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sarahghetti · 9 months ago

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moving day; m.k.

pairing: marc spector x reader, steven grant x reader, jake lockley x reader

summary: how marc and steven learn to live together, how you come to live with them, and how jake finally lets himself live at all.

warnings: basically a BIG character study into our boys, fluff, hurt and comfort, angst, insecurity, mentions of marc's childhood, mentions of violence, suggestive content but nothing explicit.

word count: 9.9k

notes: this one got away from me and might also be the best thing I've ever written (i'm very proud of it 😭). part of the @MOONKNIGHT-EVENTS bingo! prompt: “'is that my shirt?'”

MOON KNIGHT MASTERLIST | ALL MASTERLISTS

Even though it was (and still is) under Marc’s name, the flat was Steven’s first. Marc just helped set it up a little.

He rented out the first decent unit he found in the city and kept every piece of mismatched furniture the previous tenant left behind. The essentials had to be filled in himself—a bed, couch, and desk. A table to go with that rickety stool to eat meals on, a coat rack near the doorway. The only belongings of his own that Marc left behind were his old Egyptology texts, unceremoniously shoved into a corner of one of the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves that he hoped Steven would like.

(The fish was unexpected, though. Steven already had everything he would need, and it was Marc’s mistake to be scrolling through Facebook Marketplace on one of his last days before he handed it all over to his alter. A complete aquarium set was being offered for next to nothing; attached: a photo of the original poster’s late goldfish. Backlit from the tank light, blank faced and innocent.

He just couldn’t move on.)

But it was Steven who then took Marc’s—their—card and ran with it. Every free surface was prime real estate for another journal, another tomb. The used bookstores of London never stood a chance; it was almost impressive to watch him scour the shelves for the most esoteric topics and still come out with his arms full of what he was looking for. Marc would wake up in the body to find Steven’s collection a little bigger than before and ghost his fingers over the spines during those brief moments of respite before having to put on the suit.

It didn’t stop at the books. Of course, it didn’t. Steven’s always had an affinity for oddities. Marc wasn’t the least bit surprised to see the new paper lantern hung over the living room, or the pumpkin-esque footstool that was coloured as though it was plucked off the vine just a tad too early.

The pieces were quaint at best. If there were any psychological meaning as to why his alter gravitated towards dingy, threadbare upholstery instead of an IKEA like a normal person, it was beyond Marc.

However, he couldn’t not admit that it all kind of worked once put together; the clashing mix of materials and colours sort of became its own style when combined under the wooden rafters. Even when the books started overfilling the storage capacity and ended up in piles on the floor—it only added to the charm.

Marc was sure to erase every trace of his presence around the flat to avoid interfering with Steven’s life, but that didn’t stop the sense of longing to return to their—Steven’s—home during missions.

It was still a mess. A mess where everything has its place, yes, but there was no way that Steven could trip over several odds-and-ends in one day and claim that he was any degree of neat or tidy. Marc silently griped to himself about it all the time, but he’d sooner eat that dusty-ass rug Steven got for free before he saw anything get thrown away.

(It was like this back when they were kids, too. Marc’s childhood bedroom in Chicago—a room he never finds himself thinking about outside of his nightmares—was filled with joy. Medals from peewee baseball. Posters from his favourite movies, carefully smoothened out and taped to the walls by his dad. Drawings by him and Randall piled at the corner of his desk.

Right after the—the accident, all his stuff remained, immortalized in place. As if keeping everything the same would somehow also make Marc’s life the same as it was before, and Randall would come bursting through his door at any moment to ask him to come play. It was an overarching belief in their household. Even on her worst days, his mother’s anger never touched their home. Only him.

But then things began to change. His old action figures, collecting dust, would be strewn about the floor, waiting for someone to continue the battle. A collection of particularly smooth rocks began appearing on his windowsill despite the fact that he hadn’t gone outside in days. He’d wake up to grass-stained jeans and a scraped knee which Marc didn’t know how he got, for once.

Steven has always been like a crow, bringing all these little gifts for Marc to enjoy—these signs of life—even when he wasn’t aware of it.)

Coming back from Cairo feels like it should’ve been a bigger deal than it was, but after the dust settled on Harrow and Layla decided to return stateside alone—a decision that seemed a long time coming, if Steven’s being honest—there was nothing else to do other than to go home.

They have one blissful, uninterrupted day of sleep. Steven was the one to wake up sixteen hours later, mouth dry, and instinctively panicked at the thought of losing days again before realizing that Marc was also (and still is) out cold.

When he finally woke up a few hours later, half-asleep even in the reflection of the mirror, Steven couldn’t help himself from asking, “What now, Marc?”

Because Marc was the original. Marc was the one with a real life and legal status. He might never want to walk the streets of Chicago again, but that didn’t change the fact that he only came overseas to run away. Everything around them was a temporary measure.

Marc straightens. “I won’t bother you too much, I promise.”

“You still have your own life,” Steven reminds him.

“Still—”

“Oh, don’t start—”

At least they agreed on one thing: they were going to stay in London.

Marc cleans out his storage unit, bringing home an array of bins and duffel bags and that shitty fold-up cot that he still refuses to toss. Steven immediately got him his own dresser when Marc tried to insist that he ‘didn’t have much’; that was a blaring warning that he was about to do something stupid and sacrificial, and Steven had to put his foot down before a nearby charity got a donation of some well-loved button-downs.

It’s almost funny, how predicable Marc was when unpacking. Steven watched as he pushed all their new furniture against the walls then methodically unpacked bin by bin, stacking the empties inside one another like Russian dolls. Like Steven, everything he owned had a place, even after months spent stored away. Marc was just a lot more neat about it.

“Move my stuff if you want,” Steven pipes up. Marc doesn’t react, only continuing to store his notebooks on top of a filing cabinet. “Really, I’ve already read everything on that middle shelf there—we can put them somewhere else.”

Marc glances around the bookshelves. “Aren’t these alphabetized?”

“Well, mostly, but give me an hour or two and I’ll free up some space.”

It’s like a puzzle, and Steven’s always liked puzzles. Marc’s gone quiet in their head, out of excuses as to why he can just shove all his belongings out-of-sight so that Steven wouldn’t have to go through the effort. Now, if he would just believe Steven, then he’d know that reorganizing his books was hardly any effort at all.

And even if it was—he’s been meaning to do this for a while. An alphabetized collection is great until he gets a new book, because then everything has to be shifted over, and—well. There’s a reason why there were so many books languishing on the floor.

They pass off the body like that for the rest of the day, moving things around in the flat in order to accommodate Marc. It looks no less hectic in the end, despite Marc’s best efforts to tidy up a little, but it also doesn’t look any worse, which Steven sees as a win.

There are still so many things they need to talk about. Scheduling, routines, the fact that they’re currently both out of a job—either one would be lying if they said that this new life didn’t make them a bit nervous. But when Marc finally flops down onto their bed, a movement as easy as breathing, the pieces begin to settle into place. The last of his bins have been put away. His jacket hangs beside Steven’s as if it’s always been there.

In the headspace, Steven beams. Whatever comes, however hard—they’ll face it together.

Somehow, Steven wakes up one day and feels great.

There are a few minutes more until his alarm goes off, but he turns it off early. The usual grogginess that accompanies him this early is completely absent, and he rolls up to a seated position without a single mental or physical protest. He feels so good, in fact, that he even considers skipping his morning cup of tea.

(He doesn’t, of course. They quickly figured out—well, Steven did, Marc already knew—that they differed in their caffeinated beverages of choice. Steven, a strong cup of Yorkshire Gold with a healthy splash of milk and a teaspoon or two of sugar. Marc, a simple drip coffee, black, made from the most generic-looking brand of medium roast beans.

Not to say that he wishes to be separate from Marc or anything of the sort, but Steven imagines his feelings to be like that of a sibling who was always dressed in matching clothes as his brother. Marc might’ve graced Steven with an interest in Egyptology from his mercenary work and Gus from his—their?—brother’s drawing a lifetime ago, but as far as they know, his preference for tea was just a quirk.

Steven likes having something just for him.)

Marc had the body last night—he must’ve gone to bed early. Must’ve drank camomile tea and avoided blue light the entire time he was fronting because Steven could run a marathon like this and still go into work afterwards. He’s about to ask Marc for his secret when he spots an unfamiliar rumple of fabric on the pillow where he laid his head.

“What’s this now?” Steven murmurs, gathering the soft material in his hands. A woman’s sweater, obviously, with its feminine cut and style and faintly sweet scent that short-circuits his brain for a moment.

It doesn’t take a genius to realize how it got inside their flat, what with how there’s a whole other person living in his head, and it would explain the strange marks he found on his neck the other day—

Heat blooms in his face and Steven nearly drops the sweater back onto the pillow in embarrassment. Distantly, he knows that he should’ve seen this coming. Marc is Marc; Steven’s witnessed the quiet confidence the man extrudes from inside their headspace and the resulting, ah, attention it attracts.

In the corner of his eye, his reflection stills. Steven doesn’t even bother turning around—just holds up the offending sweater and asks, “Fun night?”

Marc, strangely, is quiet. It’s not like he’s one to talk about his romantic pursuits, but Steven at least expected a dry comment or two. He shakes the sweater like a bag of treats until Marc scowls. “Stop that.”

“Not judging,” Steven says, “but don’t suppose you got a number? Should I make a run to the donation bin for you?”

“No.” There’s an edge to Marc’s voice, and he purses his lips when he realizes that he responded a little too fast; Steven’s questioning look is pointedly ignored. “Just leave it on my desk for now.”

“Is she coming back or is this just like a—” Steven makes an ambiguous gesture, full of innuendo “—thing for you?”

“What? No—what?”

“Okay, okay,” Steven finally lets up because the groove between his alter’s eyebrows has become something fierce. He slips out of bed to place the sweater on Marc’s desk as requested, then throws one more comment over his shoulder for good measure, “Bring her home for dinner one day, would you?”

“Steven!”

“Is that my shirt?” You move towards the armchair, a smile tugging at your lips as you pick up the folded garment. It’s been freshly laundered. Marc wouldn’t burden you if he could help it.

“Mhm.” He doesn’t stir from his seat on the couch, tracking your movements with fondness in his eyes. You’ve been to their place plenty over the past few months and quietly, he relishes in the domesticity.

They’re simple things, like knowing your preferred spoon in their drawer or how you like your toast; the ease in which you curl into the cushions next to him—your spot, he can’t help but note—draws a contented little sigh from him.

“You know, if you want me to do your laundry, you can just ask.”

He would. Steven would prod endlessly as he does with all things related to you, but Marc’s managed to get this far with vague explanations and stubborn hand-waving. He’d endure the nosiness if it were for you.

“Although,” he continues, giving you a once-over. His eyebrow quirks at the familiar cotton long-sleeve enveloping your torso. “I’m not even sure you have laundry anymore.”

“Well, maybe if your clothes weren’t so comfortable, I’d stop stealing them,” you tease.

(His clothes aren’t boring, Steven, just—utilitarian. Between Khonshu and his mercenary work, Marc needed plain, flexible pieces; ones that made him blend in anywhere and ready for anything. Nothing that he could get too attached too, either. Everything he wore was at risk of getting ruined by grime and/or blood and/or tearing from various weapons. Of course, he doesn’t own anything ‘nice.’

Not like Steven. Not with his hodgepodge closet filled with colours and patterns, everything just a tad too large on their frame. Marc groans about it every time he takes over in the middle of the day—just a size down, just one. But the issue is that Steven likes it like that, likes the comfort and roominess he finds in his thrifted pieces, and so Marc dropped it as a serious topic, even though he still doesn’t quite get it.)

“This why you had to wear my jacket the other day?”

Steven’s sudden appearances don’t phase Marc anymore, even when you’re around. He just gives him a slight nod without missing a beat. “At this rate, I won’t have any clothes left for you to take.”

“Guess I’ll just have to borrow something from Steven then, hm?”

Before Marc can even begin to think about what to say to that— “I think my white jumper would suit her really well.”

He shoots a glare into a nearby mirror and just barely catches a glimpse of Steven’s grin in the reflection. Part of him wants to tell Steven to stop hitting on his girlfriend, but hesitates when you look at him expectantly, still waiting for his response.

He’s not ashamed of Steven, far from it. Still, a sliver of self-consciousness worms its way into his chest at the thought of talking to him in front of you. He’s done it before, but—he knows how it can look.

You’re more perceptive than he’d like. Marc sees the moment when it clicks in your head. “Is he here right now?”

Excitement bleeds into your voice. You’ve been wanting to meet Steven for a while. Marc showing up to a date with tousled curls and a colourfully-printed button-up instead of his usual streamlined style, a slew of scribbled papers piled onto the armchair you like to lounge on, a sticky note left on one of your books (‘oooh good choice! x’)—all these things that sent panic strumming through his veins were only ever endearing to you, for some reason. It’s lessened his worry by orders of magnitude.

Still. Letting you meet Steven is one step closer to talking about his childhood. His mom. His brother. He’s given you a high- high-level view of things (“It wasn’t great.”), but the thought of going any further makes his throat tighten. There’s a whole failed marriage that proves his inability to be vulnerable.

So, it must truly be a bout of madness that makes him say, “The white one.”

“What?”

“The white sweater,” Marc continues, because he’s already thrown himself off the bridge—there’s no use trying to backtrack now. “He says you’d look good in his white sweater.”

Your face slowly morphs into an expression of pure joy; you do nothing short of jump off the couch to bolt to their bedroom. Steven chatters excitedly in his ear, only pausing momentarily when you slip off Marc’s shirt.

“Oh! Um! She’s—she’s very—wow—" Marc feels the strangest urge to punch himself in the face again—

—And then you reappear into their field of view, a dream in fine knit. Steven’s sweater be damned, your beaming smile is more than enough to render them both speechless.

“How do I look?”

The sweater isn’t his, but it stirs the same syrupy feelings in Marc anyway. You’ve spoken about it before—and him privately with Steven—where Steven stands in your relationship with Marc. All he’s ever let himself hope for was for you and Steven to be cordial, maybe even friends. Of course, he’d have to actually let you guys speak to each other for any of that to be possible, but you two seem to have grown comfortable with each other regardless.

Now, he sees you in Steven’s clothes and his thoughts run rampant. Ours. He tests out the word and his heart skips a beat. It’s always been a possibility; one you all were open to if it ever happened. But he could never ask either of you to try to love each other on his behalf.

God, that word does something stupid to his brain—Steven’s rattling off compliments and other things of his you should try on and invites to go thrifting—and Marc just sits there, dumbfounded by his own hypothetical scenario. “Come on, Marc, say something!”

You move to stand in front of him, and his thighs part automatically to have you close. It takes your hand on his cheek, gentle as you stroke your thumb over his skin, to pull him back to reality. “You okay?”

“You look incredible.” His voice dips in the way he knowsmakes your stomach swoop, and is promptly rewarded with your flustered smile. The moment doesn’t last—not with Steven cooing in his ear over you.

A pang of possessiveness runs through Marc. That smile was for him, thank you very much.

His mouth works faster than his brain. “Steven has something to tell you.”

You light up. “Really?”

“Wants to tell you himself, actually.”

Steven splutters, nerves coming on in full force. Marc bites his tongue to keep a straight face. “Well, now, hang on a minute—”

Steven’s introduction was always going to be a well-thought-out but casual event, as to not make a circus out of it. It was just who they were, after all. They wouldn’t switch in front of you—Steven would change into his wardrobe and ‘do’ his hair beforehand; Marc worried it might be too much for you to see him but hear Steven. He would’ve prepped you both plenty in the preceding days, regardless of how necessary it was.

It definitely would not be the stunt he’s pulling right now.

Your eyes narrow at the placid look on his face, too casual to not be suspicious, but meeting Steven must outweigh the want to catch Marc in the act of whatever he’s planning because you don’t call him out, hands frozen on his face. It’s cute, watching you struggle between overt enthusiasm and not wanting to pressure them into anything.

Marc would even enjoy it a little longer if it weren’t for the confused and alarmed word vomit spilling out in his head.

“Stop messing about—I mean, it’s not—not odd, yeah? For me to front a little? Just a little chat, can’t be all that bad. Please be messing with me, but I can do it, s’not a big deal. Yeah, yeah, it’s whatever—oh, boy."

Taking pity on the poor guy, Marc quiets him with a steady glance into the mirror. “You sure, buddy?”

Slightly shrill but no less serious, “Are you sure, Marc?”

And then Marc’s fun little charade teeters on its head—is he ready for this? You and Steven wouldn’t hold it against him if he pulled the plug on it all right now, but this is the closest he’s ever gotten. The band-aid has to come off, lest he lets this fester for the length of another relationship.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, his flare of panic comforted by the patience in your eyes. More confidently this time, “Yeah, I’m sure.”

Steven’s smile is clear in his voice. It mirrors your own.

“About time, innit?”

Moving into their flat isn’t a decision you make all at once, but rather a slow, steady conclusion that you’ve been unintentionally working towards ever since you first visited.

The clothes were just the start. It’s not like you didn’t have perfectly good clothes before you met Marc, but his were just better somehow. Soft and simple, all in that neutral colour scheme he seemed to gravitate towards. The warm, woodsy scent of his aftershave clings to the fabric, making you want to bury your nose into the garments and go right back to the source—

You just couldn’t help yourself from borrowing something whenever you came over.

(That pleased, half-lidded gaze you receive each time you slip on his shirt, or his heated touch whenever he drapes his jacket over your shoulders during chilly morning afters—well. Those are just a bonus.)

So, maybe you left a shirt or two behind in the process. And maybe you realized that you should probably have a pair of sweatpants there as well, and a good book to read during quiet nights in. Once, you forgot your toothbrush only for Marc to pull out an extra from their medicine cabinet; now you have a toothbrush in their bathroom.

After you finally met Steven and his adorable, eclectic self—all bets were off. You bond while scouring vintage shops and finding new pieces for the flat. A little basket of throw blankets gets added to the living room (always neatly sorted by Marc, without fail). Candles—tall and stout, festive and fruity and spiced—start to litter the shelves. A particularly good haul at a used bookstore, a bit heavy for you to carry home, is instead slotted amongst their collection; the contemporary fonts and colourful covers are a stark contrast against the yellowing older texts, and you love it.

Your fingerprints are all over the place by the time Marc officially empties some space in his dresser for you, uncharacteristically avoiding your eyes as he speaks, “Just in case you wanted to keep some more stuff here.”

You were already using their closets before then (in both the storing-your-clothes sense and the stealing-their-clothes sense); you’ve practically taken over one of his drawers. But to give you one outright, to admit that he’s carved out some space just for you instead of silently accommodating your things as he always has—

“Thank you, Marc,” you whisper, brimming with emotion that you wonder if you’ll ever be able to fully express. He’ll flit about and clean and care for you because words will never capture the depth of his feelings. You see this for what it is, like all the gestures that have come before: a declaration.

“Thank you,” you repeat, and press a soft kiss onto the corner of his mouth. “I love you, too.”

It’s not much long after when Steven comes home from work grinning like a madman, one hand held behind his back. He beelines towards you, not even bothering to put his bag down.

“Hey, you.” You peck his lips and feel his smile stretch impossibly wider. “What’s got you all riled up?”

The words come out in a rush. “Havesomethingforyou.”

“Oh?”

“Close your eyes.” You can’t help but laugh a little as you follow the direction; Steven’s excitement is utterly infectious. “Okay, now hold out your hand.”

“If you give me a bug, I swear to God—”

“I would never.” His seriousness is a bit too heavy-handed, and you get a feeling you’re going to need to be on guard for a while.

You’re distracted, however, by the brush of his skin as he places something small and rigid into your palm. The metal is warm from being clasped inside his hand, but the shape is so familiar that you recognize what it is immediately.

“You can open—”

You’re already looking down—at the silver key to the flat nestled in your hand. Lonesome without the Koala plushie on Steven’s keyring, without the little charm you got for Marc’s—no, it’s meant to be your copy.

“We were thinking, right,” he starts before your heart has the opportunity to beat right out your chest, “Marc and I—well, you’re here with us most of the time. You should have your own key. Beats having to come grab mine from the museum, right?”

You let out a choked little laugh, too caught up to remind him that the only reason why you went to the museum was because else he would’ve dropped everything to deliver the keys himself. Spent his entire break and then some to commute back home so that you wouldn’t have to wait for his shift to be over, even though you could’ve amused yourself just fine outside until then.

“Yeah,” is all you manage to get out before stepping forward, burying your face in his chest as you wrap your arms around his torso. Steven’s love is unbridled; he holds you close, going on about how glad he is—how glad they both are—to have you, how he was practically bouncing off the walls at the locksmith, waiting for the key to be cut.

They’ve been your home for so long now that while the new addition onto your keyring makes you giddy and smile stupidly whenever you get to use it, it also just feels right. You go grocery shopping with Marc and watch him scrutinize apples like they personally offended him. Steven tangles your legs together as you wind down in the evenings, and always always smiles whenever he catches you looking at him. You rank the restaurants around the neighbourhood and line your favourite mugs beside each other on the shelf; you sit in the comforting quiet of the flat and wonder how you got so lucky.

When it’s eventually time to renew your lease, there’s no decision to be made. You’re relieved from dinner prep to write the email to your landlord on their couch. It’s sent off with no fanfare and quickly forgotten about when Marc’s voice rings out, asking what you want to eat.

“Anything,” you say, the ghost of a smile on your lips; he hates it when you say that. Marc grumbles a little, but you mean it this time. You have them and they have you. Curled up in one of Steven’s sweaters, Marc’s playlist on low in the background—anything is just fine by you.

You are the bane of Jake’s existence.

First, you meet Marc. Terrible. Khonshu is riding his ass about a mission in Liverpool—they’ve now been geolocked to stay under the radar—and Marc plans a date. An actual, Godforsaken date with a set time, throwing a wrench into their plans because Steven’s been scheduled to work on the surrounding days as well. How is he supposed to sneak off to the other side of the country now?

Even worse, you stick around. There are more dates between the two of you. For how much he hates texting, Marc responds promptly whenever you send him something. He frets over what to wear before picking you up. You stay over at the flat and he holds you in his sleep like he’s afraid you’ll disappear; Jake has been unluckily enough to wake up in the middle of the night, planning to slip away, only to be hit with the scent of your shampoo in his nose.

Then—and then—Marc has the bright idea to introduce you to Steven. The hope that this is just a casual, temporary thing is dashed away the second Jake sees that lovesick expression on the idiota. It’s more overt than Marc’s, but still the same blaring warning sign that Jake’s life is only about to get harder from here.

Keeping a low profile has become incredibly difficult since the others decided to be normal. Marc never questioned whenever Jake took over in a tight spot, too hyped up on adrenaline and too stubborn about their condition to follow up on his blackouts after the fight was done. Steven was clueless about everything for those first few months, then just blamed his blackouts on Marc.

But now? They talk to each other. They have a year-long calendar on the fridge with a magnetic pen holder to keep track of their schedules, colour-coded blue (for Marc) and green (for Steven). They’ve gotten distracted and added another consciousness for Jake to deceive in order to do his thing. He can’t take the body for more than a few hours, and certainly not by force, without drawing suspicion.

Jake’s happy for them. Really, he is. They’ve finally begun to move on from the trauma of their childhood into something that resembles a normal life. Steven’s gotten rehired at the museum as a tour guide. Marc’s taken up security consulting. And despite their respective anxiousness and ten-foot-walls, you bring them peace.

But that doesn’t change the fact that he’s Khonshu’s avatar now. That a lifetime ago, when the work began to wear down on Marc in all the worst ways, Jake was the one who cut a deal with the god for his release. All he had to do was take his place.

(Foresight might not be his strong suit, but he refuses to take responsibility for what happened next. He could never have imagined all the puppetry that’d occur with Layla in the mix, or that they’d actually divorce one of these days and end up with someone new.

Except this time, you know about their system and not about Khonshu. He wonders how well you’d take that whole mess.)

In short—Marc and Steven still need him. He can’t just up and disappear into the recesses of their mind; he has a job to do.

So, when Steven presses that fucking key into your hand, Jake’s so frustrated he could scream. Unfettered access to the flat—as if you weren’t there enough already. As if he weren’t already jumping through every hoop imaginable, just to keep his existence a secret. He would’ve made them drop the copy down the nearest gutter on the way home if he didn’t know that they would simply go right back to the locksmith and ask for another.

Steven watches as you slip it onto your keychain; that all-encompassing, vibrant burst of joy in their chest be damned—you are the worst thing to ever happen to Jake, even if you might be the best thing to ever happen to them.

Steven had the flat, Marc had his storage unit, and Jake?

Jake has his car.

Multiple, actually, but the limousine is the legal one (thanks for your identity, Marc) and serves as his homebase. Supplies are stashed in compartments around the cabin—weapons, clothes, cash—and with its heavily tinted windows, he can do anything he wants inside and passersby would be none the wiser. When Khonshu’s booming voice echoes around his brain about some new target, at least Jake can recline into a soft leather seat.

The only issue is that he can’t keep everything there. No, the parking garage is a fair distance away from the flat and sometimes, he doesn’t have the opportunity to make the trip before setting off. This means that he has to keep a change of clothes in the flat to avoid accidentally ruining some of Steven’s or Marc’s. He’d never actually wear anything of Steven’s to begin with (at least, not on a mission), but Marc’s wardrobe is minimal by choice—if something went missing or got a new, unexplained hole in it, he’d notice.

That’s why Jake is currently slinking through their living room, ready to change back into Steven’s pajamas before hiding his clothes on the loft above their bed. Nothing up there but empty bins and poster tubes. Marc regularly dusts the area during his monthly deep cleans, so Jake doesn’t even have to worry about leaving behind any tracks.

It was an easy job tonight, done in little less than an hour and not a speck on Jake to show for it. He could take a shower if he wanted—you’re staying over at a friend’s place right now, as noted in red on the calendar. But he shouldn’t keep the body for longer than necessary; they still need sleep, after all.

He slips off his flat cap, groaning as he runs a hand through his hair. God, they’re getting old. Even this stolen hour will be felt by whoever wakes up in the morning, slightly slower and groggier than usual.

(Jake doesn’t think about the future—has never needed to. The only future that exists to him is the next minute, and the minute after that, and what he has to do to ensure the body makes it there. Him and Marc were similar in that aspect for a long, long time.

That calendar on the fridge, while helpful to his vigilantism, stirs something uncomfortable in his gut. He’s seen them flip through the months to mark down birthdays and reservations. Vacations, work events—Marc’s going on a completely normal, non-violent work trip, which Jake still can’t quite wrap his head around—and it’s all so far ahead.

How can they be so sure that nothing will change between now and then? That their life won’t blow up again, and force them on the run? Everything they add is just another handful of salt to be pressed into the wound when it all goes to hell. But they still write things on that stupid calendar. Confident, excited even, about the plans they think will come to pass.

How do they know?)

There’s a rustling in the bedroom.

Oh, fuck. Fuck fuck fuck—

“Marc?”

You shift a little under the covers, trying to peer at him through the darkness. Jake’s never been more grateful for Marc’s sensible taste in fashion; with only a silhouette to go by, of course you’d mistake him for Marc—straight-cut jeans, a collared jacket. His flat cap would tip you off though, and he presses it into his chest to hide it from your line of sight. Marc would never wear a flat cap.

He forces a casual tone. “Hm?”

A small sigh of relief escapes you as your head falls back onto the pillow. Still watching him, though, you mumble, “Bad dream?”

You know about Marc’s time in the military and as a mercenary. Not everything, obviously, but enough. Jake nods, and can imagine the worried purse of your lips in the shadows. In the best impression he can manage, his accent turns Chicagoan. “Just had to take a walk.”

If he were really Marc, he’d already be in bed by now, letting you brush curls away from his face and press a kiss against the furrow of his brow. If he were really Marc, he’d ask you why you were back here instead of with your friends as expected, and you’d talk things out until dozing off in a tangle of limbs, comforted by each other’s presence.

But Jake’s not Marc. He brushes off the subtle tightening of his chest as just a lingering remnant from his alters. The body knows you, even if Jake doesn’t. It doesn’t mean anything to him.

You whine, a sleepy and pitiful but inviting noise from the back of your throat as he continues to stand in the living room. Alarm bells go off in his head; he has to placate you before you get up and try to drag him over yourself.

“Just need to change,” he says, soft and low, warmth injected into every word. Nausea courses through him, to his own confusion, as he continues to play Marc. This should be easier—he’s been hiding for as long as he can remember. This is probably the tamest thing he’s done to keep his cover. “Go back to sleep, I’ll be there in a second, okay?”

He takes two steps towards the kitchen then stops, feigning—feigning something, fuck if he knows—waiting for your breathing to level out again. Silence falls over the flat, but Jake’s mouth runs dry.

There’s no way you don’t bring this up to them in the morning, and there’s no way they won’t immediately suspect another alter. They know he exists, have seen the aftermath of when he fronts. It’s only his secrecy that has kept them off his back for this long, and it will all come crashing down in a few hours.

For better or for worse, he’ll have to meet the others soon.

Marc will never tire of waking up beside you. Even though there’s a heaviness weighing him down, body aching for just a few more minutes, he pushes through because you’re already awake. With one hand on his chest, the other tracing over his jaw—the small, lazy smile on your face has already made his day.

You turned over while he was asleep, but his arm is still slung over your waist; he pulls you closer to press a kiss onto your forehead. Lips moving against your skin, “Morning, baby.”

“Morning,” you murmur. “Feel better?”

Mind hazy from sleep, Marc doesn’t question the odd wording. He just let’s himself settle into the lingering fatigue, leaning into your touch as his eyes flutter shut again. “M’tired. Stay with me a little longer?”

Concern laces your tone. “Was the dream that bad?”

That breaks through to him. He peers at you curiously, more alert than before. “What do you mean?”

You blink, confused. “Your nightmare last night. You left to take a walk?”

Marc sits up, furrowing his brow. Reality seeps in, and he checks the date on his phone. Aren’t you supposed to be—? “I thought you were staying over at a friend’s place.”

“I was going to, but she had a family emergency—I came back here around three. Don’t worry, they walked me home,” you explain with a soft pat of your hand at the end. That—that is one mystery solved, and he is glad to hear that you weren’t walking alone at night, but his shoulders remain taut with tension. His mind gets caught on a detail.

“Three?” He’s a light sleeper, he would’ve woken up when you came into bed. But—your words replay in his mind. He wasn’t here when that happened, was he? “I went on a walk?”

His stress begins to spill over to you, and you prop yourself up on an elbow, fiddling at the blankets. “Um, yeah. We spoke a little when you came back—I was already in bed, remember?”

A pit opens up in his stomach, and the words die in this throat. Marc does not, in fact, remember. He apparently went outside in the middle of the night, long enough for you to come home and settle in without him, then had a whole conversation upon return—and none of it is familiar to him. Not even a hint of déjà vu.

He throws off the covers, on his feet in seconds despite your protests. All hisblackouts, the ones he thought were finished after traversing the Duat—

That third sarcophagus—

Is this what it was like for Steven? To wake up, not knowing what your body has done, where it’s been—if it’s hurt someone?

Marc might actually puke if he thinks about it for too long. And God, you live with them now: him, Steven, and what Marc wishes was a complete unknown. But the truth is—they aren’t an unknown. No, Marc is fully aware of what this alter is capable of.

“Oh, bugger, what’s going on?” Steven must feel his panic, reflects it in kind. He must be expecting bloodshed with how fast their heart is racing.

Marc says nothing and flings open the tri-mirror on the wall, bracing himself with both hands on the sink below. He sees himself in the center, a bull primed to fight. Steven’s to the left, so fearful he’s nearly frozen still. And to the right—

To the right—

So. Jake hasn’t really prepared for this situation, to be honest.

He’ll face anything head-on to keep the body safe, but imagining himself as the threat? Never crossed his mind. There’s anger in their blood, and Marc’s liable to cracking the porcelain with his grip. If looks could kill, Jake would be dead ten times over.

The few times he wondered what it would be like to actually meet Marc and Steven, the worst that could happen was that they disliked him. Unfortunate, but he’d live. He didn’t need their approval to do his job.

But through the blood rushing in their ears, he can hear you; still in bed, barely breathing as you watch everything unfold. And that’s when he remembers—

You are the bane of his existence.

Because Marc and Steven aren’t just thinking about their own self-preservation. No, now they have you to protect, and the lengths that they would go to do that, well—Jake begrudgingly has to admit that they might rival some of his own efforts for them.

He’d let them stare at themselves forever in the mirror if it weren’t for that fact. They would never give up on trying to talk to him. Steven was clever enough with the sand and tape and ankle restraint; he doesn’t want to think about what sort of traps they’d create with Marc in the mix. Jake would probably still evade them all, but they’d drive themselves crazy in their attempts.

They’ve really left him no choice. For the first time, he lets himself be seen.

You’ve watched Marc and Steven talk to each other plenty of times. It’s really no big deal. They’re just normal conversations where you can only hear one side, and usually taken through the nearest reflective surface.

But this? This is an interrogation. Marc slackens his jaw for just a moment before everything in him tenses again. He speaks through clenched teeth, as if barely controlling the severity of his thoughts—you can’t help but brace yourself for impact. “Who are you?”

The pause as he waits for the other alter, whoever they are, to respond is maddening. It wasn’t quite fear that gripped you when you realized that it wasn’t Marc last night—to be honest, you don’t know what to feel—but the scene in front of you has you reevaluating your initial reaction.

That initial reaction being, well—the same thing you felt when you Marc told you about Steven: curiosity. You wanted to meet Steven. Almost begged for the chance near the end. Whoever this is—

“Jake.”

The name grates itself out of Marc’s throat, and you cling to the information like a life raft.

“Jake.” You can’t help but test it out on your tongue, squinting a little as you look at your boyfriend and try to see yourself calling him that. Marc looks towards you. There’s a storm of emotions in his eyes, but there’s no time to decipher any of them—a moment later, he turns back towards the mirror with a scowl.

“Why should I believe you?” The lines on his face deepen; Marc grits his teeth so hard you yearn to hold him, but you’re frozen to the spot.

“I don’t know that. After you—” his eyes dart between you and his reflection so fast, you might’ve imagined it “—after what you’ve done?”

A wave of dread washes over you.

He’s not talking about last night.

No, Marc—Marc has interacted with Jake before, and whatever happened must’ve crossed a line. Must’ve crossed several lines because of how he’s acting right now, and you want to bury yourself under the covers, still fisted tightly in your hands.

He laughs bitterly. The sound rakes through your ears. “You call that protecting us?”

Your blood runs cold. With no real context and spiked with adrenaline, your mind runs rampant with the possibilities, connects all the worst dots.

There’s no way—

“Lay a hand on her and I swear—”

You want to run and you want to hide and you want their arms around you, assuring you of—of anything. You need to leave this building and also never go outside again, because your head begins to pound with each thought that passes through.

You can still see the worry flare in Marc’s eyes when you accidentally grabbed the handle of a hot pan, the dutiful and tender way he held your hand under the tap for no less than fifteen minutes—

You can still hear Steven’s babbling when your new shoes rubbed your ankles red and raw while on a walk, distracting you from the pain the best he could until you got back home—

You are just so acutely aware of their love—that Marc and Steven would never dare hurt you. It’s impossible to reconcile your memories of them with the picture that’s being painted of Jake right now.

No. You can’t believe it.

You’re not even hearing their conversation anymore, your heartbeat is too loud. Breathing returns to you in a rush—you never even realized you stopped—and your vision swims with light-headedness.

None of it makes sense.

It—it can’t—

The mattress dips beside you, but you barely feel it. Someone’s cupping your cheeks, grounding you back into the flat, your home, and you know these hands. You know this voice, soothing in your ear, even as you shut your eyes.

They say that they’re sorry. They say that you’ll be okay.

They call you princesa.

It feels strange walking around the flat, knowing that he’s welcome there now.

Jake’s seen every nook and cranny through Marc and Steven, but to actually be able to explore the place himself—he’s like a kid in a toy store. He can’t help but run his fingers over everything. The spines on the bookshelves, the mismatched dishware in the cabinets. That velvet throw pillow, which you are so fond of playing with during movies—yeah, he gets it.

He’s not going to be talking to you for a while, though. After his rocky first meeting with Marc and Steven, which also coincides with the absolute worst possible first meeting with you—

It’s best to steer clear for a while.

Jake let the other two do the explaining. He watched silently as Marc told you about his past—told you about why he was discharged from the Marines and the scenes he’d wake up to after Jake had fronted—hands shaking as they held onto yours. He watched as Steven took over when it got to be too much, adding in the finer details and clarifications, steadier but no less genuine than Marc. Their arms were gentle as Steven held you in their lap, patient as you stumbled through how you felt.

“Marc seemed so mad at Jake.” You clutched at Steven’s shirt, sniffling into his neck. “I didn’t know what was happening, I—I was scared.”

No. Jake furiously shakes his head as if it would jostle the memory out of his brain. Just thinking about it threatens to unravel him, and he has to keep it together. He’s on thin ice as is.

You had been the one to temper their emotions—the sight of you panicking on their bed grinding all other issues to a halt. The conversation couldn’t continue until you were okay, and this time, Steven kept you in the loop.

Steven is wary. Steven needles him about what he’s been doing all this time, asks him what he’s going to do now with short little mhms. Steven is also the one to buy a new set of pens (because black is already used for non-individual specific events) and designates him as orange.

Marc doesn’t trust Jake at all and admits it outright. It’s—it stings more than he thought it would, but he understands. He always knew that Marc would take a while to come around, especially with you to consider—

Jake doesn’t know why he worries so much about your opinion. Protecting you is an extension of protecting the body, but he never used to care about what Marc or Steven had to say. He hates the caution in your voice when you talk about him and can’t help but appreciate you trying anyways.

He pinches himself. You’re not his to think about, period.

Acknowledging his existence also, sort of, comes with accepting it. Steven somehow finds the space for another dresser in their already cramped bedroom. Jake doesn’t even have enough possessions in general to fill that thing—not counting all the weapons and ammo that Marc would definitely have their head for if he brought them into the flat.

It’s an olive branch on both sides, though. They’re committing to having him around. He’s committing to being around, instead of lurking in the background of their lives.

His clothes only fill up the first drawer but—it’s nice. Jake stares at the thing a lot more than a used, scratched-up piece of furniture probably warrants. He can barely admit it to himself but this, all of it—going outside during the day, eating a freshly-cooked meal, even just relaxing in bed without immediately trying to go to sleep in order to Protect the Body—it really is just nice.

(Since when did he describe anything as nice?)

Then—your keys turn in the door.

Jake hits the eject button so fast, Steven’s probably going to get whiplash.

“Nice reflexes,” he grumbles as you enter the flat. It was funny the first few dozen times. Now? That twat’s just being a coward.

“I’m home!” You call out as Steven rounds the corner to greet you, tote bag nearly bulging in your hand. He pecks your lips as he helps you out of your jacket, then hangs it up beside the three others on the rack. “There was a little creators’ market in the park—you should’ve seen it!”

“Think I’m seeing it now,” he chuckles, moving to help you with your tote. You slink past him at the last second, grinning. “Come on, love, show us what you got!”

“They’re gifts! Just hang on.” You place the bag on the dining table and enraptured, he pulls up a stool. His head rests on his chin as he waits for you to unpack. “Okay, first, for Marc—”

You reach your hand inside and reveal a pair of black leather gloves. Not driving gloves like Jake’s—there’re far less embellishments all around. But they’re warm and flexible, perfect for colder weather. Inside, the lining is made with a material so soft that when trying one on, Steven can’t help but laugh a little in disbelief.

“Treading on my territory, pendejo?”

Marc snipes back, “Like you own a monopoly on leather gloves.”

Steven lets Marc pull to the front. An easy smile spreads on his face as he flexes his hand, testing his movement. “Thanks, baby. I really like them.”

He takes your chin into his gloved hand to thank you properly, slotting his lips against yours with no shortage of appreciation. His grip is an anchor, holding you in place as he kisses you, deep and languid. Like you have all the time in the world despite the heat flickering across his skin. When Marc gets like this, it’s not long before you start squirming under him, and your hands paw at his neck for something more.

That’s his cue to finally pull away, smirking as he traces your bottom lip with his thumb. Whether it’s the leather or him or both, he can see the effect on you, the dazed look you give him when you bat your eyes open.

Let Jake try and beat that.

“Oi! Share!”

Marc sighs. Drops his forehead to yours and reluctantly doesn’t continue any further. “Steven wants his gift now.”

“Oh,” you laugh a little, realizing the situation you’ve put yourself in. “Maybe I should’ve done Steven’s first.”

Marc steals one more kiss before retreating again, and Steven is back, clearly eager for many different reasons now. After putting Marc’s new gloves to the side, you don’t make him wait a second longer; you pull out a stunning new button-up, deep navy with a pattern of large teal palm leaves and hints of salmon accents all over.

All traces of joy disappear from Marc’s voice. “Oh, my fucking God.”

“She’s an enabler. I can’t believe it.”

Steven gapes, amazed. “How did you—”

“I had to go digging,” you admit, gesturing widely. “There were so many racks, we need to go back! I only had my one bag!”

“There’s no way people actually buy this stuff.”

“Ahh, well, it’s not that bad—"

“Are you kidding me?”

Ignoring the fashion police in his head, Steven immediately switches shirts and tosses the old one somewhere behind him. Based on Marc’s grunt, he missed the couch, but also can hardly find himself to care.

He doesn’t even bother doing up the buttons, because he knows where you’ll put your hands when he descends upon your face. Kiss after kiss on your cheeks, forehead, and nose, and soon enough you’re giggling loudly into the air. Your hands are warm against his bare torso, pulling him closer even as their stubble tickles your skin.

“Stevie—Steven! There’s one more!”

He’s not letting you off that easily, though, and finally captures your lips with his. That does buy him a few more blissful seconds until you manage to push him away; breathing heavily, you point sternly in his direction—behave.

Steven schools his expression into one of perfect obedience, teasing, but you barely even react. With one glance back down at the table, it’s like the tote bag sucked away your excitement, leaving shy uncertainty in its wake. You’re biting your lip as you reach for the last gift, quiet.

Marc hums, trying to figure out what’s wrong. Steven offers you an encouraging little smile and is about to say something when you produce the last gift in a rush, still not meeting their eyes.

It’s a simple wool scarf, colour-blocked in soft browns and greys. He waits as you fiddle with it in your hands, trying to find the words.

“He doesn’t have a scarf,” you blurt out. When Steven doesn’t respond immediately, you continue. “Jake, I mean—I don’t think he has one. I thought it would be nice.”

He follows your gaze to the coat rack near the door, filled with four sets of outerwear. It clearly doesn’t fit all the jackets owned in the household, but his favourite is hung up next to Marc’s, which is hung up beside your overcoat and Jake’s collared jacket. Various cold weather accessories are layered onto the hooks as well, multiple pairs of gloves, hats—but there are only three scarves.

Come to think of it, Steven hasn’t seen Jake ever wear a scarf either. “You’re right, love. Doesn’t his neck get cold? I know our neck gets cold.”

The corners of your mouth tug up a little and he grins, triumphant. He tunes into his head, making sure he doesn’t miss any of Jake’s reaction, but nothing comes. That’s odd. It doesn’t feel like he’s gone, more like—holding his breath.

“Think he’ll like it?” You tilt your head, though your true question is clear on your face.

The words can’t come out of Jake fast enough. “I’m not here right now.”

“Jesus, man.”

Steven huffs but covers for his alter; they’ll press him about it another time. “Once he sees it, I don’t think he’ll ever take it off.”

The gloves and scarf are added to the coat rack, which is liable to falling over one of these days due to the heavy load it’s carrying. With no shortage of complaining from Marc, Steven picks up his discarded shirt and tosses it into the laundry basket. It’s almost full—he makes a note to do a load later this week.

He must look ridiculous, parading around in an undone button-up, but you have nothing but fondness for him when he returns to cuddle with you on the couch. You’ve changed into Marc’s sweater and have to move no less than five decorative pillows in order to make enough space.

Marc makes a distressed noise when Steven throws one of them to the side. “It’s fine—”

It hits the standing lamp and you both freeze as you watch it teeter on its base, creaking ominously. After a moment, it steadies again.

“It’s only fine because of your weak throw.”

Steven splutters as he pulls you into his side. “We have the same arm!”

They bicker about the mechanics of their body, whether muscle memory crosses over when they switch or not. Marc is squarely of the opinion: No. Steven reminds him of when he punched the Jackal, and the conversation continues to devolve. Jake refrains from getting involved but spurs them on regardless with a well-placed snicker here and there.

It’s an aimless argument that has you burying your face in your hands because you’re laughing too hard; one of many that have taken place and one of many that have yet to occur.

In the morning, Marc will cook you breakfast and throw an eggshell into the bin from across the kitchen just to prove a point. Steven will go back to the market with you to buy armfuls of his favourite clothing and home goods, and he’ll add one more to his bag for every snide comment Marc makes. And Jake—

Jake will take a little while longer until he feels ready to speak to you, but you see the scarf gather raindrops and the warm, woodsy smell of their aftershave as he wears it every time he goes outside. Always see it hung up neatly on the rack, on top of his jacket so it can properly dry.

And with all four of you settled in, their cluttered little flat in London—long overflowing with books and clothes, your favourite comforts and some truly unique furniture—finally started to feel complete.

#moon knight x reader #marc spector x reader #steven grant x reader #jake lockley x reader #moon knight #marc spector #steven grant #jake lockley #moon knight fanfic #my writing #mk bingo 2024

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imfinereallyy · 6 months ago

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Steve and Eddie don’t get together for awhile—in fact it takes them longer than most people expect. It’s not filled with miscommunication and longing though. Instead it’s a slow build to falling in love.

Steve and Eddie do grow close after the spring break from hell. In fact, they would come to consider each other best friends (second only to Robin, as under the friendship agreement she made Eddie sign). But they fall into an easy sort of friendship, finding more things in common than just the kids eventually. They share a love of weird, eclectic movies, cars, weird food recipes, and even books. They teach each other about the stuff neither one would ever dream to be interested in.

Eddie learns about sports intensely. To the point, he joins a softball league with Steve and Robin (she is only team manager, there to look at the pretty girls who signed up).

Steve learns all about music. To the point he wants to learn an instrument. He wants to learn guitar at first, wanting to share Eddie’s love for it but finds it’s not for him. Instead, he takes up the drums, much to Robins's reluctance.

It’s simple between them, despite their history (both upside down and non-upside down alike). It’s not something Steve has with anyone else, seeing as most of his friendships involve a complexity that he can’t even understand himself.

It goes on for years, supporting each other through nightmares, heartbreak, grief (Eddie), and a sexuality crisis (Steve). They get tattoos together, take odd classes at the rec center together, and eventually share an apartment together with Robin in Chicago.

Robin tries to convince Steve for years there is something between him and Eddie. But Steve denies it, and he really means it.

Eventually life changes, their friendship stays strong but things are bound to take new shape.

Steve moves out to live with his boyfriend of a year. Eddie helps him, even cooks dinner for the two of them in their new apartment. They’re all friends, they hangout all the time.

Months pass, things seem okay, fine. Then, a year and change passea. Things are a little sour. Steve and Eddie’s friendship stays strong, but Steve seems to have problems with his boyfriend. Eddie listens because he cares; he loves Steve, and Steve loves him. They’re best friends; they would do anything for each other.

Including telling your best friend that maybe this guy isn’t good for him.

Steve doesn’t react poorly, just small. He shrinks in on himself. Like he knows Eddie’s right but doesn’t want to agree. Instead, Steve smiles sadly and moves on.

But Eddie doesn’t hear from Steve for a month.

It drives him insane; they haven’t gone that long without talking since Eddie was in a temporary coma. He’s worried he might have cost himself a best friend. Robin had moved in with her girlfriend a month before his talk with Steve, so Eddie was left to his own devices in his new one-bedroom apartment. Spiraling about Steve.

Robin said he was fine, and Eddie should believe her but he can’t help but worry.

He almost cracked and went to Steve’s apartment, keys in his hands ready to storm the castle.

Except….

When Eddie throws his apartment door open, there’s Steve, hand raised, ready to knock.

He looks exhausted, with two bags under his eyes and one bag in his hand.

“Hi.” Is all he managed to croak out before falling into Eddie’s arms, which had been open and ready for the sweet boy.

After the crying had calmed down and they had moved to the couch, Steve explained everything.

How Eddie had been right, Steve and his boyfriend weren’t good for each other. How he had been isolated from everyone except Eddie and Robin. How the last month, the fighting had only escalated. How things had slipped from just arguments to unforgivable words and actions.

How Steve was worried that everyone would choose his boyfriend instead of him.

Eddie rushed to ease his worries and offered to beat the guy up. It made Steve laugh.

Steve tells him he doesn’t have anywhere to go, but he’ll get out of his hair. Maybe go to Robin’s.

Eddie insisted Steve stayed and wouldn’t take no for an answer.

That’s when things start to slowly change.

Steve promises to look for a new place right away, Eddie says it’s no rush.

The first night, Steve tries to sleep on the couch, but Eddie pushes him to the bedroom, insisting they can share. It’s not like they haven’t before; it’s nothing new.

Except it is.

Suddenly, the days pass, and Eddie can’t fall asleep unless Steve is beside him. And Steve can’t stay asleep if Eddie isn’t there.

It starts off on respectful sides, but pushes into tangled limbs in the middle of the night, to finally just snuggling into each other's arms even before they fall asleep.

Everything else is the same….yet somehow different.

It’s like every little thing they do together brings a new kind of joy. Even boring things like doing the dishes or laundry seem so much better with Steve around.

They start to know each other’s habits, even more so than before, with how little space there is now in the apartment. Steve knows the exact place where Eddie always forgets his keys and the way he stretches his spine when he’s tired versus the way he does when he’s bored.

They fall into a lovely pattern of warmth and a type of love they can’t quite place.

They both don’t talk about it, but Steve ponders on it often. Why it feels so different now? After all these years? It hits him one day that it isn’t because he loves Eddie any less or more than he did a few years ago. No, it’s because they both have grown, and changed from who they used to be.

And so has the love between them.

Steve and Eddie, at 19 and 20, could never have the love they have now for each other, for the type of people they were then. Their love was platonic, wholesome, and what they needed then. Steve could not love the kind of man Eddie was then, and vice versa.

Now though, grown and changed but somehow still the same, their love was something new and bright.

Steve only smiled at the realization, not in any rush to move forward. Just enjoying his time with his Eddie.

Eventually, though, Steve stops looking for a new place, and Eddie never asks him to leave. Everyone refers to the apartment as theirs and not just Eddie’s. Robin stops making sly comments and instead smiles happily, almost fondly, at them when they gravitate toward each other. Eddie asks for Steve’s advice on how to deal with the landlord. Steve opens the mail regardless of whose name is on the front. Months pass, and suddenly, Steve is turning 28, and Eddie has a cupcake with a singular candle on it.

“Make a wish, sweetheart.” Eddie says, the soft glow of the flame lighting up his face.

Steve smiles softly at him and leans in. It’s not a risk, in the end, to kiss Eddie. It should be nerve-wracking and scary to change their friendship. But it’s not—it’s easy.

Their lips are soft as they lightly kiss. Steve whispers against Eddie’s mouth, “Don’t want a wish. I have everything I need.”

Eddie huffs a laugh across Steve’s lips. He says nothing—he doesn’t need to. Instead, Eddie leans in again, capturing Steve’s mouth once more.

#uuuhhh I was feeling soft #this is more of a Drabble?Rant? than a ficlet #but idk I’m in my feels #I like the idea of geniune friends to lovers #instead of just they were never really friends just jump to lovers #although I like that too #just wanted to shake it up #steddie #stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #robin buckley #my writing #platonic stobin #ao3 #ficlet #friends to lovers #sorry for the tense changes #again it's more of a rant

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tlou-reid · 3 months ago

Text

Security ✿ Aaron Hotchner

from the river to the sea, palestine will be free 🇵🇸 READ: this account stands with palestine, and so— i require everyone who interacts to educate themselves, and support/donate. READ THESE; 1 and 2, HELP HERE, BOYCOTT. silence is complicity, do not scroll past this.

♡ SUMMARY: reader calls aaron just as he arrives home from a case, needing a savior in her own home. aka baked goodies part 4

♡ WARNINGS: reader has the flu, criminal minds-esque violence, mentions of haley and her death, reader takes medicine for the flu and eats a frozen croissant and i do not wish to offend the French, not edited but when is my stuff ever?

𖤣 Part one here! 𖥧 Part two here! 𖡼 Part three here! ⚘

𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘.𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘.𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘.𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘

The flu. Of course, just as winter was finally wrapping up, your sniffles start and your throat starts to burn. The cold was no longer nipping at your nose, but you were still shivering at night. The fever you’d started a day ago didn’t feel like it was going away any time soon, so you’d decided to head to the urgent care a few minutes away.

The doctor had been surprised when your flu test came back positive, considering it was late march. “You’re probably the last positive we’ll get until thanksgiving time,” he had remarked as he signed the prescription for you. With a sigh, you made your way to the check out counter, got your prescription and headed to your car. You barely got your key in the ignition when your phone stayed to ring.

“Hi honey,” Aaron’s whisper filled your car as your phone connected via bluetooth. “Hi baby,” you mustered up all of the energy you had to coo at him, wanting to match his energy. He knew you weren’t feeling the best, so any energy you could give him was enough.

You swore he could feel the things you felt sometimes. You knew there was science backing the idea that your heartbeats could sync up, but this was a whole different level. Aaron knew you in ways no one else did, and no one else ever would. You’d been together for almost six months now, and you could very easily picture a lifetime with him. It was almost as if your souls were tied together, creating the most beautiful knot you’d ever seen. One that could only be named love.

“Feeling any better?” His voice was gentle, but you could tell he was keeping quiet. He was probably still in the Chicago Precinct, finishing up a very gruesome case. “I am now that I’m talking to you,” you flirted before breaking into a coughing fit. Your cover was blown. “Are you driving?” Aaron asks, ignoring your flirtation. “I have to get home, Aaron.” You were too tired for his overprotectiveness.

Once again changing the subject, he asks the million dollar question, “What did the doctor say?”

You winced at some dickhead behind you beeping at the car next to you as you answered, “The flu, he gave me some medicine.” You heard Aaron let out a sigh on the other side, “It’s spring time,” he declared, just as puzzled as you were. “I know, that’s what I said.”

“I’m sorry, honey.” You knew that would be his response. There’s nothing he can do but wish you well from about 11 hours away. He wished he could hop on the jet and come home to cuddle the virus out of you. But he couldn’t. He was here, in Chicago, catching evil criminals, and you were back home. You didn’t answer his sentiment, instead opting to sit in comfortable silence on the phone with you. He was alone in the conference room, mapping out similarities from the victims, so he put his phone on speaker and got back to work.

This was a comforting action for Aaron. It gave him some sort of peace he was always seeking when he was away on cases. The hairs on the back of his neck lowered and the pit in his stomach closed. Just a little bit, but the pit closed some.

A few minutes later, you were pulling into your driveway. You couldn’t help but peek out of your rear view mirror. It was as dramatic as a romance movie, the way you longingly looked at Aaron’s home, as if your gaze could spawn him in his front yard.

“Hey Aar,” You said, unable to hide how tired you were, “I’m home.” You couldn’t see but Aaron nodded, knowing that meant you were about to hang up. “Get some rest, please. And don’t forget your medicine.”

“I’m going to bed as soon as I get in the door. You don’t have to worry about me, I promise.” You switched your phone to speaker, disconnecting it from the car and turning the car off. “I’m still going to worry,” Aaron guaranteed. “I know, but try to not.”With a sigh, he agreed“I can do that, I love you.”

Saying “I love you” was something that came had come unexpectedly easy to Aaron. He’d thought after all of the loss he’d faced of people he loved, there would be a hesitancy, a fear that he’d buried somewhere dark and deep. But it wasn’t. It came easy and truthfully, just as being in love with you did.

It was surprising to you how often, how delicately, and how meaningfully Aaron said it. It carried so much weight when he said it, it was a promise every single time. A promise to be there to say it again and again, a promise to fight through whatever awful things are thrown at him to be the best version of himself for you, a promise to be there for you, a promise to be the man you deserve.

Aaron Hotchner was a serious man, always had been and always will be. But he’s especially serious about the people he loves, you and Jack the most.

“I love you too, goodnight.” You joked as you stepped into your home. “Goodnight, get some rest.” Aaron was smiling as he hung up.

You’re not sure how long you slept. It had to have been a few hours, considering it was dark when you woke up. Your head was pounding and and your stomach was rumbling.

You slowly dragged yourself out of bed, fighting through the deep ache in your bones. You couldn’t understand why you were both hot and cold at the same time, or why the ringing in your ears wouldn’t go away. You, despite all of the rest you’d gotten, were feeling about a thousand times worse than you were yesterday.

You stopped at your sock drawer, pulling out the thickest, fuzziest pair you could find, before hobbling down to the kitchen. You’d just gone grocery shopping, so you were sure there was something you could throw into the microwave.

As you rummaged through your fridge like an injured raccoon, your phone buzzed from its spot on the couch, where you’d tossed it after you came in. A text of Aaron lit up the screen, ‘Just got back to the precinct. We just have to fill out some paperwork and then we’ll be on the jet home. See you soon.’ it read.

After taking a few, small bites of the frozen croissant you’d found in the back of your freezer, you responded to Aaron’s text with a simple ‘be safe, love u’, energy level matching what you were currently feeling.

Then you headed back up to bed. There was some kind of uneasiness flowing through your veins, so you pulled up some mindless video to help you relax. You were sure it was just the medicine making you a little queasy, so you did your best to relax so you could sleep away the pounding in your head.

It took a while, about two and a half youtube video essays, but you did slowly drift off into an uncomfortable slumber.

Once again, you were unsure of how long you’d been asleep. You felt groggy, as if you could use a few more hours to truly feel good, even with the flu. You weren’t sure what woke you up, however.

It was dark out, so you reached for your phone to see if Aaron had made it home. ‘2:36’, the screen that was entirely too bright read. You signed, swiping down on your screen to show your notifications. A text from Aaron 35 minutes ago read, “Just got in the door. I bet you’re asleep, give me a call when you wake up. I’ll be up for a while.”

Every muscle in your body hurt, you pushed through for just 13 of them to form a smile at his care of you.

Just as your hand hovered over the call button on his contact, you heard your front door swing open with a bang.

Your head immediately perked up. You inched your way back toward headboard, trying to put yourself in a position as far away from the sound as possible.

Your breathing stopped as you listened. “Hurry the fuck up, we got two more to go to tonight.” You heard an unfamiliar voice call out. It was obvious they were trying to be quiet, albeit unsuccessfully.

Without hesitation, your finger hit the call button. It rang twice before Aaron’s groggy voice was coming through the receiver, “Hey honey, how are you-”

You cut him off with a desperate whisper of his name, “Aaron,” He was stricken with worry immediately. You were sick, so sick. You’d been running almost a 103 degree forever. Despite your medicine, there was no way you’d be able to speak with such conviction in your voice already.

“Aaron,” you repeated with as you squeezed your eyes shut, “Someone’s here.”

Aaron’s heart stopped in his chest. The last time someone entered the house of a person he loved, they never came back out of it. Haley’s last moments alive were spent with someone who was in her house when he shouldn’t have been. And now that was happening to you.

“Where?” Aaron asked as he shuffled around, moving to his gun safe. He quickly input the code, checked the safety and began to make his way to your house. He could hear Jackson barking in the background, doing his best to protect you.

You heard a crash somewhere downstairs, and decided you couldn’t sit anymore. Faster than someone with the flu should be able to, you stood up to move to the bathroom attached to bedroom.

“They’re downstairs, please hurry.” He could hear the fear in your voice, the way you were choking back tears. Jackson’s bark was getting progressively louder had Aaron’s heart speeding up.

Aaron didn’t answer as he approached the door. His end of the call went silent, before you heard your door crash open again. “FBI,” his loud voice boomed through the house. Even Jackson paused at that, standing with his fur perked up and his eyes focused on the door.

Aaron then yelled and you could tell it was directed towards you, “Call the police!”

You did as you were told, hanging up the phone call to dial 911. You quickly explained the situation and gave your address to the dispatcher. You told her that Aaron was here, he was an FBI agent, he was seemingly making sure the intruders weren’t leaving, and to please, please, please, not let him get hurt.

Her calming voice assured her that she wouldn’t.

You sat on the bathroom floor, shaking, running your hands through Jackson’s fur as you waited for the police to arrive. You wished Aaron could handle it. That he had the power to arrest them and it could all be over. But he didn’t, so you were stuck here, waiting, shaking.

It felt like an eternity, but was probably twenty minutes, but you heard the sirens as they pulled up. Once the cops were in the door, Aaron informed them of what was going on, and then made a beeline to your room. The door was still shut from when you went to bed, but not locked. Aaron decided to lecture you later.

His eyes adjusted to the darkness of the room as Jackson creeped out. Aaron gave him a few pats before following where he’d came from.

“Aaron,” he heard your tired voice call out. You were definitely crying, even if you hadn’t noticed it yet. “It’s me, honey,” he answered, finally finding you in the dark. He sat down next to you on the cold tile. He pulled you into his chest, completely enveloping you in nothing but Aaron.

You pressed your ear against his chest, searching for his heartbeat. You could hear how fast it was beating. The sound started to calm you down. As the adrenaline stopping running through you, the illness started to re-emerge.

Aaron didn’t speak as he held you. He held you until you stopped crying. He held you until your breathing evened out. He held you until you stopped shaking. He held you as Jackson curled up at your feet, also trying to protect you.

Ten minutes, then twenty minutes passed, then Aaron lost track of time. Still, he held you close with one arm, and gently combed his fingers through your hair with the other.

“You awake?” He whispered. “Mhm,” you replied. “Let’s go walk around the house.” Your eyebrows furrowed at his request. That was the last thing you wanted to do right now. Your bones hurt and you were scared of what could be lurking in the dark of your house.

“You won’t feel safe unless you know it’s clear.” You shook your head against him. “I won’t feel safe if you leave.” You promised him. Every word was true. “I’m not going anywhere.”

You knew every word of that was true, too.

“Can we go to your house tonight?” Somehow, you were even quieter. “Of course.”

Aaron moved to get up. He stepped over to flick on the lights and then help you up. You tried to ignore how lightheaded the shift in position made you feel, but stumbled as you got up. Aaron reached out, once again protecting you.

“Jackson’s not going to like being alone,” You sighed, with sad eyes. You didn’t want to leave him, but you weren’t going to feel safe. Against every part of his body wanting to tell you he’s just a dog and that’d he be okay, Aaron found himself saying, “He can come, too.”

“You don’t want dogs in your house.” You recalled the countless times Aaron complained about the dog hair. “I’ll make an exception tonight, you’re sick.” He justified. He could feel your body relax in his arms. With Aaron and Jackson by yourself, you knew you’d feel safe and secure. “Thank you, honey.” Aaron smiled at you using his favorite nickname for you.

“Well, let’s walk around and then we’ll head over.” You nod, following his lead. Aaron holds your hand as he guides you through the house, checking every nook and cranny he could think of. Jackson stayed right by your side.

As you made it to the bottom floor of the house, you could see two police cars still sitting, and two cops standing out front talking. You knew you’d have to give a statement or something eventually, but you were hoping Aaron could pull some strings due to how exhausted your body was.

“All clear,” You remark as you finish looking over the house. You’d have to replace your door handle on your front door, and your living room was in complete disarray, but you knew it’d be much worse if Aaron hadn’t come when he did. He was your savior tonight.

Aaron pulls you close again, relishing in your skin being against his. He was coming down from his own adrenaline high and all he wanted to do was hold you, so he could know that you were safe and alive, and opportunity that he didn’t have with Haley.

Something deep inside of him was gratified tonight. He knew that he could never replace Haley, that the love and the fear and the heartbreak he felt for her would always linger and would never, ever go away. But he also knew that he was a different man. He was a better man. A better father, a better lover. He knew that wherever Haley was, he was proud of the man Aaron had become. The man you helped him become.

Aaron pressed a kiss to your forehead, squeezed your shoulder, and then said, “Let’s go home.” You didn’t have to remind him about Jackson, as he moved to the closet that you kept his leash in. As if he could feel the heaviness in the air, Jackson didn’t put up an excited fight to put his leash on.

Aaron held your hand in his right, and Jackson’s leash in his left as he guided the two of you outside. You three took a few paces into the yard, before he was handing you the leash, mumbling an “I’ll be right back,” before walking to where the police were lingering.

You couldn’t hear what was going on, but you saw Aaron shake their hand after talking to them, and then he returned to your side. “They said you can go to the station in the morning to talk to them since I gave a statement. I told them you have the flu, so maybe we can get it pushed back more.” You nodded at his words, and slipped your hand back in his. Aaron ran his thumb along the soft skin of your hand as you walked across the street to his house.

Once you got inside, Aaron let you shower as he found a bowl that Jackson could drink from. The hot water helped your muscles relax, and unstuffed your nose. It felt good to be breathe for a couple minutes.

Aaron was already in bed when you made in to the room. Jackson was curled up on the floor at the end of the bed, softly snoring until you opened the door. “Come here,” Aaron gestured to the empty side of the bed. You complied and he pulled you tight against his side.

Even with the ache in your bones and burn in your throat returning, this was best you’d felt all week.

You tried your best to sleep. When that didn’t work, you tried your best to at least lay still so Aaron could sleep. When that also didn’t work, you sat up in the bed, frustrated. All you’d wanted to do all day was sleep, and now your body was still reeling from your house being broken into, so you could.

“You alright?” Aaron asked, hand moving to run along your thigh. “I can’t sleep,” You mumbled. You felt Aaron nod, before his hands slid up your body, guiding you by your torso to lay back down next to him. He pressed a kiss against your shoulder once he could reach it. “Let’s just lay here, then.”

You nodded, wiggling closer to him. His hand kept moving along your thigh, and you used it to slow your breathing down, matching it to the movement.

You weren’t sure how long you laid like that before Aaron broke the silence, “What would you think about moving in with me?” It was quiet, almost a whisper. It was easily the most timid you’d ever heard him be.

“Can Jackson come?” Aaron laughed at your response, a little less nervous than he’d previously been. “Of course,” he responded. It was quiet for a little bit as you pondered the question, before you replied, “If you talk to Jack and he’s okay with it, then I will consider it.”

Aaron nodded, know that was the best answer he could’ve received given your illness and how late it was. “Okay,” he replied, pressing one more kiss to your shoulder before laying back down next to you.

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pjflmga · 2 months ago

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little things, alessia russo x reader

summary: based on little things by one direction (big fan yup) where r is a bit insecure about certain things and alessia makes sure to let r know she loves everything about r.

a/n: just smth random i came up w while i’m writing on chicago p2 bc i’m currently stuck lol. wrote this in the middle of the night so don’t mind eventual mistakes… send in recs if you want to :)

wc: 2,3k ish

enjoyy

—————————————————————

you and alessia had been together for a long time now, with your 2 years anniversary coming up in only a few weeks. you loved doing things together, watching movies or series, going out for a walk or shopping. literally anything

football might be your biggest shared interest though, whether it was watching a game or playing it. but it was not hard to see who was playing professionally and who played in a normal sunday league.

alessia played football for a living, her days consisted of training on and off the pitch and of course football games against big, top teams, weekly. whereas you were working as a chef at a restaurant and only had training 2-3 times a week plus a game on the weekends.

despite the big difference of professionalism you played in, you both were each others biggest fan and supporter. you were at all arsenal’s home games and even some away games if possible, and alessia was at yours. of course if you or her didn’t have your own game at the same time, which occasionally happened.

alessia never looked down at you for not being a professional footballer, rather the other way around. she was happy and proud that you got to the two things you loved the most, cooking food during the days and playing football in the evenings. but even if alessia never had an opinion about this, didn’t mean you nor especially the fans highlighted this at times.

as you were the girlfriend of the top player and front face of the lionesses and arsenal, people didn’t shy away from sharing their ignorant opinions. when alessia saw a rude comment about you she would always delete it, before she read half of it and especially before you got the chance to even know about it. but since you were together with alessia, you had around 30k followers on instagram yourself and a lot of the ignorant comments ended up in your comment section as well.

you knew you shouldn’t care, but you couldn’t help but read every single negative comment about you. it was everything from you using alessia for her being famous and having a lot of money, to not being good enough for her and being an ugly and bad person. the comments about you only “using” her didn’t really bother you, as you and not to mention, alessia knew that it wasn’t true. but it was rather the comments about you being too ugly, or not that a good enough person for her that made you feel like the smallest person on earth.

this had been going on ever since you got together and the public eye found out about it. at first it didn’t bother you, but as time went on it started to get to you. the blonde and you had talked about it before, but even if you weren’t, you always made sure to say that you were fine.

as of lately alessia had started to notice that you were feeling a bit more tired and down than usually. at first she thought it was because of your job and how hectic it was. but she shortly after realised it was because of all comments on social media.

and with that she started to make more efforts than usually to make you feel as special and loved as you deserved, not to mention how she felt about you.

————————————

as a person in general, you were a bit insecure about yourself. you didn’t like certain things with your body or the way you looked.

as time passed alessia started to figure out more of your small insecurities, how every time she tried to make a short video with you, you always stayed quiet because you didn’t like the way your voice sounded on camera.

how you never got changed in front of her, despite being together for a long, long time. because you didn’t like how your stomach or thighs looked. she obviously had seen you without clothes before, but it was different when you changed and got dressed. it made you feel more conscious about the way you looked, in a way you didn’t like and therefore didn’t want alessia to see.

but also how you recently had stopped coming along to nights out and dinners with her team, because you were insecure or what other people would think. despite alessia always telling you how much the team loved you and wanted you there.

alessia knew these things made you insecure, but these were also the things she loved about you the most. the way you looked, the way you were, the way you smiled and laughed. your voice, your body. everything.

at first she didn’t want these little things to slip out, in case it made you more insecure. but she quickly realised the best way to make you feel more comfortable and confident, was to bring your insecurities up, subtly and in a reassuring way, one by one.

every time you smiled you got small crinkles by your eyes and for some reason fans started to point that out, together with your freckled cheeks. alessia didn’t understand, as she thought those were two of the cutest things about you, but you hated them.

now when she started to see the comments more often, she realised that was the reason why you started to cover your freckles up with makeup, and at least try to smile less. not that it really worked when you were with alessia, who stumbled around and laughed all the time.

“babe, you’re so beautiful today.” alessia said as the two of you got ready to head out for a little walk in the park. “why are you putting on makeup? you’re just as beautiful without it.” she smiled softly.

“i dunno.” you mumbled. “don’t really like my freckles.” you said lowly. with that alessia walked up behind you, where you sat by the desk in your shared bedroom, and hugged you tightly from behind.

“you.” kiss. “are.” kiss. “more.” kiss. “beautiful”. kiss. “than.” kiss. “anyone.” kiss. “else. ” kiss. “in.” kiss. “the.” kiss. “world.” the blonde said as she kissed you freckles.

“stoppp less, you’re ruining my makeup.” you said, but couldn’t help but feeling a smile creeping up in the corner of your mouth.

“nooo!!” she said. “i’m just making sure your natural beauty is showing.” she continued as she bombed kisses on you again. you couldn’t help but laugh at that. “there’s the beautiful smile of yours.” alessia said simply.

it took you another 20 minutes to get ready before your headed out. instantly when you stepped out of the port of your stairwell, alessia grabbed you hand and gave it a tight squeeze.

“you know, your hands fits perfectly in mine.” the striker said softly.

“what do you mean less?” you asked confused, not quite catching what she meant.

“i don’t know, i just know it feels perfect to hold it in my hand.” she smiled with a chuckle. you nodded slowly, still not getting where she came from. but it was something with the way she had said it while squeezing your hand, that made you feel good. you felt yourself being thrown out of your thoughtss as alessia pulled you with her and started to walk towards the park, while babbling about her upcoming game against liverpool this weekend.

when you stopped in the middle of the park by a big tree alessia suggested that the two of you should make a tiktok together. a video where you’d have to rank her arsenal teammates.

“no i can’t do that.” you said with a laugh. “they’re gonna kill me.”

“noo, babe!! it’ll be fun, they will love it.” she laughed as she pulled up her phone.

“okay, just because i love you. but don’t post it!! i don’t uh, want people to hear my- to see what my ranking.” you said quietly.

“oh y/n, it’ll be fine. everyone will laugh at how pissed leah will be when she sees she’s not your number one.” alessia chuckled. “besides, everyone should get to hear that beautiful voice of yours when you explain your rankings.” she continued, subtly mentioning yet another insecurity. you instantly felt yourself relaxing a little when she said that. to be honest you hadn’t really realised that you had tensed up in the first place.

“let’s do this then, less.” you said as you grabbed her phone and started the ranking.

——————————

“i can’t believe you were about to put frida at number one.” alessia said with a grunt as you finished.

“well she is just the best, isn’t she?” you asked with a smile.

“well… no. i am supposed to be there, i swear if you weren’t with me right now, you would’ve put her as your number 1.” alessia answered with a unhappy voice.

“nooo babe, i’d never do that!!” you laughed. “you are obviously my number one!”

“and so are you y/n/n! you are my forever number one and i love you and everything about you.” the blonde said softly as she gave hugged you and kissed your cheek. “let’s post this and see how the girls reacts.” she continues as she posted the video.

just then she got a message from leah in the arsenal group chat, asking who’d be joining for dinner aka ordering food, and movie night at her place tomorrow night. a flood of “yes” and “me” came right away when alessia looked at you.

“you want to go?” she asked hopefully.

“uh i don’t know, don’t want to intrude your team bonding night.” you said lowly.

“no y/n babe, first you could never do that. the girls have been asking if you won’t being joining anytime soon anyways. and besides, it’s just movie night tmrw.” alessia explained as she took your hand and gave it a squeeze.

“well, okay then i guess.” you said.

“YESSSS!!!” the england forward squealed as she sent a quick “me and y/n are coming!” to the group chat and right away an even bigger flood of “yes!”, “wohoo” and “finally” came.

as tomorrow evening eventually came around, you and the blonde got ready together. since it was just movie night and leah’s, you wouldn’t dress up fancy. so you grabbed a pair of black jeans and a t-shirt as you headed towards your bathroom to get changed. but before you managed to take a step alessia grabbed your arm and hugged you tightly.

“you know i don’t mind you changing clothes in front of me.” she said softly as she hugged you tighter.

“i know, it’s just uh me. i don’t know, it’s stupid. of course i should be able to change in front of my girlfriend of almost two years.” you said while you let go of alessia to look into her eyes.

“baby, it’s not stupid the way you feel. i just want you to know that i love you and i love every single thing about you. i love your eyes, your smile, how you look and oh my god, have you seen your body?” she said softly and you can’t help but smile a little. “if you don’t feel comfortable to change in front of me, i won’t stop you. but i want you to feel comfortable with me, no matter what. i don’t care what other people say or think and you shouldn’t either. because you are more perfect than anyone else. okay?” alessia continued.

all you could do was just stare at your girlfriends. you realised where she was coming from with all of this, but to be honest, it made you feel better. she was right, the only opinion you really cared about was hers, and you knew how much she loved you.

“i know, i just feel so self conscious and insecure sometimes. i wish i didn’t but i can’t help but being affected by it.” you answered.

“you know love, those things you are self conscious about, are some of the things i love the most you.” she said as she once again gave you one of her famous “lessi bear hugs”.

“yeah i know less, thank you so much.” you said hugging her back. after some time you finally let go of each other and you felt truly safe and loved by the striker. you took a deep breath and actually felt comfortable enough to change in front of your girlfriend.

all alessia could do was looking at you with the proudest smile ever. she was happy that her little side mission had worked out the way she wanted to, that you felt better about yourself and also felt more comfortable around her.

what took her by surprise though was that you for the first time in a long, long time didn’t cover up your freckles with makeup. all you did was curling your eyelashes and put on some mascara. alessia once again looked at you with the biggest and proudest smile as well as heart eyes. oh, that girl was head over heels for you.

“you’re so beautiful, my girl.” alessia said with a grin.

when you 20 minutes later arrived at leah’s house and went to knock on the door, it was instantly opened by a not super happy looking leah.

“how dare you not put as number 1 and not even number 2, but 3 on your list, miss?” she said while giving you a stern look, but you could hear the teasing in her voice.

“told you…” alessia whispered in your ear lowly, with a laugh. “i’ll leave the two of you to figure this out.” she continued and walked into great the rest of the team.

“well hello to you too leah…” you laughed. “i guess i just don’t love you as much as less.”

“okay that’s fair BUT YOU PUT FRIDA OVER ME??” leah shouted.

“well, if it makes you feel any better, i almost put frida above lessi. but then i wouldn’t have had a place to sleep in.” you laughed.

after some back and forth you finally settled on a fair ranking where, spoilers, leah ended up as your number 1. then leah finally let you into her house and let you in with a happy smile over a face so you could greet the other arsenal players there.

the night was amazing, just what you needed. you felt safe around alessia and her teammates and you didn’t feel like you were in the way and disturbing them. they made you laugh all the time, and now the crinkles by your eyes didn’t bother you anymore.

even if alessia’s mission was accomplished, she didn’t stop reminding you how much she loved you. everything about you. that the little things you were subconscious about, made you to the amazing person that you were and the person alessia loved so much.

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petersnya · 4 months ago

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Blue jeans | Benny Cross

Pairing. Benny Cross x afab!reader

Prompt. ‘Told you when we met what you were in for.’

Warnings. Slight spoilers if you haven’t seen the movie yet!, angst (like a lot) cause that mane Benny needs a hug fr, language (cussing), one mention of character death, smoking cigarettes anddddd I think that’s it

Note. Tried to write the dialogue the best way I could to go along with the movie and how they talk in Chicago but I most likely didn’t do as well as I think I did cause I’m from Mississippi (yeah country asf living in the southern belt) and sometimes you can see it in my writing lmao. Got the inspo to write this form the song blue jeans cause it’s LITERALLY about him you can’t tell me otherwise. Also, Kathy is the star of this movie I swear. Anywho enjoy 😇

Wc. 3.2k+ (gah damn)

None of this was your speed. The grown men crowded around the bar from the front doors to the back wall, all huddled into groups like they were planning something. Earrings hanging out some of their ears while others had their belly buttons showing - the coils of chest hair damp with sweat as visible as ever, but it was obvious that they couldn’t care less. From the moment you opened the door, clouds of cigarette smoke that outweighed the amount of oxygen there was puffed into your face. It swirled around so much that you could see it in the air. And the way they spoke - you couldn’t believe your ears. It was all ‘F’ this and ‘F’ that so much that it could drive a person up the wall or make their ears bleed.

Oh, these guys were animals. But they all had one thing in common— the jacket they wore.

Walking in, you kept your head down as you shoved past all the bozos that made it almost impossible to get to the table your aunt was waving you over from, so you didn’t get a good look at them. You didn’t want to get a good look at them; by first glance, you’d seen enough.

It was obvious that you didn’t fit in with a single person in that bar. Hands gripped at your hips as you passed through the crowd - a blatant look of almost disgust and fear on your face. When you sat down, a shaky breath escaped your lips as you scanned the bar, wide eyed, like a deer in headlights. You could hear your aunt telling you to calm down— that these guys just wanted to have a little fun.

No matter how bad you didn’t want to stare, you couldn’t help it. Gaze locked on the back of one of the guys' jackets, you could see the patches that littered it with all kinds of words and symbols; but on the back, there was a skull with big white letters above it—

“Vandals— the hell you got me in here with these guys for?” you said in a low voice like you were afraid one of them might hear you.

“Whatever, niece, these guys ain’t all that bad.”

“I don’t even know what a Vandal is,” the look on her face told you that she didn’t either. Of course you knew about these ‘motorcycle clubs’ that keep popping up all over the midwest, but you never put a second thought to it. They were a bunch of guys that had too much time on their hands— with that time, they sat around and talked about bikes all day while getting stoned and drunk.

It was obvious that they were, in fact, one of these clubs. The moment you pulled up to the bar, there were rows upon rows of motorcycles out front. That sight alone made you get back in your car and contemplate driving off. You didn't want anything to do with any club, that's why you had been so alert since you got there. Eyes darting around to try and keep an eye on all of the men that were in your view.

“And that's exactly what your problem is, niece, you're such a square.”

“I’m not a square… I’m just not stupid.” An audible scoff came from her at your words. You could see her get up from the table out of the corner of your eye as you continued to look around the bar. She’d said something about getting a drink before she left, but you couldn’t focus on her right then - too busy trying to hear what the group of guys huddled near your table were plotting. They had to have been plotting something, cause who just gets in a huddle with their arms around each other to ‘talk’? People who plot shit.

After waiting a little while for your aunt to return, you couldn’t take it anymore. Lord knows you didn't want to be in this place any way, let alone by yourself. You stood from your seat and tried to look around people who were in your way to see if you could see where she had gone. But you didn’t.

Letting out a heavy sigh, you sat back in your chair reluctantly with a scowl on your face. Arms folded across your chest, you tried to look as unapproachable as possible to everyone who passed by your table.

“What’s with the look?”

A deep, almost gravely voice came from beside you - where your aunt had been sitting before. It should have scared you, but it was soothing to hear. You turned towards the voice to be met with a tall, lean yet muscular man who stood before you. A few tattoos littered his arms from what the sleeveless shirt allowed you to see. Two chunky-ish rings blinged in the dim lighting above the table. His dirty blonde hair matches the bit of stubble on his face.

Staring, wide eyed at him, you couldn’t bring yourself to speak— or to blink. You had never seen a man like this a day in your life. He didn’t look like the rest of those animals in this bar. Hell, he looked better than any man outside this bar.

Swinging a chair around towards you, he sat close enough to where you could feel his breath fan against your face. The look in his eyes was amusing and expecting as he waited for you to answer his question. But you couldn’t. You just stared at him.

From the moment you saw him, in the best way possible— he made your eyes burn.

He chuckled lightly before licking his lips, resting his chin on his forearms. “I’m Benny.”

“Hi…” You said breathlessly. That same slick smile on his lips, he stood from his chair wordlessly, running his hand along the back of yours before walking away.

Your arms folded across your chest tightly as you waited to cross the street right outside the bar to get to your car. There were no other cars coming, but you were still waiting for the ‘walk’ signal. Crisp air blew harshly against your ears to the point where they hurt— but that was the last of your thoughts. Every other thought in your mind was clouded or disappeared. All of them were taken over by the thought of him. Of Benny.

He was unlike anything you’d ever seen. His image burned into your head: the black, sleeveless shirt that showed off his tattooed arms. Dark washed blue jeans. Blue eyes that looked as if they had everything to hide. Bruised hands that had two large rings, but his hands made them look small. Stubbled face. It was like James Dean. Everything about him was the opposite of you— a match made in heaven.

The bar door opened behind you, making you look over your shoulder. Benny walked out of the bar, hand digging out a cigarette and a lighter. You watched, unable to look away as he placed the cigarette between his lips, cupping his hand around it so the wind wouldn’t blow out the fire from the lighter. He stuffed the lighter into his Vandals jacket pocket, swinging his leg over his bike before kicking it as hard as he could. The engine roared loudly that it sounded like it would break down any minute. The sound of it made you jump, pulling you back to reality.

A blinking light flashed, telling you that you could walk across the street - but you stood there - arms still folded, eyes burning from your stare, lips chapped from the air.

Benny twisted the handle of his bike, looking over his shoulder at you wordlessly. Taking a long pull before blowing the smoke out slowly. The sight made your head fuzzy, it was beautiful.

The bar doors opened again and people came rushing out. Your heart skipped a beat at the sudden yelling and chanting. You had no clue what the hell they were on about, but when you looked back at Benny, you could see him scoot forward on his bike while looking at you with a crooked smile. Your steps were slow as you approached his bike, eventually reaching it and placing your hands on his shoulders gently.

Swinging your leg over and settling on the seat, you could feel Bennys hand cup around the back of your knee, moving you closer to him before he kicked at the bike again and took off through the red light.

Your cheek pressed against his shoulder, arms wrapped around his waist tightly. As many stop lights as he's run from the time you got onto that bike-- you should be terrified for your life. Your eyes shut tightly each time he sped between cars. Each time, you gripped onto him harder.

His same laugh from earlier reached your ears. “I got you. Don’t worry, dove, okay?”

Nodding against his shoulder, you opened your eyes to see that you were approaching the highway. A smile spread onto your lips softly at the sight of the open road. No one else in sight for miles.

Just you and Benny.

“Benny, where are you going?” Your voice was soft, words slightly mumbled from you biting nervously at your thumbnail as you watched Benny from the doorway, pulling on his Vandals jacket hurriedly.

“Gotta go meet Johnny.” His words were almost dismissive as he picked up his bike keys, shoving them in his pocket with his cigarettes. Of course. You knew that the club was Bennys family… Johnny was like his father. But the club isn't the same anymore. It’s not how it was when you met Benny. So much had changed in a year. You married Benny within weeks of meeting him. You became a part of his life— his riding, his loyalty to the club, his hospital visits, his fights, his lawyers and jail cells.

He moved in with you and everything you knew changed. It wasn’t that you didn’t want Benny in your house or a part of your life. You loved him with everything in you. Any time the phone would ring, your heart stopped, thinking something had happened to Benny… again. But now, you couldn’t imagine your life without him. He was all you cared for. But this fucking club.

You couldn't take it anymore.

It wasn’t so bad at first. Sure, you had to get used to the drinking and smoking and Benny being out till 4 in the morning almost every. Single. Night. But the club was like a second family now. Until Brucie died.

Benny didn’t seem to be phased by any of it though. Brucies death, the drug deals being ran all the way from Canada, the new members who challenged Johnny everyday of his life. Of course, you knew Benny was seeing what you were seeing. But he still stayed with the club. Even after all the messed up shit that had been happening that made you tell him that it was getting out of hand— he still defended it.

“Meet Johnny for what..?” your words were hesitant as you took a step into the door, eyes scanning over Benny. He avoided your gaze, something he's been doing a lot recently. Since you had met Benny, he always stares into your eyes as if he were searching them. He didn’t do that anymore.

“Don’t worry ‘bout it. I'll be back later tonight.”

“Benny.” You said his name. Louder this time. His Blue eyes reluctantly trailed up to yours, brows raising once to show you that he was listening. Shrugging your shoulders, you shook your head slowly. You couldn’t find the words you wanted to say. You wanted to say so fucking much. You were sick of this life— sick of worrying about where he is, if he's gotten caught up in something that you didn’t know how to get him out of.

He said your name in an almost hushed voice, gaining your attention.

Taking a shaky breath, your wide, tired eyes found him. “I don’t know how much more of this you can take, Benny.” He dropped his head, shaking it as a dry chuckle escaped his lips. “The hell are you goin’ on about, dove.”

Bennys’ voice always had so much power over you. His words and the way he used them had so much more. The way he called you dove. In the early days of the two of you, Benny told you that he called you dove cause you were too pure for him. Too different— perfect, almost. He said that you could fly away from him at any given moment, but you never did. That meant the world to him. Your loyalty to him reminded him of why he loved you so much: you’d never go anywhere, no matter what he did. No matter what happened.

“You’re gonna sit here and tell me what I can and can’t take?” He said as he propped himself up against the dresser behind him.

“No, Benny, that's not what I’m sayin’.” You stepped closer to him, arms still folded across your chest. “I’m sayin’... I can’t handle worrying about you every second of every day. I worry even when you're next to me cause everytime I look at you, I see how drained you look. I don’t like seeing that when I look at you— it hurts me”

Benny lifted his head to look into your eyes. Your eyes searched his relentlessly, trying to find something in them— but it was the same as it was when you met him. Like he was hiding the world behind those pretty blue eyes. “I’ll leave then.”

“What?” Your face dropped as your arms fell slack at your side. “Don’t do this right now.” Benny had a bad habit of every single time something went wrong, and you came to him with a pained look on your face, he would tell you that he would just leave so that you didn’t have to worry about him anymore. He said it so much that it made you think he just said it so that you would beg him not to. Of course, Benny would never be that cruel to you. He never said things to just hurt you. He meant what he said, the only reason he never followed through was because he would think of you.

“Then don’t- don’t come to me with this again. We’ve talked about this before.”

“Well, we need to talk about it again. I don’t want you in the club no more, and I mean that.” You had never been so direct with your request as you were being right now, always afraid of what he would say. Afraid he would choose the club over you.

“Don’t ask me that…” His voice was cold, but you could hear the bit of pain in his words. “You know I can’t do that.”

“Do you not remember how we were before the club started changing? Don’t you remember the night we met?” Tears pricked in the corners of your eyes as you stood close to him now. Before the Vandals went to shit, you and Benny seemed perfect. To everyone on the outside, they would say that your relationship was far from it, but you didn’t think that. You would go with Benny to every meeting, every ride, every picnic. You would lay on his chest and sit in complete silence while you watched whatever was on TV. He would take you for rides at all hours of the night. Speeding past every stop sign in sight as he whispered to you to hold onto him tight. To never let him go. When things began to get bad, but not as out of control as it was now, Benny tried to tell you that he wasn't good for you anymore; but it was too late now. You were too in love with him.

“I barely get to see you now. You go out every night doing God knows what with them, and you don't show up until the next night. But it didn’t matter to me cause I told you that no matter what, I'll be by your side.” The tears that you held onto for dear life eventually fell, rolling down your cheeks as you brought your hand to his face. You gently tilted his head to look at you— fingers rubbing his cheeks with all the care in the world. “I love you more than any of them ever could, Benny. I want a life with you, and we can't have that if you keep up with them.”

His eyes found yours as he silently looked at you. Bennys’ lip twitched so slightly that it almost went unnoticed. Bringing his thumb to your cheek, he wiped away a fresh tear that was falling from your eye at that very moment.

“Told you when we met what you were in for.”

His words cut you more than any knife could. Kissing your finger that was closest to his lips, he wrapped his hands around your wrist, he pulled them from his face gently. He stood fully, causing you to back away, looking at him with wide eyes and furrowed brows. You were scared. “Benny? Benny, what are you doing?” You said urgently.

He walked out of the room and down the small hallway, towards the front door. “I’ll be back, dove, I promise.”

“No- No, Benny! Benny, don’t you walk out that door—“ Your voice broke with sobs as you followed behind him, tugging at his shoulders and arms desperately. He could leave. You couldn’t let him leave. It didn’t matter if he said he’d be back-- that could be days later. Weeks, maybe months. You didn’t even want to think of the possibility of years. “Please, please don’t leave… I swear Benny if you walk out that door.”

He paused for a moment, standing in the open doorway. You stood behind him, close enough to where he could hear you choking back your cries. Benny hated himself for making you worry so much. He hated himself for making you cry. You were his girl, his wife, his dove. He never wanted to hurt you.

Wordlessly, he stepped out of the door, slamming it behind him before quickly going down the steps of your front porch. Getting out the keys for his bike, he sat on the tearing leather seat quickly as he kicked at it when the key was in the ignition. He sped down the road, through all the stop signs.

You wanted to scream after him, but you didn’t. Instead, you locked the door and rested your forehead against it as it pounded from your sobs. No matter how many times Benny leaves, how many times you cry over him or for him, your feelings for him will never change. You would always wait for him to come back to you.

Your loyalty belongs to him. Your love belongs to him. You belong to him.

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steddieas-shegoes · 7 months ago

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never gonna give you up

for @steddiemicrofic "fake" prompt that needed to include the words: and, around, desert, down, give, gonna, let, never, run, up, you

1987 words | rated e | no cw | tags: modern au, flirting, bisexual steve harrington, handjobs, some platonic stobin, ridiculous and unserious

😎😎😎😎😎😎😎😎😎😎😎😎😎

"This might be the first time someone's deserted me in the middle of a date," Steve said into the phone.

"You aren't counting that one time Sarah left during the movie?" Robin asked.

"She had a family emergency!" Steve exclaimed.

"Right, and I'm definitely going on a date with a dude later."

"You're saying she didn't have a family emergency?"

Steve remembered that date, remembered how she'd even had tears in her eyes when she said her mom called and she had to run home.

"You're gonna unpack that all night, aren't you?" Robin sighed on the other end. "Steve, just go home. Take a week off from trying to get into some poor woman's pants. Leave some of them for me to get into. I beg you."

"What makes you think they'd come running to you?" Steve looked over at a guy standing at the counter of the diner, clearly trying to pick up his order. From the back, he seemed tall, but that could be the black skinny jeans and boots combo.

"Let me talk to them for one minute and I'll have them convinced."

The guy turned as the woman behind the counter walked to the kitchen, his eyes settling on Steve talking on his cell phone at the table in the corner. It's not like there were many people here on a Monday night, nothing else to look at but Steve awkwardly sitting by himself with two glasses on the table.

The guy started to walk over, and Steve recognized him immediately.

"Gotta go, Robs."

"What? How are you done wallowing already?"

He hung up before she could continue, putting his phone face down on the table.

"Well, well, well. Never thought I'd see the day where Steve Harrington shows back up in Hawkins."

Eddie Munson didn't know shit about Steve, never really had. He thought he did, just like everyone else in high school, but the gossip that followed him around never had much truth to it. He really only had two girlfriends for most of high school, and only one of them was serious enough for him to sleep with.

The sleeping around came after his move to Chicago, when he was constantly surrounded by women who would give him all the attention he wanted.

"Never really thought I'd be back," he said with a genuine smile. Kill them with kindness or whatever his grandmother used to say.

It seemed to throw Eddie off at least, his mouth opening and closing around whatever rebuttal he planned.

"So why are you here? Visiting the parents?" Eddie crossed his arms, leaned his hip against the edge of the table.

"Nah, came to visit Dustin Henderson. Staying for a few more days and thought it would be nice to take someone out. I guess she didn't agree," Steve shrugged.

Eddie glanced down at the empty spot across from him, the glass on the table with half of the drink missing. He looked back at Steve's face.

He sat down across from him and smirked.

"So. Come here often, sunshine?"

Steve snorted, shaking his head as he looked up at Eddie.

"Not as often as I would if I was coming to see you," Steve replied, taking a sip of his drink.

Eddie clearly wasn't expecting him to flirt back. He recovered quickly, though.

"I suppose we could fix that, then, huh?"

Steve looked him up and down, taking in the messy bun his curly hair was pulled into, the pen mark on his cheek, tattoos up and down his arm.

"I suppose we could."

Waking up in Eddie Munson's bed was definitely not what he expected when he arrived in Hawkins two days ago, but stranger things had happened.

He opened his eyes to sunlight streaming in through the curtains and Eddie's warm body pressed against his back.

Neither of them had gotten dressed after their shower last night, too tired to do anything more than rinse off the sweat and cum from hours of making each other come undone.

Steve let himself have this. Eddie would kick him out when he woke up, kindly of course, but he'd make it clear to Steve that this was a one night thing. No matter how good it was, Steve wasn't an idiot. He knew Eddie would never actually be interested in a guy like him.

"Mmm. Stop thinkin' s' loud," Eddie's lips brushed against the back of Steve's neck in a half-kiss, sending a shiver down his spine. "'s too early."

Steve smiled to himself, let Eddie's arms tighten around him and hold him close for a bit longer.

"I should probably head back to the Henderson's. Claudia will be worried if I'm not there for lunch," Steve said quietly.

"Just text Dustin, tell him your date went well."

Steve shouldn't get his hopes up. It's not like he was gonna do long distance, and even if he would be willing, there was no way Eddie would.

"I can't lie to him," Steve felt his heart flip flop in his chest at the admission.

Eddie's head lifted and his breath hit the side of Steve's face instead of his shoulder. "Did it not go well? I thought it- well, I thought it went great, actually."

Steve turned in Eddie's arms, facing him, placing his hands on his chest. "It did go well! It did."

"Okay, then…"

"It's just this wasn't exactly a date, was it? You just felt bad for me, probably wanted to see if the rumors were true."

"What rumors?"

"You know. The ones about me sleeping around, being good with my mouth." Steve's eyes searched Eddie's, looking for any hint of recognition. When none came, he continued. "How I let anyone fuck me on the first date?"

Eddie's brows furrowed. "Is that what people say about you?"

"You don't have to act dumb, Eddie. Some of it's true."

Eddie's hands were rubbing up and down his back, making goosebumps appear on his skin. "You are good with your mouth. That one’s true. The rest though? I never believed any of that shit.”

“Really? Why not?”

Eddie’s hand traced along Steve’s only tattoo, a robin placed just under his collarbone. “Because I never gave much thought to rumors. Lord knows most of the ones about me weren’t true.”

Steve thought about all the rumors he’d heard about Eddie in high school.

Back then, he may have believed some of them, but he had firsthand experience with things getting out of hand.

“You can think what you want, but I brought you back here because I genuinely enjoyed talking to you at the diner. I wouldn’t have slept with you if I wanted to get rid of you. Trust me. I’m not really a one and done guy,” Eddie’s hand cupped his cheek, thumb rubbing along his cheekbone. “If you’re in a rush to go, I can’t stop you. But I think staying in bed with you all morning sounds pretty fuckin’ good.”

Steve’s breath hitched, his heart kicked up in his chest. “You know, I’ve actually never bottomed before last night.”

Eddie’s eyes widened. “Seriously? Never?”

Steve shook his head. “Never found anyone I could trust to be gentle.”

“Was I gentle enough? Shit, you should’ve told me. I used spit as lube, Steve! That couldn’t have been comfortable.” Eddie pulled away a few inches, mumbling to himself in a panic.

“Eddie.” Steve tried to get his attention back on him. “Eds.”

Steve shifted forward, his front pressing against Eddie’s, his half-hard cock finding friction against Eddie’s thigh.

They both groaned as Steve rocked against him again.

“Everything was perfect, Eds. Only thing that would make it better is if I get to watch you come again right now," Steve said against his lips, pushing his hips forward so their cocks brushed against each other.

"Fuck, keep doing that and you'll get your wish, sweetheart."

He was sensitive, worked up from the hot breath against his mouth, the tongue brushing against his bottom lip. Steve couldn't remember the last time he'd been this wrapped up in someone, this attentive to the sounds they made, this focused on making sure they both felt good.

The friction was enough on its own to get Steve to the edge, and if Eddie's moans were anything to go off of, he was right there with him.

Steve never felt safe enough to be loud, not until he had Eddie begging him to make noise.

"C'mon, Stevie. Wanna hear how good you feel. Sounds so good when you can't hold it back," Eddie's hand gripped his hip, tugging him closer. They were both leaking precum, dripping down each other's lengths and losing track of where one of them ended and the other began.

Steve couldn't hold it back, didn't want to anyway. Letting Eddie hear how good he felt was a need.

"You gonna come with me, sweetheart?" Eddie gasped out as he wrapped his hand around both of them, slowing his hips to focus on moving his hand, finding the perfect angle and pace to get them both over the edge.

Steve bit his lip and nodded, barely holding back a whimper as Eddie's grip tightened around them.

"Come for me, Stevie."

Eddie's voice had a direct link to Steve's cock, maybe through the hand wrapped around him. Steve came with a shout, curling forward so his forehead fell against Eddie's shoulder.

He was overstimulated, fighting the urge to buck into his hand and pull away at the same time.

Steve pulled his head back to watch as Eddie groaned, cum hitting both of their stomachs as he worked himself through his orgasm.

They both lay there in silence, Eddie's grip loose around them as they both softened. They'd need to clean up before the cum dried in Steve's chest hairs and made them sticky, but moving seemed like an impossible task.

"You live in Chicago now?" Eddie asked suddenly, making Steve jump. He rubbed his cleaner hand on his back in silent apology.

"Yeah," Steve breathed out. "With Robin Buckley. From band?"

"I know Robin. She used to come to my shows before she moved."

"Small world."

Eddie snorted. "Just Hawkins." Eddie sat up, pulling Steve with him. "You know, the guys in my band have been considering moving to Chicago. Think it's a good place for a metal band?"

Steve searched his face for any clues as to what he was really asking. Certainly he didn't expect Steve to know if a metal band would feel at home somewhere.

"I…guess?" Steve answered.

"I'll just text Robin," Eddie wiped his hand on the sheets and reached over to the bedside table to grab his phone.

"Wait. You keep in touch with Robin?" Steve felt like he was being pranked.

"Not as much as I should, but yeah. We caught up last time she visited her parents." Eddie typed on his phone for a moment, then looked up at Steve with a smirk. "Problem with that?"

"No, I'm just kinda shocked she's never really mentioned it." Steve stood up with shaking legs. "I should probably grab a shower and go."

"You normally a runner?" Eddie asked, amused.

"No? Why do you ask?"

"It's just the second time you've been rushing to leave. Thought I told you I wanted you here."

Steve knew what he wanted, and he knew it was too much, too fast, too ridiculous for Eddie to even consider it.

But maybe, if he played his cards right, maybe he could have Eddie for more than today.

"Shower with me?" Steve settled on, pouting his bottom lip out.

"And then?" Eddie pushed.

Steve didn't know what to do, but he knew what he wanted.

"And then we'll go back to the diner and actually eat something together." Eddie nodded, encouraging him to continue. "And then you give me your number."

"For?"

"Planning our next date."

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #steddiemicrofic #steddiemicroficapril #fake prompt #but i encourage everyone to be ridiculous with me

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hotvintagepoll · 8 months ago

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Propaganda

Mabel Normand (Mabel at the Wheel, Mabel's Blunder)—One of the best slapstick comedians of the silent era (who you've probably never heard of)! She wrote! She directed, in fact, she was Charlie Chaplin's first director! And of course she acted!

Theda Bara (Cleopatra)—One of cinema's first female sex symbols. Nicknamed "The Vamp" due to her looks. The OG Goth Girl. She would be HUGE on Tumblr if she were around today!

This is round 1 of the bracket. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. Please reblog with further support of your beloved hot sexy vintage woman.

[additional propaganda submitted under the cut.]

Mabel Normand:

can never let mabel normand go by without mentioning mack & mabel, a deeply flawed musical with a beautiful score about her and mack sennett. (find a good cover of 'i won't send roses' and cry a little.) also, according to wikipedia mabel was the first film star to receive a pie thrown in the face!

Theda Bara:

She was simply nicknamed "The Vamp". Her sex appeal and typecasting was so intense that people actually thought that she lounged around half-nacked and seduced men left and right in her free time.

She is one of the most famous and enduring faces in silent film and yet only 6 of her 43 films survived the 1937 Fox Vault Fire! 6! Think about what we could have had!

She's the original Vamp and first film sex symbol! She said: “The vampire that I play is the vengeance of my sex upon its exploiters. You see, I have the face of a vampire, but the heart of a feministe.” Many of her films were banned or severely cut by state and city censorship boards due to her revealing costumes and suggestive acting. She even sued the Chicago Funkhouser censorship board to let her film Cleopatra be shown in theaters. Riots broke out in theaters during showings of her film Kathleen Mavourneen. In contrast to her film persona, her private life was pretty quiet. She grew up in Cincinnati as Theodosia "Theda" Goodman, the Jewish daughter of immigrants, and had one happy marriage that lasted 30+ years until she died at age 69.

*Theeee* celluloid blueprint for both goth chicks and sexually-manipulative women--her persona was that of a "vampire", in the sense that would eventually be shortened into "vamp", although in truth she blended both definitions beautifully. Alas, the prints of most of her back-catalogue were lost to a studio fire in 1937, but enough survives to clearly demonstrate the fantasy of enticing danger that she was so kind as to serve us.

my favorite goth icon i want her gender

#theda bara #mabel normand #hotvintagepoll #fuck that old woman #ladies 1

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allergictocolor · 6 months ago

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The Addams Family Through the Years

Before I get into character profiles, let me first do a run-through of the incarnations of the Addams family through the years.

As I wrote in my first post, Charles Addams created the nameless, bizarre family in some of the many comics he drew for The New Yorker starting in 1938. Morticia and Wednesday were named in 1962 when dolls of them were released. Charles Addams was asked for a list of names and descriptions for them and the other family members when the TV show was in development in 1963, but had little other involvement with the show.

The show ran for two seasons from 1964 to 1966, totalling 64 episodes. This was the same time that a similar show, The Munsters, was also on the air. Both shows were about wacky families of monstrous weirdos living in American suburbia. Both were in black and white, and both were canceled in 1966, possibly due to the rise of color television.

After a cross-over with Scooby-Doo, Hanna-Barbera produced a 16-episode animated series in 1973 which featured the family on a road trip in a creepy camper that looked like their mansion. It featured the same actors who played Lurch and Fester voicing their previous characters, and a 10-year-old Jodie Foster as the voice of Pugsley!

There was a reunion special in 1977, which reunited most of the cast of the show, called Halloween with the New Addams Family. The original show had remained popular, running in syndication for years. It was especially popular in Australia. According to one fan, this was because the Addams family was “less American” than the Munsters.

In 1991, a feature film was released after a tumultuous production. Raul Julia became the new face of Gomez Addams in the popular consciousness. It was followed by a sequel called Addams Family Values in 1993, and in between there was another animated series. John Astin reprised his role as Gomez in that animated series.

There were plans to continue the film series, but Raul Julia suffered from stomach cancer and died suddenly in 1994, canceling those plans. Although both films performed poorly at the box office, they gained a loyal following on home video and remain popular to this day. In 1992, an Addams family pinball machine was produced featuring original voice acting from Raul Julia as Gomez and Angelica Huston as Morticia. It became the most popular pinball machine of all time, selling over 20,000 units.

In 1998, a TV movie called Addams Family Reunion was produced by Saban, featuring Tim Curry as Gomez and Daryl Hannah as Morticia. The only returning actors from the 1991/93 movies were Carel Struycken and Christopher Hart's hand, who played Lurch and Thing, respectively. I have not seen it, and can not attest to its quality, or lack thereof. That movie was also meant to be the pilot for a TV show called The New Addams Family, but most of the cast was different. It ran for 65 episodes, none of which have I seen. (Hat tip to @tenthirtyone for pointing this out.)

After a try-out in Chicago, a musical debuted on Broadway in 2010. I was lucky enough to see that for my birthday that year. It starred Nathan Lane as Gomez and Bebe Neuwirth as Morticia. It was pretty entertaining. It would have been better if Lane wasn’t trying to be Raul Julia. He did a very fake Spanish accent, and it was terribly distracting. The musical was panned by critics and didn’t last long, but it was popular enough that it is now performed by high schools across the country. In fact, my friend Sarah and my cousin Charlie were both involved with different productions of it this past Spring.

That same year (2010), the rights were purchased by Illumination Entertainment, and they announced that they were going to produce a stop-motion film with Tim Burton. However, he decided to go with computer animation instead. That eventually turned into the 2019 film, after Tim Burton dropped out. This version was the closest in appearance to the original comics. Although the characters are rendered in 3D, the animators aimed to make them look as much like Charles Addams’ drawings as possible.

You’d think Tim Burton had been involved since at least the 1991 movie, but he hadn’t. Black and white stripes? Bats? Other goth things? That sounds like Tim Burton, but oddly enough, he actually hasn’t been attached to any Addams Family property until the Netflix show in 2022. It’s a natural pairing, and perhaps he would have been great friends with Charles Addams, had he been born several decades earlier.

Now the Netflix show, centered on Wednesday, is in production for its second season after its first season was one of the streaming service's most popular shows to date. It's not the first time the Addams family has spawned a viral dance sensation. Way back in the 1960s, the original TV show started a dance craze called “the Lurch”.

In coming posts, I’ll go into how Charles Addams originally portrayed each of the nine characters in the Addams family pictured above (Gomez, Morticia, Pugsley, Wednesday, Fester, Grandmama, Lurch, Thing, and Cousin Itt) and how they evolved, or didn’t, over time.

#the addams family #charles addams #long post

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megalony · 10 months ago

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Communication Error

This is an Evan Buckley imagine, requested by anon, I hope you will all like it I had a lot of fun writing this one.

Taglist: @lunaticspoem@sj-thefanthefan@hellsdragon@im-an-adult-ish@crazylittlethingg@allauraleigh@onceuponadetectivedemigod@ceres27@avyannadawn@noonenuts@sleepylunarwolf@coverupps@justagirlthatlovedtoread @musicistheway @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @luula @missdreamofendless @bradleybeachbabe @woderfulkawaii @topguncultleader @amberpanda99 @daggersquadphantom @marvel-and-chicago-fan @angryknightstatesmantrash @minjix @lyjen @kmc1989

911 Masterlist

Summary: When the 118 are called out to a crash scene, there is a bit of a communication problem that only Evan can solve. He's the only one who knows sign language. And the victim.

Enjoy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Running a hand through his hair, Evan let his head flop back on the pillow and a quiet groan tumbled past his lips when he noticed the time. He had to get ready for work. Not that he wanted to go in today. Evan loved his job, it was rewarding and demanding and every day was different and brought about new experiences, some of which he would rather forget at times.

But he didn't feel like going in today, he wanted to stay home. With (Y/n).

His tired, dreary eyes locked on the tv that was playing quietly in the background. Evan used to have the tv turned up on high volume, his hyper tendencies and short attention span made it hard for him to concentrate when he watched a tv show or a movie. The volume had to be loud so he could understand what people were saying and process their words.

Ever since he and (Y/n) moved in together, Evan's problem with loud volume was solved. (Y/n) needed the subtitles on whenever they watched something and at first it was hard for Evan to concentrate on watching tv and read the titles at the same time. But he found it helped him immensely. Even when (Y/n) wasn't home, Evan still kept the subtitles on and he found himself squinting angrily at the tv in the station when he had no words to process and had to use his ears for a change.

With a deep breath, Evan pushed himself up off the bed and slowly made his way towards the bathroom. He tried to shake the tiredness out of his system and liven himself up, he only had an hour before he needed to be at the station and he couldn't drive there half asleep like this.

When he walked into the bathroom, a tender smile curved on his lips that pressed together tightly when an idea popped into his head.

(Y/n) being unable to hear anything meant Evan never had a problem sneaking up on her. She prided herself on being unphased by most things until she married Evan and he found all sorts of ways to shock her and give her jump scares.

He shut the bathroom door behind him and gingerly approached the shower, taking a second to tilt his head to the side and admire the view his wife was unknowingly giving him.

He shrugged off his lounge shirt and shorts, kicking his bottoms off along with them before he tried his best to open the shower door slowly so (Y/n) wouldn't notice the sudden change in temperature. Steam curled around Evan's face and clung to his hair, turning it damp before he put one foot under the water.

Evan's tongue got caught between his teeth and his lips spread into a smirk as he hunkered down, stretched his arms out and suddenly clamped his hands down on (Y/n)'s hips.

(Y/n)'s arms coiled into her chest and a small scream mixed with a gasp tumbled past her lips when familiar fingertips dug into her hips and she was sent off balance. Her heart thumped away in her chest sending her vision blurry when she snapped her eyes open while her knees bent and gave way.

She could feel Evan laughing. She didn't have to look at him to know; his chest always shuddered and trembled, vibrating back and forth when he laughed. And (Y/n) could feel his broad chest pressing up into her back as his hands moved to bind around her waist to prevent her from falling down. Her feet skidded against the puddle of water pooling around the drain and she braced one hand on the surprisingly cold tiled wall while her other hand clamped down on Evan's forearm.

She let her eyes fall closed again so he couldn't see her rolling them at him while she tried to catch her breath.

She had been lost in thought until he snook his way in. Usually (Y/n) was able to sense Evan, but sometimes he went into stealth mode and she didn't feel him coming up behind her like this.

Evan was sure he heard her mumble his name and it only made him grin as he pulled her up so she was back on her feet again. He felt the shower door bump into his shoulders as it closed behind him and he walked (Y/n) forward a foot or two so he wasn't in danger of pushing the door back open and falling out.

He couldn't stop himself from grinning when he tucked his face into (Y/n)'s neck and pressed his lips against her skin. With his head tilted down, he could feel the water trickling through his curls, flattening his hair down against his temple. The water traced down the bridge of his nose and trickled down onto (Y/n)'s collar bone causing her to shudder against him.

With pursed lips, (Y/n) moved her hands in front of her, kept her palms open and moved her hands back and forth over her chest but the word she signed only made Evan smile. Scary. He had managed to scare her.

He grinned into her skin and bit down on her neck to make her shiver just as (Y/n) grabbed one of his hands and moved his palm to rest over her chest so he could feel her heartbeat. He had given her a fright just like he intended and he could feel her pulse. Her heart was thrashing away in her chest causing her skin to vibrate with each beat.

"Hi sweetheart," Evan leaned his cheek onto (Y/n)'s shoulder so she could see his lips moving. She wasn't the best at reading lips, especially not right now when water was cascading down around them, distorting the way his lips moved and blurring her vision of him.

So Evan curled his arms tighter around her and pressed his hands into fists so he could place them over (Y/n)'s chest. She looked down to where his hands were on her chest with his knuckles touching and when Evan started to curl his thumbs up and down like he was giving a thumbs up, (Y/n) leaned over to kiss his cheek.

It was the sign for sweetheart.

(Y/n) looked down when she felt Evan's hands move down from her chest so his arms were back to squeezing into her waist but this time, he placed his hands down to cradle her stomach. His thumb brushed up and down her skin against the water cascading down around them and (Y/n) took a sharp breath when he suddenly bit down on her neck like a vampire.

(Y/n) turned her head and nuzzled her nose against Evan's damp hair that turned a few shades darker when wet. Her hands moved to grip his wrists and she started to brush her thumbs across his skin in a slow, soothing motion. The movement made Evan smile against her skin that he was still kissing and nipping at like he was doing his best to create bruises all along her neck.

She knew what he was doing. He had his hands on her stomach because he was desperate to feel the baby move and now they were five months along, they should start to feel movements soon.

Despite Evan's eagerness, (Y/n) was the one who was silently yearning to feel the baby move. She couldn't hear the heartbeat when they went to their appointments. Evan got to sit and listen to their baby's heartbeat and know what that sounded and felt like. He got that experience whereas (Y/n) was reduced to watching the monitor, scrutinising it to see that heart beating away, forever silent in her ears.

Feeling the baby move would prove to (Y/n) that the baby was okay and actually real. Her bump didn't give her that comfort like she dreamed feeling the movement would.

Taking care to be slow, (Y/n) turned around in his arms so she was facing him and dragged her fingertips up his biceps and over his shoulders until she could cup the back of his neck. Her thumbs smoothed across the side of his jaw but she gasped as Evan's hands dug into her hips and he moved her back until she was pressed against the tiles.

They were like ice cubes sticking to her burning skin and the mix of hot and cold made her shake until Evan tilted his head down so their foreheads were pressed together. Most of the water from the shower trickled down the back of Evan's neck but the leftover droplets fell down his forehead and jumped onto (Y/n)'s skin.

It felt comforting to have Evan's arms around her, one secured around her waist and the other wormed around her shoulders and his hand wedged between her and the wall to cup the back of her neck. She could feel his fingers scratching into her skin and she let her head drop back against the tiles so she could look up at him.

She liked the way the water dripped down from his pale pink lips and jumped free from his chin. Each droplet made (Y/n)'s chest tighten until she pushed her hands against his neck and pulled him down to her level. Her fingertips stayed pressed into his skin as she connected his lips down to hers. She sucked his lower lip between her teeth and gave a little bite until Evan's chest vibrated and he meshed her into him.

Evan's head tilted down to the left and his eyes intently focused on his wife's hand as she pointed at him before curling her fingers until only her index finger and thumb were sticking up. She bent her index finger and tilted her hand up and down towards him.

She was asking if he was going to be late.

When he looked up at her, he could see she was muttering 'will you be late' under her breath and he could barely make out her voice. It didn't matter how many times Evan told her she could speak around him, she preferred to sign. (Y/n) couldn't hear her voice, she couldn't tell if she was pronouncing her words correctly or if she was whispering or talking too loudly.

But when she was particularly animated, she would speak as well as sign, but only around Evan. It made him feel special that he was the only one to hear her voice.

"I've got time," His voice was deeper than before and his eyes were hooded and each drop of water that fell from his lashes tried to distract (Y/n) from watching the way his lips moved. She could lip read well enough when up close and personal like this.

A soft smile formed on (Y/n)'s lips when she felt Evan's hand move from the back of her neck to reach down and grip the underside of her thigh. He looked her leg over his hip and pulled her closer until he was stood in between her thighs, smirking down at her because he knew she wouldn't object, whether he was going to be late or not.

With one hand still gripping (Y/n)'s thigh, Evan tilted his head down to look at his wife while he moved his left hand up. He hovered his hand over his face, going from his forehead to his chin in a circular motion before he pressed his index finger against his cheek and made a line down to his chin.

His sign made (Y/n)'s lips press together to hide her grin before she pushed up to kiss him.

'Pretty girl.'

***

"LAFD. Miss, I'm here to help you, are you okay?" A tender smile flooded Bobby's face as he yanked the passenger door open and wedged himself into the seat.

His eyes raked over the woman sat in the driver's seat, noticing that she was thankfully the only one in the car and she was awake, alert and responsive. She had very piercing eyes that took Bobby off guard as he watched her drag her gaze all over him like she was petrified some random stranger had just decided to climb into her car after she'd had an accident.

Terror ransacked (Y/n)'s body when she stared at the older man who sat down next to her. Something about his expression made her feel safe, his presence was calming and the florescent jacket was the same one (Y/n) knew her husband wore. He was part of the emergency service, someone safe who was here to help get her out.

One minute (Y/n) was on her way to Maddie's house to see her sister in law, the next, a car tried to overtake her on a single road and ended up crashing into a car coming from the other direction.

(Y/n), along with four other cars, collided when they all tried to break and swerve out the way. And (Y/n) was relieved other people were around to call for help. She had never had to call 911 before and she couldn't remember how to use the texting system that was in place for deaf callers. Maddie had been meaning to go through it with her for an emergency but they never got round to it.

"Can you tell me your name?"

(Y/n) dragged her eyes up from the man's jacket to look at his face but she couldn't work out what he had said. Confusion had to be clearly written across her face because he repeated himself, but it didn't sink in. Her body was shaking, her nerves were going haywire and the adrenaline made it hard to focus on one thing in particular. She couldn't see what he was saying.

Heat prickled along the back of (Y/n)'s neck and flooded her skin up to her wrists. Blood didn't seem to want to circulate through to her hands that were numb and on fire from panic. When she started to get anxious, she lost the feeling in her hands and they went cold and numb, blood went to the vital organs and forgot about her hands and feet.

Coiling her arms up to her chest, (Y/n) pressed her palms forcefully against the sides of her neck and scratched her nails into the skin at the base of her head.

She could feel each ragged breath that bubbled past her lips. She could smell the petrol, oil and burnt embers floating through the air, rolling into the car along with smoke that had been building up gradually since the moment they all crashed. And (Y/n) could feel her body trembling back and forth in the seat that felt cold against her unusually heated skin.

The man's hand on her shoulder brought her back to reality and she jerked away from him. Her body stayed facing the steering wheel and her elbows dug into her waist until her sides started to hurt. But (Y/n) forced herself to look back at the stranger. She had to communicate with him somehow.

(Y/n) swiped her eyes along her arm to try and clear her eyes and she unhooked one hand from the back of her neck so she could move her shirt. She rolled it up until the end of her shirt was tucked up against the bottom of her bra and her stomach was exposed.

"You're pregnant," Bobby needed assistance here. This girl was going into shock, she wasn't speaking or acknowledging him and she was starting to go into a panic attack. He wasn't getting through to her. "How far along?"

He tried again and kept motioning towards her stomach. He had the right mind to reach out and try to assess her abdomen in case she had sustained any hernia or movement with the baby but he didn't want to touch her when she seemed very unsettled and panicked.

"Five months?" Bobby watched the girl hold out her trembling hand and wave her hand at him and she seemed to nod when he spoke this time. "Can I assess you, what's your name?" He motioned both his hands out towards her but she started to shake her head as tears flushed her face and she began to sob.

With her right hand, (Y/n) pressed her fingers together in a straight line and stuck her thumb up before she looked at the man and started to rub her hand across her chest. Then she curled her fingers into a fist, kept her thumb stuck up and bashed her fist down into her left hand.

'Please help me.'

(Y/n) repeated the action again and then a third time until the man realised she wasn't having chest pains, she was using sign language with him.

She was deaf. Realisation and anger dawned on Bobby. He had wasted time trying to wait for shock to wear off when shock wasn't the problem, communication was.

"Buck?" He leaned towards the open door and grabbed the radio on his jacket.

"Yeah Cap?"

"You know sign language, right?" Bobby tried to think back to the Christmas party a few months ago at the station. Someone had come in to drop gifts off but the old lady only knew sign language and she was over the moon when Evan turned up and started to converse with her. Bobby could use those skills right now.

"Yeah…" Evan didn't like where this was going.

"I need you to come down to the dark green Ford and act as a translator for me. I have a young woman here using sign language and I don't know what she's trying to tell me. Hen, come down for medical assistance too please."

It was one of the few things Bobby was starting to scold himself for. He needed to learn some basic sign language because there were more and more people out in the community who they cared for and Bobby couldn't communicate with them. At least someone on the team had some basic knowledge.

"No, oh no. Please don't be (Y/n)," Evan tilted his head back and closed his eyes, praying to anyone that would listen.

That had to be a coincidence. It had to be circumstantial that there was a deaf woman, driving the same car as his wife, now caught up in a road accident. It had to be someone else. Evan tried not to calculate the odds in his head because deep down, he knew the chances of it being a stranger were very slim.

Evan passed the wrench in his hand over to Eddie before he made off in a jog down the side of the road, doing his best to be quick but safe so he didn't slide down into the ditch beside them.

He could feel his heart dropping down to his gut like a stone when he locked eyes on the number plate.

That was his wife's car.

"Fuck!" Evan ripped his florescent jacket off and tossed it on the floor behind the car, suddenly overcome with heat and panic all at once.

He barely looked at Bobby who eased out of the car, about to smile until he saw Evan's petrified expression. Ducking down, Evan clambered into the car and slumped down into the passenger seat, leaning across the gear stick to reach out for his wife.

"Sweetheart, sweetheart it's me. I'm here, you're okay."

Shockwaves rattled through (Y/n) and sent her shaking in her seat when a pair of familiar hands suddenly cupped her face and tilted her head to the left. Her lips parted and a shuddering breath tremored through her teeth when her eyes locked on Evan. Tears were already welling up in his eyes and his face was starting to turn a dark shade of red (Y/n) wasn't used to. He leaned over until his elbow was pressed into her arm and their foreheads were touching. But when he traced his thumb across her lower lip, a small cry left her lips.

He was here. Evan was on scene. Someone she loved and trusted was here with her. She didn't have to sit here alone, petrified, and wait for someone to come over who would be able to communicate with her. Who better to sit and translate for her than her own husband?

He tilted her head down and pressed his lips longingly to her forehead, taking a second to breathe in her scent and relish in her touch before he gently let go and trailed his eyes up and down her frame.

"Cap, Buck, what have we got?" Hen rounded the other side of the car and worked on wedging the driver's side door open so she could bend down at (Y/n)'s side.

Evan pointed his index finger at (Y/n) before he held his right hand palm- upwards and kept his fingers on his left hand straight as he waved his left hand over his palm as if he was pretending to cut something. 'Are you alright?'

"Her name's (Y/n)… she said she's in pain with her leg," Evan rested his left hand on (Y/n)'s knee for a moment or two and moved his other hand to cup the back of her neck. He reeled her into his chest and kissed the side of her head until (Y/n) grabbed his bicep to gain his attention and her hands started to move.

Hen wasn't used to seeing someone perform sign language but she could tell (Y/n)'s shaking was affecting her ability. She was flexing her fingers to stop them trembling and try to keep herself under control. But Hen didn't like the way Evan's expression started to change and morph into something worried and unsettling.

"Fuck, the airbag didn't activate, she's hit her stomach on the steering wheel and she's five months pregnant."

"I'll check them both over, see if she's okay to transport," Hen rummaged through her bag for her blood pressure kit but she kept darting her eyes back to Evan. Watching the way he leaned over the girl next to him so he could look down at Hen and see what she was doing. He wasn't usually this anxious. "Do you two know each other?" She muttered quietly.

"She's my wife."

Evan dragged his hand down his face and rubbed at his jaw before he dared look back down at Hen. This wasn't how he wanted them all to meet. He didn't want the team seeing his wife in a state like this the first time they came to know her. He wanted to bring (Y/n) to the annual cookout they had at the station and show her the brighter side of the job. He wanted the circumstances to be calm and natural, not forced and in work mode.

"Oh."

"This is Hen," Evan spelled out her name and pointed down to Hen so (Y/n) had an idea of who was around her. And he fumbled for the letters to spell out Bobby and pointed behind him. He was forever talking about the team but he hadn't gotten around to showing (Y/n) any photos of the people he worked with.

Evan smiled reassuringly and mumbled 'blood pressure' whilst doing the sign he had recently learned for when they had their hospital appointments. They had worked all (Y/n)'s appointments around Evan's days off so she didn't have to worry about trying to lip read and use a pen and paper to talk to the midwife. Evan was always there to act as translator.

(Y/n) curled her left hand around Evan's thigh and leaned her head on his shoulder, trying to hold her right arm straight so Hen could slip the cuff up near her shoulder.

She hated having her blood pressure taken. It made her feel light headed and the tightness sent shooting, tingling pains up and down her arm even after the cuff was removed.

Evan peeked his head over (Y/n)'s waist and looked down at the reading on the blood pressure before he glanced down at (Y/n). He curled his fingers together and held his index and middle finger out straight, level with his chest before he raised his hand up towards his forehead. Her blood pressure was high.

When Hen found the stethoscope in her bag, she lifted it up and indicated towards (Y/n)'s stomach. She would listen for a heartbeat. That was the only thing they could check right now. They couldn't do a scan and no physical exam would tell them if there were any issues with the baby. They wouldn't eb able to see if there was any internal bleeding or if the baby or placenta had moved.

(Y/n) would need a scan once she got to hospital, but the important thing right now was finding a heartbeat.

Her hand stayed looped over Evan's thigh and she leaned more into him when the cold end of the stethoscope was pressed against her lower abdomen, making her push back in her seat.

(Y/n) brought her other hand up to her lips and bit down on her nail, trying not to stare down at Hen but she didn't know where else to look or what to do with herself. What if she couldn't find one? What if it was there but very shallow? What would they do?

She bit down so hard on her nail that a pinch of blood welled in the corner of her thumb but she didn't care. Her head turned to look up at Evan and her hand moved from his thigh to grip his shoulder as she took a deep, tremoring breath. Waiting for him to tell her the verdict.

Evan bent his index and fourth finger down to his palm and held his hand over his chest to imply the heartbeat. He then curled both hands into fists against his shoulders and pulled away, unclenching his hands. 'A strong heartbeat.'

He could feel the relief radiate through (Y/n) when she slumped her head onto his shoulder and managed a small smile against his exposed neck. That was one less thing for them both to worry about.

"Okay, I'm going to do a saline drip, then we can get her in the ambulance."

Evan moved his fingers along his other palm to signal that he was going to walk around the car so he could go round to Hen and help get (Y/n) out the car. He hated to unravel (Y/n) from around him and when she reached out to clutch his bicep, he leaned forward and kissed her forehead before he scrambled out so she didn't have a chance to panic or drag him back.

A shiver rolled down (Y/n)'s spine when she felt Hen squeeze her hand and push the needle into the back of her hand.

A calming smile found its way onto Evan's lips when Hen moved out his way and let him take her place, crouching down beside (Y/n). He rubbed his hands up and down her thighs for a few seconds before he gently took hold of her legs and twisted them so her feet were firmly on the floor and she was sat facing him.

"What's wrong, sweetheart?" Evan pressed his closed fists together against his chest and moved his thumbs up and down, smiling up at her calmly despite the wince he saw flash across her face.

He watched the way (Y/n) tilted her head to the side when she looked down at him and the deep breaths she tried to take as she blinked furiously, fighting off tears.

Her left hand moved to cup her forehead and she rubbed her index finger along her temple. While her right hand pressed to her bump with only her middle finger curled inwards and she moved her hand from left to right along her stomach.

"What's she saying?"

"She feels sick. That's alright baby," Evan waved his left hand over his right palm to signal that was alright before he pushed up so he was stood up with his upper half bent down towards (Y/n) instead of crouching in front of her.

His hands curled around her elbows and when (Y/n) nodded, Evan carefully eased her up from the car until she was stood in front of him. Her hands clamped down on his biceps and her forehead pressed into the middle of Evan's chest which made him smile. He leaned over and kissed the back of (Y/n)'s head, moving his hand around to her back while he took the IV bag from Hen and balanced it on his shoulder so it was easier to carry around.

Evan kept his right arm around (Y/n)'s waist and tucked her into his side while Hen stood on her other side, wedging her between them as they made a slow descent towards the ambulance.

"Hen, drive them to the hospital, Eddie tag along with them, me and Chim will stay here and sort out."

Evan wordlessly nodded while Hen opened the back doors and then proceeded round to get in the front of the ambulance. They would all reconveen together at the hospital when this scene was cleared up. It looked like Evan wouldn't be staying for the night shift today.

Moving his hands, Evan clamped them down on (Y/n)'s hips and walked behind her into the back of the ambulance. He raised a brow when she turned her head to look up at him and her lips pressed together.

Did she have to sit on the gurney?

Her leg was was aching and most likely bruised but it wasn't broken, she could walk perfectly fine. (Y/n) didn't want to sit on the gurney and be taken into A&E as if she couldn't walk when she could. It made her feel uneasy. She turned in Evan's arms and tried to give him her best smile but sweetening him up wasn't going to work and she could see that in her husband's firm expression.

He let go of her, moved one hand to hold the gurney behind her and pointed at her with the other hand.

"Sit." He knew she could read that one simple word from his lips but when she didn't move, Evan clicked his tongue and reached his hands out for her hips. He could feel her gasp soak up into his shirt when he lifted her up and sat her down on the edge of the gurney and placed the IV bag down on the pillow at the end so it was out the way and wasn't at risk of becoming tangled or blocked.

To make her feel better, Evan turned round and perched down on the gurney with her, swinging his legs back and forth until Eddie hurried up into the back and closed the doors.

Eddie plonked himself down on the seat opposite them with a curious, if apprehensive smile. Why was Evan sat on the gurney with the patient? Why wasn't the patient sat properly? Did they know each other? They seemed to be smiling and looked friendly with one another. Just as Eddie went to say something, he stopped when the girl pointed at him curiously.

(Y/n) gingerly tugged on Evan's shirt sleeve to gain his attention before she pointed over at the man in front of them. She cupped her thumb and index finger around her chin and tilted her finger away from her chin and back, asking who he was.

Evan pressed his thumb into his palm and curled his fingers over until his nails touched the top of his thumb. E.

Then he pointed his index finger upwards and pressed his middle and fourth finger against his thumb. D.

"This is Eddie,"

In sign language, it was easier to refer to someone's name as their first initial and he talked about Eddie a lot to (Y/n). Eddie was his work partner, the person he was always teamed up with and doing various escapades with so it was natural he talked about him. (Y/n) knew the team by the stories Evan told her and this unfortunately had to be the first time she met them.

"Eddie, this is my wife, (Y/n)."

This was turning out to be an interesting day for everyone.

#evan buckley x reader #imagine #evan buckley #evan buckley imagine #buck x reader #911 imagine #buck imagine #pregnant! reader #pregnancy #bucky x reader #bobby nash

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darlingshane · 4 months ago

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do-over

Michael Berzatto x F!Reader

Summary: Thanks to your friend Claire you get a chance to rectify a mistake you did many years ago when you went out with Michael the first time around.

CW: 18+, smut, some angst, making out, vaginal sex, smoking, drinking, Michael is a recovering addict, talk about addiction, reader has a secret, old friends, confessions, scars, pet names, brief appearances of Carmy, Richie and Claire.

Word Count: 6,2k

A/N: I realized after writing this that I made Michael younger by saying reader was friends with Claire, and implied that they were all close in age, but it's all really vague. The timelines don't make sense in The Bear anyway, so don't look too closely. This was just for fun. -- Also, reader has a nickname. Don't ask me why, it just came out like that. They simply call her Zu or Zuzu.

— Links: AO3 // Michael Masterlist.

“You remember Mikey and Richie, right?” your friend Claire asks, pointing at the two guys coming into the backyard with Carmy to join the party.

“Hm. I think so,” you say casually before taking a long sip of your glass.

You do remember both, actually.

Michael especially.

It’s hard to forget one of the most embarrassing nights of your life. It was over a decade ago when you had the slim chance to make out with the guy you’ve had a crush on for years and only accomplished to make a fool out of yourself.

It’ll forever haunt you.

Michael finally asked you out at the end of your senior year, and you said yes. You went to a movie, got some food afterward, then you ended at a house party from one of his friends. Everything was going great, you were dancing and laughing, he got close, you got closer. You started kissing and then ended up in one of the rooms. Door closed. That was it. It was only you and him making out and everything was going perfect. It seemed like a dream to find that he wanted you almost as much as you wanted him. Perhaps he wasn’t into you as you were, but it was hard to think critically at that moment with his hands and lips all over you.

Now, you had fooled around before with the only guy you ever dated in high-school, but you never went all the way or ever touched you like Michael’s hands did. And given your inexperience in the field, only a few minutes of heavy petting, and you were ready to explode. There was a surge awakening something in your core that you weren’t too familiar with. Not even your own fingers ever managed to make you feel something that powerful. And when he started pressing himself between your legs that pressure building between your thighs decided to set itself free. All of a sudden, you were clutching your knees so hard to his hips, your whole body trembled underneath as you came in your panties.

You’ve heard about boys precociously coming more often than not, but never realized that was something that could happen to girls too. It made you feel nothing but pure embarrassment. You tried to hide it but all the magic was gone. And after that, you excused yourself to the bathroom to put yourself together and couldn’t handle going back to face him. So, you sneaked out the bathroom window like the biggest dork.

You never talked to him again after that.

Back then, you all ran in the same circles, but you stood away from those circles during the last couple of weeks of school to avoid running into him again. You saw him from afar a couple of times and that was it. Soon after, everyone went on separate ways for work, college or wherever they end up. You, for example, left Chicago after graduating and ended up living a good chunk of those years in Denver. The few times you’ve come to your home city, you never really tried to see him again. You ran into Natalie a handful of times, and saw Carmy when you were visiting Claire but never crossed paths directly with Michael again until today.

“Zu… you and I both know that you do remember him,” Claire nudges your elbow. “Don’t tell me you still wouldn’t hit that today if you could. And you’re single now, so…”

“Please, tell me you didn’t set this up.”

She doesn't deny it, just gives you that obvious look under her framing, evil, perfect eyebrows. Claire knew pretty well you were head over heels for Michael Berzatto once upon a time, but you never told her about that night. It’s probably safe to say he didn’t tell anyone about it either. Otherwise, you’d have heard about it by now. Someone would’ve teased you about it for sure, but no one ever did.

It really takes you aback to see him once more.

You wish she’d have given you the heads-up so you could prepare mentally to see him again. Though, it was a long time ago, you’ve often looked with regret at leaving him hanging. You’ve wondered way too many times what he thought about that night. It's not like he was infatuated with you, as far as you know. He never showed any interest before that week, so it's hard to imagine him being too heartbroken about it.

Carmy glances around looking for the two of you. Claire lifts her arm to call his attention.

“Oh, look, here's your chance.” Your friend teases you as they come closer.

“Cool it, C, please?” you say between teeth and throw back your cup before the three of them come to a stop in front of you.

She beams as Carmy quietly greets you with a one arm short hug.

“You made it! Thought you'd be too cool for a thing like this.”

“Nope, we're two fucking losers showing up at a kegger cause we got nothing better to do,” Richie chuckles. “What are we celebrating again?”

“We're not celebrating anything. We're here for moral support for Kerry. Her boyfriend just broke up with her, and she needed some people around.”

“And you thought that throwing a keg party was a good idea?” Michael finally opens his mouth and his voice just transports you back to that unforgettable night and that last thing he said to you…

You smell so fucking good.

It echoes in your head. It's printed on your skin how those words vibrated when he was tongue-deep devouring your neck.

It’s hard to keep your eyes off Michael. He still has that alluring presence that mesmerized you the first time you met him. Even more so, you'd say. His features are sharper, his stubbled jaw makes him look more rugged than you remember. Though you miss his mop of curls, the crew cut and the fade on his nape suits him really well. His outfit hasn't changed much from a casual t-shirt with jeans. You take in every detail in a once-over. Your stare lingers for a moment on the way the hem of his short sleeves hugging tightly his toned biceps, and how his veins draw the length of his arms. His shoulders seem broader in his relaxed stance. There's a tiny scar adoring his cupid's bow that you only see when he runs his tongue across his lips.

You have to make an effort to tear your eyes away from him before turning into a total creep.

“You guys remember Zuzu here, from school?” Claire's head tilts in your direction while the younger Berzatto links an arm around her waist.

“You two were practically inseparable, how could anyone forget?” Says Richie again, offering his hand up to you. “It's good to see you again, sweetheart.”

“Yeah, it's good to be back,” you shake his hand firmly and then hold it up to Michael, and try to keep your pulse steady when he wraps his large paw around yours.

“You've moved back?” it's Michael that asks this time, trying to lock eyes with you, but you refuse to let him.

“I'm in the process of it. I'm staying with Claire for a couple of weeks while I get all my stuff back, and set up everything…”

You explain while Carmy fetches three cups from the table. He fills them using the keg’s tap, and brings them over. He hands one to Richie. Michael waves his off and lights up a cigarette instead.

“You should ask her to hang out sometime. She doesn't know how to have fun anymore.”

Daggers shootout of your eyes when you glance at Claire.

“I'm here, am I?”

“Yeah but you don't seem to be enjoying yourself.”

“I mean you brought me to the most depressing kegger I've ever been to. I didn't know people still did this, but they're lamer than I remember.”

“Pfft, she's got a point there,” Michael scoffs. “I can come up with a hundred things on the spot that would be better than… whatever this is.”

“It was last minute. What would you guys have done, huh?”

“DJ for starters,” Richie chimes in.

“Food,” Michael adds.

“Better beer,” Carmy suggests.

“Strippers,” you say, and they all burst into laughter.

“I could definitely go for some strippers,” Richie holds his hand up for you to give him a high-five, and you quickly smack his palm.

While you empty your cups gulp after gulp, you chat with them for a bit, noticing more often than not Michael staring at you even when you're not the one talking. Maybe it's only in your head, but it still makes you anxious to find his eyes glancing at you as if he was trying to figure you out.

It's certainly not only in your head, cause when your phone beeps in your pocket, you check it out to see a text message from Claire who just coincidentally has her phone in her hand right next to you.

Be careful, big bear is checking you out. — it reads on your screen.

Raising a brow at your annoying, dear friend, you shake your head before typing.

Did you tell him anything about me?

I’d never sell you out.

. . .

You start typing a response but your phone starts ringing, and it’s a call you must take. So you hold that thought, and go find a quieter place away from the house by walking out to the street and pace slowly down the pavement while you talk to your mother for a couple of minutes.

When you go back inside, the group has split. You go around the house to find Richie playing poker with some guys at the dining table. Carmy and Claire are talking with Kerry on the couch, and when you look to the side you spot Michael leaning against the archway between the living room and kitchen, lighting up a second cigarette before seeing you there standing. He gives you a quick nod, and you can only nod back, and turn around to press your teeth on the brim of your solo cup until it rips.

Being here in this house, this room with all these people and music playing feels like a time capsule. It transports you back to that time. As much as you've grown out of your old self, you can help but feel that old awkwardness creeping in to undo all the work you’ve done to come out of your shell.

When you discard the cup, you go upstairs to find a bathroom since the one in the hallway was occupied. Once you're done in the bathroom, you come out to find Michael climbing up the same stairs before crossing paths with you.

“Hey, Zuzu.” His lips quirk up as you both stop in front of the other.

“Hey,” you say back.

“Thought you left.”

“No, I just went to the bathroom,” you use your thumb to point at the door, as he leans back on the wall behind him, crossing one foot over the other.

“So you know where the bathroom is?”

“Sorry?”

“Last time I saw you, you said you were going to the bathroom but never came back. Figure it was your version of the old dad excuse of – I went out for cigarettes. And then ran for the hills.”

He’s smiling, but his tone sounds passive-aggressive, and you can’t tell at all if he’s joking or not.

“Oh, you remember that, huh?” You choose to believe he’s kidding around.

“I haven’t thought about it in a while. Then I saw you here… I wasn’t going to say anything but I… I guess I’ve always wondered what happened.”

“Why? Did I hurt your ego?”

“No, my ego’s intact. But I got really worried when you didn’t come back. Thought maybe I made you feel uncomfortable or something… I just… You don’t owe me anything, but I just wanted to know if you were okay.”

With a long sigh, you prop your back on the opposite wall and collect your thoughts.

This is it. Your moment to explain if you want. You have nothing to lose. The fact that he remembers could mean that he liked you more than he led.

“You didn’t do anything wrong, Michael. It was me… I uh… I felt like I didn’t know what I was doing. I had never hooked up with someone like that until you. I had some experience, but not that kind of experience if you know what I mean.”

You pause and he nods kindly at your confession.

“I guess I was afraid of going too far, or not going far enough, or disappointing you. I wanted to go back so badly, but I couldn't.”

“You could’ve told me that. You could've said– hey, maybe we should slow down… I’d have never pushed you to do anything that you didn’t want.”

“I didn’t know that. I’m not good at reading people. Guys especially. I wasn’t sure how you’re going to react, and I just bolted. I’m sorry.”

“Nah, don’t apologize,” he waves you off. “I get it.”

“It was one of those moments that I wish I could go back and do things differently, you know? I've done a lot of things in my life that I regret, but that one was just embarrassing.”

“Don't beat yourself up, sweetheart. We were kids. There's nothing to be embarrassed about anymore. Sorry I asked… Didn't mean to make you feel bad or anything.”

“It's okay.” You pause and bite the inside of your cheek for a moment. “Can I ask you something now?”

“Shoot.”

“Did you even like me? Or was it like a one time kinda thing?”

He bashfully scratches the back of his head before answering.

“I asked you out, didn't I?”

“That's not really an answer, Berzatto.”

“Of course I liked you. I always thought you were kind and funny and easygoing. And yeah, for a moment I really saw us together. Is that a good enough answer for you?”

“That's perfect…” you sigh, glancing at the floor for a beat. “Talk about bad timing, huh?”

“Hey, we could have a do-over.” He suggests.

“Tell me you’re joking.” You scoff.

“Not if you want to. You said you wish you could go back… I’m down if you’re down.”

“That easy, huh?”

“Yeah, why not? I hate when people complicate things. I’m not seeing anyone, Claire said you aren’t either… It’s easy math for me.”

“And I thought I was the crazy one,” you chuckle.

“Is it crazy? Think about it. What are the odds of you and me running into each other over a decade later? It seems like fate to me.”

“Hm, fate looks a lot like Claire.”

“So what if she played a hand? She didn't know that I'd show up for sure. I almost didn't. If it wasn't for Paulie coming to cover Gary's shift, I'd be stuck at the shop right now.”

“Maybe you're right.”

“But?”

“No buts. I just… I'm not the same person you knew. Maybe I’m not as easygoing, kind and funny as I was.”

“I’ll be the judge of that but hey, I'm not the same person either. We could just hang out and see if we like those people. What do you say?”

“I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to try.”

“Yeah?” the corner of his mouth pulls up.

“Yeah, it just so happens I'm free today. I could come over later if you want.”

Since you're staying at Claire's and don't feel comfortable bringing anyone to her apartment, you agree to meet at his place an hour after the party.

Once you’ve exchanged numbers, you receive a text with his address.

You use that hour to go by Claire's place and pamper yourself a little. You're not really sure if it's a date or not but in any case you prepare yourself mentally and physically as if it was. You've older now, and have more confidence and experience than all those years ago. It doesn’t matter if you haven't been with a guy in a while, you can't pass up a chance at a once in a lifetime opportunity to rectify that awful night. Or at least replace it with a new memory. Hopefully.

Claire comes back just in time to see you doing your makeup.

“You going out?”

You nod as she leans on the bathroom’s door frame.

“Michael? Wow, you didn’t waste time. I left you alone for five minutes. See, I was right. You two would be perfect for each other.”

“Don’t ring the bells just yet. We're just hanging out.”

“Does he know about Sam?”

“No, I don't think so. Unless you or Carmen told him. I can’t keep track of what you guys tell others.”

“We didn't. It's your story to tell. But I'm just saying, you don't have to keep it a secret.”

“It's not a secret. It just didn't come up.”

“Well, you should give him a chance, he might surprise you.”

“I'll try.”

It's the last thing you say before heading out to meet Michael.

On the way there, you think carefully about what Claire said and decide to tell him upfront about Sam. It shouldn’t be a dealbreaker. You’re just hanging out. But because you know guys, and you’ve been burned in that department before, you ready yourself for any outcome.

Michael offers you a drink after closing the door to his apartment. You can tell he’s done the same as you. He’s showered, his hair is still damp, his face is clean-shaven now, and he’s wearing a different t-shirt now sans The Beef logo.

Opting for having a drink, he pours a tequila shot for you on the breakfast bar after giving you a short tour of his one-bedroom apartment while he sips from a mug filled with fresh coffee.

“I uh… I have to tell you something,” you start after downing your shot and sitting on one of the barstools.

“Oh.”

“I don’t do this often, you know? Going to a guy's place like this– I mean, I have. A couple of times. But this isn’t a frequent occurrence in my life. Or a priority.”

He opens his mouth to say something, but he doesn't. He stares at you instead, asking you to keep going with his curious gaze, as he leans his forearms on the counter.

“This shouldn’t affect you but for the sake of honesty, I thought you should know that I have a daughter.”

“Why would that affect me?”

“Like I said, it shouldn’t. But a lot of guys tend to get weird upon knowing that about me.”

“Well, that's on them. We agreed this was just to get to know each other, right? We can't do it if we pick and choose the parts we want to share.”

You nod firmly. “You're right.”

“Can I ask how old she is?”

“Yeah, she’s three. She called earlier, well, my mom did, and said she was having so much fun she wanted to stay the night.”

“That’s beautiful, Zu. Guess you have to take your chances whenever you can, huh?”

“Yeah, I guess so.”

“And the father?”

“He’s not in the picture. He pays for the frame, but he’ll never be in it.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“His loss.”

He props a hand on the edge of the bar, using the other to pick up the bottle and fill your empty shot glass.

“If we’re laying our cards on the table, I think it’s only fair to confess something too before moving forward.”

Now it’s your time to give him the same curious look he gave you before as he explains.

“I don’t do this often either. At least not as much as I used to. And I’ve never said out loud this to anyone that wasn’t in a room filled with people like me… Not even my family.”

You can see he’s struggling to find the words and courage to admit something, but you don’t push on it until he’s ready to say–

“I’m a recovering addict.” His voice is even, tinged with a dab of shame. But he looks you directly in the eye to gauge your reaction. “It’s been almost a year and just starting to feel back to normal. Or whatever that means. A couple of months ago I wouldn't have felt confident enough to invite anyone here. Hell, going to a party would’ve been unthinkable for me… But I’m still trying to figure it all out, you know? If that’s a dealbreaker for you…”

“It’s not. I wasn’t expecting that, but I’m glad you told me. I uh… I hope this question doesn’t come across as judgmental but is it safe for you to keep alcohol in the house?” you point to the tequila bottle.

“Alcohol isn’t my poison,” he scoffs. “But I don’t drink anymore either if I can help it.”

“You go to meetings?”

“Yeah, NA. Every week.”

“And your family doesn’t know?”

“They know some of it, but not how bad it got.”

“I feel out of my depth here but wouldn’t it be better to have someone close to talk to?”

He shrugs, “you know the Berzattos. We all have problems, we’ll rather pretend everything’s good than to admit we’re all batshit.”

“Sorry for prying.”

“No, it’s fine. I opened that door. Richie knows though. He’s seen the worst of it, has picked me up many times when I couldn’t even get up. He’s always been there, even when he doesn’t know what to say.”

“That’s good. And if it helps, I don’t think you’re crazy. It’s brave to admit that you have a problem, let alone face it on your own. Takes courage.”

“Guess a single mom would know a thing or two about courage.”

“I suppose so,” you gaze at your shot glass before tilting it over your lips.

“One more?”

“No, no. Two is enough for me. Thanks.”

You stare at the other, not sure how to proceed after that. Shit, maybe you went too deep too fast, but it’s good to have everything out in the open. If anything, it only makes him more attractive to see that he can look at his own flaws and own them. Most guys you’ve ever been with never had the balls to look you in the eye and confess something so fucked up and personal.

“Do you wanna keep talking or should we try…?” you trail off.

“Whatever you want sweetheart. I love talking to you.” He lifts his coffee mug up to his lips and takes a long sip.

“Is that a line?”

“No, it’s the truth.”

He grins, placing his mug down, and you just know it’s definitely a line by the way his lips curve up lopsided. Which you don’t hate. Though you like talking to him as well, you’d rather be doing something else than spend all night rehashing all your problems.

Standing up from your barstool, you go around the bar to face him closer. You lick your lips and tentatively cup his face before placing a small kiss on his coffee-tainted lips. His face heats up beneath your palms, and you watch his mouth curl on both sides before locking eyes with him. It’s not until you look at him up close that you can notice the difference in his beautiful browns from all those years ago. They were once eager, sparkly, and mischievous. There’s still some of that, and much more depth than you remember. There’s a lot of sadness too, and a new shade of tenderness you haven’t seen in anyone before.

“Do you think you can kiss me the way you did last time?” Your mouth draws a smile.

“I think I can do better.”

“Yeah? I’d like to see that.”

You both laugh for a beat before noticing his knuckles caressing your neck.

“Do you wanna go slow?” His fingers trail slowly up to your jaw as you nod a “yeah, slow is good.”

Fast would be okay too but you wanna taste this moment like you never got to.

As your hands slide down to hold his sides, his palms reach up to cradle your face. His head leans to the side at the same time his tongue juts out to wet his lips. His face dips, quickly shortening the distance to your mouth to capture the flavor of your kiss. It seems like a terrible combination to mix coffee and tequila, but it works. Having his tongue stirring both inside your mouth is purely delicious. You swirl with him, gently, taking your time to get used to a new flavored cocktail that probably already exists somewhere. But this one is special, cause it has you and him putting that extra ingredient.

He was right, you realize. He's grown to be a better kisser than in that old memory that's been torturing you for years. You have to keep your mind out of that night. This is a different time, different day, and two different people that have nothing to do with those old versions of themselves.

As the kiss grows tiredly eager, you both start panting for air between the sloppy movement of your lips locked together. He parts momentarily to guide you toward the couch. He sits down, pulling you down to straddle his lap.

His palms land on your hips while you take the reins again and seize his mouth at once, wanting to swallow every single drop of that magical drink called Michael Berzatto. Your fingers curl around his neck, capturing his taut muscles bulging out at the hot rush coursing through his veins. His hands become anxious, greedy for more of you. They slip under the hem of your shirt at the back to feel the warmth of your skin.

There's a thread of anticipation weaving inside your body, sending your hips to grind over his denim bulge, making him sigh with groan when you hit the right spot. You do it again, and again, until you feel him growing between two layers of annoying denim.

The dirty work of your mouth becomes too wild to tame. Even for you. You've managed to hold yourself in the past when you needed to, but this time you're not sure that you want to hold back.

Michael's fingers fumble under your shirt to open the clasp of your bra. After a coup of tries, you feel the tight elastic decompress from your skin as one of his hands travels to the front to feel your breasts.

“Is this okay?” he mumbles into the frenzy of your tongue.

“Hm, yeah, that’s fucking perfect.” Your breathing catches as his knuckles softly brush the underside of your boob.

He's rock hard by the time his paw extends fully to mold one of your boobs to the shape of his fingers. Your nipple shrinks into a hard pebble under his firm touch. He thoroughly massages your flesh before switching to the other side.

You pull away from his lips to glance down at his hand enjoying its time in the valley of your chest. He seems either quite taken with it, or perhaps he's afraid of moving forward without your approval.

You clear your throat before suggesting. “Do you think we should move this party to the bedroom?”

“Yeah, I'd like that.”

You peel yourself off him to stand up and then follow him into his room. Before doing anything else, you pull up your phone from your pocket and place it on the nightstand to make sure you can find it fast in case it rings.

Michael moods the lights to just one on the night table with a soft glow of yellow and watches you taking off your clothes for a beat before mirroring you.

It's surprising how your nerves don't even present a threat at this moment, but you're not going to question or overthink right now why you're so damn calm when you lay almost naked on his bed.

You leave your panties on and prop yourself on your elbows watching him like prey as he slips off his shirt and jeans. His chiseled body is something to admire. You can tell he's been working out. Maybe to smooth that edge the drugs gave him. He was already a pretty athletic guy back then but didn't have the same defined shapes that now sculpture his body like a Greek marble statue.

Biting your lip you glance further down to see him push down his boxers to uncover his generous erection. You can't help but admire your own work, swelled to a nice shade of deep pink and pointing up to his abdomen between the grooves of Apollo’s belt.

Your knees push together, feeling your arousal pooling in your folds when he turns around to show you his buttocks. With his back on sight, he collects something from a dresser drawer.

There's a condom in his hand when he faces you again.

“You good down there, sweetheart?” he asks, his eyes casting a dark shade from above, adding more gusto to the overly sexual charge blowing off the charts before even touching each other's naked bodies.

“Uh-hm. Could I just first…” Before he can wrap his dick in latex, you extend your hand to feel his full hardness in your palm. You wait for him to nod and give you permission to curl your fingers around it to feel it throb and ache for more friction.

It's as unexpected for you as it is for him to have you openly telling him what you want to do. If there’s something you've learned from all your past mistakes is that sex is better when you can communicate what you want. Even if it's just a one time thing, it's better to keep an open line between you two. As much as you’d want him to jump on top of you and rearrange your insides, the build up is more gratifying to you than just getting things done as fast as possible. The buzz lasts even longer. And if this is a one time thing, you sure want to remember every second of how being with him felt.

Michael puts one knee on the edge of the bed and observes your kind hand sliding down his shaft. His eyes become glossy. A gulp moves his throat up and down as he swallows a grunt when you tighten your hold around him and press down tighter, coaxing a nice wet drop to spill out of his tip.

Licking his lips, he puts his hand around your wrist to stop you before you go too far. He wants to come. But he wants to do it with you tightly wrapped around him.

He removes the wrapper of the prophylactic and rolls it on.

When she realizes you still have your underwear on, he slides them down your legs carefully, as if he was unwrapping the finest china. He notices the faint scar left on your lower abdomen from your c-section and as Michael climbs on top of you, he leaves a trail of kisses from that scar up to your neck.

As his head is closer, you hook a finger on the gold chain hanging around his neck, pulling his face down to seize his lips. At the same time, he parts your knees to nestle in between.

Adjusting your position, you lay back on the mattress with him following your cue and letting your tongue invite itself past his teeth to keep savoring everything he has to offer as your hips fit together. When his cock presses against your clit you can’t help but jolt and grind against its solid hardness. The thin layer of latex collects your dampness as you do. You grip his sides as he uses the advantage of being on top of you to kiss you back with a burning ache that sets your core in fire the longer you rub against the other.

“How does it feel, sweetheart?” His voice tenses in his throat. “You like it like that, huh.”

“Yeah, it feels so fucking good.” But you can’t bear that thought for longer than that. You need him inside pushing past your entrance, stretching your walls to the shape of his erection.

“Fuck me,” you moan before sucking his lip into your mouth.

His hand snakes down your torso to taste with his finger the arousal covering your sex.

“God you’re so wet, sweetheart,” he purrs, probing a finger before smoothly burying himself inside you.

Your eyes shine behind a layer of gloss that wells up at the corners as he pushes a couple of times carefully until you get used to his size molding the shape of your walls.

After a few experimental thrusts, he lowers his body on top of yours, letting his weight do all the work as he gradually moves faster.

“You’re gonna make me come,” he pants over your lips, feeling the tight grip of your pussy contracting every time his cock pushes deeper inside.

“That’s the idea,” you wink at him as your palms slide down his back to grab his ass.

You keep eye contact with him and stay quiet as the only sound that fills the room is your skin meeting over and over until your moans seep in. You watch his forehead and neck quickly get covered in sweat beads. He takes a deep breath before letting his grunts join the symphony. His forehead falls on top of yours, as the rhythm of his thrust picks up. His muscles strain under your palms that go back up to hold tightly to his sides the closer he drives you to the edge. Your nails dig on his ribs pushing him thrust his hips even sharper. You can feel him throb and jerk inside you as he exerts his body for your pleasure. It’s easy to tell he wants to come desperately, but he holds and holds his release for you until you reach that point.

“Come for me, sweetheart,” there’s an edge of urgency in his breathless voice as he tucks one hand underneath to rub your clit and get you to come faster.

“I… almost… fuck,” you try to word something out, but you’re so close you can only cling to his sides as your body aches for a release.

The tears collecting in your ears trickle down your cheeks when you close your eyes at that very crucial point when your orgasm reaches the highest peak. The powerful force makes your body shake like a damn earthquake, leaving your core in shambles. One of his hands holds your trembling thigh, feeling its vibrations on his palm until it passes. At that point, he cannot longer hold his own, and the squeeze of your opening around his pulsating erection just makes him spill everything into the condom. His teeth are clenched on your neck, printing a loud grunt on your skin as he comes undone. Your pussy still contracts around him up until the final drop is ejected.

That sweet orgasm slowly ebbs, but the buzz in your head lingers for longer than that. He lazily stays on top of you for a minute until he can finally push himself off you.

Painting together, you stare at the ceiling as the breeze slipping in from the open window cools your body.

“That was…”

“Yeah.” He scoffs, half glancing at you with a giddy smile.

You don't really need to give it a word. You both know how amazing that was. It’s safe to say that this is how it was supposed to be. If you had gotten your way the first time around, it probably wouldn't have been nearly as good. And now you don't have to wonder anymore or feel ashamed for leaving cause this night definitely overwrites that fiasco.

When your breathing evens out, you both turn to your side and face each other to bask in the afterglow plastered on your faces. One of his hands slips across your jaw, as his thumb caresses your cheek when you place your head on the pillow.

Your face heats up as he leans closer to place a tender kiss on your sweaty temple. As his hand slides down your warm body, he watches it draw the curves of your body as one of his fingers sticks out around your hips to draw the scar he saw before peaking just over your pubic hair. You let him do it for a second before you put a palm over it. Then, he slips his fingers between your legs to seize the mess he’s made out of you. Your juices still cling to your skin when his fingers start circling around your clit.

“Can I make you come again?”

“Please,” you let out a half laugh and push your knee higher to make room for his wandering fingers that explore all over your pussy. His eyes stay fixed on yours as he easily takes you to have a quick orgasm. It’s not as explosive, but it’s a nice aftershock that leaves your body melting into the mattress.

#michael berzatto #michael berzatto x reader #the bear #the bear fanfiction #mikey berzatto #mikey berzatto x reader #jon bernthal #jon bernthal fanfiction #fanfiction #smut #darlingwrites

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atimeofyourlife · 1 year ago

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A family Thanksgiving

This was supposed to be up yesterday, but it took on a mind of its own and instead of the few hundred words it was supposed to be, its nearly 3k. Happy belated Thanksgiving to anyone who celebrates! rated: t | wc: 2847 | cw: period typical homophobia, Steve's asshole parents

The offers from everyone to have him over for Thanksgiving had been great, any other year he would have loved such a choice, but for the first time in a long time, he was spending the day with family.

"But you hate your family." Dustin pointed out when Steve had told everyone about his holiday plans.

"No, I hate my parents. It's my grandma that asked me to go, and I want to see her and my cousins that I haven't seen in like five years. I'm driving myself to Chicago, so I won't be stuck in a car with my parents for hours on end." Steve explained.

"But you're working a late the day before, and I'm not going to cover you so you can drive up early" Robin replied.

"I'm planning on leaving by six on Thanksgiving morning. It's less than four hours to drive, so I'll be there before ten, well nine because of the timezone change. I took the late shift the day before so I had an excuse to drive myself, and my parents wouldn't have any reason to come by Hawkins before. And I drive home either the Friday or the Saturday, ready for our Sunday shift."

Come Thanksgiving day, Steve was somewhat regretting his decision. It had been nearly midnight before he'd gotten home, after a number of people came in just before closing insistent on needing a selection of movies ready for the next day. Then hadn't been happy when the movies they wanted weren't in stock, so they left the place a total mess, causing Steve to stay late to tidy up ready for the opener the next day. Then having to get up around five, so he could get ready and be on track to leave as planned. In an attempt to wake up, he was mostly surviving on a large cup of incredibly strong coffee. He was just counting down the minutes until he could get there.

When he walked in the door, he was immediately wrapped up in a hug from his grandma. "Stevie, it's so good to see you."

"It's great to see you too, Grandma." He returned the hug, melting into it a little. Exactly what he needed after the year it had been.

"Let me take a look at you." She stepped back slightly, giving him a once over. Her hand came up to trace the scar still on his neck from where he had been strangled by the bats and vines. "What happened here?"

"I. It's nothing. It looks a lot worse than it is." Steve replied, trying to get out of the awkwardness of the conversation.

"Oh, if you're sure. If you want to help with dinner, you can join us in the kitchen. But if you just want to rest, anyone who's watching football is in the living room, and the Macy's parade is on in the den."

"It's been a long drive, and I had a late finish last night, so I think I'm going to take a bit of a break. I might come out and help a bit later." He offered.

"Oh, honey. If you don't feel up to it, you don't need to help at all. Take it easy, and we'll call you once everything is ready." She kissed Steve on the cheek, before going back to the kitchen.

Steve made his way through the house, glancing into the living room as he passed. He could see his dad in one of the recliners, and decided against joining them. Wanting to delay the inevitable "you're a disappointment" lecture. He knew his mom would likely be in the kitchen, not actually helping, just drinking wine and gossiping. He moved on to the den, where most of his cousins were. He hovered in the doorway for a second, unsure what to say. So much had changed since the last time he had seen any of them.

"Wait, Stevie?" One of them, Lizzie, said as she looked up to see him.

"Uh, hey?" Steve replied, a little unsure, before he was being swamped in a group hug.

"Jesus Christ, when did this happen? Last time I saw you, you were like a little kid. Now you're a whole grown adult." Another, Mark, said.

After a long catch up, bringing Steve up to date on everyone else's lives, and him giving an abridged highlights of his last few years, they then got into more serious topics.

"Was everything okay after the earthquakes? I tried calling a few times, but I don't know if I had the wrong number because it never went through." Alice, the oldest of his cousins, asked.

"The phones were down across the whole town for a while after, then it was patchy for weeks after that. It was hard to get five or ten minutes without it dropping out. It took me like two weeks before I was able to get hold of mom and dad to let them know that the house was still standing, and that I was still alive." Steve explained.

"Wait, they weren't in Hawkins for the earthquakes?" Harry cut in.

"No, they've not been in Hawkins since February? Like over a month before it happened."

"Oh. They were telling us last night about how awful and hard it had been during the earthquakes, and how they were scared for their lives." Alice replied.

"That's such bullshit. They weren't in the country when it happened, they were in London. They didn't even know that it was Hawkins that was affected until I called them, because all they'd seen on the news was a freak earthquake hitting the Midwest. It hadn't even specified the state. And then they didn't care how I was, if I was hurt or anything, all they were interested in was if there was damage to the house, and how the earthquake could affect the resale value."

"Okay, I call dibs about bringing that up over dinner. I just want to see what shade of purple Uncle Dick can turn." Becca, the closest cousin to Steve in age, piped up. "But were you hurt?"

"Uh, minor injuries. Nothing serious." Steve lied, not wanting to worry anyone. "I was able to start volunteering within a couple of days. You know, helping out at the relief center, helping search for missing people. And when everything calmed down I was helping rebuild and stuff. Just trying to do my bit. But I'm fine now."

"That's good. But thinking of Uncle Dick turning purple, who gets to bring up Fuck Reagan?" Mark asked.

"Stevie's been through the most, I think he should get the chance." Alice replied.

"Uh, I think that would go down about as well as if I told him that my best friend is a dyke and I've spent most of my free time in the last six months sucking off the local drug dealer, who was accused of being a cult leader and murdering three people." Steve said quickly, unsure if he wanted anyone else to pick up what he'd said.

"Was that for drugs, or for fun, or what? Like a hook up?" Harry asked.

"He's my boyfriend. I mean, it helps that I get free weed out of him, but I'd do it anyway." Steve admitted.

"That is something you missed out of your round up. But I love that all of us are some variation of queer."

Dinner was...interesting, to say the least. After saying Grace, they went round the table to say what they were thankful for that year. Steve had to bite his lip to keep himself from laughing as his parents waxed on and on about how they were thankful for their lives and being able to escape the earthquake unscathed. He couldn't keep from laughing when Becca spoke up against them.

"Really? Because Alice asked Steve how he found it after the earthquakes, and he said that he couldn't reach you for two weeks after it happened because the phones were down and you were in London. And you didn't even know that it had hit Hawkins until he called you."

"Steven, why are you telling lies about us?" His mother demanded.

"I wasn't? You weren't in Hawkins when the earthquake hit. You've not been there since February. When I was finally able to call you, you only cared about how the house was, not if I was hurt. And you were pissed that I hadn't called you sooner, despite the fact the phone lines were down for the whole town. I could have died or been injured in hospital, and you wouldn't have known."

"How dare-" His father started, only to be cut off by Steve's grandmother.

"Settle down. There's no need for arguing. I am inclined to believe Steve, because I do remember you telling me that you were going to be spending a few months in Europe at the start of this year."

Both of Steve's parents were visibly unhappy, but they didn't push it any further, allowing the rest of the family to talk about what they were thankful for.

Many small conversations broke out over the table, Steve loving the feeling of being surrounded by family for the first time in a long time. He got pulled into talking to different people, but he did his best to avoid his parents' eye. Not wanting to get trapped by them telling him all the ways he had bothered them since he'd last seen them. But he knew they were up to something, when his father got up before dessert was served.

"Before we have anything else, we do have a big announcement about the future of our family." He said, using the voice he always used when talking to the most important clients.

"You've sucked enough political dick to get what ever tax exemption you were after?" Lizzie asked, before anyone could take it too seriously.

Steve's dad just spluttered in anger as a call of "Elizabeth." Came from at least four different people around the table.

"Ignoring that horrible interruption. What I was going to tell everyone is about Steven's imminent engagement. He is going to be proposing to Melissa Downey, the daughter of my business partner, at Christmas, they've been seeing each other for nearly eighteen months now, and it is going to mean big things for our family."

Steve couldn't respond, processing what had just been said, as everyone started speaking, some offering congratulations, others in confusion.

"That's news to me." Steve said loudly, to get over everyone's voices, once he could form the words. "I'm not planning on proposing to anyone."

"Well, Arthur and I have been discussing it, and it is the only thing that makes sense now, the two of you have been together for long enough, the logical next step is engagement."

"I'm not dating Melissa. We went on one date over a year ago, just after I graduated. It was awful, all she was interested in was if I made enough money to bankroll her spending addiction. I made up a fake emergency to get out of it, and I would rather stick forks in my eyes than suffer through that again." Steve got to his feet, bracing his hands on the table. Knowing he'd been right not to be optimistic that the holiday could pass without incident.

"You will if you know what's good for you. If you don't, it could destroy our business. You wouldn't want to be the reason we go broke, would you? You could end up homeless. Where would you live?"

"First, I have plenty of friends who would be happy to take me in if I had nowhere else to go. It's something we talked about after the earthquake, because some people I know did have damage caused to their homes and I let them stay with me until they could move back in. Second, I don't really care about whether or not you go broke. You don't provide any money to me. You haven't since I started working at Scoops. I pay for all my food, gas, clothes. If you go broke, my financial position won't change at all. And third, I can't propose to her. I'm in a relationship, and we're both very happy."

"Is it that Buckley girl? Or did you somehow manage to convince that Wheeler girl that you're actually worth something? Because I can tell you now, you are going to break up with whatever little slut-"

"His name is Eddie." Steve shouted before he could think it through, and a silence fell across the room. "That's right. Your son is one of those awful queers that you keep campaigning against, to keep them illegal and get them locked up. And you know what? He's easily the best sex I've ever had. Especially when we get high first."

"Why you-" His father roared, his face turning a dark red in anger. "How dare you do this to us? After everything we have done for you. You'd better hope that those friends of yours would be willing to take you in, because you are not living under my roof any longer. You will have until the end of the weekend to collect your belongings, anything left will be burned."

"Except, it isn't your roof, is it Richard? If I remember correctly, I was the one who paid the mortgage. My name is the one on the deed to the property in Hawkins. I just allowed you to live there, rent-free might I add, because it made sense for you to live somewhere close to Indianapolis when your business was taking off. I had been planning to sell up. So I think maybe you should be the one to collect your belongings from that house, because I'm not sure if I want you living under my roof any longer. It sounds life you're almost never there, anyway." Steve's grandma replied.

"But, mother-" His father started.

"But nothing, Richard. I don't know where you learnt your hateful attitude, because I know I did not raise you to be the sort of man that would kick your own son out over something as minor as who he loves. I really thought you were a better man than that."

"It's disgusting." Steve's mother added. "So unnatural, and that disease."

"What is disgusting is your bigotry. I think I want you both out from under my roof, now. So, if you would both kindly leave. And I expect you to move your belongings from the house in Hawkins, as that is now Steve's house, not yours. And you better not touch anything that isn't yours, or cause any damage, because I will take legal advice." Steve's grandmother stood up, anger radiating from her tiny five foot frame. "And, unless you change and apologize for your outdated beliefs, you can forget any inheritance. I will not have any of my money going to support hatred."

"Mother,"

"Leave, Richard. Now. I'm not afraid to get the police involved here."

Steve's parents looked at him with their faces filled with utter disgust, before they turned and left. His grandmother escorting them off the property.

"Are you okay, Stevie?" His grandmother asked after the end of the meal.

"I. I think so. I think I need to make a couple of phone calls." He replied.

"Use any of the phones, dear. Maybe if you know someone who can keep an eye on the house."

"Yeah. I babysit for the chief of police sometimes, so I might call him. He'll make sure nothing happens."

"Good. And, if you're talking to that boy of yours, tell him that he's got to come up here for Christmas. I want to meet him, and make sure he's good enough for you."

"Grandma." Steve protested.

"I'm just saying." She replied before walking away.

Steve shut himself in one of the bedrooms, for a little privacy from the still crowded house while he made the calls. The call to Hopper was quick, just outlining what was going on, and Hopper agreed to keep a check on the house until Steve was back in Hawkins. Then it was the call to Eddie.

"Baby, I wasn't expecting you to call. How's your Thanksgiving?"

"Interesting. My parents decided to announce that I was going to propose to dad's business partner's daughter. They wouldn't accept that I wasn't interested in her so I accidentally came out."

"Shit, I hope that didn't go too bad?"

"Uh, it could have gone worse? Somehow me coming out got my parents removed from the will and kicked out of the house. Because my grandma wasn't happy with them being assholes about it."

"Oh, badass grandma. I kinda want to meet her now."

"I was hoping you would say something like that. Because she has told me that you have to come here for Christmas. She wants to make sure that you're good enough." Steve couldn't help smiling as he talked, somehow the day had gone so much better than he'd ever hoped.

#steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #steve harrington has bad parents #steve x eddie #steve harrington x eddie munson #stranger things #atimeofyourwrites

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artyandink · 5 months ago

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amoralism | one

Summary: You and Dean Winchester are the top agents from Major Crimes. You’re also assigned as partners on the same case- a crime syndicate is running loose and buying out most of downtown New York. He hates you cause you hate him. You hate him cause you think he got in his position with his daddy’s influence. But this case is personal to one of you more than the other- and you may be getting too personal for comfort.

A/N - I said I’d post on Friday but surprise! Also, as a note, I have no intention of completely relating to realism (even though I’m pretty sure that’s a title of a chapter). This will be almost like an action/romance movie, and the format is sort of like that too.

SERIES MASTERLIST

Song Inspo: Shameless - Camila Cabello

narcissism

Fifty-Shots Bar had never had this many patrons before.

Clinking of glasses, the bellow of random toasts, tapping of the bar for another round, the whole trifecta played on loop until all those glasses came down on the counter and all the beefy men downing those drinks like water would slap the back of the tallest in the lot, forcing that dude with the unreasonably gorgeous hair to bend to their height from the pressure.

“What’s the occasion, boys?” The lady on shift, Jenna, chuckled. She was intrigued as to why the festivities were so… robust, but then one of the guys shoved the tall one forward, clapping his shoulder in a way that knocked the latter’s breath out.

“Ah, nothing.” The taller one tried playing it off, but the shorter wouldn’t hear of it. His green eyes shone mischievously as he ruffled the tall guy’s hair. Jenna’s eyes couldn’t help but trail down the patron’s, well, everything. Short blonde hair, five o’clock shadow on the sharpest jawline she’d ever seen. Lips always in a pout, daring her to kiss it away until they bruised. Casual denim shirt nothing short of tempting, as tight as a damn straitjacket over that broad, no doubt kissable chest. Arms framed in his sleeves, probably bore enough strength to throw her around like a ragdoll and he wouldn’t break a sweat.

She bit her lip. Oh Lord, this man was either from heaven or hell and she wouldn’t complain either way.

“It’s not nothing.” He laughed, shaking his head. “My brother Sam here took down a big-time multi level marketing scheme. So damn modest.” Another clap of Sam’s shoulder. However, he seemed to have clocked Jenna and her obvious admiration of his entire being, a quirk of the corner of his mouth having her knees like jelly. “What’s your name, beautiful?”

She giggled, her finger twirling her hair around her finger as if she was a little schoolgirl with her first crush. “Jenna. What’s yours?”

“Dean Winchester.” He took her hand, kissing her knuckle and letting his lips linger, smouldering eye contact sending shivers down her spine. “Agent Dean Winchester. Say, Jenna, what time do you get off?”

“When you do.” She breathed, and the low chuckle from Dean had her snapping back into her senses but also getting a very noticeable ache between her thighs. “Um, in an hour.”

Sam had already left. He wasn’t in the mood for watching very visible eye-banging.

Champagne. Chauvinists. The classic fancy, downtown party hosted by a family that owned half of Chicago. Flashing lights, a pair of eyes on you at all times… it was rather an overwhelming feeling, one that you couldn’t shake.

You didn’t know whether to feel confident or hunted in the red dress that you wore, satin and navy and with an open back- all things nice and very attractive to men. Your makeup and blonde (for today) hair done like a movie star and getting the attention of every man in the room, regardless of age.

“And who might you be, sweets?” A very Southern accent drawled from behind you, and you turned around, making a show of playing the innocent yet extremely attractive and mysterious lady at the most extravagant birthday party you had ever seen.

You were playing a stereotype. You hated stereotypes.

“Anna Raleigh.” You responded smoothly, and he seemed to buy it, taking your hand and kissing the knuckle, the creepy eye contact urging you to snatch your hand back and scrub it with an antiseptic wipe.

“Miss Raleigh, you are a work of art. Name’s Matthias Aldrich.” He practically purred, and that sent a cold shiver up your spine.

You put on a polite, smitten smile, though you were inwardly rolling your eyes. “Thank you, sir.”

Matthias tucked a strand of your blonde hair behind your ear. “I’ve always been fond of women who are the golden type of blonde. Hope this is natural.”

You took a crouton from a passing tray, popping it in your mouth and chewing on it, answering once you’d swallowed the bite. You’d done it quick because you could see this dude’s eyes on your lips as you chewed. “I say, these croutons are quite dry, no?”

The door to Jenna’s apartment burst open, her and Dean stumbled in, lips locked, door closing with a well-timed click and moans echoing amid breathy sighs. Dean’s jacket fell just as Jenna’s fingers tugged on his hair, causing him to jolt and let out a growl, groaning as he bent to kiss her neck. “Just like that.” He murmured, nipping and assaulting the tanned skin. Only detaching to pull her skimpy tank over her head, revealing a hot pink, lace bra.

She’s freaky. He liked that.

“You like?” She breathed, ample chest heaving as her teeth worried her bottom lip, batting her eyelashes. Putting on a show for him.

“Mmh.” He hummed, nodding before he reached for the clasp, effortlessly undoing it. It fell to the floor, and he clicked his tongue with a grin. “Better.”

“Much.” She purred, kissing him hotly and leading them to the bedroom.

Pushing.

Pulling.

Grinding.

Jenna’s legs wrapping around his waist, courtesy of Dean putting them there. Moans. Groans. Whimpers. Cries and low mutters of each other’s name. The room heating up and pulsing with enough pressure to forge a diamond.

The bed creaking. Headboard banging. High pitched moans that belong in a porno. Groans of ‘just like that’ and whines of ‘right there’ and ‘don’t stop’.

Not even after a minute after your comment about the dry croutons, the building was stormed. Armed personnel burst through every exit, holding up automatics and yelling for everyone to get their hands up, while you were taken by the arm by one of the people yelling ‘FBI! Hands where we can see them!’ and dragged in a way which appeared rough.

You were led kicking and screaming into a side van, and the moment the door slid shut, you snapped out of it, pulling the wig off. “About time, eh, boys?”

“At least we got your signal.” One protested, while another snorted.

“Dry croutons? Really?” He rolled his eyes, spinning on the chair, raising a pointed eyebrow at you. “With all due respect, it could be something less outlandish.”

“Then it would be too easy to miss, Velasquez.” You retorted, grabbing a makeup wipe and beginning to practically scrub it all off. Also taking an antiseptic wipe and a bottle of hand sanitizer to rid your hand of Matthias Aldrich’s lips. “And since when do I work like I’m a basic, sweater wearing, background blending Gertrude?”

“She has a point, Velasquez.” One agent quipped as he went by. You pointed after him with a smirk.

“Willis gets it.” You grinned, shrugging. “Why can’t you? Have a heart, Velasquez.”

“Yeah, have a heart.”

“Shut up!” Velasquez yelled after him, and got the middle finger from Willis in response.

“You ready to report to the CO, Agent?” Willis asked you, passing you a mug of coffee, which you gratefully sipped.

“When am I not?” You chuckled, letting the warm liquid wash over your throat. “Now, I don’t care what you two clowns do, I need these guys behind bars for two lifers at least. I’ve been hunting down these sons of bad mothers for months. I’m not having any slip ups, no buy ins nor outs. Every. Exit. Sealed.” You looked between the two with an intense glare, no nonsense and all business. “Am I clear?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Morning afters were always hard for Dean. He had a rule that he followed to the T.

Mind blowing sex? Doesn’t matter, leave before he gets attached and she gets hurt.

“Sorry, Jen, I’d stay, but I’m late for work.” He hurriedly buttoned his denim shirt, trying not to get distracted by the sight of the girl in the sheets, naked body only a thin layer of cotton away.

All he had to do was peel it.

“Aw, handsome, I thought you’d stay for round six.” Jenna giggled, looking him up and down. Inside, Dean was rolling his eyes in frustration. They always got clingy after the best night of their life. Then again, that was purely his fault.

“I would, trust me, darlin’.” He cleared his throat, walking into the living room and finding his jacket and keys, along with his belt. That was important.

Jenna stepped in as well, clad in a silk robe that made her look no short of delectable. But he had to resist. Stick to the damn code. “Y’know, I’m a sucker for a man in uniform.”

She was trying a hit. God, she was trying hard. Dean had to physically resist going back for another hit. She was clingy, sure, but there was a huge double standard there.

“Are you, now?” He smirked, running a hand through his messy hair. “Careful, sweetheart, or I might sextuple dip.”

“Maybe I want you to.” She winked, and it had him chuckling, looking down and then back at her.

“Tempting. Very tempting.”

You stepped into the office, your heels making small taps on the floor as you went, signing in and showing your ID at the register before making your way inside. You’d been told to take a rest for a few days before you returned to your post in the HQ at DC, but who were you to listen?

And everyone knew it too, because the very moment you stepped inside, you were greeted with a show of applause and cheers from your colleagues. “Tenth drug ring of your career.” Agent Lafitte clapped your shoulder, chuckling. “You’re on a roll, sister.”

“Cool it with the flattery, Benny, I’m on a time crunch.” You snorted, shaking your head and holding a hand out for a case file, which was dropped into your hand as you continued walking.

“Hi.” There was a blonde girl beside you, hair pulled up into a ponytail, presumably the one who handed the fine to you. “Agent Jo Harvelle. I used to work narcotics, but they’re giving me a trial in Major Crimes. I was told by the CO to shadow you, so I can get a good sense of the ropes.”

While looking through the files, you glanced up at Agent Harvelle, seeing the eager look on her face. Rather like you when you started, and the eager ones made good agents. With a little tough love. “Yeah, a’ight. CO’s called me for a briefing, so it’ll be up to him whether you stay or step out.”

“About that drug ring you busted?” She grinned. “I was told. By practically everyone. How are you that skilled?”

“Ain’t my first rodeo, hon.” You smirked as you reached the boss’ office, rapping twice on the door with your knuckles and earning a polite ‘come in’.

That you did, finding your superior officer, Senior Agent Robert Singer, standing behind his desk, nose deep in a file while his ear was being talked off by… oh, boy.

Agent Winchester.

“So I quickly take my gun, aim it between his eyes,” He held up finger guns and aimed them to prove his point, completely disregarding your arrival, hideously typical, “and I said ‘hands up or I’ll reenact Rambo’. Genius, am I right?”

You cleared your throat sharply.

That got Agent Winchester’s attention, his green eyes zeroing in on you and giving you memories back that you tried to dispose of in the first place. A smirk twitched at those lips that were once too close to be professional before they stretched into a grin, pearly whites flashing. “Mornin’, Agent. Surprised to see you here.”

“I could say the same thing.” You pressed your lips together (and your thighs, but you’d never admit that), turning to Agent Singer instead. “Should I leave Harvelle outside, sir?”

“That’s ideal.” Singer nodded, so you signalled to Harvelle to stay outside as you closed and locked the soundproof door. You passed the file on the Brierson drug ring to him, which he checked over. “Impressive work, as always. This’ll land them behind bars for sure.”

“Always the perfectionist, aren’t you?” Winchester quipped, arms folded across his chest with a smug smirk. Your brow twitched; you knew exactly why he was highlighting that word in bold, italics, whatever he was intending to do. You’d just rather not think about it.

You scanned him over, adding all the facts in your head. His shirt wasn’t ironed. Belt was wonky. Hair looked like it had a comb desperately run through it but failed to tame it. Faint hint of something red you recognised as a lipstick smear on his jugular and a sliver of a purple bruise that disappeared under his collar. Which was hastily pulled up. His tie done in the simplest knot ever and still looked tragic.

He got here in quite the rush.

“Nice night?” You shot back, a full smirk tugging at your lips and making his drop. He gave you a look which blatantly said smartass, while you proudly notched that win on your belt.

Singer looked between the two of you before tapping his desk. “Entertaining, but not why you’re both here. We’ve found ourselves in a fix. Franz Brierson wasn’t at that party.”

Your blood ran cold. That guy was the big boss, the guy who started it all, got everyone on his payroll. If he was loose… but he couldn’t be loose. Unless you didn’t check?

“I’ve been looking into it for the past five hours. That’s right, I got here early.” Singer huffed out a breath. “There’s a chance that our big boss was notified beforehand. A mole that told him we were coming.”

“A mole. In the FBI.” Dean muttered, now serious as he rubbed a hand into his mouth. “We’ve been clean for years.”

“It’s the only explanation.” You piped up, shaking your head as you began to pace. Heels tapping, Dean’s eyes fixating on the sway of your hips and your ass in that getup at the wrong goddamn moment. “That operation was airtight. No room for error. Only someone on the inside could have leaked that info.”

“You two are the best Major Crimes has. Most arrests, most drug and crime busts I’ve seen on a record in all my years of being here.” Singer folded his arms, looking between the two of you. “I don’t know the whats, whens, whos, hows, whys of what happened when you two were last assigned on a case together, but I need this operation to stay in this circle right here.” He faced you. “When you’re working this case, Agent Harvelle can’t be there. It’s gonna be hard to shake, but you can handle it. As for you,” Singer shot an exasperated look at Winchester, “look presentable!”

“I look hot.” Dean pouted, now holding his jacket over his shoulder with it hooked on his index.

“Hot isn’t FBI. Go sort yourself out, or I’ll get your brother to do it. I need to oversee operations.” Singer left the room and the tense air between you and Dean, which you faced head on.

“So,” You started in a lilting voice, which he recognised instantly as your teasing tone and prompting an eye roll before the words left your lips, “was she good?”

“Shut up.” He groaned, shaking his head as he pulled his suit jacket back on. “None of your damn business. It’s an intimate exploration, not exhibitionism.” He lowered his voice so you couldn’t hear. “Though she’d probably be into that.”

“Are we calling sex an intimate exploration now?” You scoffed lightly, laughing afterwards. “You’re such a sappy romantic.”

“Asshole.” He shot back. Two can play, Winchester.

“Dumbass.”

“Smartass.”

“Jackass.”

“We gotta stop using ‘ass’ in every sentence.” He groaned, running a hand through his hair and picking up the file to busy himself. But the file was picked out of his hands, left carelessly on the desk, your lips claiming his something sinful.

Something that had him moaning, gripping your hips and his mouth soft, pliable, agreeable to your every want and need. He was all yours, and that was all it took to silence him.

Well, not really silence him, but details weren’t necessary. Not when your plush lips were pressing against his neck like that. Hot, open mouthed. Insistent. Rousing. Dizzying. Intoxicating.

He’d be damned if he ever got enough.

His shirt was soon hanging open, tie discarded as the marks of that sexy lipstick shade littered his torso, and he wasn’t complaining. He definitely wasn’t complaining when you sank to your knees, unbuckling his belt as your tongue traced his abs. Didn’t dare when his slacks pooled to the floor, boxers dropping next, his hand tangling in your hair as-

“Hey.” Your fingers snapped in front of him, taking him out of his delightful daydream, however ill-timed. He swallowed, giving himself a once over. No tie discarded, no shirt undone, no lipstick marks and definitely no you looking so sexy on your knees for him. Having him whine for you.

That was a thought worth biting his lip to.

“You with me?” You continued, and upon his shaky nod, you gave him a weird look before continuing on with your briefing. He inwardly wiped sweat off his brow, thankful to whatever god was watching for the lucky save.

You were sipping a late-night decaf coffee as you contemplated the case again, dressed in your worst-looking pyjamas with an old tea stain on the front and fuzzy socks. Had you scoped the party properly, you could’ve clocked if big man Brierson was actually there. But he’d known, he’d known, and now everyone in Major Crimes was under investigation.

By you.

Well, and Agent Winchester, but you’d rather not think of him. You’re actually not quite sure what happened between you two, all that you broke your own rules for your heart to be broken too. You focused on your job, he had fun. Your cycle went that way.

You’d find a new case, he’d find a new girl. Both to busy yourselves so you wouldn’t have to think about each other, which worked until now.

You got a phone call, and you mindlessly picked it up, irritated as you were pulled from your contemplative thoughts. “What do you want? I’m busy.”

‘Dean, so nice to hear from you.’ You heard, his voice mimicking yours before switching back to his. ‘Wow, Agent, colour me surprised; it’s nice to hear from you too. How are you, Dean? I’m perfectly fine, sweetheart, how are you? You’re so polite.’

“Do I sound like someone to engage in small talk right now?” You deadpanned among chuckles at his own joke, putting your dinner - leftovers - in the microwave. God, you weren’t in the mood for this.

Eventually his snickers subsided, and he cleared his throat as you set the mug down. ‘Duly noted. You’re boring. Anyway, about the mole case. I think we should meet up in the office tomorrow to draw up a list of potential suspects.’

You took your warmed dinner, placing the phone between your shoulder and ear as you stabbed the spaghetti with a fork, chewing as you spoke. “And I think you’re insane. That’s the place we’re casing. Why in the hell would we start drafting up names there?”

You heard Dean clear his throat at the end of the line. ‘Right. Got it. My place?’ Truth is, Dean had been hoping you’d say anything but ‘let’s not draft at the office’. He was scared he’d lift you up on the nearest surface and do what he hadn’t the previous time, mark you, claim you and then let you claim him, mark him, wreck him. He didn’t know what you two were, or what you’d become.

Maybe strangers with very intense, deep seated sexual tension.

“What time?” You asked through yet another bite of spaghetti. You weren’t about to forgo dinner for this dude, cordiality be damned.

‘Tomorrow, straight after hours, just head to my place. Does that work for you?’

“Mm, yeah.” You nodded, setting down your plate to quickly note it in your schedule. “See you then, Agent Winchester.”

‘Call me Dean.’

“Agent Winchester.” It was the least you could do after how things got last time. Again, you’d rather not talk about it.

You walked into the DC office after registering, briefing with Agent Singer before heading to the break room, where you found Trainee Agent Harvelle, Trainee Agent Kevin Tran, Agent Benjamin Lafitte, Agent Garth Fitzgerald and Agent Sam Winchester.

You knew Sam. He was a damn sight more respectful and less… Dean-esque than his older brother. Smarter, yet less effective on brute force raids. For that, you needed Dean Winchester. Anything research, or hacking into databases, Sam was your guy.

“Agents.” You smiled awkwardly, not knowing how else to greet them as you went straight for the coffee pot. Thank the Lord for the petition to make the standard of coffee in that jug better that got the vote from every damn person in the department.

HR and Maintenance can suck it.

“Agent.” The rest of them replied, identically sipping cups of Joe.

“Agents.” Singer walked in, holding a file. “Briefing room. Now.” He walked out, and you all followed suit, taking your coffees with you because you needed the caffeine to sustain your brains. Once you all stepped into the briefing room, where Agent Winchester and Agent Nick Garrison were waiting.

Singer grunted, pulling up a slideshow on the board. “Let’s get this over with.” He showed bodies, robbed banks, hostage situations. “Six occurrences of organised crime over the past four weeks. All hitting major municipalities. Now it’s our jurisdiction.”

“What have we got from the crime scenes?” Agent S. Winchester asked, brow furrowed in thought.

“Nothing but this snake logo, spray painted at every scene.” Up comes a logo of a rearing cobra.

You shrugged, quickly figuring something out. “Well, that solves half of the mystery. They want our attention.”

“It is possible.”

“I think it’s a temper tantrum.” You snorted, pointing to the board. “Look at where they’re hitting. Large cities, maximum damage, it’s a cry out for our beady eyes. Leaving a logo at the scene? Someone either wants to get caught or lead us on.”

“Sounds kinda like girls at a bar.” Agent D. Winchester snickered, but earned a weird look from everyone in the room. “What? I make my own style of analogies, don’t come at me for it.”

“Who’s on the team, sir?” Lafitte asked, the man all slow drawl, suave talk and suspenders.

You pointed to Agent D. Winchester, smirking. “Leave him out, his main interests are girls and booze.”

“Blow me.” He scoffed in retaliation, glaring at you. That was a mistake on Dean’s part, cause he started to imagine it. Oh, that memory’s vivid as hell.

“Beg for it.” You shot back, and despite the steady inflation of awkwardness, he really had half a mind to beg for it, honour be damned to hell.

Pin drop silence. Shared smirks. Uncomfortable eye contact between you and Dean, your minds going to places they really shouldn’t.

Agent Singer cleared his throat, then continued talking. “I want you,” he pointed to you, “and the two Agent Winchesters and Agent Lafitte on it, and the two trainees Agent Tran and Harvelle to shadow. You’re dismissed, except for you two.”

Didn’t take a genius to know who ‘you two’ were.

So everyone but you and Agent D. Winchester filtered out, and the moment the door closed, you were both less bickering, head chopping and heart ripping. More on business.

“This is a good chance for you two to scout for our mole.” Singer looked between the two of you pointedly. “As much unknown history as you two have, you idjits need to set that aside. For the sake of our damn Major Crimes unit. Narcotics will give me hell if I don’t sort this out. And the board of directors will be less pleased that we’ve been compromised.”

“We understand, sir.” You nodded, understanding how goddamn serious this was. Lives were on the line. Your jobs, the Federal Bureau of Investigation’s maintained integrity. “We can put aside our differences, can’t we, daddy’s boy?” You smirked at Dean, then pretended to realise that you’d made a mistake. “Oh, my bad. Agent Winchester.”

Dean resisted a clapback with all his might. He didn’t care if their CO was right there, he’d bend you over this desk and show you who’s really in control here.

That would wipe the smirk off those pretty lips. Replace it with his claim over you.

“So, Dean, I wanna know.” Sam smirked, cracking open a beer and passing it to his older brother. “What’s with you and her?”

Dean scoffed, sipping the beer and shaking his head. “I’m asked this fifty times a day. There’s nothing going on here. We’re work colleagues. She’s incredibly annoying, and grating, and infuriating, and I’m extremely handsome.”

That got a wider smirk from Sam, a knowing one. “You knew who I was talking about.”

That caught Dean out, and he furrowed his brow in confusion. “Say what?”

“You have so many girls in your life that half of your contacts are women.” Sam raised an eyebrow, then chuckled. “But you knew who I was referencing first try.”

“Humour me, Sammy.” Dean grimaced, folding his arms. “How do you label intense sexual tension that was almost acted on yet it almost broke our personal set of rules? Hm? Thought so.”

“So, she’s kind of like an old flame.”

“That flame ain’t lit.”

Sam nodded slowly, giving a breathless chuckle and an inclination of his head. “Yeah. Sure.” He stepped out of the room to head upstairs, which alerted Dean of the implication. He rolled his eyes, throwing his hands up in the air.

“Hey! Sammy!”

NEXT UP:

“Oh, honey, such a flirt!” You laughed in a posh accent, mimicking your mother’s laugh to the best of your ability while you swatted Dean’s chest. He smirked at the look in your eyes, because goddamn was it obvious that you hated this.

“Darlin’, I can’t help myself around you.” He turned to the other charity goers with a proud smirk, gesturing to all of you. “Can’t keep my hands off my gorgeous wife. Might have to have something off the menu for dessert, if you catch my drift.” He winked at some elderly ladies, who giggled and waved him off.

“Such a charming boy.” One cooed, obviously eyeing Dean up with poorly restrained envy. While you looked around for your target, you missed the way Dean’s eyes travelled down your body in that form-fitting red dress, v-neck, v-back, thigh slit where he knew you had a thigh holster strapped in, all the good stuff. And his eyes were on those scarlet heels.

He was imagining ramming into you with those sexy things on. And that dress, well, it’d be off in second if he had the chance. And that lipstick? Well, it’d be smeared and leaving prints on his neck, chest, abs and- that’s going a bit too unprofessional.

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