all. 

Dan Heng swallows the thickness forming in his throat, and he's about to force himself to say something when you suddenly start speaking instead. 

"You're doing it wrong, you know." 

"Huh?" 

Your head tilts. "Come on, there's no way you're that horrible, right? If you wanted to kiss me before I went, you could have just said so." 

And Dan Heng, ever-so direct, always so composed, feels his lips start to quiver and somehow can't manage a response to that. 

[sunlightmurdock]

Operation Apollo | 2.9 | Jake Seresin x Reader

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Synopsis: After a threat is made against her life, the President’s grown up daughter gets her security tripled. Her long term detail is about to retire and needs replacing, only — she isn’t the easiest to work with. Ex-Navy and current Secret Service, Jake Seresin is devoted to being the best at everything he does. He isn’t going to let a bratty little girl cost him this job.

Warnings: age gap, power imbalance, enemies to lovers, danger and angst, manipulation, sucky parents, grief and manipulation, lying, distressing themes throughout but especially towards the end of the chapter. Graphic violence, dangerous situations, revenge, wc: 3.5k

…

Jake doesn’t sleep well anymore. This seems to be a settled fact. From the day that Dani died, he just doesn’t rest like he used to. When he was with you, things got better, for a bit. They’re bad again now.

Now, he spends his nights tossing and turning and wandering to the bathroom of his hotel room to splash water on his face to remind himself that his nightmares aren’t real. It’s been two days since he heard your voice, and growing harder to convince himself of reality.

Allen promised to check in in the morning. It’s technically morning now, as the breaching sun threatens the skyline. Morning. It’s too fucking vague. Dawn and 11:59 leaves Jake a lot of time to pace the San Diego shore.

Nothing settles him these days.

He leans his palms forwards on the bathroom counter, and cocks his head to the side. His therapist had once told him that it wasn’t helpful to try to remember the day Dani had died. It always ate at him that he couldn’t really remember receiving the news. He remembered the before, and god, he wishes he didn’t remember the after — but he could never remember hearing the news for the first time.

He remembers the abruptness of it all.

Convincing himself that her voice was still fresh in his mind in the evenings was the only way he could keep her alive. It hadn’t worked much. He doesn’t think of her in the evenings much anymore, and she’s still dead.

When your voice echoed in his ear a few minutes ago, it’s the first thing he thought of — that her voice outlived her.

The cold water drips down his chin, saturating days old stubble, falling in thin droplets onto his naked chest. His eyes are narrowed, smaller than normal and heavy with sleep. His shoulders are hunched. His skin looks barren without the trace of your touch.

His bed is unmade and the sheets are wrinkled from the sleepless night he’s leaving behind. He inhales deeply and considers just taking a shower and starting his day before the morning sun.

Then, his night-morning medley is interrupted. Three calm knocks on the door. He closes his eyes, shutting out his reflection and the fluorescent noise of the bathroom, and tries to reason with himself.

Two further knocks confirm to him that the sound is real. It’s not part of another one of his bad dreams.

Jake walks barefooted out of the bathroom, and leans up to the peephole. He’s unsure, really, of who he is expecting to see outside of the door at five in the morning, but the sight of two secret service agents standing there makes his blood run cold and his mind fill with thoughts of the first woman that he loved.

Though he can’t remember that day, he knows it was less of a formal affair. He can’t take more bad news. He pulls back the chain and turns the lock with little thought about what they could be there for, not wanting to let his mind linger on the worst possibility.

“Agent Seresin,” The taller one says, his thin lips stretching into a tighter line as he looks the man before him up and down. If Jake had been sleeping better, maybe he would have gotten dressed before answering the door. The morning air chills his bare chest and thighs, his underwear doing little in terms of providing warmth. “You’ll have to come with us, sir.”

Sir. The word makes the hair at the back of Jake’s neck prickle, and his stomach tighten. Sir, please calm down. He remembers hearing that on the day Dani died.

“Where is she?” Jake asks.

“We can’t say.” The shorter, dark-haired one won’t meet Jake’s gaze. That’s good. They would have told him if you were dead. “But we need you to come with us. Now.”

The entire West Coast network is abuzz as Jake is driven up to the house in the hills. As the count ticks over into seventeen hours since you were last seen, and four hours since that video was received, everybody who is anybody is working on your disappearance.

Allen was the first to report it yesterday. You had been gone for two hours already by the time he came to check on you, and found Jake’s bed empty. It’s his fault. He had assumed you were finally sleeping, and he had waited too long to check on you.

By the time he realised, you could have already been out of the country for all he knew. His experience in this field told him a lot of things — not a single one of them reassuring.

He first alerted the West Coast liaison. After confirming there were no active hits on your location in a six mile radius of the house, things went nationwide. He considered calling Jake then, but there were too many eyes on him to sneak a call.

Once nationwide, your parents had been alerted. Matthew landed on a private airstrip just after midnight, thirty-five minutes before the video footage was received. A dark, grainy two-minute long video with no timestamp.

The first thirty seconds is almost silent. The camera is focused, unmoving on your face. You’re staring at something above the lens, the man behind it, with pure venom in your eyes. You’re already hurt, bleeding from your nose and your hairline, your eye sore looking and swollen.

From the second that the voice first rings out, Matthew recognises exactly who it is. It’s the first question they ask of him — if he knows who could have wanted to hurt you. The answer is more complicated, because it’s not that Ellis would have wanted to hurt you specifically. Ellis would have wanted to hurt Matthew.

But, Ellis hurts all kinds of people every day, for reasons that span far beyond simple dislike. It’s why the debt between the two of them is something far beyond what money can settle.

The instructions on the video are clear.

Shadows dance across cracked concrete walls, the lone lightbulb wobbles on its wire above your head. Your wrists itch and burn, your arms stiff and your neck aching. You lost the feeling in your legs a while ago. The blood from your nose has dried around your mouth and chin, your eye has started to swell. Your head throbs.

You have been alone for two hours.

Occasionally, someone will pass by the door. No one seems to care much about checking on you. As the hours have dragged on, you’ve stopped moving so much. Getting out of your restraints is decidedly impossible. Your eyelids feel heavier and heavier with each slow blink.

“Don’t fall asleep.”

Your eyelids flutter, your vision blurred and unsteady as you search the shadows of the room for the voice. For his voice; Jake’s voice. Even like this, you know what he sounds like.

“Come on, honey,” Fingers brush across your hair, soft, unbothered by the blood crusted into your hairline. “Keep your eyes open. I know it hurts.”

It does hurt. You’ve never hurt like this before. Wrapped in bubble-wrap, hidden behind thick walls and tall fences — maybe if they hadn’t kept you so safe, it wouldn’t all hurt so bad now.

“Jake?” Your throat is dry, your voice is hoarse, the rag cuts into the corners of your lips.

“I’m here.” He isn’t, and the realisation makes you want to cry. You can pretend he’s here, and pretend he’s telling you to fight all you want. He isn’t here, and you’re tired.

Ellis’ terms have been circling your mind for all of the hours you have been alone. You, for her. Your father, in exchange for you, as to be delivered by Jake.

The government would never let it happen. Jake would never let it go. Your heavy eyelids droop shut and you leave them that way.

When they’re closed, you’re not here either. You’re at home, and in Jake’s bed. Your cheek is on his chest and he’s asleep, you rise and fall with each one of his breaths, your fingers smooth across the heart-shaped, thumb-sized birthmark on his hip.

The morning sun is shining, the bedroom walls are white and the mattress is soft. Jake’s right arm is draped around your shoulders, cradling you to his chest. There, it’s safe to fall asleep.

A little after nine, the bright sunlight spills into the living room. Another sunny morning, like the world hadn’t been turned upside down overnight. Jake has never felt quite so out of place in this house. It feels colder without you here. He stares at the dark, blank screen in front of him, sick to his stomach.

Your picture is gone, but the image is burned in his mind. Your bloodied, bruised face staring right at the lens, your lips pressed into line, adamantly refusing to speak. God, just speak. Do what they tell you to do. Please.

Slowly, he leans forwards and hits the button to replay the video. It’s his fourth time watching it, now. There it is again, your tear-filled eyes and the stubborn scowl on your exhausted face, the long fingers curled around your chin, angling your face towards the lens.

Jake has been filled in with some need-to-know information. Ellis Armstrong was an associate, and informant and a business partner of Matthew’s from before the elections. He’s a bad, bad man.

Outside of the need to know — Matthew is the only one who really knows the extent of what this guy will do, of what he has done on behalf of Matthew himself in the past. Of how far this debt reaches.

Matthew, I know that you’re far too much of a coward to face me in person. You have done an excellent job of avoiding me so far. How lucky I was that your clever little girl sought me out.

Jake turns his head. He studies the skulking man in the corner of the room, his head turned toward the ground and his fingers trembling as his hands wring together in front of him.

Things hadn’t ever seemed this serious back then. At the start of it all, it was just a little maintenance, making a little indiscretion disappear. Then, the favours had gotten bigger — and then they had stopped being favours at all.

Jake and Matthew are far from alone in this living room. They’re surrounded by agents with years of combined experience, government advisors and White House big-wigs. And yet, Jake is the only one that Matthew can’t bring himself to look at.

I know you won’t come to me yourself. That’s why she’s so perfect. We’ve all seen the news. If you won’t come to me yourself, the bodyguard will bring you to me. You, for her.

Apparently the message was supposed to reach Jake privately, which is why he was intercepted. He sits with the thought for a moment as he stares down the man who raised you; he would trade him in to keep you safe in a heartbeat.

That’s why the first point of call was to bring him here. Here, they have an eye on him. They can’t risk him trying anything stupid.

You have twenty-four hours to reach the location provided. Say goodbye, sweetheart. The faceless fingers curl into the hollows of your cheeks and Jake grits his teeth. His gaze flickers up, and this time Matthew is watching him.

“You’re going.” Jake tells him, from the spot on the couch where he had kissed you for the first time. Everything had unfurled here, in this house, up until Jake had taken you home.

It’s a shell of a home and it always was. Cold and white, almost clinical in its modernity. It’s the place you met but it’s not your home, and it’s not Jake’s. He just decided that. The two of you will have a real home.

His gaze is a cold green, steely and serious. There’s a movement around the room, uncomfortable murmurs of disagreement as the crowd prepares to stop the bodyguard. “This is your fault. You didn’t protect her, and she’s in danger. You’re going to fix this.”

“No, Agent, that’s not how we’re going to—” The serious looking man in the Armani suit, who considers himself responsible for Matthew’s safety here, doesn’t get a chance to finish his sentence.

“I’m done with the plans.” Jake decides, pushing himself up from the couch. He makes no efforts to step towards the president, this isn’t a threatening motion, it’s merely a man who won’t stand back idly once again. He gives a cool shake of his head. “The plans are what got us here. You… deserve this. You fucking owe her this.”

Matthew swallows dryly, loosening his tie.

“Jake,” Allen steps up from his perch by the wall, giving a soft shake of his head as he reaches out to rest a hand on Jake’s shoulder. “We’ve got to keep our heads about this.”

It’s not a sudden thing, that the attitude in the room is that Jake is the crazy one here, but the mood shifts nonetheless as he rounds on the older man and points a finger squarely at him.

”Don’t. Don’t say a damn word to me — where were you?” he spits.

“I… she promised me—” Allen shakes his head dumbly, blaming himself more for this than your own father does. He’s blind with worry, that image of your bloodied face just won’t leave his mind.

“You promised me.” Jake bites.

Silence falls across the room for a beat. Manny wipes his nose with the back of his hand, squeezing his eyes shut as tears spill silently down his cheeks.

When he had gotten into this business, he had first felt invincible. A background in Tactical Ops and a pristine track record, he told everyone that he was perfect for the job. Then, he had met you and he had realised quickly he was out of his depth — but he liked you, and you reminded him that there was more to this line of work than the rules.

He hadn’t ever thought he would let you down like this.

“I’ll go.”

Jake turns his head. He isn’t impressed. He isn’t pleased. It’s barely enough, after what he has put you through. Looking at Jake, your father knows that.

“Mr. President—“

“Those were his terms,” His eyes are shut now. He can’t bare to look at the man before him, knowing that this wouldn’t be a difficult decision for him to make in the slightest. Jake would put his life on the line for you without thought. He shivers through an inhale, “We come up with a plan around them, and we get her out of there.”

“But, sir—“

“Figure it out. You can keep both of us safe. That’s your job.” Matthew exhales finally. Opening his eyes, he finds Jake once more and finds himself chilled to the core. The look on Jake’s face is finally, wholly sincere. If it came down to it, Jake wouldn’t give a fuck about keeping Matthew safe.

“Sir—“

“Figure it out, god damnit, or I’ll take myself.” Matthew bites out finally. It’s not like he has much of a choice in walking away from this, anyway.

When Jake closes his eyes, and thinks of you afraid and alone, it makes his choice easy.

Matthew feels like a clock within him has started ticking. As the men and women around him scramble to draw together a plan that will keep him and his daughter alive, he feels it counting down his last moments.

He tries not to look up, because when he does he finds Jake looking at him every time.

It’s like Jake can hear it too, that awful ticking. Time passing by. Counting down the moments.

“Catherine?” Matthew calls weakly, rubbing two fingers against his temple from his spot in the corner of the living room. His secretary turns attentively and graces him with her full attention. “I’d like to make a statement, and I’d like you to write it down. Do you understand?”

Jake can’t sit and listen to them anymore, but that’s not what makes go wandering. He starts out in the kitchen, looking out over the pool. The place he had first seen you. Then, he takes the stairs and winds up in his room. His bed is unmade here, as it was in his hotel.

His shoes are quiet against the floor as he walks over to the bed and lowers himself to the edge of it. His fingers smooth over the faint dips in the pillow, where your head had last laid.

Jake has money from his time in the Navy. From his work in the service. He hasn’t had much to spend it on. The job involves living with clients, expenses are usually covered, and his sisters won’t let him spoil his nieces too much. Enough for a house. One with a big bed, so you can stretch out all you want and still wind up draped across his chest.

The thought almost makes him smile, and then a lump in his throat threatens to make that smile spill into tears.

He hopes he gets that.

He can only imagine what you’re doing now. If you’re still stuck to that chair, if your eye is hurting you, if they have touched you again since. He’s not even sure if you have water. The one thing he does know is that you’ll be waiting for him. You’ll know that he’ll get you out of this.

A little after noon, the plan is as good as it is going to get. Twenty four hours since your disappearance, sixteen hours until Ellis’ imposed deadline.

Jake stands with his back to the front door as the President listens to the briefing once more. There are back-up plans on backup plans and protocols coming out of his ears, and Jake doesn’t care one bit.

Allen doesn’t like the look on his face.

“Jake,” The older man broaches the topic softly, trying not to alarm the already flighty ex-pilot. “I know you’re going to do what you need to do. I can’t stop you. But, if this goes south — and you’re responsible, you’ll never see her again.”

Jake knows what he’s trying to say. If he lets the President go, he’ll suffer the consequences. As much as he wants that house, and those lazy mornings in that big bed with you, he would let it all go if he could know that you would never be in danger because of this man again.

“I know the plan.” Jake tells him calmly.

Ellis isn’t an unintelligent man; he knows that if Jake was going to be able to deliver Matthew successfully, it wouldn’t be alone. That makes things a little easier — they don’t have to be as sneaky.

But, if Ellis has a feeling that the trade is a set up, they’ll both be dead. Jake won’t let that happen.

It’s just himself, and your father for the journey there. It’s two hours from your place, and there’s practically a motorcade escort most of the way. Once they hit the five mile out mark, security drops back, and for the first time — they feel alone.

“So, what did you actually do?” Jake squeezes his hands around the leather of the wheel, with no real interest in small talk. He shoots a look towards the cars in his peripheral, and then at each mirror. Last, comes his scope of the skyline. Habit. He was a good agent.

There’s no point lying anymore.

“You’ve got to understand, Ellis is a powerful man.”

“More powerful than the president?” Jake scoffs.

Matthew makes an uncomfortable sound of consideration. He wouldn’t expect Jake to understand.

“Having powerful friends makes him more powerful. You know?” He tries to explain it anyway, it beats listening to the silent radio and the tyres rolling. “I let him do me a lot of favors. Money, marketing, making people go away.”

He looks across and studies Matthew’s face for a moment.

“Not with money.” He realises, watching the stretch of road. There’s one turning, the only one Jake can see. That’s it.

Matthew looks ahead of him, colourless as he gives a weak shake of his head. “No. Not with money.”

It’s already in his head that your father is a scumbag, but it stings Matthew to realise that Jake isn’t surprised by this. It shouldn’t. He shouldn’t care about what someone like Jake thinks — and he supposes he wouldn’t, if it wasn’t for you.

“So what’d you do to him?” Jake prompts.

“I tried to get away.” Matthew says quietly. The wheels turn and the car pulls into an empty parking lot at the rear side of an old hangar. “Put some distance between the two of us — between him and my family, my career. It’s not the kind of thing he was willing to let go.”

“Go figure.” Jake answers bitterly. The car pulls to a stop and the ticking rings out loudly in Matthew’s ears. Jake turns his head, green eyes colder than ever. “You ready?”

…

tags: @alanadetigy @thedroneranger @momc95 @basicchelsea @perpetuelledaydreaming @cherrycola27 @eviesaurusrex @xoxabs88xox @desert-fern @hotch-meeeeeuppppp @khaylin27 @cowboybarbie @marchingicenotes7 @marantha @lgg5989 @herladyshipxx @chaoticweirdogeek @mak-32 @obiwankenobis-lap @diamond-3 @wolvesofthewinter @shawnsblue @itsmytimetoodream

[daydreamingyuta]

Mornings | Jaehyun

summary: fluff, a collection of mornings with Jaehyun over the years as you spend your lives together. word count: 1,127

Saturday August 10, 2019 [7:18 am]

You woke up, having hardly gotten any sleep, but energized as ever. Today you were meeting up with your boyfriend, Jaehyun. You two had just made everything official and your heart was so happy.

You go into the bathroom to do your skincare, and when you walk back into your room, you notice a good morning text from him.

Jaehyun: "Good morning baby! Can't wait to see you today <3"

A single text shouldn't make you this filled with joy, but it's from Jaehyun, so of course it does.

Y/n: "I can't wait either! Do you think we could also get some ice cream afterwards?"

Jaehyun: "We'll do anything you want angel"

You flop back onto your unmade bed, your thoughts filled with how lucky you feel to be Jaehyun's girl. You start to get giggly because you know that, by the end of the date he's going to cup your face into his hands and tell you how pretty he thinks you are, like he always does.

⸻

Sunday November 10th, 2019 [1:17 am]

You were supposed to be at home, already asleep in bed by now, but you and Jaehyun didn't want to leave each other. Each of you making excuses to prolong your date. Now it's one in the morning and you're on a walk, the street lit up by the moonlight. Each step you take, now unconsciously synced with his. Jaehyun hasn't let go of your hand once, and you wish that he never would. While you were enjoying your stroll, his mind was racing, thinking of how to tell you. He knew in his heart that you felt the same way about him, so he decided it would be best to just tell you outright. "Y/n?" He says, with a hint of nervousness in his voice.

You both stop and turn to face each other, knowing from the tone in his voice that he needs to tell you something important. "I love you." Words cannot describe how your heart feels in this moment. The way he's looking at you, like you're the most precious person in the world to him, was making you melt. "You love me?" You say with a teasing smile, tilting your head slightly. "So much y/n. I can hardly take it." He says, breathlessly. You stand up on your tippy toes and give him the biggest kiss you've ever given him. "I love you too, Jaehyun."

⸻

Sunday December 15th, 2019 [9:12 am]

The slight movement of Jaehyun cuddling more into you was the reason you had woken up. You move to get into a more comfortable position, causing Jaehyun to wrap his arm tighter around you.  “I’m sorry baby, did I wake you up?” Jaehyun says with his morning voice that you couldn’t get enough of.  “Hm, it’s okay. I love cuddling with you in the mornings.” Jaehyun nuzzles his head into your neck, “Me too, baby.” You fall back asleep, thinking about how excited you were that it’s almost your six month anniversary together. You can’t believe that you’ve been together for that long, the time feeling like it was going by so fast. 

⸻

Friday April 16, 2021 [7:32 am]

You knew something was up. You weren't sure what, but Jaehyun and all your friends and family had been acting strange for the past month. Like they all knew something you didn't.

You had just gotten a promotion at work, so maybe they all came together to plan a surprise party for you. But that's not really something you would enjoy and they all know that, so you really had no clue what it could be.

Today, Jaehyun was taking you out on a fancy dinner date, so whatever was going on definitely wasn't happening today.

"Good morning, angel." Jaehyun says, once he sees that you're awake. He's carrying a suit that he must have just picked up from the dry cleaners.

"Did you buy a brand new suit for our dinner?" You ask, confused.

"Yeah." He shrugs, as if getting a new suit was no big deal. As if he didn't have to spend days finding the right one for the special occasion. As if he didn't get the suit tailored to fit him exactly the way he knows you like.

You had more questions, but Jaehyun distracted you from them all by climbing into bed with you and giving you a million little kisses. You were in heaven whenever he did this.

Little did you know, that in only a couple of hours he was going to be down on one knee, in the park that you two visited during your first date, asking you to make him the happiest man on earth.

⸻

Monday May 16, 2022 [10:35 am]

You woke up with the waves coming from right outside your hotel window. You feel around the bed and notice that Jaehyun must have already gotten up. You hear a sound in the bathroom and know that he just got finished with his morning shower.  He comes out of the bathroom with a white robe on, his hair wet and messy, but you don’t think you’ve ever seen anyone as handsome in your life.  “Can you believe we got married two days ago, Jae?” You ask, unapologetically staring him down.  “No, I can't." He says, jumping back under the covers with you. "Did my beautiful wife have a good night's sleep?” You rest your chin on his now bear chest. “Yes, I did.” He strokes your hair as he looks down at you. “Should we sleep in on the first day of our honeymoon?” You nod your head yes, adamantly. You come up to press a kiss onto his lips and he cups your face into his hands and kisses you back. He pulls away, but just for a moment to ask you a question. “Do you know how beautiful you are y/n?”

⸻

Monday May 8th, 2028 [7:23 am]

“Mommy!” You hear as your oldest hops onto your bed, waking you up. “Mommy, happy mothers day!” She presses kisses all over you, making sure that you're fully awake. “Thank you sweetheart.” You say, sitting up so you can give her a hug and another kiss. She giggles in your arms and gets close to your ear like she has a secret to tell you.

"We made you something." She whispers.

Soon after, Jaehyun walks through the door, balancing your youngest in one arm and a stack of pancakes in the other.

“Happy mothers day, angel.” Jaehyun tells you as he sits the pancakes down on the bed and leans over to give you a sweet kiss.

[fics-and-quotes-andthelike]

Hi! I was wondering if you could write an Angel Dust x reader (platonic). Where the reader is sad and just lying in their bedroom. And Angel Dust tries to give their friend some comfort and tries to make them feel better. Like maybe he does their makeup, they both dress up and go out into the city. And maybe Cherri Bomb joins them💗

Title: Here, Always

Pairing: Angel Dust x reader (Platonic)

Word Count: ~2,716

In which Angel Dust comforts the reader after a hard day with a makeover and a fun night out.

A/N: Thank you for the request!! Not proofread, Pure fluff. Hope you enjoy <3

Warnings: cursing, ooc Angel Dust maybe, not too many descriptors about visual appearance just so everyone can have their own image

Pentagram City wasn’t exactly known for the kindness of its residence. Nor was it known for its tranquility or leisurely pace. It was, however, a fantastic place to be if you wanted your energy and your very willpower to be drained in only an afternoon.

You sighed against your pillow, ignoring the sensible voice in your head that told you to get up and out of bed. You had been lying there for hours, after all.

Unfortunately, a louder voice in your head continued to comfort and coddle you, reassuring you that it was okay for you to remain in bed until you felt whole again.

You liked that voice.

So you burrowed deeper into your blankets, allowing them to obscure you from view and block out the rest of the world in a last ditch attempt to pretend that you had some semblance of control over your life.

Oh, well. At least you were comfortable.

Your door opened with a bang. You shot upright.

“Heya, toots,” Angel Dust greeted as he stepped inside your room. “Charlie wants us to…” he trailed off when he saw your face. “Whatsa matta?”

You blinked in surprise. “What do you mean?”

His eyes roamed over your disheveled hair, your wrinkled clothes, and your unmade bed. “Nothin’, you just look a little…” he looked back up at your face. “Tired, is all.”

You narrowed your eyes. “What are you trying to say?”

Angel held up two hands in surrender, though his eyes kept scrutinizing your appearance. “Ya look like someone put you in a blenda and left the remains on ya bed,” he said bluntly.

You rolled your eyes and flopped back down on your bed, turning away from the spider demon. He was one of your closest friends here in Hell, sure, but that didn’t mean you wanted to stand up to take his insults.

You listened as his light footsteps approached you, but refused to face him even when your bed dipped to signify his presence. 

A gentle hand began running its fingers through your hair. “Hey,” Angel said, his voice much softer than it had been mere moments ago. “Talk ta me. Whatsa matta?”

You wanted nothing more than to lean into his touch and lift yourself up so that your friend could give you one of his all consuming bear hugs. But you still couldn’t bring yourself to move any more than necessary.

“I don’t know,” you admitted quietly. “It’s just been a rough week. I’m tired, that’s all.”

Angel Dust chuckled softly. “Yeah, I get that. Trust me, I do.”

“I know,” you said, closing your eyes once again. “I wish I could kill that stupid moth for you.”

Your friend’s laugh grew louder, much to your content. “I know ya do,” Angel said, his hand still stroking your hair. “Thanks.”

You hummed in acknowledgment.

The two of you sat in silence for a moment, enjoying each other's company in a way that you were so rarely able to do with the continuous angelic threats and Charlie’s new ideas for redemption.

Suddenly, Angel’s hand stilled. “Ya know what always makes me feel betta on a night like this?” He didn’t wait for a response. “Goin’ out for the night.”

Your eyes remained closed. “We shouldn’t get drunk, Angel, it’s against Charlie’s ‘redemption pathway’.”

You yelped as Angel gave you a light swat on the arm. “I didn’t mean it like that. We just gotta getcha dressed up and pretty, and the two of us can hit the town and have some fun without worrying about our fucked up lives.”

Truthfully, you were intrigued. You had heard stories about Angel and Cherri Bomb’s midnight outings before his stay at the hotel, but you’d never been able to experience one for yourself. Not because you and Angel weren’t close, of course, but because nights out like that meant risking everything that you had been working for here at the hotel.

You cracked open one eye. “No drinking or drugs?”

“None,” Angel promised. “Unless you’re feelin’ especially rowdy.”

You ignored him. “No killing?”

“Not unless it’s self defense,” Angel vowed.

You opened your other eye. “Just us?”

The grin in Angel’s voice was evident. “Just you and me, doll face. Not Charlie, not Husk, not anyone else. Just us. Come on, it’ll be fun.”

You sat up slowly, propping yourself up against your headboard and glancing over at Angel Dust as you tried and failed to hide your growing excitement.

The two of you hadn’t had a chance to spend time together without one of the other members of the hotel since a year ago, when Lute had come back down to threaten Charlie and everything that she had built now that Adam was gone. Ever since then, all of you had been extra cautious. All except Alastor, of course, but that was to be expected. 

The last time you had spent any time alone with Angel, the two of you had stayed up all night trading stories, both good and bad, about your lives here in Hell and your lives Before. Ever since then, the two of you had been both inseparable and insufferable. You’d even been Angel’s wingwoman when he had asked Husk on their first date.

You couldn’t stop the smile that spread across your face. “That could be fun,” you admitted.

Angel’s smile matched your own as he jumped up from your bed. “‘Course it does. Come on, we’ve gotta get you ready.”

Your smile dropped as you suddenly remembered your haphazard appearance. “I’m sure I can find something to wear-”

“Uh-uh,” Angel interrupted, shaking his head in disagreement. “If we’re goin’ out, we’re gonna do it right. Meet me in my room and I’ll see what I can do.”

You watched as he walked out confidently, throwing you a wink before he disappeared from your sight. You huffed out a laugh and buried your face in your hands. 

The two of you would probably get in heaps of trouble with Charlie later, but if you got to experience one of Angel Dust’s famous night outs, it was going to be worth it.

~~~

You smiled as Angel Dust carefully ran a comb through your hair. You hummed mindlessly as he worked, his attention focused on getting his work done as quickly and efficiently as possible.

He had already dressed you in an outfit made to draw attention, and transformed your face with a bit of foundation, eye shadow, and blush. The only thing left was your hair, which Angel was being surprisingly gentle with.

You closed your eyes as you silently enjoyed the feeling of the comb running through the strands of your hair again and again. It reminded you of Before.

After a few moments, you opened your eyes again, looking into Angel’s vanity mirror. “I’m not questioning your skills at all, but you’ve been brushing my hair for a while now,” you said with a grin.

Angel met your eyes in the mirror, a sly smile growing on his face. “You looked like you were enjoying it, sugar. Who am I to take away that pleasure?”

Your smile softened. “I was enjoying it, actually. Thanks.”

The demon winked at you before placing the comb down and getting to work on styling your hair. 

“So, where are we going?” you asked, trying to contain your eagerness. “We can go to a club without drinking, can’t we?”

Angel snickered. “Don’t get too excited, toots. If we’re gonna behave tonight, we’re gonna have to avoid some of my regular places.”

“You’ve basically been everywhere in Hell,” you countered. “I’m not worried. We’ll still have a good time.”

Angel stepped back, two hands on his hips as he admired his finished work. “You bet your ass we will. Now get up so we can get this party-”

The door to the bedroom flew open. You and Angel whirled around to face the newcomer as Cherri Bomb sauntered in without a care in the world.

“What’s up, bitches?” she called out as she entered. “I heard we were throwing a party.”

You recovered quickly, grinning back as you stood with your arms outstretched. “Hey, Cherri,” you greeted as you gave her a quick hug.

Angel Dust was close behind, wrapping his arms around his friend before releasing her and slinging an arm over her shoulders. “You heard right,” he said as he pulled her further into the room. “We’re gonna have an all out, hard core-” 

You cleared your throat.

Angel stuck a finger in the air and plastered a false innocent smile on his face. “And responsible night around town.” 

“Hell yeah! I’m in,” Cherri said before looking over at you. “Angel and I know all the best spots in this dump. Get your arse up and let’s get moving!”

“Wait, wait, hold on,” Angel said as he moved away from Cherri. “We were just gonna go out for a few drinks and some dancin’. Nothin’ too big. It was gonna be our night, ya’ know?” He hesitated before gesturing over to you. “Just the two of us.”

A stab of guilt tore through your chest as Cherri’s smile dropped. She was quick to hide it, though, pasting another grin on her face before waving her hand in indifference. “Whateva. Who needs you lot anyway? I’ll have my own night out and let you two know what you missed out on.”

As she turned away, you noticed the guilty grimace on Angel’s face. 

You wanted nothing more than a day to spend time with one of your closest friends, but you knew that neither one of you would be able to enjoy your night with feelings of regret eating away at you. Besides, Cherri was another sinner who had always had your back and understood your past trauma. Why wouldn’t you want to share your night with her?

“Wait,” you called out before she could reach the door.

Both Cherri and Angel turned to face you.

You shrugged and gave a small smile. “The more the merrier, right? I bet three of us could cause a lot more trouble than just the two of us.”

Cherri’s smile grew. “That’s what I’m talkin’ about, bitches.”

Angel shot you a grateful look before clapping his hands together, a devious smirk growing on his face. “Alrighty then. Let’s get this party started.”

~~~

“How did you even know we were going out?” you asked Cherri Bomb as your small group staggered out of a bar. Your third bar of the night.

It probably hadn’t been the best idea to allow Cherri to create tonight’s itinerary, given the fact that you and Angel were two of the hotel’s best chances to prove that redemption was possible. You couldn’t say that you had ended the night with any regrets, though.

Cherri shrugged at your question and shot you a quick grin. “I always know when there's a party goin’ on. It’s like my special skill.” Her smile sharpened. “Well, besides being able to hold my liquor better than you lot.”

Angel shot her a wink as he draped an arm over your shoulder, gently leading your group back to the hotel. “Whateva’ ya say, babes. You comin’ back to the hotel with us?”

Cherri snorted and held her hands up as she backed away from you. “Back with Princess Redemption? Nah thanks, I’ve still got a few shots left in me. You two have fun, though.”

“Will do,” you said as Angel began leading you away.

“And let me know when the next party is,” Cherri shouted after you.

“We will,” Angel called back as he walked.

You looked up at him with a slight frown. “Are we in a rush? I feel like we’re rushing.”

Angel glanced down at you with a raised eyebrow. “What’dya ya talkin’ about?”

You looked back over your shoulder as Cherri disappeared into another building. “I don’t know. We’ve only been out a few hours, and we’ve only been to a few clubs. I thought-”

“You thought we were gonna go bat-shit crazy and ruin our progress?” Angel interrupted with a smirk on his face.

You laughed and shook your head. “No, I didn’t think we’d go that crazy. But I just thought…I don’t know. I guess I thought you’d want to spend more time with Cherri.”

Angel smiled. “You kiddin’? I love spendin’ time with her.”

“Then why did we leave so soon?”

Angel glanced down at you fondly, using his other hand to grasp one of yours so that you were walking hand in hand. “I meant what I said, toots. This is our day, you ‘n me. Sure, hangin’ out with Cherri’s great, but I don’t want you tryin’ to find happiness at the bottom of a bottle.”

You snorted, swinging your hands between you as you walked. “Happiness is me in my bed, Ange, not in a bar.”

Angel pulled you closer, his arm still around your shoulders. “Fair enough,” he said smoothly as he led the two of you back to the hotel.

The two of you walked in comfortable silence for a moment. Demons turned to stare, of course, and some stopped to take pictures. You were walking with the Angel Dust, after all. But even with the extra attention, the two of you felt a sense of peace that had grown almost foreign to you both.

“Did it help?” Angel asked suddenly, looking down at you as you neared the hotel doors.

You glanced up at him. “Tonight, you mean?”

Angel nodded, his expression apprehensive. “I know you ain’t like me and Cherri. You like havin’ some fun, sure, but…'' he looked away. “I know your limits are different. I just wanna make sure you’re okay.”

You smiled gratefully, squeezing his hand. “I’m fine,” you said softly.

And you were. It wasn’t getting out of the hotel that had helped, or even spending a few hours with someone with as positive a vibe as Cherri. It was the fact that your friends were so willing to help you, and the fact that you had finally been able to spend time with the first person in Hell to make you feel safe again.

“I’m glad,” Angel said as you walked through the doors of the hotel.

He led you straight to the stairs with a quick wave and a wink to Husk at the bar.

You laughed as he pulled you along. “Where are we going?”

“Ain’t it obvious?” he asked, a mischievous grin on his face. “The day ain’t ova yet. We’ve got one more thing left on the list.”

~~~

You snuggled deeper into the thick blanket surrounding you on Angel’s bed, scratching Fat Fuggets behind the ears as Angel Dust got comfortable beside you.

“What’d I tell ya’?” Angel asked as he propped his head on his hand. “Perfect end to a perfect night.”

You grinned and nodded, watching as Nuggs walked over to Angel and cuddled him.

Angel embraced his pig, petting him lightly as his eyes roamed over your face in mild concern. “You wanna talk about it?” he asked softly.

You averted your gaze. “Talk about what?”

Angel didn’t respond, his gaze heavy as he raised a silent eyebrow.

You sighed and looked back at him. “I love the hotel,” you said quietly. “It’s great. Really, it is. But sometimes-” you took a breath and closed your eyes. “Sometimes, everything’s just a lot. You know?”

Silence.

You opened your eyes when you felt a warm hand on your cheek. Angel was smiling down at you, his eyes warm. “Yeah. I get it,” he said with a small shrug. “But ‘ey.” He winked. “That’s what you’ve got me for.”

You laughed, moving closer and allowing Angel to wrap his arms around you and Nuggs. “And you’re the best,” you offered.

“Hells yeah, I am,” Angel murmured as he pressed a soft kiss to the top of your head. “Get some rest, babes. I’ll be here.”

And so, you slept. You slept more peacefully than you had slept in a long, long time. 

And when you woke, true to his promise, Angel Dust was right beside you.

He gave you a soft smile. “I told ya’,” he said, careful not to wake Fat Nuggets. “I’m here.

Always.”

[treasuringizu]

"𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐃𝐢𝐝 𝐘𝗼𝐮 𝐒𝐚𝐲?"

⤷ atsumu x reader | mutual pining | 0.9k words |

“Atsumu!” You call out his name, hitting your fist against the door. “Are you here?” 

It's a little late; the hallway is brightly lit, and you look up at the overhead lights, blinking and wondering if you shouldn’t have come here on such a whim. Thinking about it, you probably should have at least texted him you were coming — he might not even be here, but you were too much in a rush. 

Sighing, you raise your fist again, “Atsu-”

The door flies open and your hand cuts through air instead of the solid surface. Standing there in the doorway is Atsumu, clad in a pair of black sweatpants and a loosely fitting black t-shirt to match. He’s holding onto the handle with one hand, the other resting against the side of the frame, his pink lips stretching into a sly smile. Your stomach flips a little bit. “Hey.”

“Hi.” You wring your hands together, “Um.” 

He raises an eyebrow, waiting for you to continue and chuckling when you don’t. He opens the door wider. “C’mon,” he says, motioning his head inside his room. You stare at his back as you follow him in, taking in his broad shoulders and admiring the way his muscles ripple inside his shirt before closing your eyes and shaking your head. He’s not yours to look at. 

Focusing instead on the room, you take note of how both sides are equally as dysfunctional. Not messy, just…crowded. “Where’s Osamu?” 

He settles onto his bed, unmade, legs spread, and pushes his laptop to the side. “With Rin.” 

“Oh.”

“Yeah.” 

You rock on your heels as your gaze slides all around the room, purposely avoiding his. “So…” 

“So?” He tilts his head in that cute way he always does when he finally catches your eye, smiling teasingly. “I’m not complainin’ about ya bein’ here, but you look like you have something ya wanna say.” 

He’s right. A wave of fervor pours over you, and you nod your head in determination to do what you came here for, pushing the creeping feeling of dejection far from your mind. “I need some answers.”

“Uh, huh.” His mouth twists in confusion. “Ta what, exactly?” 

“To how long it’s going to be.” Your legs take you around the small space, pacing back and forth as you clench and unclench your fists.

“Right…” He trails off. “I’m a little lost here, sweetheart.” 

You think you might melt with the affectionate name, but you brush over it. He’s just like that. “How long it’s going to be until you ask out this person you like so much.” 

He suddenly tenses, back straightening and thick eyebrows furrowing. “Oh.” Brown eyes track your movement. “I’m not, uh, sure I can answer that?” 

You shake your head. You think back to the conversation you guys had a few days ago, where he told you all about this person that he’s interested in. You remember him using words like so pretty, so amazing. A flush on his cheeks as he told you about why he likes them so much. Refusing to tell you who the person was, so maybe you could try to understand why it wasn’t you. 

But it’s exactly that, it’s not you. But it hurts every single time you think about it. 

So that’s why you ended up here, late at night, a fire in your heart. If the person Atsumu likes isn’t you, you could at least push him to go out with them. You wouldn’t be left to hopelessly pine over him, and could instead get over it as you watched him with someone else, even if it would kill you. Save yourself before you get too invested, right? 

“Why not? The sooner the better. Aren’t you the one who told me that we have to go for the things we want?” 

Atsumu pushes himself off the bed, long legs striding to you and big hands holding your arms to stop you from moving around. He looks very confused now. “I was?” 

You ignore him. “Well then, it’s time to do something.” You make sure to look right into his eyes. “If you like them so much, there’s only one thing to do.” 

The grip on your arms tighten, and you shift your hands up to hold on to his elbows. His eyes widen, and you watch as different emotions pass through his face before an excited grin grows. He studies you, “How long have ya felt this way?”

“Since you told me.” You try to match his smile, despite the way your chest sinks. “Be brave, Atsumu. I know you are.”

“Yeah.” he nods, eagerly, bleached hair following the jerks of his head. “Yeah, okay.” 

Your gaze drops to the floor. “Great…” Great. 

At least one of you guys will get to be with who they want to. You just wish he wanted you.

You try to leave his hold, but his hands just squeeze your arms, your name falling from his lips in a soft breath. 

He gives you that smile, not the confident volleyball player one, but the one that you catch him with when he’s petting a puppy, or when he’s talking to his mother on the phone and he thinks no one is looking. The one that’s reserved for soft moments, and your heart constricts. But it’s not prepared for what comes out of his mouth next. 

“Will ya go out with me?”

[sinkingnotsoslowly]

Muse

Pairing: (f) Reader x Hyunjin

Warning: angst if you squint, royalty au

DO NOT STEAL MY WORK. REBLOGS AND FEEDBACK ARE APPRECIATED.

masterlist

Autumn's sighs- little soft thoughts about our favourite boys

Life in the palace was lonely. The tall ceilings and dark walls seemed never-ending. The end of the hallways looked like black holes, once they suck you in there’s no way out. The only place Hyunjin felt at ease in the entire palace was his bedchamber. It was devoid of the darkness that seemed to engulf everything in the palace. Instead, it was decorated by splashes of colours here and there, paintbrushes scattered across the floor, several complete and incomplete canvases kept wherever Hyunjin could fit them and even the bed unmade. It was not what any other person would call ‘decorated’ by any means. Even Hyunjin knew it was a mess, “But a pretty mess” he would argue.

One would think life was easy for the royals. They could have whatever they wanted, and with the whole nation at their feet achieving so was as easy as pie. And maybe it was true to a certain extent. But unfortunately for Hyunjin, he did not desire anything that the royal life was able to provide. What need does he have for power and wealth? The little prince used to ask his tutor. And the only thing everybody he asked this to had to say was that he was the eldest prince, the future king, and he ought to have the power to rule the nation. Hyunjin did not want to rule anything.

 “Your brother is being made the crown prince” the royal guard stomped onto the balcony where Hyunjin had set up his easel and canvas.

“And I remember telling you not to pester me when I am painting, Changbin.”

The sunset was becoming too yellow, this wouldn’t do. Hyunjin started mixing some red with the yellow on his palette and looked up to see the guard still standing there, looking at him with a face of disbelief. “Do you have anything more to say?”

“Don’t you have anything to say? You were supposed to have that title Hyunjin”

Hyunjin went back to put some orange on the canvas. Now the sunset had some texture. “I am happy for Yongbok is what I have to say”

“Hyunjin”

Sighing, he put down the brush to look at the guard frowning. Changbin was the only person in the palace he could call upon. He was a little dense at times and maybe that was why when everyone left Hyunjin to his own devices, he followed him like a lost puppy.

“I never wanted that title. I am glad that the King deemed me unworthy. I would have much rather enjoyed being born to a simple farmer. Work hard during the day and paint at night. It is a dream indeed.”

“And it will remain a dream. There is no point in dreaming what you cannot achieve. Hyunjin, you could have handled the business affairs during the day and painted at night-”

“I do not want to handle the business. Yongbok is far more willing and capable of it. It is the right decision to make him the crown prince. I am happy like this” Hyunjin picked up his brush to continue the finishing touches. It was almost dark now; he couldn’t sit out here much longer.

“So, you are all right with people making you out to be mad?” his brush stilled for a moment. “Yes. Yes, I am. It is nothing new. You should leave, I want to finish this painting before it gets too dark.”

Hyunjin had expected to be at peace after his younger brother was made the crown prince. The King now had no reason to fret and Hyunjin could go about doing his own things. But he was wrong. His peace of mind did not last long as not even a week later the King decided that it would be best for the eldest to get married. Perhaps a wife would help his delirious mind.

To Hyunjin that was worse than being the next King. A wife? It was the nation’s ruler who was mad not him. Having a wife meant letting an outsider enter the little delicate space he had so tenderly sewed. An outsider who would judge him for his choices, call him a lunatic and tear apart his safe abode. Then there would be nothing remaining of him. How would he survive? These thoughts kept him up at night. And when finally sleep came he was haunted by nightmares, where a faceless woman would smirk at him, looking at him with disdain and make a mockery of him.

No amount of pleading stopped the marriage. Even the younger prince tried to convince his father against it after seeing his brother in so much distress. The King stood firm on his decision. And so the wedding preparations began. Hyunjin was certain that the King had lied about him to make a man marry off his daughter to a prince like him. Or maybe this man did not value his daughter enough to pick a worthy husband for her. Either way, Hyunjin did not think his to-be wife would treat him differently than the rest of the masses. So he did not bother to show any interest whatsoever in the maids’ gossip about the unfortunate lady who was to become a part of the royal family. But Changbin enthusiastically visited Hyunjin to tell him about her whenever he heard something new. And so he’s heard that the lady was the princess of a small kingdom far south. Their nation was suffering from famine, so their King was marrying off his daughter to save their people. More of a trade than a marriage. Hyunjin should have known that his father had played some cards for a nation to give up their princess to him.

The first time Hyunjin saw her was at the altar. Dressed in white with accents of gold and a veil drawn low upon her face. Still, Hyunjin could make out her features; as delicate as a flower, full of innocence, untainted by the harsh condemnation of the world. At once Hyunjin thought of how exquisite she would look sitting in one of the garden chairs among all the other flowers while he painted her. And when she shyly looked up at him, gauging the features of her new husband, Hyunjin knew he was done for.

The first few weeks after the grand wedding passed with the newlyweds awkwardly shuffling around each other and stumbling over their words like babies learning to speak. “This is intolerable. Both of you make me want to smash my head against the wall " Changbin barged into the library, where he knew he would find the older prince. He’d had enough of the couple.

“And what did I tell you about disturbing me when I’m in the library Changbin?” Hyunjin said as he flipped through yet another romantic novel, he says inspired him to paint. Changbin ignored the prince’s blatant show of uninterest and continued, “Do all of us in the palace a favour Hyunjin, grow a pair and talk to your wife properly. You cannot keep running away forever”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Although Hyunjin chased away Changbin he knew that it was becoming ridiculous. He had not touched his paintbrush since the night before the wedding when he locked away all his paints and brushes in drawers, hid the easel under the bed and all his finished and unfinished paintings in trunks. And when his wife stared at him with a questioning look when he insisted on always keeping those drawers locked, he had stupidly said, “I’m a very paranoid man.”  Hyunjin never considered himself to be awkward when conversing with people, he could be very charming at times. So he kept wondering why this sudden idiocy had seized him.

Hyunjin was certain that he had reached a point of restlessness where he would spontaneously combust at any moment if he did not get his hands on even a pencil and a piece of paper to sketch. And of all times now his head was swarming with inspirations when he could not put them down on paper. Ridiculous is what it is, he thought. He did not even know why he was hiding himself from his wife when he never bothered to do so for any other person no matter how many vile words they spewed at him. Maybe he did not want those doe-like eyes, wide with curiosity, to look at him with disdain when she would find out that her husband was not right in his head, that he devoted all his time not to his duties to the nation but to playing with paint. He did not want her to be disappointed since he was not what she had expected.

But as the fates worked their way it turned out that his wife was not the one Hyunjin had expected. It was one night when Hyunjin was sitting with his nose in a book when (Y/n) seemed to no longer able to hold her tongue and asked, “Do you, perhaps paint milord?”

Hyunjin looked up from his book looking like he was caught with his hand in a cookie jar.

“What- how did you know?”

“I noticed the smell of paints on the very first day and I couldn’t hold my curiosity anymore,” seeing Hyunjin’s face ashen she hurriedly continued, “I paint too. Well, at least I used to before I came here.”

“You paint?”

“Yes,” Hyunjin couldn’t believe his ears.

“Would you- would you like to see my paintings?”

“I would love to.” This was the first time he saw her smile that bright since the wedding day. There was no doubt that it was true, that she was not just mocking him. Hesitantly, Hyunjin unlocked one of the trunks and brought out a small painting of a magnolia they had in the palace garden. (Y/n) gasped and Hyunjin quickly looked at her face for signs of disappointment. “That is so beautiful. It looks more real than the paintings I have seen in botanical books,” her eyes were dazzling with amazement. This encouraged him as he brought out more of his paintings, always checking to see how (Y/n) was reacting.

One would say that the chambers were back to how they used to be with how canvases were spread across the room. And amidst those paintings were the princess and the prince, in their little world. “Will you teach me how to paint like this milord?” shyly she asked. But even her shyness could not hide the excitement in her eyes.

“Of course. But only if you stop calling me milord”

“Then what should I call you?” Hyunjin chuckled at how adorable she was.

“Hmm, you could call me Hyunjin, Hyune, darling, love, whatever you wish angel.”

(Y/n) hid her face in her hands. Hyunjin could only giggle seeing her flustered. But even his ears felt hot. He did not mind; he was happy. This was not the type of happiness he felt after completing a sketch or reading a ‘happily ever after’ ending. He hadn’t felt like this for a long time, since after his mother passed. He did not feel judged when (Y/n) picked up the canvases and looked closely at them. She was not disappointed in him, rather she looked like this was everything she could ever ask for; she looked happy. And Hyunjin wanted to paint that happiness on the white canvas, he wanted to paint her. Hyunjin had found his muse.

[lilislegacy]

I'm a couple days late to the stable scene discussion, butttt here are a few things I had in mind....

I agree with you that they didn't have sex in the stables MoA, but that said, I do think they was likely some more kissing and stuff. Now, jump forward to Tower of Nero and The Sun and the Star, I think Rick insinuates them being intimate (at least to a certain degree). First of all in the ToN when Apollo visits them, Annabeth tells him that their living arrangements are none of his business cause Percy is over at her dorm until her roommate moves in.

Then again, in The Sun and the Star Sally says "I imagine they’re both at Percy’s dorm ... hopefully studying for their English exam.’' A page-ish later when Sally, Will and Nico IM them, "Percy was indeed in his dorm room. There was a small unmade bed to the left and a desk covered in books and papers. Percy himself looked somewhat disheveled, too." Sally saying they're in his dorm hopefully studying and Percy looking disheveled I'd say is pretty interesting word choice. What do you think about all this?

thanks for the ask!

ah yes… college percabeth

you know, i haven’t finished TOA, but i have seen that scene online lol. and i will say, annabeth does get oddly defensive when apollo asks if they’re both staying there. she says the whole ew no he leaves his clothes everywhere thing, but her reaction seems oddly strong.

and you know what’s funny? when i saw that scene for the first time, i also thought it was referencing them getting up to no good, but it was a different part lol. the part that caught my eye is when percy says something along the lines of “yep i’ll be staying in my completely empty dormitory a whole two blocks away [from annabeth’s]” and then annabeth swats his arm and quickly moves on, and THAT’s when she defensively tells apollo that their living arrangements are none of his business. so i thought that was very suggestive.

i haven’t read the sun and the star, but those word choices definitely are suggestive. if sally had just said “percy is probably in his dorm, maybe with annabeth. they should be studying” then i think it would have sounded genuine. but the fact that she said they’re both in his dorm and “….hopefully studying”, it does seem like she’s onto them about something else LOL. the ellipses speaks volumes. and the fact that percy and annabeth were both in his dorm and nico said he looked “disheveled”… also suspicious. it could have been meant innocently, but rick is famous for throwing in little innuendos lol. so i think you’re definitely onto something with those scenes

we’re onto you ricky 🫵

[babydollmarauders]

airport blurb! maybe reader and jack getting their apartment ready for luke and going shopping for him, etc!

“what about this one?” my attention is caught by Jack, who stands in the middle of the aisle, holding up a blue bedspread. “do you think he’d like it?”

“Jacky, i’m sure Luke would’ve liked any of the six you’ve picked up.” he smiles, tossing the bed set into the cart, and i grin, closing the space between us and wrapping my arms around his neck.

“i just want it all to be perfect, ya know? he just lost the frozen four, i want him to have as much comfort as he needs.” he tells me, his hands settling on my hips.

“it will be perfect and he will have plenty of comfort. you know why?”

“why?” Jack sighs, gazing into my eyes.

“because he’ll have you. you’re gonna be here for him. he’ll have you to teach him the ropes and be there for him. he’ll have you to remind him that it does get better, no matter how much he struggles in his rookie season.”

“i love you.” Jack leans forward, pressing his lips to mine in a quick kiss. “now let’s hurry.”

i push the cart, trailing behind my boyfriend as he treks up and down the aisles of Home Goods, throwing things into the cart at random.

**

i can hear Jack’s muttered curses from the kitchen. he’s currently in the guest room, soon to be Luke’s room, setting it up for his brother.

“Babe, you okay in there?” my voice carries from my spot at the oven, and he groans in response.

“i can’t get this damn fitted sheet on the bed and Luke is supposed to be here in 15 minutes.” he steps into the kitchen, sheet in his hands and an exasperated expression, making me sigh.

i know my boyfriend is stressed. this is the day he’s been waiting for ever since Luke was drafted; which is why he’s under so much internal pressure to make sure Luke doesn’t regret leaving UMich after only two years. i just wish Jack would cut himself some slack.

Jack sidles up beside me, letting his head drop down to my shoulder. i press my cheek to his head for a moment before speaking.

“Jacky, baby, look at me, please.” i coo, attempting to pull back and look in his eyes. when he does lift his head, i immediately feel at peace when i see his blue eyes. i gently grab the fitted sheet from his hold, and set it on the counter before holding his face in my hands.

“everything is gonna be okay.” i reassure him, my tone soft and gentle. “i’m gonna make the bed, okay? why don’t you take the last batch cookies out for me when the oven beeps? think you can do that?”

he responds with a nod, raveling his arms around my waist and pulling me in tight. a soft smile spreads across my lips when i hear him let out an exhale, obviously feeling calmer in my arms.

“what would i do without you?” he whispers, his breath fanning across my ear and sending shivers down my spine.

“have an unmade bed for Luke and no cookies.” i joke, making him huff out a laugh. i untangle myself from his arms, leaning up to place a quick kiss on the tip of his nose before i make my way to the guest bedroom.

i’ve just finished with making the bed when i hear a knock on the front door. peeking my head out of the bedroom, i spot Jack sporting a wide grin and he jogs to answer the door.

“c’mon y/n/n, c’mon!” i giggle at his giddy state and sprint to stand behind him as he opens the door.

Luke barely has a chance to say a single word before Jack pounces on him, hugging his brother tight and jumping up and down. a chuckle escapes past my lips while i watch them, an immense happiness filling me from the sight of them finally together again.

[klbwriting]

Surface Tension

Chapter 8: Shot at the Night

Fandom: Aquaman

Pairing: Ormxfemale!Reader

Warnings: none

Summary: Orm can't do much to help Y/N but he does find someone who can

Note: song is 'Shot at the Night' by the Killers

Taglist: @hyperagitatedcydonian13 @gabrieleskywalker @philiasoul @duchcess

We’re breaking all the rules To find that our home Has long been outgrown Throw me a lifeline Cause honey I’ve got nothing to lose Once in a lifetime

“Why did you settle by the ocean if you’re so afraid of water?” Orm asked, sitting on the back porch with Y/N, watching the waves under the moonlight. She was strumming, singing one of her songs. He was starting to recognize them by now and he knew she sang this one because he liked it. She looked at him and shrugged.

“I used to love the water, felt free and happy in it,” she said. “I told you I was accused of something that I didn’t do. I do bare some responsibility for it though, even though it was an accident. Ever since then, I don’t want to go back into the water, but I can’t let myself forget that day. Part of me wonders if it was my fault.” She stopped strumming and set the guitar aside, wrapping a blanket around herself.

“Did you want someone to get hurt?” he asked. She shook her head. “Not your fault, you shouldn’t stay here feeling guilty. What I did…I wanted to hurt people, all of the pain I caused was because I was angry. You didn’t have that malice.” He looked at the water before looking down at his hands. She reached out and put her hand on his arm, instantly calming him.

“Do you remember feeling like that?” she asked. “Do you ever feel like that now?” He shook his head. “Have you tried to make things right?”

“Yes, I’m trying,” he whispered. She smiled at him and squeezed his arm.

“You’ll get there, let the guilt go, but keep becoming better. I’ll help you, we are better together,” she said.

Orm startled awake, the memory fading from his dream to his waking nightmare. He didn’t know when he had fallen asleep, sometime right before dawn. Last he remembered his mother and Arthur were still there making plans on finding some kind of proof of who tried to kill Orm. The footage was enough to clear Y/N of active treason, but she still could be held for conspiracy. Conspiracy to commit treason was a capital offense in Atlantis and she could still be executed if they didn’t find and get a confession from the culprit.

He was alone now with a note from Arthur that they had left to find proof in Atlantis. Arthur planned to talk to Hendrix and Atlanna was going to talk to Y/N. Orm went over to Y/N’s place. He hated to invade her privacy but maybe she had something. He started searching, trying to ignore that her bed was still unmade from where they had been together, her same clothes from her birthday on the floor around it.

“There has to be something,” he muttered to himself as he went through her closet. He moved some boxes out of the bottom and saw a small door, probably another small storage area behind the wall. He was able to pry it open and inside was a bag. He pulled it out and sat on the floor, looking through it slowly. He pulled out the mosaic of her and her father. It was cheap but well made, a product of the lower city where technology to film wasn’t as widely available. He set it aside carefully. Next came out a flyer for Atlantis for All, listing their goals as equal status, better living conditions, and fairness in the workforce. Orm remembered his father telling him that all those below the nobility were lazy, they just wanted people to hand them money and food without doing anything for it. At the time he had agreed, but this notice listed things that anyone would need to survive and thrive, which is what he thought his father wanted for all Atlantians. He set it aside also and pulled out a stack of papers. This was what he needed, letters to and from different people in AfA.

I work from morning until night, I never see my family, yet they still starve…

My mother died because we couldn’t get her a proper doctor, the nobility never have to worry…

My father died of the sickness King Orvax released when I was a child. King Orvax made me an orphan…

We can fix this. There is a way. King Orm’s coronation is on the first day of the Great Migration…

Here is what he needed. He read through the letter, it laid out a plan to protest, nothing else. They were to have Y/N sing, and Hendrix volunteered to bring the cracker. This was almost enough, but Orm needed something else. Aria was mentioned as one of the leaders of the group. He had to find her; she might have more proof.

Orm wasn’t sure where else to go so he went to the café. It was empty except for Y/N’s friends when he arrived. They were all glaring at him. When he walked in Dean came up and punched him in the face. It didn’t hurt, but Orm wasn’t expecting it and stumbled back a step. Dean was shaking his hand, wincing. He had probably broken a couple fingers. Aria pushed past him.

“Get out tyrant,” she demanded. Orm stood his ground. “We know you did something to her, no one can find her.”

“I didn’t do anything, but Hendrix took her back to Atlantis to face trial for treason,” he said. Aria froze.

“You’re lying, you gave her up,” she said, but her voice lacked conviction.

“If I gave her up I would be on my way to trial too. I’m a fugitive just as much as the two of you,” he said. “We need proof that Hendrix was the one who tried to kill me. I found a letter in her things with the plan for the coronation day, it says Hendrix was to get the cracker, but we need more than that, anything that makes it sound like he alone planned the attempt.” Aria was breathing deep, trying to remain calm.

“How do we know you won’t just take the evidence and destroy it?” Vincent called out. “What if you want to use her to get yourself pardoned?” Orm didn’t have time for this bullshit.

“Because I love her!” he yelled. “Because she is everything to me and I won’t stand by while they execute her. I can’t go back, no one will believe me if I say she is innocent, I’ll just get thrown in a cell next to her, but my brother is king. If I am able to get proof to him he can set this right.”

Aria watched his speech and nodded before motioning for him to come with her. She lived only a few houses down from the café and she also had a bag full of letters. She kept meticulous records and correspondence, including from Hendrix. Hours later she jumped up.

“I found something,” she said, setting the letter down in front of Orm at her kitchen table. By then everyone had joined them, watching. “This is from Hendrix, the day before the coronation. I think I received it by mistake. I never read it because well, I hated Hendrix and anything he had to say was worthless to me.” She pointed to a spot that clearly incriminated him.

“These people are idiots. They’re going to give me the crown and not even realize it. Tomorrow Orm will be dead and I’ll be king,” Orm read. This was perfect.

“Bless that asshole’s giant ego,” muttered Amanda from the couch. Orm stood and hugged Aria.

“I know you hate me but thank you,” he said. He looked between her and Dean. “I am sorry for the tidal wave, for everything. I was wrong and I don’t think I’ll ever forgive myself for it.” He left it at that, hurrying out of the house and calling Arthur to tell him he had proof.

[nattinatalia]

Jack Harlow x Reader : LIKE DADDY

“Baby, have you seen my chain?”

You walk into your shared closet and see your husband going through the jewelry cabinet. “Which one?”

“The one you gave me for our anniversary.” He bends down to look at another box. “I’m sure I placed it on the nightstand, but it’s not there and I can’t find it here.”

“Hmm, you probably misplaced it somewhere else. At the studio maybe?”

He groans “No I came home with it last night.”

You shrug, “I’ll help look downstairs, let me just check if the kids need anything.”

You walk out the door and towards the Children's room. You see your daughter Mia playing with her Fujifilm Instax camera her godfather gifted her for Christmas.

“No Ezequiel, you need to pose like daddy so you actually look like twins.” Mia tells him, her voice sounding like she's irritated.

“But mama said that’s not nice.”

“Mama is not here, you baby.”

“Mama is here young lady, what are you making your brother do?” You cross your arms and raise your eyebrows to look at her.

Mia looks like she just got caught doing a crime, but the thing is, she has the same sneaky smirk her father does when he gets caught doing something he’s not supposed to.

“He wanted to look like daddy.”

“Okay, and what was the not nice thing he had to do?”

Mia shakes her head.

You turn to look at your son. “Ezequiel?”

He was about to answer but Mia cut him off. “Fine, fine, I come clean. He was supposed to do the naughty fingers and hold his chain.” She shrugs.

“You know better than that Mia, no naughty fingers- wait, What chain?”

“He has daddy’s chain.”

You stand up straight and head towards your son. “Oh your dad is throwing a fit, he thought he lost it.” You pick up Ezequiel and have him in your arms. “Let’s go show daddy.”

“Can I come?” Mia asks.

You nod, “Of course baby, come on.” You hold out your hand so she can put hers in with you, and you three make it back upstairs.

“Babe.”

You hear noises from the bedroom, things being thrown all around.

“He’s mad mama?” Mia asks.

“No, he just really loves this chain.” You walk into your shared bedroom and see the bed is unmade, the side dressers are wide open.

“Jack.”

“What?” He’s on the floor looking under the bed. “Yeah sorry, what happened?” He says looking up and seeing you and the kids there, so he stands up and smiles.

“Daddy you made a big mess.” Mia says, looking around the room.

“Yeah, I’ll clean it up in a bit.”

“So I found your chain.” You tell him smiling.

“Fu-I mean duck yes, where was it?”

You walk up to him and hand him Ezequiel. “Your little twin.”

Jack looks down at EZ and smiles. “I should’ve asked him first huh?” You just smile.

“Daddy, Mia took pictures of me with your chain, we twins.”

“I bet she did an amazing job, I can’t wait to see them.” He looks at Mia and winks. “And you definitely are my twin little man.”

Ezequiel smiles at that.

“Now why don’t you all go downstairs, get some snacks ready and pick a movie to watch, while I clean up here?”

“Yes movie please.”

“I want Little Rascals.”

“I’ll help you bubs.” You say and start picking up.

“No, it’s okay, I need to make a call real quick anyway. You go downstairs with the kids, I got this.”

“Okay, if you’re sure.”

Jack nods, so you and the kids make it downstairs and fix up some snacks and look for a new movie to watch.

******

A few hours and some movies later, the doorbell rings.

“Are you expecting anyone?” You ask your husband.

He nods, “Actually, yes. But it’s just a drop off.” He says and gets up from the couch and heads towards the door.

“Who is it momma?” Mia asks.

“I don’t know bug, it's probably daddy’s work.”

Mia groans, “It’s our weekend. No work duties.”

“It’s not work baby, I promise.” Jack says as he comes back into the living room and sits down next to Ezequiel.

You look at the velvet box and raise your eyebrows. “Please tell me you didn’t.”

Jack smirks, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Jackman, he doesn’t need it.”

He shrugs, “Only when we’re home.”

You’re smiling at that. “Go on then, he’ll love it.”

“Mia, pass this to your mama please.” Jack hands her a box.

“Oh, for me?” You ask him, smiling.

“Mia, this is for you.” He hands her a smaller box. “And this one's for you Ez.” He hands him a box.

The three of you open the box and see there’s a matching chain with the one you had gifted Jack for your anniversary.

“Oh pretty.”

“Daddy we matching now, yay. Thank you.”

“Anything for you little man.” Jack tells him and helps him put it on.

Ezequiel immediately gets up from the couch and heads your way. “Look mama, I’m just like daddy.”

You smile, “Yeah you are buddy, twins for life.”

•••••••••

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[tbcanary]

for arrowfam week day one: "ghost" and "grow"

(set sometime around ga vol 7, but not exactly accurate based on current timelines within the run. suspend your disbelief with me for a sec.)

--

There’s a girl sitting at Mia’s desk.

Not that that’s unusual, or anything. Mia might come from a family of famous caped crusaders, but the vigilante business doesn’t exactly pay well enough for Ollie to foot all of her bills in the heart of Star City. She has roommates – two of them, actually, girls who have known each other since college but needed a third while so-and-so is studying abroad for a year, blah blah blah – and they’ve been known to sneak in to use her desk so that they both aren’t stuck studying at the kitchen table like they’re in the opening scenes of a Dickinson novel or whatever.

The point is, people sit at Mia’s desk sometimes. It happens, and normally it wouldn’t bother her, even coming home from work this late. Even after she spent all evening cleaning up the cafeteria in the community center after some kind of Bean Incident none of the kids would blab about, no matter how much she tried to wheedle it out of them.

Anyway. That’s not what bothers her. The thing that bothers her, actually, doesn’t hit until the girl looks up at her. The hood of her sweatshirt falls back from her head, revealing a shock of bright pastel hair, and Mia doesn’t know anyone with that hair color but –

But she knows those soft brown eyes. She knows that dimple in the left cheek, accompanying the uncertain smile.

“Lian,” she says. “What. The fuck.”

And then she slaps a hand over her mouth, and the laughter spills between her fingers despite her best efforts. “I mean, shit, I shouldn’t — goddammit, Roy is going to be so mad at me for cussing, but I —what?”

“Um.” Lian shrugs. It is her, after all; her voice sounds exactly like Cheshire, somehow, but the way her eyes crinkle at the corners is all Roy. “Hi.”

Mia stumbles into the room, sets her duffle bag to the ground with a thump that feels more like an earthquake. She drops down onto her unmade bed and stares – not bothering to hide her astonishment, her disbelief – at Lian, somehow so much older, somehow exactly the same.

“If I’m being haunted, you legally have to tell me,” Mia insists.

Lian shrugs. The toes of her sneakers drag against the floor as she kicks her feet, hands gripping the sides of her seat. “Nope. Not a ghost.”

Well. It’s not as weird as it sounds, probably. Roy had come back, and Ollie had, too, hadn’t he? But Mia… Mia had been there when Lian died. Sort of. Or at least, it was her not being there that had done it, and she’d done everything she could to find a loophole, but there had never been one. Nothing. She’d been gone; it had sat in Mia’s stomach like a weight, like a rock she’d swallowed and couldn’t spit back out.

“Clone?” she tried.

Lian shook her head. “Mm-nn.”

“Hallucination.”

“Nope.”

“Prank?”

“Only from the universe.”

“Alternate dimension.”

“Maybe.”

“Well,” Mia said.

And then she swallowed.

And then her breath came out in a flurry of hysterical giggles again, a fountain she just couldn’t stop, and she dropped her face into her hands and let the flood come, let it pour out of her chest like an open wound.

“Fuck,” Mia hissed. “I—Fuck me. God. Lian, does Roy, does your dad know?”

Lian hums her confirmation. “He’s on the roof. He and Uncle Connor brought me to see you.”

“They’re…?” Mia pushes off the bed and stomps over to the window. She throws open the glass and leans out, looking upward.

Sure enough, a grappling hook arrow is hooked into the brick of her building with a rope dangling down. That must be how Lian got in. Mia should really start locking her windows, but it’s just so much easier to make a quick escape that way instead of going out the front door.

She doesn’t give a fuck about the neighbors, so she shouts as loud as she can. “Hey! Assholes!”

Two heads peek over the edge at her, one with shaggy red hair and one with a series of blonde braids. Connor, at least, has the decency to wave. Roy just raises an eyebrow at her, like she’s the one inconveniencing him.

Ugh. Brothers.

“What the fuck?” she shouts. “How did she get so tall?”

Roy snorts, and it echoes off the building next door. “Blame the multiverse, or something!”

“I can hear you,” Lian offers.

Mia waves a hand. “Shut up, I’ll deal with you in a minute. The adults are speaking.”

Lian huffs, and Mia can practically hear the eyeroll. As if she doesn’t get enough crap from the kids she works with all damn day, now she’s got a bratty teenager who’s going to be expecting a cool aunt she can come play hooky with, or whatever kids do. Mia wouldn’t know; she didn’t exactly have aunts and uncles to set an example.

“Can you at least come down here and walk me through it, instead of sitting around like two old farts at a chess tournament?” Mia demands.

On the streets below, someone must take offense to their big family reunion. Mia hears the distant – but distinct – sounds of someone telling her to shut the fuck up, lady! from the sidewalk.

Star City. Gotta love it.

“Fine, fine,” Connor says. He’s still smiling, though, and she watches as he pulls a rope arrow from his quiver. “Give us a second. Arsenal’s not as young as he once was.”

Roy lets out some kind of offended comment at that, Mia’s sure, but she doesn’t pay him any attention. Instead, she turns to face Lian again and all but tackles her, trapping her head in the bend of an elbow and ruffling her hair as she squeals.

“And you, you little brat,” Mia says, holding on tight as Lian laughs and tries to wriggle free, “are going to tell me everything.”

[murdrdocs]

west village | r. cameron

description. you and rafe were crazy to think your relationship would work, but at least your final time together reflects the peacefulness of it all

includes. SMUT 16+, so much angst omg, fanon!rafe, one mention of a vape, no proofread and im sad, kind of fluff maybe?

a/n: aka what happens when i listen to false god on repeat

word count: 1.1k+

There’s finality in the air. 

It clings to your skin with the sweat of the summer. It lingers in the smoke from Rafe’s vape, a vibrant colored object that you didn’t pretend to be shocked to see, but it was better than the things from before so you said nothing. It smells through your perfume, and his cologne, and the combined musk. 

Finality is present, but you both avoid it. 

You avoid it as Rafe kisses you. You ignore it as he lays you back on his bed, unmade and messy but still as comfortable as it’s always been. You pretend it doesn’t exist when Rafe’s deft fingers start to pull at the straps of your shirt, and when his fingers force the button of your shorts through the loophole. 

You understand what comes next in terms of movement, your shirt removed along with your pants, leaving Rafe to tease your bare breast with his tongue and your clothed cunt with his fingers. But in terms of this, your relationship, you’re confused. 

You can’t help but think about all of the fond moments through his actions, hope drifting through your head. Thinking about the times spent on his family’s boat as he sucks around your nipple. Thinking about the movie nights spent downstairs in the living room while his hand pushes your panties to the side. Thinking about all of the dates and the “I Love You”’s as he pushes one finger, then two, into your welcoming walls. 

There was nothing but blind faith holding your relationship together, a glue that seemed secure when first applied, but as it weathered down with time, it weakened until it snapped in two from barely any pressure. 

You thought it could work. You thought a relationship with Rafe Cameron would be fine. And it was. Rafe was never the problem. 

Despite all of the warnings from your friends and his family, it was fine. You thought you could get away with it, your own Bonnie and Clyde running from reality. But you should’ve known. 

It just seems like it wasn’t meant to be. 

It’s a hard concept to grasp when his cock pushes in, bare and fitting like you two were meant to be, like he’s filling a mold made years before you two even mingled. 

Your back arches, your mouth drops open and a sound threatens to slip out but you stop it before it can. 

Rafe looks at you, heartache in his blue eyes as he shakes his head. “Don’t hold back. Lemme hear you.” A second of  pause and his features soften more, if even possible. “Please.” 

So you do. 

You let every single sound slip past your lips as Rafe rocks into you steadily, each whimper and moan and gasp letting him know that he still does it for you. 

Even with the distance between you two mentally, he still does it for you. And you start to think he always will. 

In an attempt to make up for the gap, your chest presses against his. Your nails scratch at his shoulders, arms hooked around his chest and neck, pulling him as close to you as possible. 

He seems to share a similar desperation, his hands pulling your hips to his, blunt nails digging into the plush of your skin. His lips are against your shoulders and neck and chest, kissing and mumbling and biting and licking. 

There are marks. Many. You can feel each one settling in as he makes them, painting his final piece along the canvas.  

They hurt just a little, but the sting is welcomed. It soothes the ache in your heart. 

It’s hard to avoid finality when Rafe fucks you like this. It can’t even be described as fucking, instead something much more intimate that you don’t want to think about, fearing that tears will slide down your cheeks and not in the mind-bending way that they usually do. 

Rafe grunts, hips snapping into yours and he starts to chase after your release that seems to run away from him, a fruitless attempt to prolong the experience. 

“Remember—“ his voice is gruff, sounding akin to sandpaper as it crawls up his throat and out of his mouth. “Remember when I said I’d die for you?” 

The words knock into your chest, taking words and air away from you for a second. You remember it clear as day, the time Rafe showed how he truly felt about you after multiple attempts to try and push you away, led by his own fear. 

You try to respond, probably showcasing your best impression of a fish as your mouth opens and closes and opens and closes. Eventually, you take a deep inhale and settle on nodding. 

“I still mean it.” He says your name and it’s so tender. It reminds you of all the times he’s said it before. It reminds you of how he said it to you earlier, asking to speak to you, pulling you away and upstairs where no real speaking has happened thus far. But it’s not necessary. 

“I would still die for you.” 

You kiss him, finding solace in the faux security in his lips. His rocks into your hips slow just a bit, but his grip tightens even more. 

You grind into him, meeting him halfway in a dance that potentially could have saved your relationship if you studied the moves outside of the bed. But it’s too late now. It’s too late as you cum on his cock, crying out with a moan of his name and chants of your three favorite words and the salt glides down your cheeks. 

Rafe nods against you, your lips separated briefly but your heads stay together, pressed tight forehead to forehead. 

“I know, I know, sweetheart. I … I love you, too.” 

It’s only a few more thrusts and you feel him getting sloppy, you feel him starting to pull back. But you hook your foot around his waist, and your arms hook around his neck, and you look at him. You really look at him. 

It doesn’t take him long to realize what you want, and he gives it to you, warm spurts of his cum painting your walls, the final touch to his art piece. 

There’s still the contraceptive in your system, and the money available for Plan B just in case, but it feels nice to have Rafe’s cum dripping out of you as he lays to your side, pulling you close. 

It feels nice to imagine what could be if this didn’t all end come morning.

[starcourtcass]

god stood me up | eddie x hopper!reader

summary: you and your friends just defeated the mind flayer but your dad didn't make it. you know exactly where to run. to eddie.

wc: 1643

note: i said no more fics from me but here i am, delivering you an angsty blurb. it's written in first perspective i think. title is from "lights are on" by tom rosenthal. i think it's also non gendered? i might have missed something, but yeah so read as you, no matter pronouns :)

Meeting Joyce’s eyes, El and I knew. He didn’t make it. I stand there, frozen. El turns and hugs me, sobbing into my neck as I softly place my hands on the back of her head and back. I can’t believe it. I look down at the ground, my mind spiraling. He’s gone. 

Suddenly I let go of El and got out of her embrace. I run. I ran away from the burning mall, my friends, and what's left of my family. My legs don’t stop until I’m met with a sign. Forest Hills Trailer Park. My entire body is aching, my legs are weak. I’m pretty sure I’m still nauseous from the drugs. My head is pounding and feeling like it’s gonna explode from the punches I took down in the Russian bunkers and the lack of oxygen. But I just need one person right now.

~

I knock on the door and look around the dark trailer park panting into the summer night. I don’t see anyone else and there’s only a van by the trailer, as far as I can see. My vision starts to blur by the oncoming tears. It’s like my body can feel him closeby, feel the safety he provides. Signaling that I can stop. I can calm down and understand what actually happened in the last 24 hours. My head  quickly turns at the sound of the creaky trailer door opening. My wet tearfilled eyes look up into his chocolate brown doe eyes. 

“Hey, hey, hey, what’s going on baby?” Eddie says, his arms opening up for me. I immediately threw my body against his, finally letting out a heart wrenching cry. He wraps his arms around me and closes the door as we slide slowly down to the floor. I grip him tight as if he would disappear if I didn’t. My sobs continue in rapid succession as he holds me. Tears, snot and saliva staining his chest. 

Eddie didn’t question me as he sat with me. His heart breaking knowing that something truly bad happened for me to be like this. His soft lips pressed on top of my head as a sign that he is here. I’m not alone, he’s here. 

My sobs slowly quiets until I’m softly sniffling here and there. My breathing is uneven. My lungs and throat aching and feeling hoarse after the heart wrenching sobs that just left my body. My body aching, bruises forming all over.

“Wanna go to my room?” he asks softly, his face trying to get a look at mine. With my face still buried in his chest, I nod at his question not meeting his eyes.

Eddie picks me up, my legs automatically around his torso as he walks me to his bed. My grip is still tight on his clothing not wanting to lose my only safety left on this earth. Who knows? Maybe he will leave too. He gently puts me down on his messy unmade bed. He lays down next to me, pulling me close to his chest. He rubs his hand on my back slowly as he strains himself to not cry. 

My screaming was like I was in pain but he knows it can’t be because of the multiple bruises that are littered across my exposed skin. Which is something he will ask about later. Something bad happened and he intends to hold me until I’m ready to tell him about it.

It takes me almost half an hour to even start to calm down. When I finally stop crying I lay still, eyes closed, face buried in the crook of his neck. Eddie hears and feels how my breaths become heavier and understands immediately that I fell asleep. He doesn’t blame me, he would also be tired after all that crying. He lets me sleep and lies with me, wondering what hurt me and what the fuck actually happened during my latest shift.

~

I don’t wake up until well into the next day. I lift my head and look around the room. I get confused on why I’m at Eddie’s until it all hits me. The elevator, the interrogation, the drugs, the mindflayer and… dad. I turn my head up to look at Eddie. His arms are still around me, eyes closed sleeping. I smile weakly at him. He’s probably so confused and worried. 

“Eddie..Eds..” I softly croak out. I poke his cheeks softly a few times until he scrunches his nose. He opens his eyes which meet mine. 

“Morning, baby. Are you okay?” he asks softly, his voice riddled with sleep. He quickly clears his throat before continuing before I can answer. “That’s a dumb question, of course you aren’t, how are you feeling now?”

“Uhh..better? And yeah, not okay… Not at all actually” I chuckle looking down at his chest. My fingers move nervously across his chest tracing his tattoos to ground myself, not letting my mind wander back to the events of yesterday.

“You wanna tell me about what led you to give me a near heart attack in the middle of the night?” he lightly teases, his hands start to rub my back. Soothing me and also showing that he is here.

I nod softly and clear my throat. I move away from him, sitting up with my legs crossed. He sits slightly up, leaning on his elbows and looks at me attentively. I look down at my hands fiddling with the covers now before beginning to explain everything. Everything from Will’s disappearance to the mall fight.

“And uhm..m-my dad.” My throat starts constricting again. I feel like saying it out loud just confirms it. Eddie looks at me, sadness and sympathy filled in his eyes, me not finishing my sentence made him understand.

“H-He didn’t make it out.” I bite my bottom lip finally looking up at Eddie. My eyes get blurry with tears again. Eddie wraps his arms around me instantly, pulling me close to him. My tears fall but no sounds come out. It’s like I screamed so much yesterday that I have nothing left.

Eddie is in pure shock because interdimensional creatures and the Upside Down was certainly not what he expected. His mind is once again racing, asking himself multiple questions. Questions even I probably thought about in the beginning. He can’t help but focus on me though. My dad, Hopper, Chief of Police. He’s dead. 

“Everyone says that God is good. He wants peace on earth or whatever. So why the fuck did he take my dad?” I wonder out loud, my voice monotone. “God stood me up and I don’t understand why. My dad was supposed to make it. He just had to turn a fucking key.” I stare out into nothingness. Feeling myself become more numb as every minute passes. 

We stay in that position until he eventually helps me into the shower. He helps me wash away the dried blood and cleans my wounds before putting me in his clothes. He advises me to go back to bed whilst he calls Joyce to let her know where I am. I lay down under the covers and look back into nothingness.

He comes back after a few minutes with a cup of coffee. I barely react that he even entered the room until he softly says my name. I look at him noticing the cup before sitting up grabbing it slowly. I take a sip before placing it on his bedside table. My eyes catch sight of the ashtray, my mind immediately finds a perfect terrible idea. My head turns quickly to him. 

“Eds?”

“Yes, my love?”

“Can I uhm..ask for my usual please?”

He sighs and looks at me. My eyes show nothing, empty of emotions just like I feel. He really shouldn’t. I’m currently in distress and the weed could make it worse. He ends up making a deal that if we two share and I stay the night again it’s okay. I agree, not like you have anywhere to go anyways.

~

The joint that was perfectly rolled is now just a pile of ashes in the little tray. The coffee is practically cold and my eyes are locked on Eddie. Being high always made me think of Eddie but being with him just makes me stare at him. 

I’ve loved him for a long time. He always knows how to cheer me up, has amazing hair, amazing style. His music is godly good. He makes me feel safe no matter what. I mean the first thing I did was run to him. Which was pure instinct. I didn’t wanna see or be with anyone else but Eddie.

“Eddie… I love you.” I whisper looking at him. He looks at me softly, a smile spreading widely on his face. I smile back before placing both of my hands on his cheeks. I look him in the eyes, flicking down to his lips before back up at his eyes. I sigh softly, at ease with the right kind of drugs before leaning in. I kiss him softly and feel how he relaxes too as our soft lips touch.

He places his hands on my waist pulling me closer. I swing my leg over his lap, straddling him. My arms wrapped around him, kissing him passionately, filled with love for him. I pull slowly away and look into his eyes. Eddie smiles back at me.

“I love you, baby.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

My lips move almost to a smile that turns into a giggle as he kisses me again. I forget reality as soon as his lips touch mine. I asked for weed to forget and be calm but I forgot that all I needed was him. As cliché as it sounds, he is my drug and there ain’t no love like our love.'

i honestly don't care about likes at all, since yk, it doesn't do shit but idgaf more, read, don't idc just wanna post it. but uhh here's to my mutuals who are still going strong<3 @oneforthemunny @resident-gay-bitch @corrodedcorpses @bimbobaggins69