#this had NO right to be so romantic. what in the goddamn hell!!!

[runraerun]

Steddie Amnesia Ficlet: 2/3

-> Part 1 | Part 3 | AO3

cw: more head trauma/concussed!Steve discussions.

Steve hears Eddie call after him, but he doesn’t stop—he can’t face it. Not right now, anyway. Not when his eyes are stinging and his heart is pounding in his ears, each pulse more painful than the last. His legs take him to the building he’s supposed to go into, fueled purely by muscle memory. Not brain memory, of course, because nothing up there works properly anymore, apparently.

The Brain Injury Recovery Center.

It’s where Eddie expects him to go. He’ll catch Steve if he goes in, or he’ll wait for Steve by the doors until he comes back out—both options involve facing Eddie after Steve had made a total idiot of himself. Both feel utterly mortifying.

So he ducks into the alleyway beside the familiar brick building instead, just to catch his breath. It takes Steve longer than the average bear to sort out his feelings now, after all. Jesus, who’s he kidding? Everything seems to take him longer.

Steve feels hot tears streak down his cheeks before he angrily scrubs a sleeve over them. Of course Eddie isn’t his boyfriend. Eddie’s funny and cool and he’s in a band and he lights up every damn room he walks into—and Steve… well, maybe Steve was something a few years ago when he was in high school, and maybe he was even something before his accident, but now…

There’s a sharp clapping noise that sounds like thunder. A door slamming, Steve’s brain sluggishly supplies. It’s followed by shouting.

“Steve? Steve!” Eddie calls from somewhere on the street.

Steve’s heart feels like it’s going to fall out of his ass. His face is probably still blotchy and wet, his breathing hasn’t evened out yet and his eyes are still leaking like a goddamn faucet. He’s pathetic.

Can’t let Eddie see him like this…

He ducks behind a metal garbage bin, careful not to let anything but the bottom of his sneakers touch the sticky looking surfaces around him. It stinks, like rot.

“Steve?” Eddie’s voice echoes off of the alleyway walls. Steve claps a hand around his mouth to muffle out any of the pathetic sounds that seem determined to escape from him. So much of his body just does whatever the hell it feels like now. Out of Steve’s control, like everything else.

For a few, tense seconds, there’s silence. Eddie’s listening for him, maybe. Steve shuts his eyes and waits him out.

It feels like an eternity before he hears Eddie’s hurried, retreating footsteps, continuing his shouting for Steve. He sounds almost as panicked as Steve feels. Almost.

Steve gives a noisy, wet sniff and does one final scrub of his face before getting to his feet. He starts walking.

As he goes deeper into the alleyway, he thinks back on all the things he’s been wrong about. The fact that Eddie had some of his band t-shirts mixed in with Steve’s clothes… well, that was because they were both guys who wore about the same size, and Eddie left his shit everywhere. It’s no wonder some of his stuff got mixed into their laundry. And the times Eddie’s driven him places? That’s just… what friends do, Steve supposes. And all those times Eddie made Steve laugh? Made him feel like the center of the universe? Well, that’s just… Eddie. He must make everyone feel that way. It’s like his super power. But it isn’t romantic… It doesn’t mean anything more than Eddie being a magnetic person.

Steve is just so stupid. Painfully so.

He blinks as the sun hits him. He must’ve reached the other side of the alleyway.

Steve cups a hand over his eyes and grimaces. His migraine wasn’t backing down. He sighs. Time to head back.

Steve turns back into the alleyway he’d emerged from, only he’s about halfway through when he realizes the color of the buildings on either side of him are wrong. They’re brown on one side, painted green on the other. That isn’t right…

His heart jackrabbits in his chest, but he keeps walking forward. Maybe he’ll recognize the street once he’s back on the other side.

But when he gets there, it’s as unfamiliar to him as the alleyway. Steve turns, looking up and down the road to see if he could spot Eddie, or his van, or the Center. But there’s nothing.

And when someone shoulder checks him, Steve supposes he was sort of asking for it, standing in the middle of the sidewalk like that. He apologizes, but it’s too late. The person’s already out of range to hear him.

It’s as if everyone else is on fast forward while Steve’s stuck on pause. The world keeps moving along while all he seems to be able to do is watch it go by.

Why would he ever think someone as dynamic and spirited as Eddie would hitch his horse onto Steve’s busted up, barely mobile cart?

Stupid, stupid, stupid…

He presses the heels of his hands to his eyes and wills himself not to start blubbering again like a goddamn baby. His life is already one big, painful lesson in humility as it is, he doesn’t need to wallow in it.

Steve keeps walking. Figures he’ll spot something, or someone familiar to him eventually. The pounding in his head’s eased off to a dull ache, at least. Maybe there was something to this exercise and fresh air thing the doctors were always going on about, after all…

The thing is though, Steve doesn’t spot anything familiar. Not even vaguely so, and it’s not until the streetlights turn on that he realizes he’d spent the majority of the day wandering around the streets like some lost dog that managed to slip his leash.

It’s cold too, and all he’s got on is jeans and a polo. It’s October, isn’t it? No wonder he’s got goosebumps all up and down his arms.

Then, he finally spots something familiar; a phone booth. Steve breathes a sigh of relief. He’d just call his parents. They’d come pick him up.

He gets the booth and lifts the receiver before he blanks. A quarter. He’d need that. Duh, Harrington. So he hangs up the phone and pats his pockets until he finds a wallet, but all that’s inside of it are a couple of crisp bills. He’d need to break one.

Steve turns, scans the street until he spots a well lit, invitingly warm looking diner. The joint looks so damn cozy that he forgets to make sure the street is clear before he steps out into the middle of it.

Tires screech, harmonizing with the horn that’s blasting at him—Steve flinches, reaching up to cover his head and braces for impact.

To his great relief, the hit never comes. Which, thank fuck. He can’t afford anymore accidents. As it is Robin’s threatened to make him wear a helmet full-time.

Steve doesn’t listen to whatever the person yells at him, he just hurries to get the hell out of his way of the other moving vehicles.

“Smooth, Harrington. Real smooth.” He mutters to himself as he catches his breath.

He pushes the door to the diner open with shaking hands, but it’s blissfully peaceful inside, and he can actually feel his insides unclench as he stands inside of it.

“Sit anywhere, hun, I’ll be right with you.” A woman’s voice tells him. Steve nods and slips into the nearest booth overlooking the street. Watches the cars go by. There’s even a couple of cop cars, sirens blaring, lights flashing. Steve wonders briefly what sort of emergency they’re rushing off to when the waitress comes to his table.

“What can I get you, handsome?” She asks, cheery and warm like the rest of the diner.

“Uh…” Steve frowns, taking a few seconds to process the question, “nothing. I’m just waiting for my parents to come pick me up.”

The waitress taps the side of the notepad. “Well you gotta order something, hun, or you can’t stay here.”

Steve wants to stay here. It’s warm and smells fucking amazing, like “pancakes?”

She waitress smirks. “Yeah, we got those. You want a stack?”

“Yeah, please.” Steve smiles back, laughing along with the waitress like he’s in whatever joke that’s currently so amusing to her. “I’m starving.”

“You want some coffee too, to help you sober up, maybe?”

“Oh, I’m not drunk.” He huffs out a little self deprecating laugh, “I wish. No, I—uh, my meds, they’re the kind that you can��t mix with alcohol. Coffee too. Bummer, right? Yeah… But, uh, it is what it is, I guess—so…”

He can feel it. The way his mind so often wanders. He’s lost his train. His track. He frowns, eyes drifting towards the street again, watching the headlights zip by.

“…so just the pancakes then?” The waitress asks, jolting his train back onto its rails. His attention snaps back onto her.

“Yeah, pancakes. Sure.” Steve flashes her what he hopes is a charming smile.

She returns his smile and leaves him be, and he lets himself relax. Props his head up on a fist and watches life go on for everyone else but him.

He gets his pancakes, and some juice too that he doesn’t remember ordering, but hey, that’s nothing new. And damn, the pancakes taste even better than they smell. He needs to remember the name of this place so he can come back with everyone. What did the doctors say? Repeat something in your head over and over until it sticks. Repetition. Repetition, repetition, repetition…

It’s around the time his fork hits an empty plate that one of the police cars stops in front of the diner window, lights on, but the sirens are off now.

Hopper steps out.

Huh. That’s weird. Steve wonders what sort of emergency he’s here for.

When Hopper enters through the glass doors, the bell hung over the entry way rings out pleasantly. An angel getting their wings.

His eyes land on Steve and the older man sighs, shoulders falling. Relief, Steve recognizes. Hopper pulls the radio from his belt and says something into it before stomping over.

Then it clicks.

Oh. Steve’s the emergency.

He feels his face heat up. The handful of other patrons scattered across the diner are all looking at him.

“There you are.” Hopper sighs, gruff and exasperated.

Steve sinks into his seat, just a little. “Shit. I fucked up, didn’t I?”

“Just a little.” Hopper chuckles dryly. He takes off his hat and slips into the booth across from Steve, apparently not in any sort of hurry now that he’s found the runaway dog.

Steve runs a hand through his hair, a nervous tic he’s developed. “Sorry.”

“Nah, don’t be sorry. Just strangle Munson for me when you see him next, will ya?” Hopper drops his hat onto the table and waves the waitress down. He orders a coke.

Munson. Eddie.

The memory of how he made a total and utter fool of himself comes rushing back, slamming down onto him like one of those cartoon anvils. Jesus, how did he forget that..?

Suddenly the pancakes aren’t sitting so good in his gut. Feels like he’s gonna ralph.

“Was he freaked out? Eddie, I mean.” Steve asks, cautiously approaching the question. Did Eddie say anything about why…?

“Yeah, him and Robin both. Then the kids found out too—don’t ask me how. I suspect the curly-haired one has an illegal transmitter.” Hopper leans back in the booth as the waitress drops off his coke. He takes the straw out and drinks it right from the glass. Steve waits for him to finish, doesn’t say a word.

When Hopper puts the glass down, Steve just sits and watches the way the drops of condensation run down the cup, distorting around the fingerprints Hopper’s left. “Anyway, they’re all out on their bikes looking for you too.”

Hopper smiles fondly, like it’s something charming and not… pathetic. “You got a lot of people that care about you, kid.

Steve swallows around the lump in his throat, and nods. Tries for a grin, but it’s weak. Probably wouldn’t fool anyone, much less a cop. “Yeah, I’m a real lucky guy.”

Hopper looks like he wants to say something else, but he just takes a breath and nods. Steve’s grateful he doesn’t argue. Doesn’t think he has the energy in him right now to fend off the ‘but look how far you’ve come!’ ‘Your speaking’s gotten so much better!’ ‘It could be a whole heck of a lot worse!’ comments.

“What do you say we get you home? Unless you want dessert? My treat.” Hopper offers with a grin.

“No, I just want to go to sleep,” he says, before remembering his manners, “thanks, though.”

“Alright then.” Hopper glances down at the cleared plate of pancakes and the half finished coke before sliding out of the booth, followed by Steve. He takes out wallet, but Steve beats him to it. He tosses down a few bills, hoping it’s enough. Hopper doesn’t comment, so it must be.

The drive back to his and Robin’s apartment is a solemn one, but it’s strangely peaceful. Hopper’s got the heat on full blast due to Steve’s lack of coat, and the motion of the vehicle along with the darkened sky leaves Steve feeling wrung out in a way he hasn’t felt in a long time.

In fact, when they finally arrive, Hopper’s gotta shake his shoulder to wake him up.

“We’re here.” He rumbles out in his gruff baritone.

Steve lifts his head from his folded arm and looks up at the modest building. He wonders how far they live from the pancake diner. If they could walk there, sometime, him and Robin and Eddie.

But then Steve realizes he never got the name of it. He feels his insides sink. Another thing lost to him.

“Thanks, Hop,” Steve gives Hopper a nod and what he’s sure is a tired smile. “I’ll, uh—I’ll try not to run off again.”

“Ah, don’t worry about it.” Hopper says, diplomatically. “Let me walk you in.”

Steve cringes at the idea. He’s grateful for Hop and all he’s done—especially the part about not making him feel like a complete dummy—but he just wants this all to be over and for things to revert back to how they were. And at this point he’s so close he can taste it.

Steve busies his hands by undoing his seat belt. “No, it’s okay, really—“

Hopper looks like he’s about to argue but Robin damn near crashes out through the building’s illuminated front doors. She makes a b-line for Steve, who’s just barely gotten out of the cruiser.

She wraps her arms around him and doesn’t let go. “Steve! Holy shit, you scared me so bad. I’ve been out of my mind!”

Steve’s arms are trapped at an awkward angle, but he reaches around her as best he can, arms like flippers. “I’m okay. Seriously. Look, not even a scratch.”

She doesn’t laugh. Just squeezes him harder. Truthfully, Steve doesn’t know if he’s okay, but it’s what everyone always seems to want to hear from him, so he says it often.

“I’ve already killed Eddie like three times.” Robin murmurs into Steve’s chest, before finally pulling away. Her eyes are bloodshot, her nose stuffy, like she’s been crying.

“It’s not his fault, Rob.” Steve’s brows pinch together as he frowns, “is he…”

But when Steve looks up towards their building, he can see Eddie standing in the doorframe, his dark silhouette illuminated by the entry way lights. He’s still as a statue, holding open the door for them, arm extended out into the cold autumn night. Steve’s insides squirm.

“You got him from here, Buckley?” Hopper calls from his cruiser and Robin ducks to meet his eye before giving him a thumbs up. She loops her arm around his waist and they start towards their place—towards Eddie.

Before they reach him, Steve keeps his voice down as he asks, “Can I just go to bed? I don’t—I can’t talk about it right now.”

“Okay.” She nods, “I get it.”

But she doesn’t, not really.

Steve avoids eye contact with Eddie when they finally reach the building, and before he can say anything, Robin interrupts. “He’s going straight to bed. I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?”

“Yeah, okay.” Eddie says in a small voice. He doesn’t argue. Doesn’t even follow them back up to their apartment. Maybe Eddie’s even relieved he doesn’t need to confront it tonight. Maybe they won’t ever confront it… maybe he’s hoping Steve’s brain will take care of everything and make him forget. Make it like it never happened. Part of Steve wishes—

No. He doesn’t wish that. His brain’s already functioning at half capacity, he doesn’t want to thank it for fucking up, even if it might make Steve’s life easier.

Whatever Eddie’s expression is, Steve doesn’t look back to find out. He keeps his eyes on his feet, focusing on putting one step ahead of the other.

When they finally arrive at Steve’s matchbox sized bedroom, he doesn’t even bother changing into pajamas, or even out of his jeans for that matter. He just falls into his bed, pulls a pillow over his head and wills himself to let go of the day and surrender to the sweet pull of blissful unconsciousness.

🫣 Oops, I made it worse. But I promise the Eddie and Steve confrontation is in the next part! 🙏 This is tagged angst with a happy ending for a reason.

Tag List: (message me to add or remove yourself.)

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[natsaffection]

Ghosted by You. | N.R

Spy!Natasha x Innocent!Reader

Warnings: Kidnapping, stab wound

Word count: 3,7k

A/N: It’s based on this ask here! I tried to create the dynamics exactly like in the movie, but somehow also needed seriousness..🥸

You should’ve stayed home. You really should’ve stayed home..But no. Your brain, in its infinite wisdom, decided that after one amazing date, Natasha disappearing from your life had to mean something dramatic. That she was in trouble. That she needed you.

That she hadn’t just ghosted you because..oh, I don’t know, maybe she didn’t want to see you again. But did that logic stop you? No. Because instead of letting it go like a normal person, you tracked a random transaction on her credit card, hopped on a plane, and landed in London. And now? Now, you were tied to a goddamn chair in a dimly lit basement, with very angry men staring you down.

One of them paced in front of you, arms crossed. His accent was thick, British but rough, the kind that made you instinctively gulp. “Who sent you?”

You blinked. “What?”

“Who. Sent. You?” He leaned in, his breath hot against your face. “We know you work for the CIA.”

Your heart nearly stopped. “THE WHAT?!”

The second man sighed dramatically, rolling his eyes like you were personally wasting his time. “This one’s gonna be difficult.”

Your brain short-circuited. “Wait, wait- hold on a second, you think I’m in the CIA?!” You let out a weak, breathless laugh. “Oh my God. Wait, I think I’m gonna throw up..”

“Cut the act.” The first man grabbed the chair, tilting it back so that you were nearly falling. “We know you were following Romanoff. What were you planning?”

Your what now? “Natasha? Natasha Romanoff?” You nearly choked on your own breath. “She’s, she’s a spy?!” The two men exchanged glances before the first one grumbled, “Great. The kid doesn’t even know.”

“Wait, hold on.” Your breathing was turning erratic, panic rising in your throat. “She told me she was a florist..?” The second man pinched the bridge of his nose. “Jesus Christ.” You were spiraling. Your hands shook against the restraints, your brain struggling to process what the hell was happening.

“No! Wait, you don’t understand..” you stammered, words tumbling out too fast. “I literally just followed her because she ghosted me! I thought she wasn’t answering because she was in trouble! I-I thought I was being romantic!”

The first man just stared at you. “You followed a CIA agent across the world because she didn’t text you back?”

“…Yes?” For a second, neither man spoke. Then the first one turned to the other and said, “We should just kill her.”

“W-WHAT?! NO! No, that’s not necessary!” You wriggled against the ropes, full-on panicking. “I’m not a spy! I barely passed high school! I cried last week because my WiFi went out! Does that s-sound like someone who works for the CIA?!”

The second man pulled out a knife, twirling it between his fingers. “Too bad.” You squeezed your eyes shut. God, I’m gonna die. I’m actually gonna die because I followed a hot woman to London like a freaking idiot..

The door exploded inward. The first guy turned just in time for a bullet to tear straight through his shoulder. He collapsed with a scream. The second one lunged for his gun, but before he could even blink, Natasha stepped into the room, raised her pistol, and shot him twice in the chest.

Your brain short-circuited. Natasha didn’t hesitate. Didn’t flinch. Didn’t even blink as she put a bullet between someone’s ribs. “Oh my God..” you whispered, eyes darting between the two men, one dead, one groaning in pain. “Oh my God, you!! You just killed-”

“Not now!” She stormed forward, cutting through your restraints with a huge-ass knife. “Are you hurt ?”

“YOU JUST SHOT TWO PEOPL-”She grabbed your wrist, yanking you to your feet. “I swear to God, Y/n, I will have this conversation later. Right now? Move.” She shoved you toward the door, and your legs felt like Jell-O. “I-I don’t think I can walk..” you stammered.

“Then crawl, I don’t care!” Gunfire erupted outside. Natasha grabbed your wrist and dragged you behind her as she stormed into the hallway, firing with precision. One man barely turned the corner before she put a bullet straight between his eyes. You screamed again. “Y/n, I will leave you here if you don’t MOVE!” she barked.

“What-” you whispered, watching people DROP like flies. “Don't look at them.” she snapped, grabbing your face and physically turning it away. “What the hell is happening?” Your breathing was getting worse, your chest tightening. “I—Natasha, I don’t- I don’t understand-”

She groaned. “Oh, for fu-”Before you could process, she picked you up. “N-Natasha!”

“Shut up!” She kicked a door open, carrying you like a sack of potatoes. “I can shoot faster when you’re not slowing me down!”

“I CAN RUN!”

“Clearly NOT!”

Gunfire shattered the walls behind you. Natasha spun, firing two bullets into the men chasing you. They collapsed instantly. Your breath hitched. “You’re killing them..” you whispered. Natasha didn’t hesitate. “And I’ll kill ten more if it gets us out of here alive!” Her coldness made your stomach drop.

You saw it now. The emptiness in her eyes, the precision, the way she fired without flinching. The woman you had been falling for, the one who had smiled at you over dinner, who had kissed you so softly..was a killer.

She caught your expression, saw the fear on your face and for a moment, her own softened. But there wasn’t time. She threw you into a stolen car, slammed the door, and sped into the streets. For a long time, you couldn’t speak.

“You’re scared of me now.” she said flatly, breaking the silence. Your mouth opened—closed. “You should be.” she muttered. Her hands were still covered in blood. You pressed yourself against the door, heartbeat pounding.

This wasn’t the Natasha you knew. This was someone else entirely. And you had no idea what you had just gotten yourself into. The car ride was dead silent. You sat rigidly in the passenger seat, hands curled into fists on your lap, still shaking.

Natasha gripped the steering wheel like she wanted to break it in half. Her knuckles were white, her jaw clenched, and her entire body radiated fury. But you didn’t say anything. Because you were terrified. Your brain replayed it all on an endless loop, the gunfire, the bodies dropping, the blood on her hands.

You had thought she was a florist. You had kissed her, flirted with her, trusted her, And she had just killed six people without flinching. Your stomach churned. “Say something.” Natasha finally snapped, eyes still locked on the road. You swallowed, voice weak. “Where are we going?”

“A safe house.” A safe house. Right. Because that’s a normal thing to have. You nodded slowly, gripping the door handle like you might have to jump out of the moving car. Natasha let out a harsh breath, running a hand through her hair. “You’re still scared of me.” You flinched. Her grip on the wheel tightened. “I just saved your life, Y/n.”

“You also ended six others.” you whispered. The air in the car shifted. Her eyes flicked to you, calculating, cold. “That’s how this works.” You swallowed hard. “This?”

She exhaled sharply, looking back at the road. “You’re in my world now. You don’t get to judge me for doing what I have to do.”

“I didn’t ask to be in your world!” She let out a bitter laugh. “Oh, really? Because flying across the world to follow me sure as hell says otherwise.”

Your face flushed with anger. “I followed you because I thought you were in danger! Not because I wanted to be thrown into some goddamn murder spree!” Her grip on the wheel tightened.

“You think I wanted this?” Her voice was eerily calm. You hesitated. “I don’t- I don’t know what to think, Natasha.” She went silent.

The weight of the situation pressed down on you. The reality that you had just witnessed multiple murders. That you had watched Natasha—the woman you had been falling for, kill like it was nothing. Your chest tightened. Natasha let out a long, exhausted sigh and muttered, “We’ll talk when we get there.”

She parked in a dark alleyway, leading you through a maze of backstreets until you reached an abandoned-looking building. The second she closed the door behind you, she turned, eyes blazing. “What the hell were you even thinking?!”

You jumped. “Excuse me?!”

“You followed me across an ocean. You got kidnapped. You almost died!”

“I DIDN’T KNOW YOU WERE A SPY!”

“THAT DOESN’T MAKE IT BETTER!”

She stalked forward, and for the first time, you actually backed away. Her face immediately fell. You weren’t just arguing.

You were afraid of her. Natasha inhaled sharply, running a hand through her hair. “Y/N…”

You pressed your back against the wall, shaking your head. “I don’t..” You swallowed hard, voice trembling. “I don’t know who you are.” Pain flickered across her face, but it was gone just as fast. She turned away from you, exhaling through her nose. “You shouldn’t have come.” she muttered.

“You could have just told me the truth!” She spun back, eyes flashing. “Are you out of your mind?! If I had told you- if you had known- you would’ve been in even more danger!”

Your stomach twisted. “Oh yeah? And what now?” You threw up your hands. “I know now, Natasha! I was just kidnapped and almost killed!” She winced. Just for a second.

Then, she stepped closer, voice dangerously low. “You want to know the truth?” she murmured. You swallowed. “No-”

“You would’ve been fine.” Her voice was cold, calculated. “If you had just stayed home. If you had just let me go. But now?” Her jaw clenched. “Now, you’re a target.”

Your stomach dropped. “Wait, what?” She sighed, rolling her shoulders. “They think you’re CIA. They think you know something. You don’t, but that doesn’t matter anymore.”

Your heartbeat thundered. “So- so what? What happens now?” She gave you a pointed look. “Now? I clean up your mess.” She grabbed a first aid kit and tossed it onto the table.

“Sit.”

“I’m fine-”

“Sit down.”

You gulped and sat. She grabbed your arm, not gentle but not rough and started cleaning the scrapes from where they had tied you up. The silence between you burned. You stared at her. At the red stains on her shirt. The blood on her hands. The way her shoulders were still tense from the fight.

She was different now. The Natasha who had laughed at your stupid jokes? The one who had kissed you in the rain? That Natasha was gone. Or maybe…maybe she was never real. She caught you staring. “What?” she muttered.

You hesitated. “Were you ever going to tell me?” Her hands froze. Then, she dropped the antiseptic, stood up, and turned away.

“…It was never supposed to go this far.” she admitted. Something inside you ached. Because deep down, you knew, this meant goodbye.

She exhaled sharply. “I’ll get you back to the States. I’ll make sure they lose your trail.” Your heart clenched. “You’re just sending me away?”

“Yes.”

“But I-” Your voice cracked. “What about you?” She looked away. “I’ll handle it.” Tears burned your eyes. “Natasha-”

“This isn’t your life, Y/n.” she said firmly. “It can’t be.” Your chest ached. You had risked everything to find her. And now, she was pushing you away. But deep down, you knew she was right. You weren’t built for this. For her. And it broke you. Natasha sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “I’ll get you home tomorrow. Get some rest.”

Well..You and Natasha had been on the run for three days. Three days of gunfire, stolen cars, dodging assassins, and sleeping in dingy safe houses with barely enough time to breathe. Somewhere between nearly dying for the second time, sneaking across borders, and sharing a stolen coat for warmth, something between you shifted.

You weren’t just running anymore. You were running together. Natasha was still infuriating. She still rolled her eyes at your bad decisions, still called you reckless, still snapped at you for asking stupid questions. But now? Now she also held your hand when you got too cold. She taught you how to fire a gun, not that you were good at it, but she didn’t make fun of you when you missed.

She touched you more. Small, quick touches, her hand on your back, her fingers brushing yours. And most of all? She looked at you differently. Like she actually cared. Like sending you away wasn’t an option anymore. “We’re almost there.” Natasha muttered, pressing her hand to her earpiece. You both crouched behind a pile of rubble in an abandoned city square, panting from the last disaster of a shootout.

“Tell me ‘almost’ means we’re five minutes away from hot showers and real food..” you whispered. She gave you a dry look. “Try ten minutes and two more obstacles.”

You groaned. “Of course.”

“Look.” She pointed toward the far end of the square. A black helicopter was parked near an old church, CIA agents waiting by the doors. Your chest lightened. The helicopter was right there. You could hear the roar of the blades, see the CIA agents waiting, their weapons ready. Safety was so close you could taste it.

But of course..It was never that easy. You heard footsteps. Too many. And then, before you could react, an arm wrapped around your neck. Cold steel pressed against your throat. Your breath hitched. Natasha whipped around, gun raised. But it was too late.

The man holding you was grinning. He was tall, strong, covered in tactical gear. His knife dug into your skin just enough to make your pulse spike. More men emerged from the surrounding buildings, mercenaries, armed to the teeth. Your stomach twisted. You had walked right into a trap.

“Drop your weapons!!” the man holding you barked. The CIA agents hesitated. Natasha didn’t move. She stood rigid, her gun aimed directly at the man’s head. Her eyes burned. “If you touch her..” she said, voice dangerously low, “I’ll put a bullet between your eyes before you even think about blinking.”

The man chuckled. “Oh, Agent Romanoff. You care about this one, don’t you?” Her jaw clenched. “Drop. Your. Guns.” he ordered again. The agents exchanged glances. Natasha’s finger hovered over the trigger. You could feel her rage. The barely controlled violence. She was waiting for the right moment.

“Natasha.” you whispered, trying not to move against the blade. “Just go.” Her eyes snapped to you. And the way she looked at you, it was the kind of look that said she would burn the entire world down before leaving you behind.

“Not happening.” she said. Your heart clenched. Chaos Breaks Loose And then, everything happened at once. Natasha moved first. The bullet hit its mark, straight through the mercenary’s shoulder. His grip loosened just for a second. And that was all she needed.

You ripped yourself free, stumbling forward as gunfire exploded around you. The CIA agents opened fire. Natasha was a blur, taking down enemies like they were nothing. You scrambled backward, searching for cover, but the mercenary wasn’t done. He lunged.

And before you could react, the knife sank into your stomach. The second the knife plunged into your stomach, the world snapped into sharp, unbearable agony. You gasped, choking on your own breath, as fire erupted through your entire body. The blade twisted.

A raw, animalistic scream ripped from your throat. You collapsed, your legs giving out, your body feeling like it had been set on fire from the inside. The mercenary smirked. “Oops.” A bullet tore through his skull before he could even take another breath. His body dropped.

Her hands immediately pressed against your stomach, trying to stop the bleeding. Her face was wild with panic, her breaths coming too fast, her usual iron control completely shattered. “No. No, no, no-” You couldn’t breathe. It felt like someone had shoved glass into your stomach, and every breath dragged shards deeper into you.

“Nat..” Your voice broke. “It- It hurts..”

“I know, I know..” she nearly screamed, pressing down harder. The pain spiked. You choked, nearly blacking out right there. “Stay awake, Y/N!” Her voice was frantic, almost desperate. “Do you hear me? Stay awake!”

Your ears rang. You barely registered the CIA agents rushing toward you. “We have to move-” one of them started. Natasha snarled. “Get a Stretcher on that helicopter NOW!”

Your vision blurred at the edges. Your limbs felt too heavy, your fingers tingling as the blood poured out of you. You could hear shouting. Gunfire? More soldiers? More fighting? You didn’t know. All you knew was that you were cold. And so fucking tired.

Natasha’s arms wrapped around you as she hauled you up. “I got you, I got you.” she kept muttering, her voice wavering. You let out a weak whimper as she lifted you. The pain was indescribable. Like your entire insides had been ripped apart, burning, splitting, bleeding. “I know, just hold on, okay?” Her voice cracked badly.

She ran with you, gun still raised, still firing behind her. You felt the cold metal ramp beneath you as Natasha threw herself onto the aircraft, clutching you close. “Get us out of here!” she roared. The helicopter lurched. You barely registered it. All you could feel was pain. Someone was grabbing at you, pressing too hard on the wound.

“S-Stop..” you whimpered, the pressure making you see stars. Natasha snapped. “Be careful!”

“We’re trying to stop the bleeding!” a medic barked back. Natasha was breathing too fast. “She’s losing too much blood-”

“We know!” Your fingers trembled, reaching out. You didn’t even realize what you were doing until Natasha grabbed your hand. Her grip was tight and desperate. You tried to squeeze back, but you were too weak. That was when you saw it. The look in her eyes. The pure, unfiltered fear. Natasha was scared. Not of the bullets. Not of the mercenaries.

But of losing you. “Nat…” You barely got the word out. “Shh, it’s okay..” she whispered, pressing her forehead against yours. “Don’t talk. Just stay with me.” Your breath hitched. Everything was spinning. The medic’s voice faded. Your eyes fluttered shut.

Your body felt heavy. Everything ached. The dull beeping of a heart monitor filled the room. The scent of disinfectant burned your nose. You blinked against the blinding white light, your brain foggy, sluggish. Then, you heard her. “You better wake up soon, because if I did all of that for nothing, I swear to God-”

Her voice shook. Your lips parted. “Nat..?” The chair beside your bed screeched as someone jumped up. Hovering over you, her eyes wide, raw, frantic. “Oh my God.” You barely registered the way her hand grabbed yours, gripping it like she was afraid you’d disappear. You blinked up at her, throat dry. “Where…?”

“You’re in a hospital.” she said, her voice hoarse. You could tell she’d been awake for a long time. Your brows furrowed. “How long?”

Natasha hesitated. “…Three days.” Your breath hitched. “Three..?”

“You almost died, Y/N.” Her jaw clenched. “Do you have any idea how stupid that was?!” Ah. There it was. The anger. The Romanoff rage. You offered a weak smile. “Saved your life, though.” Her eyes flashed. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t joke about this!” Her grip on your hand tightened. You swallowed, watching her. Because beneath the anger…She looked wrecked. Dark circles under her eyes. Hair a mess. Still wearing the same clothes from the extraction. “Have you even left this room?” you asked quietly. She exhaled sharply, avoiding your gaze.

You sighed, shifting slightly, then immediately regretted it. White-hot pain tore through your stomach, forcing a shaky breath from your lips. Natasha’s head snapped back toward you. “Hey, hey-” She reached out, pressing a hand against your shoulder to keep you from moving. “Don’t do that. Just..stay still.”

“…Natasha.” you murmured. “It’s not your fault.” Her jaw tightened. “Yes, it is.” Guilt..The Romanoff Way of Suffering She stood up, pacing.

“You were supposed to be safe. You were supposed to be on the helicopter. Not..Not bleeding out in my arms..” You watched her. “You saved me.” you pointed out.

She let out a bitter laugh. “Yeah? And look at you now.” You exhaled, trying to push through the pain. “You would have died.” you said softly. “That guy was gonna kill you, Nat.”

Her eyes snapped to you. And something cracked. “Then maybe I should have let him.” Your stomach dropped. “No.”

She shook her head, running a shaky hand through her hair. “I should have protected you. I should have been faster. I should have-”

“Stop.” She froze. You struggled to sit up, ignoring the way your body screamed in protest. “Natasha, look at me.”

She did. Her expression was so raw, so pained. “You think I regret saving you?” you whispered. She swallowed, lips pressed together. You reached out, grabbing her wrist. “You think I’d rather be lying in a grave than here?” She exhaled sharply. “…You almost were.”

“But I’m not.” you murmured. “Because of you.” She looked away. You squeezed her hand. “Nat.” Nothing.

“Natasha.” Her jaw tensed. Finally, after what felt like forever, she turned back. And the moment she met your gaze, something inside her broke. Because suddenly, her arms were around you. Holding you so tight it should have hurt, but you didn’t care. You felt her shudder.

“Hey..” you murmured, pressing your face against her shoulder. “I’m okay.” She shook her head. “You almost weren’t..”

“But I am.” She let out a shaky breath. Her grip didn’t loosen. You hesitated, then turned your head slightly, whispering against her skin. “I’d do it again.”

She stiffened. Then, she pulled back, her eyes burning. “If you ever do something that reckless again, I will personally kill you myself.”

You grinned. “I swear to God, Y/N-” You grabbed the front of her jacket and kissed her.

-

-

-

-

[godmadeaterribleerror]

If You Only Knew

Main Masterlist - Soldier Boy Masterlist

Read on A03! - Part 2

Tags: Soldier Boy/Female Reader, fluff, pining, emotions (oh no), swearing

Title from I Can See You by Taylor Swift.

Summary/Warnings: Request from an anon! Ben is experiencing feelings. Real feelings. For a woman. But his reputation his proceeds him, so trying to win her over is taking a while. Once he gets a chance, he simply fucking refuses to blow it.

Author's Note: Ben proving once again that he's my favorite character to write for. I get to type "fuck" so much in his pov.

Word Count: 6.3k

Ben was not listening to any of these stupid fucking speeches. They were all the same, every goddamn year, and usually he’d at least pretend to pay attention—nodding like he gave a fuck about who this random pussy wanted to thank, applauding when everyone else applauded because he could do it louder, and better—for the sake of the cameras.

But this year he had better fucking priorities. Ones that were far more important than saving the birds from cancer, or whatever the fuck this charity did.

He was looking for Her. 

She was here. She had to be here. She’d said she’d be here, so She was here. Ben couldn’t fucking find Her, but she was here. 

Christ, he needed Her to be here. He hadn’t fought to wear a real, well-tailored suit and made that big donation just for Her to not be here. For Ben to just be acting like a pussy fucking dumbass for everyone but Her to see.

He’d let Her see it, because she seemed to like stuff like that. Romantic shit that women always liked, but bigger. Showing that Ben cared.

And he didn’t care about the birds, or dogs, or cats, or whatever the hell they were all doing here. He did care about Her, and getting Her to stop acting like she didn’t care about him.

He knew She cared about him. If She didn’t care, She wouldn’t ask him about his day like she always did. Specifying small things from shit he’d said two weeks, asking follow-up questions and making soft, adorable jokes through the conversation. She wouldn’t tell him about Her own day, like she really wanted him to know. She wouldn’t say Ben like She did. Like it was a word she liked saying. That felt right on Her tongue.

But She cared about Ben, not Soldier Boy. She didn’t even seem to fucking like Solider Boy, because the only times she really looked at him was when he wore dumb fucking people clothing instead of his supe suit. When he did things that boring citizens did, and when he told Her real things about himself. He’d tried all the regular moves on Her, the ones that usually got women to melt right to his will, and she’d been unaffected. He’d used all his best hero stories, and She’d seemed to be listening but not invested. Not swooning. He’d shown off his powers, and She’d flushed but hadn’t fawned, hadn’t fallen to Her knees. He’d casually dropped into conversation that he was considered the most attractive man alive, and She’d fucking giggled.

What had gotten Her was when he’d told Her about his real life, where he lived alone in a too big house that all the whores in the world couldn’t fill. When he’d mentioned how much he fucking hated school, and She’d asked why, and he’d told Her honestly. Ben hadn’t been honest about jack fucking shit in almost sixty years.

But She’d listened to him, smiled, not made a big fucking deal about it, and he’d been a goner. Nobody ever listened and actually fucking cared. 

But She’d cared about Ben.

She cared about almost everything.

It was the first thing Ben had learned about her. That she really goddamn cared. He hadn’t seen that before. It was jarring, and infuriating, and better than goddamn heroine. Because it wasn’t a show, like all the stupid fucking pussy supes and Vought employees had mastered. Nobody in this room gave a shit about the dogs. They were here for the photo ops, and press, and good will of the public. They were here because it was their damn jobs, and saving the dogs looked good on a front page.

She was here because she fucking cared. She actually was saving the kittens. She fucking volunteered here, for no pay or glory or opportunities to get massive rounds of applause when She gave a teary speech about how much she’d always loved cats, like Crimson Countess was now.

Everyone in this room—from Ben to the red-clad bitch on stage—had shit to gain from being here. She only had shit to lose. She worked for a middle school, because she liked kids and teaching and making a real difference. She lived in a shitty little apartment that could barely fit Ben through the door. She always had bags under her eyes that Ben wanted to fix—to pin Her down in bed until she got some real goddamn sleep—messy hair Ben wanted to comb his finger through, and cheap clothing Ben wanted to rip off Her body.

And fucking Christ, he was a pussy. He wanted Her more than he’d ever wanted goddamn anything, and he’d repeated over and over in the first few months that it was the chase. That he wanted Her because he couldn’t have her, and once he caught Her he’d get over it. Stop trailing around after a fucking woman. A girl, as if he was a fucking teenager with a crush instead of a goddamn man who could have whatever, whoever, he wanted.

And he fucking knew She wanted him. She’d wanted him from the start, when he’d been touring Her school for a public education PSA, and She’d been the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen, and when he’d stuck around and bought Her lunch and asked Her out she’d looked at him like she wanted to eat him.

But then She’d said no.

And Ben had chased. He’d kept buying Her lunch, started driving her home, and gone to all the stupid charity galas just to see Her and convince her to say yes. Then he’d realized he wasn’t chasing to chase anymore. He wasn’t even chasing to catch.

He was chasing to stop running. To have Her grin at him, and say She wanted him, and then keep wanting him for the rest of her life. And Ben would keep wanting Her. She was sweet and She cared, She was fucking hot and smarter than everyone he worked with, she had the patience and kindness of a goddamn Saint, and Ben didn’t ever want to see her flicker or waver or be anything but happy. He wanted to give Her whatever she asked for, and all he had to do was convince Her that it wasn’t a fucking show. That Ben really just fucking wanted Her, in a stupid, pathetic, domestic way.

But She didn’t believe him. Every time he said that she just laughed and wave him off like it was a joke, acting like She just wanted to be Ben’s friend.

He liked Her as a friend. She might be the only real friend he had.

He’d like Her more in his bed, coming apart under his touch and ruined on his mouth and screaming his name when he fucked Her until whole goddamn house shook.

He’d like Her best at his side when he woke up, and in his kitchen wearing his shirt, and on his arm at all these stupid fucking let’s all blow each other about how fucking rich and important we are parties. 

He’d fucking worship the ground She walked on if, after every day, Ben got to pick Her up from her stupid fucking job—he’d try to convince Her to quit, he made more than enough money for both of them, but he also knew she taught for the  damn love of it and he’d never want to deprive Her of something she loved—and carry Her into their house. If he got to keep telling her about his day like he was a real person and not a goddamn brand.

And She had to fucking want that too. She’d have avoided him and cursed him out if She didn’t want him at all. She’d have given into his advances sooner if She didn’t want the same that kind of life Ben craved, where he didn’t look anywhere else but Her, and he spoiled and treated Her like the queen she was.

He just had to convince Her that he wouldn’t look anywhere else. That his gaze had barely even strayed since they met. That he’d been celibate like some pussy fucking priest for a fucking year, and he was starting to lose his fucking mind—his hand was not enough, not when he kept fantasizing about Her body and how fucking warm and tight she’d feel wrapped around him—but he’d hold out until She was ready. Until She finally got that he was fucking serious about this. He was honorable, and a goddamn gentleman, and there wasn’t a single motherfucker on planet that could treat Her as well as he would.

But Ben still had to find Her to show her that. She wasn’t anywhere in between the ribbons and balloons covering the ballroom, and he couldn’t place Her silhouette backstage, so She wasn’t here. Ben would’ve found Her by now. He’d trained himself to find Her anywhere, even if it wasn’t somewhere he was supposed to be talking to anyone but the press and the suits. Just to keep an eye on Her, and make sure she was okay. 

Sometimes he’d see that there was a slump in Her beautiful shoulders, or a pout on her pretty lips, and he’d work out an excuse to slip all the Vought pussies to talk to Her. 

She’d smile when she saw him. 

So Ben fucking knew She wanted him. Because it was a soft smile he saw Her give her students and roommates. The real people She liked, who she kept around her on purpose. Not the smile he’d seen Her give that weird Stan Edgar douchebag, or Countess, or any other Vought officials she had to interact with for the charities. Not the sickly-sweet smile She gave all those rich pussies, where she was only smiling to try and get a little more money out them. The smile where She was disgusted with herself, but was doing it to save the squirrels. Or free the squirrels. Or find the squirrels.

Ben really didn’t fucking know what any of these charities did. 

But he had a damn good idea of where he’d find Her.

It wasn’t easy to slip through the crowd without anyone noticing, but he managed. The key was to head for the bathrooms, stay away from the cameras, and out of where Countess could see him and try to fucking start something in a closet. But Ben made it, and then he was fucking free, heading right to where he should’ve been the whole time.

With Her.

Ben heard Her first. Mumbling to Herself as soft clicks sounded, her voice hushed and flustered. She was having trouble with something.

Ben could help Her.

When he turned the corner, She was on Her knees in front of a door, frowning at the handle with an adorable little furrow in Her brow. She looked fucking amazing. Hair styled perfectly, makeup clean and highlighting Her every flawless feature, wearing a dress that Ben wanted to imprint the image of on his brain—every curve and dip right fucking there for him to touch, every shift of Her body giving Ben a new idea of how he’d like to see Her bounce on his cock—then rip off so he could have Her everything. Her warm skin against his, her careful fingers wrapped around his dick or scratching at his chest, Her hair ruined and her makeup stained on his pillow-

“Ben, stop creeping around.”

He frowned at Her. She’d never even glanced away from the door handle.

“How the fuck did you know it was me?”

“You’re not small,” She shrugged, still not looking at him. “And you’re wearing a lot of cologne. Special occasion?”

“Of course, sweetheart.” He moved to stand at Her side, grinning down at her as he tried to get back on his game. He was fucking good at this, he would not allow Her sweet, refreshing… everything to throw him off. “I’m rescuing you tonight.”

She hummed. “Rescuing me from what?”

“This door. He giving you some trouble?” 

She finally fucking looked at him. Her eyes were sparkling, her smile was full and illuminating her whole face, and Ben’s fucking knees were going to give out. 

“You put on cologne to rescue me from a door?”

Ben cleared his throat. His game. He would not fucking lose his game. “Yes.”

Fuck.

She was still smiling at him. It was making his head spin a little. “Why?”

Ben could fucking do this. He did this all the time. And just because She was prettier and smarter and more important than anyone else didn’t mean Ben couldn’t fucking do this. 

“Because you deserve the best being saved experience in the damn world, doll face.” He winked down at Her, and she flushed slightly. There it fucking was. “Nothing but the best for my girl.”

“Oh.” She mumbled, Her eyes wide on his. “I, um, I don’t really need saving right now-“

“Then why the fuck are you on the floor.”

She sighed, leaning the side of Her head against the door, still looking up at Ben. He hoped She never stood up. This was going to fuel his hand for another goddamn year. “I’m supposed to handle the raffle but, um,” She sunk fully down to the floor, rubbing her face between her hands. “I locked myself out of the office.”

Ben glanced at the door, then at Her openly pouting expression. “You need to be in there?”

“Yeah, and everyone else who has a key is- Ben!”

He’d barely waited to hear Her say yeah before he was winding up and punching the door clean off its hinges. Splinters of wood flew everywhere, but he’d been fucking ready for that, and moved to block Her from harm. She wouldn’t ever get so much as a fucking scratch as long as Ben was around, and she should know that. Trust that. Trust Ben to help Her with whatever the hell she needed, because then he’d be the one she trusted. 

Her hand was grabbing his shin. It felt like fucking lighting through his whole goddamn body.

“There.” He leaned down, helping Her up from the floor, scanning over her slack face for any gratitude or anger or—hopefully—pure joy and affection for Ben’s undying service. “Go do the raffle.”

“I- God, Ben.” She sighed, and he frowned. That was not how She was supposed to sigh his name. ”I have to fix that now.”

“No.” He grunted, frowning around the broken wood and clearing dust. “I’ll do that.” 

“It’s okay, I can do it-“

“I fucking broke it.” He snapped Her name, because he was a goddamn man, he could fix a door. For Her, he could fix fucking anything. “I’ll take care of it.”

She gave him a small smile, squeezing his arm as she stepped into the office. “Sure.”

He trailed after Her into the office, still frowning. “I will-“

“You’ll find someone else to fix it, Soldier Boy.” She gave him a gentle, teasing look over Her shoulder, and Ben hated when she called him that. He knew who he was. Everyone knew who he was. He wanted Her to know Ben.

He opened his mouth to protest, to snap that he could fucking fix it, that he wasn’t some fucking pussy who needed to call a bunch of fucking dumbasses to fix a goddamn door, but She’d already moved on, and Ben never really knew how to do anything but move with Her.

“You don’t have to stay here, you know.”

“I don’t have any other shit to do,” Ben grunted Her name, standing right against Her back as she leaned over the desk, grabbing paper and a pencil. “I’m yours for the night.”

She hummed, and Ben could fucking hear Her heart stumble. “Mine?”

“Yours, sweetheart. However you need me.” Ben winked, and that was definitely at least a hitched breath. “I could do… whatever the fuck you’re doing.”

“I’m pulling the numbers for the raffles prizes,” She explained, moving to bunch of buckets, all filled with paper. “What did you put in for? I can rig it, you know.”

Ben snorted. “You’d never fucking rig it-“

“I might.” She shot Ben a glare. It was adorable. “You don’t know me-“

“Yeah, I do.” Ben smirked at Her, leaning down until he was hardly a breath away. “You’re a fucking square, doll, but I’m into it. I think I could loosen you up, just up for me, but,” he winked, savoring the way Her mouth dropped slightly. “I think I like you tight too.”

She swallowed, Her eyes darting down to Ben’s lips, and when she spoke her voice was a little soft. “You, um, you didn’t answer my question?”

Ben shrugged, rising back up as She collected herself. He wouldn’t push Her all the way, not here. When he finally kissed Her, it should be somewhere movie-worthy. In the rain, or in a garden, or on a rooftop. Not a stupid fucking office. “That’s because I didn’t put in for anything.”

“Nothing?” She blinked at him. “There was nothing you wanted? Because I know a lot of the prizes are kind of dumb, but I got some good ones in there. At least, I thought they were good? Did none of them-“

“Relax.” Ben said Her name, giving Her an amused look, and she took a long, heavy breath. “They were fucking great prizes. I thought about going in on that car-“

“Really?” Her face split into a smile, and Ben forgot what they were talking about for a second. “I actually put that one in there for- um-“

She flushed, and Ben felt his own heart flare in his chest. He fucking had Her. 

“You put the car in the raffle for me, babygirl?” He only let himself call Her that when he knew he could get away with it. When She wouldn’t laugh and ask him if he called all the girls that, when he didn’t have any other fucking girls. He just had Her. 

And She was so fucking pretty, gaping and stuttering at him, Her whole face slack with want. For Ben. Ben fucking knew She wanted him. “I, um- I- Maybe, but you didn’t even bid on it-“

He chuckled, taking a slow step forward. Closer. She didn’t take a step back. “It was a great fucking prize, doll, don’t lose your damn mind.”

“I’m not- If it’s great, why didn’t you-“

“I’ve got almost everything I want already,” He drawled Her name. Another step. “And I didn’t come here to get a damn car.”

“Why, um,” She swallowed, her voice breathy and like a fucking drug in Ben’s ears. “Why did you come here?”

“To get that one thing I don’t have.” He dropped his voice, taking that last step forward, caging Her between his arms and the desk, smirking as Her hand landed on his stomach, slowly trailing up to his chest. Not pushing him away, not moving closer. Just watching Ben with blown out eyes and ragged breathes like She’d never taken in air before. “The one thing I really fucking want.”

“You, um,” Her hand curl in Ben’s shirt, and when he leaned into her touch, he heard a soft moan. “I saw that you still gave us money. Outside of the raffle. It was, um, ah- It was really-“

Ben raised his brows, watching Her stumble over herself. “Need some help there, darling?”

“No, I’m- The donation was big.” Her voice high and needy, and Ben did have fucking game. He was goddamn amazing at this. “Impressive.”

“Of course, babygirl.” Ben winked at Her, leaning down to whisper in Her ear. “I’m big and impressive. And I care a lot about curing the fucking cats-“

“Kids.” She said, a small smile tugging at her lips. “This charity is for kids. And we’re not curing them, we’re feeding them.”

“Oh.” Ben blinked, trying to remember if any of the speeches had actually mentioned what this charity did. If they had, he hadn’t damn heard it. Most of them had just been blowing themselves about how much they fucking loved changing the world. “I care about kids, too. And curing them of, uh, hunger.”

She giggled, and Ben’s smirk returned. He still had Her.

“You know,” he hummed, leaning a little closer and watching Her eyes flick to his lips. “I’m fucking amazing with kids-“

“I do know.” She whispered. “All my students loved you.”

“Of course they do. They’re smart, because they’re taught by a hot, smart fucking lady. A lady,” Ben pushed on, and if he moved just a little further forward, She’d feel the evidence of how much he fucking wanted Her—perfect body and pretty brain and gorgeous face—pressed against her thigh. “Who’d make some great kids, with me-“

She laughed, rolling Her eyes, but it wasn’t her usual dismissive laugh. It was softer. Ben was closer to having Her forever. “Okay, Ben. Go bother your date with that shit-“

“I don’t have a date to bother.” He held Her gaze, making his words plain. Simple. “So I guess I’m stuck bothering you.”

“I, um, I- You- You don’t-“ Her jaw was hanging open, Her fingers fidgeting with Ben’s shirt in Her hand, and he was so close. 

This wasn’t the romantic setting it needed to be. And She had to find him for this. She needed to tell Ben that She wanted him for him, to throw herself into him arms with a plea for him to hold Her. And when She did, he’d hold Her and never let go.

But She had to do it. Ben needed know that She understood he wouldn’t be looking a single other fucking place.

So he pushed off the desk, hanging onto the racing sound of Her heartbeat, and begging the fucking universe She’d chase after him. Her hand was still in his shirt. Her breathing was still desperate. She was still licking her own lips, and staring at Ben’s-

“I have to go deliver the winner list.” She whispered, taking a step away from the desk. Still touching Ben. “I’ll see you later?”

He didn’t get Her now. He’d keep going until he did. “You always fucking do.”

She gave him a smile, stood on her toes to kiss his cheek, and walked away. Just fucking walked away, like Ben wasn’t going out of his goddamn mind from Her touch. Like She hadn’t just found the one thing that might actually fucking kill him, like She wasn’t a living, walking fucking weakness, like Her presence made Ben not care about being weak. He couldn’t care about anything but Her, not while She was still lingering in the air around him.

But She walked away, and now he was alone in this stupid goddamn office.

And he was going to fix that fucking door.

———

It’s getting harder and harder to turn Ben down. Harder and harder to remind yourself of his reputation, and history, and overall inability to give you anything but sex.

It doesn’t help that it would be good sex. Amazing sex. Sex that you’d had fantasies about before you even met him, because you had eyes and lived on planet Earth, and everyone with those two things had experienced a least one wet dream about Soldier Boy in their life.

But it was crippling how much more intricate and prevalent those fantasies had gotten after he’d stopped being Soldier Boy to you and started being Ben. Still all the looks and charm and impossible strength of the untouchable hero, but also just a big, grumpy man who looked at you like you were the untouchable one, like you were the work of art, like he wanted to grab you and ruin you.

You had to remind yourself that ruining you was all he really wanted. That yes, you’d be more than happy to let him wreck and use you, but you couldn’t just have that. Your dumb, romantic heart wanted him to care for you after he destroyed you with his hands and mouth and cock, then stay through the night and a little while after too. Stay forever. Walk with you on the streets, his arm looped around your waist, smile at you and never anywhere else.

That was why you couldn’t give in. Ben was your friend, and he obviously wanted you, but he just wanted the chase. He just wanted to win you, then leave after, and you couldn’t even be angry at him for it. That was just who he was. You wouldn’t ask him to change his whole lifestyle of fame and drugs and countless bodies passing through his bed just because you had a crush. Just because you got a little jealous whenever you’d see him dancing with other women on the grainy TV, because you knew him and they didn’t. You knew him as more than just the hero, and you liked him as more than just the brand, and you wanted him all to yourself but you couldn’t have that.

And if you gave in, you’d fall in love with him, and he’d ruin you in a way he’d never intended to. You know yourself. You know that he’ll show you the time of your life, you’ll go over the edge you’ve been balancing on since you met him, and you’ll have destroyed your own life. He wouldn’t stay until the morning. He’d probably move on by that same evening.

You were pretty sure he’d move on. That he’d still be your friend, but he’d have gotten what he wanted, and you’d be lost as he grabbed your heart out of your chest then walked away with it, never looking back.

But you’d also been sure he was still sleeping around. That he was chasing you, but just for the game of it. That he’d use spare time and opportunity to try and coax you into him arms, into his bed, but then turn around and find what you refused to give him elsewhere.

That hadn’t been his spare time. He’d probably had pictures to take and people to charm, but he’d still looked for you. So it wasn’t opportunity either. It was purposefully seeking you out, just to seek you out. 

Worst—or best—of all, he said he didn’t have a date. No dazzling woman on his arm that was suited to be there, designed just to throw his light a little wider around the room and match his power with her own. No goddess that you could never live up to, that would laugh and sneer at the little human girl with a crush on Soldier Boy. The mortal who thought she was good enough to string him along, when you really wanted nothing more than to stop making him chase you. To stop running so Ben could grab you, pick you up, and spin you around before kissing you like you were in a romance novel.

But he wouldn’t do that, so youcouldn’tstop running. You couldn’t afford heartbreak, couldn’t capitalize off of it with tabloids like the other women did. You weren’t cutthroat and savvy enough, weren’t strong enough, weren’t entertaining enough. You’d just wallow and cry and drag yourself through routine, fading to the world until something cracked. 

And you had to take care of yourself. Nobody else would.

If Ben broke your heart, you’d lose more than you even had to begin with. You’d lose yourself—because you’re stupid and emotional and can’t do anything but fall fully in love—you’d lose your mind, and you lose your peace as you attended more charity galas like this one, now forced to watch Ben laugh and grin with a different woman on his arm.

He wasn’t doing it now though, and it made is so much worse. You were standing off the side of the stage as they read off the raffle numbers, your eyes locked on Ben’s empty seat, and there was no pouting, beautiful woman waiting for him to return. Just two old men that kept glaring at the chair Ben was supposed to be occupying.

He still hasn’t returned to the ballroom, even though it’s been nearly an hour since you left the office. You’re not sure what he’s doing.

You don’t really want to think about it. You don’t want to think about how he doesn’t have anyone next to him—how if you think about it, he hasn’t had anyone for a while—but that’s just where you can see it. And Countess has vanished from the ballroom too. 

So he might just be keeping her where you can’t see it.

It makes your lungs ache and forms a small lump in your throat, but you refuse to let it destroy you. Ben’s not yours to be possessive over. Not yours to be bitter about. You can’t hate him—you don’t even know how you’d do that—but you can’t wallow when you have nothing to be heartbroken over. No promises were made, and Ben’s a grown man. He can do whatever he wants, with whoever he wants, as long as it’s away from you.

You’re not sure how you’ll manage when he finally gives up his chase. When he realizes one random girl really isn’t worth all this work, and leaves you alone. He’ll still be your friend, but the teasing and flirting will end, and you’ll have to pretend like he didn’t shatter you when he never held you to begin with. Like it won’t make you sick when he starts to have dates again, because you’d made him wait too long.

You honestly thought he’d stop chasing months ago. You’re surprised he’s held out this long. It’s been almost eighteen months since you met him and—if you really think about it—about a year since you’ve seen him flirt anyone else.

But Countess is still missing.

So you can’t give in.

You throw yourself back into the gala. It’s a good distraction from everything, and it makes you feel useful. You’re doing something that will be good. You’re taking the money of these shining, arrogant modern kings and directing it somewhere important. You’ll go through the whole show, you’ll give away all these prizes and feed all their egos with praise and thanks, because then they’ll keep giving the charity money and you’ll keep using it for good.

It’s why there’s always a speech to thank the top donors. To ensure that they feel appreciated, and make all the other rich assholes try to give more next time. You’re always in charge of the list, putting it together and running it over with the announcer, and you’re about halfway through it when Countess reappears. 

She doesn’t look like she just had sex. She mostly looks annoyed. 

You try not to dwell on it, and put all your focus onto the list.

“Dr. Vogelbaum from Vought American gave $10,000, so he’s second, and our top donor gave, um,” you swallow, praying the heat of your face isn’t visible you land on the last name. “$69,000.”

He’s such a fucking child. 

You want to kiss him so bad.

The Announcer clears his throat, giving you a pointed look. “$69,000 from whom?”

You’re definitely flushing now. “Oh, sorry, from Soldier Boy-“

Countess groans, throwing her hands up dramatically. “God, of course he fucking did that!”

The Announcer nods, seeming happy to just move on, but you need more. You need to know why she’d say that.

“Of course?” You ask, trying to sound as neutral as possible. “Why-“

“Because he’s a dick.” She spits. “First he tells Edgar he’s not doing all our PR dates, even though they’re in our contract, and then he won’t sleep with me for a fucking year, and now he’s trying to go all in on this sudden good guy shit?!”

You gape at her, your brain spinning a little as you try to catch up. “What good guy shit?”

“I mean all these donations, and reading books, and refusing to go to the conservation galas with me but then going alone? He wouldn’t even let me give him a hand job in the bathroom!”

You’re a little dizzy. You remember that gala. Ben had donated a lot of money, asked you your favorite animal, then made an even bigger donation to be use for that animal. 

“I don’t know what his game is,” Countess sneers, glaring at the wall in front of her. “But I’ll figure it out. He can’t hide from me forever.”

“Hide from you?” You squeak, thankful Countess seems too caught up in herself to notice how invested you are in this. “He’s hiding from you?”

“He’s hiding from everyone.” She snaps. “He keeps vanishing in the middle of the day and won’t tell anyone where he’s going. He doesn’t go to any my parties anymore, and last week I caught him looking a fucking flowers.” Her face twists in disgust, and you realize the Announcer has taken the list from your hands and walked on stage, but you don’t really care. You’re rooted in place, trying desperately to piece this together. 

“Were, um, were the flowers for you-“

“No!” She shouts, throwing her hands up once more. “I think he has a fucking secret girlfriend or something, and he’s trying to hide it from Vought!” 

“Why would he, um, why would he hide it-“

“I don’t know.” Countess’ eyes narrow on you, and your mouth goes dry, your heartbeat loud in your ears. “But I’ll figure him out. He’s never bought me flowers.”

“Oh.” Your whole body is suddenly on edge. You need to go find Ben, now. “I’m sorry.”

“Thank you.” She sighs, and you breathe a little easier when she asks, “Who are you?”

“I’m, um, a volunteer. With the charity.” You shrug, grateful she doesn’t remember that you’ve met before. It doesn’t seem like a good idea to give her your name. Not with the possibly stupid choice you’re about to make. “Excuse me, I have to go… take a shit.”

You turn on your heels before she can ask any other questions, and almost run down the halls. You don’t know what you’ll tell Ben when you find him, but you know you have to say something. If Countess is telling the truth—and you think she is, because she’s not really a good actress—then you need to find Ben and say something-

You freeze when you see him. Right where you left him in the hall, hair a little messier, jacket gone and tie undone, standing tall with a proud grin as he looks at the door to the office.

The door.

He’d fixed the door.

And when he turns to you, he’s smiling. For you. It’s not his plastered, over-exaggerated smile, the one that’s more blinding than the flashing cameras capturing it. It’s a real, strong smile. He says your name like he’d never want to say anything else, and you cut him off with a whisper.

“You never told me you that you sent those roses.”

“The roses?” Ben’s voice is low and cautious as he holds your gaze. “You mentioned you wanted flowers for your classroom, so I got you fucking flowers-“

“But why didn’t you say you got them?” You take a slow step towards him, and you could swear he stands a little straighter.

“Because I didn’t fucking think I needed to.” He grunts. “Who the hell else would be sending you flowers?”

“No one. But I didn’t- I thought it was a mistake. I didn’t think anyone would send me flowers.”

Ben frowns. “Did you throw them-“

“No. I kept them.” You give him a small smile, taking another step. “They were beautiful.”

“Good.” He mutters, his hands flexing at his side. “That was the goddamn point.”

You hum in agreement, glancing around him. “You fixed the door.”

“I fucking said I would-“

“And you turned down a hand job from Countess.”

Ben rolls his eyes. “And a blowjob, the bitch couldn’t understand that I-“ He cuts himself off, something hot flashing in his eyes as his voice drops. “How the fuck did you know that.”

“She told me.” Another step. You could touch him, if you tried. “And she said you haven’t slept with her for almost year. That you don’t tell anyone where you go when you vanish in the middle of the day.”

“It’s none of their goddamn business where I’m going. You don’t need the fucking press following you around.” He pauses, giving you a strange look. “And I haven’t slept with fucking anyone,” he mutters your name, and your breathing becomes shallow. 

“Why?”

Ben’s nostrils flare, and your knees might give out. You’re pretty sure he’d catch you, but you need to stay lucid long enough to hear him. To know that it’s safe to fall.

“I only want you, babygirl.” He takes his own step forward, and you can feel the heat of his body. “I’ve been fucking trying to tell you that for a goddamn year, but-“

You reach up to cover his hand with your mouth, scanning over his beautiful face. You think he’s telling the truth. And it doesn’t really matter if he’s not.

Because no matter what you’ve been telling yourself, your heart is already Ben’s to break.

You might as well give him a chance to try and keep it safe.

“Ben?”

He grunts against your hand, but doesn’t pry it away. He’s leaning into it. 

And you’re a goner.

“Ask me on a date.”

Your hand has barely moved when he catches it, presses a kiss to you knuckles, and speaks against your skin. 

“Let me take you on a date,” he mutters your name, and there it is. You give in. 

“Okay.” You smile at him, and he looks almost boyish with excitement. It’s a little intoxicating. “I’ll will.”

End Note: Once again saying I really think Ben just needs a cool wife to obsesses over and be violent for and he'd chill out.

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[unclewaynemunson]

It wasn't the first time Eddie woke up to an empty bed after having someone spend the night. But it for sure was the first time it caught him by surprise.

He had been pretty sure things were different, with Steve. There was a real, proper date before they ended up in Eddie's bed together, after all. They held hands, they cuddled, they did all the romantic shit that Eddie used to scoff at and skip right past, before he got to know Steve Harrington. It hadn't felt like it was just about the sex: there had been tender touches and sweet words and soft kisses, and falling asleep in each other's arms afterwards had felt more intimate than anything Eddie had ever experienced before. So it didn't make sense to wake up and see no trace of Steve. No note, not a single piece of evidence that Steve had been there, not even something as dumb as a forgotten sock. Nothing.

As he went through his morning ritual of coffee, cereal and cigarette, he felt confusion make place for anger. By the time he was dressed and looking at himself while brushing his teeth in front of the crappy old bathroom mirror, he wondered how he could ever have been stupid enough to think that Steve would stay. The realization that Steve had apparently only used him to get what he wanted and dropped the act as soon as that happened, made him feel gross. He spit out his toothpaste with way more force than necessary and jumped in his van to tell Steve exactly that Eddie wasn't the kind of guy who tolerated being toyed with like that.

-----

When Eddie barged into Family Video, Steve was standing at one of the shelves with a big pile of tapes in his arms, the store empty and quiet except for some movie playing on the big screen in the background.

He looked up at the sound of the bell, and actually had the audacity to smile a soft, almost tender smile when he saw Eddie coming in.

"Hey there."

And, well, that truly did it for Eddie.

"Hey there?!" he repeated in a loud, shrill voice. "Seriously, Steve? What the hell, man? You sneak out of my bed after making me think what we did actually meant something, and now you greet me with a "hey there" like nothing has even happened?!"

Steve frowned; he looked genuinely surprised. Seriously, had none of the dozens of girls he probably pulled this on ever told him off? Or were they all worth staying for, contrary to Eddie the Freak Munson?

"Wha- What do you mean, making you think it meant something?" Steve stuttered. "It meant something. At least," he shrugged lightly and his cheeks colored into a light shade of pink, "to me it did."

For obvious reasons, Eddie found that a little bit hard to believe.

"Then why the hell did you sneak away at the crack of dawn like it was just some goddamn one-night stand?!"

Steve stared at him for a couple of seconds, his mouth falling open. Eddie had seen him look confused plenty of times before, but never like this - like he was missing something huge.

"I - I was allowed to stay?" Steve finally uttered. And it sounded so genuine, so small, so lost... All Eddie's anger easily got knocked out of him with that one question.

"You thought you weren't allowed to stay?" he asked, in a much softer voice this time.

Steve shrugged, suddenly avoiding Eddie's gaze.

"Yeah, I mean... I just assumed..." He swallowed visibly, seemingly searching for words. Finally, he fixed his eyes back on Eddie's face. "You actually wanted me to stay?" It sounded equal parts confused as hopeful, and the look in his brown eyes was so soft and innocent that it almost broke something inside of Eddie.

"Why the hell did you think I wouldn't?"

"I dunno, I just thought..." He looked away again, to a point just behind Eddie's shoulder as he continued, "Whenever a girl would come to my place, they'd always leave right after we finished. Or when I'd come to theirs, they'd have me leave through the window before their parents would notice. Some of them wanted to cuddle for a bit afterwards, but not, like, the whole night, y'know."

"Fuck, Stevie... I -" Eddie could barely believe what Steve was saying; it truly blew his mind that there were so many people who could have Steve Harrington in their bed and not want to keep him there forever. It made him furious - not at Steve, obviously, but at those girls who had made this perfect boy believe that he wasn't the kind of person people would want to keep around for what came after the sex.

"Falling asleep with you last night... That was the best thing that ever happened to me," he told Steve. It felt vulnerable, to say it out loud, but he knew he had to get it all out in the open. "I mean, don't get me wrong, the things we got up to before falling asleep were also pretty damn mind-blowing..." He couldn't help but chuckle. "But of course I wanted you to stay. I thought that would speak for itself."

"Oh," was the only thing Steve said, just blankly staring at Eddie for a couple of seconds. Then, his eyes widened as Eddie's words finally seemed to sink in. "Shit, Eddie, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to -"

"It's okay," Eddie cut him off. "Can you uh," he nodded towards the video tapes in Steve's hands, "Put those away, please?"

Steve placed the pile on the shelf behind him and Eddie immediately launched himself into his arms, pulling him as close as humanly possible without crushing his bones.

With a surprised Oomph! Steve took a few stumbling steps backwards before he caught his balance again, and hugged Eddie back just as tight.

"I'm really sorry, I messed up," he said, his mouth close to Eddie's ear. "I had no idea. If I had known, I would never have left, seriously. I would've called in sick and made you pancakes, and I would've stayed with you in bed all day."

"It's okay," Eddie repeated. "I mean, it's frankly ridiculous that you'd assume I wouldn't want you around every single fucking morning from now on, but -"

"So can I make it up to you tonight?" Steve interrupted him, an eager undertone to his question. "Or actually tomorrow morning, I guess?"

Eddie leaned back slightly to see Steve's face. He was hesitantly smiling at him, and Eddie gave him a beaming smile in return. Then, he leapt forward again to press an impetuous kiss against Steve's lips.

"How 'bout you make it up to me every day from now on, big boy?"

"I dunno, making you pancakes every day from now on is a bit much, don't you think?"

Eddie laughed. "Then the deal's off, sorry."

"What if we take turns?"

He pretended to think for a moment. "Alright, I think I can live with that," he finally concluded, letting Steve pull him closer again to steal another kiss. And as long as he could taste Steve's lips, he couldn't care less about pancakes.

[witchthewriter]

𝐁𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐃𝐚𝐫𝐲𝐥 𝐃𝐢𝐱𝐨𝐧 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞

⤷ gender neutral, ambiguous race, and any size reader. Requests are open, thank you for reading!

a/n: I know I've written about Daryl x reader in a relationship, but I'm rewatching The Walking Dead and UGH I love him...

ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ | ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ ᴵᴵ

ISTP

Hufflepuff

Chaotic Good

Taurus Sun, Scorpio Moon, Aquarius Rising

𝑺𝑭𝑾🌿

・The perfect example of your marriage is that scene from Yellowstone at the bar. Here's the link. Warnings: Violence :)

・Yes, so you and Daryl have a very close relationship - it has taken you a long time to get to this point.

・But marriage meant you two would be staying together for life. And Daryl knew that. No one was taking you away from him.

・You two met at the very beginning; in the camp with Lori, Carl, Carol, Dale, Andrea, Shane, Glenn etc.

・You abhorred Merle and gave him as much as you could - cussing him out, calling out his actions etc. You were always right but Merle was Merle.

・And you grouped Daryl with his brother; although he didn't say much.

・When Merle wasn't around, you actually got the time to see Daryl differently.

・He was really growing on you.

・You had no idea that he was wrestling with certain feelings as well.

・Your relationship was ... a slowburn to say the least. But you always looked out for each other. Made sure one another had enough food and water.

・There developed a constant between the two of you. Where one went, the other wasn't far behind. Especially when the group would split up

・You always found your way back to each other

・And yet, neither of you could see how much the other cared. Even though the whole group - even the new members - could see it.

・Though he comes off as rough and gruff to most, Daryl would have a soft spot for you. You’d be the only one who gets to see his gentler, more vulnerable side.

・

𝑺𝑶𝑴𝑬 𝑻𝑰𝑴𝑬 𝑳𝑨𝑻𝑬𝑹

・Daryl was anxious all day, you even saw his hands shake before he saw it and shoved them in his pockets.

・You were worried; he never kept anything from you. Not even when you were just best friends.

・So you went to Carol, she shrugged her shoulders and gave you that knowing look. It calmed your own nerves down, because when Daryl is anxious; you are tenfhold.

・That night you were getting ready for watch, but a knock came at the door.

・It was Michonne.

"Hey, you wanna come in? I'm gonna start my shift soon but I can make us something tea?"

"It's okay, and don't worry about your shift; I have something for you to do."

"Oh okay, sure."

・You followed Michonne past the gardens, the crops and up to the doors of Alexandria and out into the nearby forest.

"We ugh, made sure the area was clear. You don't need to worry about a thing."

・She gave you one of her knowing smiles and you knew something was up...it made you nervous.

・Once Michonne disappeared, you heard the crunching of leaves.

・Quickly you whipped out your knife and swiped as you turned, only to be met by a large hand grabbing your arm.

"Thought I taught ya better than tha'" Daryl said, letting go of your arm and giving you a smile

"You did. I knew it was you. Heavy boots were giving me a heads up."

・It was then that you noticed his appearance; washed, with a clean black button up shirt, and a fresh pair of jeans.

・You quirked an eyebrow.

"What is this Dixon?"

Hesitating, Daryl rubbed the back of his neck with his calloused hand, eyes darting briefly to the ground before meeting yours.

“Been thinkin’,” he started, shifting his weight between one leg to the other. “’Bout us… and all the shit we've gone through...”

You stepped closer to him. Closing the gap. And your heart started pumping a whole lot faster.

"-You know I ain’t good with words,” he muttered in a low voice. “Specially ain’t good at all this… romantic stuff. But you—you’re the best thing...that has ever happened to me. Hell, you're the only thing that makes sense in this goddamn world.”

・Your cheeks started to redden but you let him talk

From his pocket, Daryl pulled out something small and clenched in his hand, his fingers trembling just slightly.

You let out a soft, "oh." Thinking this day would never come.

When he opened his hand, there it was—a simple, gold ring.

“I know it ain’t much,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

"It's perfect," the tears had started to fall now. You didn't even notice you had begun to cry.

Daryl sniffed, not realising he had shed a few tears as well. "...I just want you to know… you’re my family now. Always have been.”

He held the ring out to you.

"I don't know how long we have in this world. But I know I wanna spend it with you."

There was a moment of silence. One you let hang in the air, not truly believing this was happening.

"So… what d’ya say?”

・The look on his face was pure and full of love.

"God I love you Daryl Dixon."

・Slipping the ring on your finger, you realised how comfortably it fit. You gave Daryl a knowing look and he gave you a sheepish one.

"...measured your finger when you were sleepin'...also had help from Carol..."

You couldn't help but laugh.

"You know I'm getting you one, right? I want everyone to know you're taken. That Daryl Dixon is mine."

"Wouldn't expect anything else."

・Then he kissed like it was your very first and last kiss.

The kiss was unlike anything you’d ever felt—raw, deep, and so full of emotion that it left you breathless. His lips claimed yours with an intense passion.

His hands trembled slightly, and cradled your face. Holding you as if you were the most precious thing in the world; well, to him you were.

Pulling apart, he rested his forget against your own and whispered:

“Ain’t never lettin’ you go.”

In that moment, the world outside could have crumbled, and it wouldn’t have mattered. All that existed was you and him.

𝑺𝑶𝑴𝑬 𝑻𝑰𝑴𝑬 𝑳𝑨𝑻𝑬𝑹

・Being married to Daryl Dixon meant having someone completely and utterly loyal to you.

・He calls you his family; and when he does so, you know it comes from a place of deep sincerity and respect.

・Instead of grand romantic displays, Daryl shows his love in quiet ways, like fixing something for you, preparing food, or just staying by your side during tough times.

・Daryl would be the ultimate protector, keeping you safe at all costs.

・You have your own place together. Not too far from everyone but secluded enough that you feel independent

・A common part of your nightly routine is cuddling up together on the couch and eventually falling asleep. (Daryl already having locked all the doors and has weapons around the house - just in case. He's not leaving anything to chance.)

・You've both shared everything you know about survival with one another.

・One of your ideas was to make a book about it. How to survive in this mess of a world; Daryl has fully encouraged it. He said it would come in handy for the next generations...

・Daryl thrives in the quiet moments of your marriage—sitting together by a fire, riding his motorcycle with you behind him, working on something side by side in comfortable silence.

・He also has a way of surprising you with such tenderness. E.g., brushing hair from your face or resting his forehead against yours in silent appreciation.  

𝑹𝒆𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒑 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆𝒔

"Look at that stupid dumbass man, ha! Oh shit that's my dumbass-" (Daryl)

Short & bossy x Tall & follows them around

"Think they'll try us?" x "Fuck I hope so."

"Why Are You Babying Me?" (Daryl) x "'Cause I Know You Like It" (You)  

𝑹𝒐𝒎𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒄 𝑷𝒍𝒐𝒕 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆

Forced Proximity

Strong Feelings (Thinking It's Hate - WRONG It's Love)

Enemies to Lovers  

𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒎𝒆 𝑺𝒐𝒏𝒈

Sex On Fire by Kings of Leon

Into My Arms by Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds

One More Hour by Tame Impala

[dazed-and-confused23]

Dear Hearts and Gentle People 4

Summary: After their reunion at the Atomic Wrangler, Cooper decides that he wants more than just a quickie out of his wandering trader.

Pairings: The Ghoul | Cooper Howard x Female Reader

Warnings. Drug use and Alcohol. Fluff and Smut. Little longer than the other ones ❤️

DHGP Masterlist

Cooper sits on the side of the bed, inhaler in hand as he stares down at the chem. You are still asleep behind him, body tangled in the sheets, exhausted after the exciting reunion between the two of you. You had been a breath of fresh air for the ghoul, especially after finding out the truth behind the fate of his family, and then Lucy, the vaultie, had left him too. Gone back home to her vault to save them from those goddamn Bud's Buds.

Cooper had elected to stay in Vegas. He likes the city, and the booze was cheap, and the chems were even cheaper if you knew where to get them. However, now that the ghoul was borderline sober, and with you by his side, Cooper realized that he'd had something to look forward to. To live for again. You.

Every time the two of you had crossed paths, you never failed to send the ghoul's black heart racing. You were a wastelander through and through, but you were good, and Cooper didn't want to let that go. No. He would hold on tight, and nothing in heaven or hell would get him to let you go.

First thing first, however, was to show you that he was serious and that he cared for you beyond a quick fuck and drug transactions. Cooper turned in the bed and leaned over you, tucking his knuckle under your chin and kissing you until you woke up. A soft sigh escaped you when the ghoul pulled away, and you opened your eyes to see him above you.

"Well, that's one way to wake a girl up," you murmur, and shift to your back, opening your arms so that Cooper can fall against your chest, his face pressed in the crook of your neck. You hum softly and press a kiss to his bald head, "What's got you in such a good mood?"

Cooper buries himself against you, shoving his arms under you so that he can hold you close. He listens to your heartbeat, and the sound of content he makes sounds more like a cat purr than anything else. He debates with himself before deciding to hell with it.

"Let me take you out. On a proper date," He began, and the more he spoke, the more he felt like his old self, Cooper Howard, before the end of the world, "You deserve it after everything you've done for me."

You eyed him, though your lips were already turning up at the idea. Who knew your ghoul was such a romantic? You tilt your head to the side, "Oh? And what did you have in mind?"

Cooper rises to his elbow and admires how your hair halos around your face. You are beautiful, even sleepy-eyed, and dressed in nothing but your panties.

"We're in Vegas, Baby. Let's make the most of it."

~~~~~

Mick and Ralph's had a surprising number of preserved prewar clothing, and you picked through the dresses looking for the perfect fit. You spotted a cute, blue number that would hug you in all the right places and billow out at the waist. Mick even had a cute pair of kitten heels that he gave you on the house.

Cooper had also done some digging around and conveniently found one of his old set costumes. The colors were faded, but they looked brand new compared to the get-up he always wore. Dressed to impress, the ghoul admired himself in the cracked mirror. If you ignored the obvious, Cooper looked like he'd just come off set of A Man and His Dog.

He wold whistles when you step out of the back room, and even though you're custom to his flirty behavior, you still blush bright and give Cooper a tiny grin. You've never had an opportunity to wear something so nice before, and it made you feel different, but not in a bad way.

"Well, look at you, Darlin'. All dressed up and beautiful for little ol' me," He crooned and snagged your hand, spinning you in a slow circle so that he could admire you from all angles. You give him a smile so full of fond amusement that Cooper’s heart stutters in his chest.

"Only for you, Cowpoke," you say and curl your hand behind his head to tug him down for a quick kiss that Cooper melts into.

After paying Mick and Ralph, Cooper escorts you to the gate of the Strip where the securitrons let the two of you by after flashing the passports you'd paid the shop owners for. Inside, the flashing neon lights made you squint, and you did your best to take it all in at once.

"A lot's changed since the last time I've been here," Cooper comments and casts his gaze around. It's been over two hundred years, but the Vegas Strip still felt the same. The two of you bypass Gomorrah and the Ultra Lux, and instead, head for the Tops where a man with blonde, slicked-back hair greets them with a suave grin.

"Hey, hey cats. My name is Swank. Welcome to the Tops Casino. The floor is open, and Tommy's got some real class acts tonight on stage if you're interested."

The two of you hand over any weapons that couldn't be concealed and head upstairs to the theater. A live band is playing on stage, and a place has been cleared in the middle of the room for dancing. Cooper leads you to a corner booth and drops to kiss your brow before he lopes off to order you both a drink.

From there, the night goes off without a hitch. The two of you drink til you feel tipsy and brazen enough to tug the ghoul out to the dance floor where Cooper upstages you and everyone else there. He twirls and dips you, leaving you a giggling mess and eyes only for him.

At some point, Cooper gets the grand idea to spend some caps on some chips, and you stand beside him as he cleans the blackjack table, coming away with more chips that you have to help him carry back to the exchange desk. The two of you eventually stumble out of the Tops and mosied back down the road to Gomorrah.

Their weapons are confiscated once more, and Cooper pays the receptionist for a hotel room for later on. He doubted that they would be sober enough to leave this place later on.

His hunch was right hours later when the two of you stumbled to the elevator. Coop's arm is tight around your waist, holding you close to keep you from tipping over. You cling to him, giggling as you wind your arms around his neck, and he catches your eyes, glassy from the jet that one of the dancers had given you.

"Your eyes are so pretty, ya know that?" You slur, and Cooper snickers as he leads you out of the elevator and down the hall to the room he'd rented. He's not nearly as gone as you, but he chalks that up to being used to the substance abuse.

You plop on the bed and reach back for the zipper of your dress, feeling too constricted in the blue fabric, and get stuck with it halfway off. Cooper laughs at you and comes to help, tugging the dress away and tossing it behind him before he pounces.

His lips meet yours in a slow kiss, a gentle give and take that turns heated when you bite his lip hard enough to hurt. You sooth it with your tongue, and groan when Cooper curls his own around the slippery muscle, the kiss wet and sloppy. He looms over you, keeping himself propped up with his elbow, while his other hand grips your waist, and rocks his hips down.

Cooper groans into the kiss when his clothed cock meets the heat between your thighs. You buck against him, whining into the kiss and demanding he take his damn pants off already.

"Patience, young grasshopper," Cooper rumbles above you and slides off the bed to button his shirt and jeans. He folds them almost reverently before he turns back to the bed and crawls on top of you, "Great things come to those who wait."

You scoff at him, though your lips are tilted up in amusement, "I've been waiting forever, Coop."

Your legs fall open and wrap around his waist. You are so wet that the ghoul can see slick glistening in the low light of the room where it clings to your puffy folds. He swallows harshly when you reach down and spread them, giving him an excellent view of your clit and twitching hole.

"Now I want you to fuck me like you mean it."

Cooper doesn't need to be told twice and spits in his hand before wrapping it around his cock and stroking himself twice before he lines up and sinks down to his balls. Your cunt throbs around him, pulling him impossibly closer, and he falls forward, hips humping forward as you cling to him.

Coop fucks you like it's his last day on Earth. He shifts to his knees, and his cock slips even further, pressing against something inside you that makes stars shatter. You curse loudly, Cooper’s name falling from your lips like a mantra as he hooks your legs over his shoulders and bends you over. The new position makes it hard to breathe, but all you want is more.

"'M close," Cooper grunts in your ear, and you lock your knees around his head, meeting him thrust for thrust as you work for your release. He unlocks his jaw and bites into the hollow of your throat. The pain is enough to send you over the edge, your pussy fluttering and gushing around the ghoul's cock.

"Ah-fuck," He snarls and follows you right over the edge, pumping you full of seed until it dribbled out from your stuffed cunt. He finds your lips kissing you as he rides out his orgasm, hips jerking when you tighten around him.

Cooper lays there, breathing you in and curling his arms tight around your waist. He is far too tired to move, and you don't seem to mind the extra weight with how tightly you hold him back. The ghoul feels at peace as if a part of his life he'd been missing has slotted back into place. He raises his head just enough to catch your eyes, and you reward him with an adoration-filled smile, but it's your words that cause his heart to explode like an atomic bomb.

"I love you."

You don't expect Cooper to pull you in for another kiss, this one soft and slow. He rests his brow against yours and wonders how he ever made it this far without you.

"I love you, too."

Holy moly, that got way sweeter than I intended. I hope you enjoyed it!❤️

[vandme12]

I'm so sorry you got a NSFW asked in your inbox from someone, So I'm here to give ya a completely Different prompt-to make up for the random NSFW prompt.

Prompt: Ronin popping in at random into visit his darling, expecting to take them out on a bloody date he's got in mind, only to find them watching a marathon of Puppybowls as serious as can be- as in cheering for their favorite puppy when they score, laughing at the puns, wearing either something blue or orange. That sort of thing. I would love to see what his reaction to this whole thing would be and if he joins in lol.

Thank you so much!

Bloody Plans and Puppy

Ronin had a plan.

A perfect, beautiful, bloody plan.

He had it all mapped out—sweep you off your feet, drag you into the night, and paint the town red. Maybe he’d take you to a nice rooftop where you could watch some poor bastard’s final moments together, or maybe he’d let you pick the target this time. Romantic, right?

Except—when he strolled into your apartment, all smug confidence and sharp edges—

You didn’t even notice.

No, you were too busy cheering.

For puppies.

Ronin stopped dead in his tracks, blinking at the scene before him like it was some bizarre hallucination. You, curled up on the couch, wrapped in a blanket, eyes glued to the TV like it was the most intense thriller of the decade. Except instead of murder or mayhem—

It was a goddamn Puppy Bowl.

On screen, tiny, clumsy puppies in blue and orange bandanas were tumbling over each other, chasing around a mini football. The announcers were going wild, spewing dog-related puns at a machine-gun pace, and you—

You were into it.

Like, genuinely, seriously into it.

Ronin watched as you fist-pumped the air when a golden retriever pup barrelled into the end zone.

"YEAH! GO TEAM FLUFF!"

He blinked again. Slowly.

What. The. Hell.

"Babe." His voice was smooth, easy, as he strolled further inside, finally making his presence known.

You didn't even look away.

"Hey, Ronin," you said, voice distracted as your eyes flicked across the screen, laser-focused.

He raised a brow, waiting for you to acknowledge him properly, but instead, you just grabbed a handful of popcorn and shoved it in your mouth, nodding at the TV like some grizzled sports veteran analyzing the game.

"God, that Pomeranian's got no game sense," you muttered.

Ronin's lips twitched. Was this real?

"You're kidding me, right?" He flopped onto the couch next to you, propping his feet up, smirking. "You're skipping out on my very romantic murder plans for… this?"

You threw him a brief glance. "It's the Puppy Bowl."

"Right, and I'm the Pope. Babe, what the hell is a Puppy Bowl?"

You gasped like he just stabbed you in the heart.

"Oh my god, you don’t know??"

Ronin’s smirk widened. "Would I be askin’ if I did?"

You turned to him fully now, eyes wide with shock, hands gripping his jacket like you were about to tell him the meaning of life itself.

"It’s only the greatest event of the year."

He snorted. "Yeah? Thought that was our anniversary."

You rolled your eyes but didn’t let go of his jacket. "It’s a big, adorable football game where puppies ‘compete’ for the Lombarky Trophy."

Lombarky.

Oh, Jesus Christ.

Ronin blinked at you, expression unreadable. Then, after a long pause—

"You are… way too invested in this."

"And you are way too NOT invested!" You pointed aggressively at the screen. "Look at them. Look at their little tails! Their tiny, stubby legs! Their over-the-top replays!"

Just as you said it, the slow-mo cam caught a Labrador puppy tripping over its own paws and face-planting straight into the goal line. The dramatic replay made it look ten times funnier than it should have.

Ronin stared.

Then—he actually snorted.

You gasped. "See? SEE? You’re enjoying it!"

"That was one laugh." He smirked, but the way his eyes flicked back to the screen? Yeah, he was already hooked and didn’t even know it yet.

You grinned and grabbed his arm, pulling him in closer. "C’mon. Stay and watch with me."

"Babe, we had a date planned."

"Puppies first. Murder later."

His grin widened. "You’re lucky I love ya."

"Damn right."

Five minutes later, he was into it.

Like, way too into it.

"GO, YOU LITTLE FURRY BASTARD! GO!" Ronin shouted at the TV, gripping the armrest with white-knuckled intensity.

You cackled beside him as he leaned forward, eyes dead serious, watching a tiny dachshund sprint toward the end zone with all the power of an Olympian.

"If this pup doesn’t score, I’m personally takin’ out whoever rigged this game," he growled, narrowing his eyes.

"It’s not rigged!" you laughed.

"That Pomeranian’s been hoggin’ the damn ball all game. It’s clearly a setup."

You buried your face in your hands, laughing so hard your stomach hurt.

Ronin, meanwhile, looked like he was watching the Super Bowl. He was all in. When a tiny beagle got distracted mid-play and just started rolling around on the field, he let out a long, suffering sigh.

"No discipline. No strategy. This team’s a joke."

You nudged him. "They’re literally puppies."

"AND? If you’re gonna play, play to win."

"Oh my god."

And then—it happened.

The dachshund—Ronin’s guy—made a break for it, zooming across the field, dodging bigger puppies left and right. The announcers were going wild.

"LOOK AT THOSE LITTLE LEGS GO!"

"UNSTOPPABLE! A TRUE UNDERDOG STORY!"

Ronin leapt off the couch.

"HOLY SH—RUN, YOU LITTLE DEMON, RUN!"

The dachshund dove—DOVE—into the end zone, ball clenched in his tiny mouth. The crowd on TV erupted. The score updated. Touchdown.

Ronin fist-pumped the air.

"YES! THAT’S MY BOY! MVP! MVP!"

You were cry-laughing at this point, clutching your stomach. Ronin was actually invested. You never thought you’d see the day.

He collapsed back onto the couch, running a hand through his hair, exhilarated.

"Shit," he exhaled. "That was better than half the fights I’ve been in."

"Told you." You grinned.

He glanced at you, then at the screen, then back at you—before smirking. "Guess you got me, angel."

You leaned against him, pressing your face into his shoulder. "So does that mean… Puppy Bowl is a new tradition?"

He let out a dramatic sigh. "Guess so. But next year, I’m bettin’ on Team Ruff."

"Traitor."

"Competitive."

You laughed, and Ronin, despite all his chaos, all his darkness, found himself smiling.

Maybe, just maybe, he didn’t mind nights like this.

Even if it meant postponing a little murder.

For now.

[eris-norwega]

Alastor SFW Alphabet

Notes: …hey guys. so idk if you noticed but i have kind of an “announcements board” at the top of my masterlist post. this is where you can find updates on when i’m working on requests and shit, so make sure to check it! lately i’ve been kind of in an “alastor funk” and i just needed to do this as a writing exercise to get me back into it. enjoy!

Synopsis: Alastor’s nonsexual actions and quirks in a romantic or queer-platonic relationship. Mostly applies to demon Alastor, but some can be read with human Alastor in mind.

CW: discussions of trichotillomania and anxiety disorders, a dash of murder

Word Count: 2711

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

Alastor’s not very affectionate, at least not in public. He’s keen on keeping you safe from the public eye; no one can know someone is important to him. Sometimes he can’t help himself, and when word finally gets out about you two, he’s a bit less concerned with PDA and will maybe hold your hand. In private though? Very sweet. It starts out slow, just small cuddle sessions every now and then, but then he realizes how touch starved he is.

B = Best friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)

Whether you meet while alive or in Hell is up to you, but to be friends with him, you have to have a certain je nais se quoi. You gotta be a little weird and quite persistent to handle him. He’s very odd and a bit hard to deal with at times. But once you’ve earned his loyalty, he’s great company. Alastor is funny and honest (brutally so). He makes a great conversationalist. You’re always getting into shenanigans together, much to everyone’s displeasure. You’re attached at the hip, causing chaos wherever you go.

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

Alastor will never admit it, but he does enjoy cuddles from you—he just has to be in the right mood. It took a while to get used to, but he’s so goddamn touch starved, he caved almost immediately. He loves to hold you so much, but he really loves being held too (you will never know this). If you ask him to be the little spoon, he’ll scoff and protest, but he’s so goddamn excited. It makes him feel safe. He loves it when you pet his ears. It just feels nice coming from you. He also really likes holding you to his chest and laying his chin on your head.

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

Alastor is a gentleman raised mostly by his mother, of course he’s good at domestic chores. Also, have y’all tasted Louisiana food? It’s the best shit you’ll ever have. His mother’s jambalaya? Amazing! His gumbo? Superb! A seafood dish? Fantastic! This man can cook. As for other chores, he’ll absolutely help you. He isn’t one to think a woman’s sole job is to be the lady of the house and do all the chores. He’ll insist on doing chores with you just to spend more time with you. As for settling down, of course he wants to, he’s from the early 1900s. It’ll probably take a long time though—he wants to court you right.

E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

Separate? Ha! As if he would let that happen. If he really had to for some reason, you’ll notice all his walls are back up. You will probably never understand why he did it, even if it’s for your own safety. If he decides he has to break up with you, he just goes for it. No need to prolong the pain. He just rips the bandaid off. He’ll distance himself immediately afterwards. If you have to break up with him, he absolutely won’t take it well. Everything in him screams to force you to stay, but he knows if he truly loves you, he can’t in good conscience do that. Again, all his walls will go back up, not letting you know how deeply you wounded him. He won’t be the same for a while, something just slightly off about him for the next few months.

F = Fiancé(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

Like I said earlier, he wants a proper courtship, and that might take a bit. Alastor is not here to rush things. He’ll take however long you need. He absolutely would get married to you, no question, but in the end, it’s all up to you how you want things to go. As long as he’s with you, he’s fine with anything.

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

Alastor is only gentle with you. He absolutely knows how to be, like when his mother would comfort him. Only you get to be on the reciprocating end of his softness. At least physically. He’s a little more rough around the edges emotionally and doesn’t understand how others are so freely emotional. He can be a bit too blunt sometimes, accidentally hurting your feelings. He knows this to an extent. For example, if you need physical comfort, he will dote on you physically without saying a word, because he knows if he speaks in your time of vulnerability, he might say something accidentally hurtful.

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

Alastor is not a huggy person, only for formalities. He only really gives and reciprocates hugs when you really need them. Cuddles to him are different. Just standing there and hugging is fundamentally dissimilar. But if you really need one, he’ll squeeze you tight and rock you side to side, one hand around your waist and the other behind your head.

I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?)

Fucking eternity. Love doesn’t come easy to him. It never has. So just openly admitting that he loves you? Yeah, that’ll take a long time. Don’t rush him to say it either. He’ll get freaked out and will pull back for a little. He’ll say it in his own time. He’ll just show you physically in the mean time.

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)

Of course Alastor gets jealous. He’s possessive as hell. Alastor will let you talk to others obviously, but if you spend too much time with your friends, or even with your job or hobbies, he’ll start to get pissy. This man needs attention, even if it’s negative. He wants your eyes on him. If someone else has their eyes on you though? They’re as good as dead. And they will be! Next up on his radio broadcast: the screams of your secret admirer.

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

Alastor mostly gives little pecks, especially on the cheek or nose. Sweet and short. When it gets down to actual kissing, it really depends on his mood. He can be slow and sensual, or he can be passionate and rough. Of course, you’ll have to teach him. This man has never kissed anyone in his life before you. He gets pretty good at it though! His favorite places to kiss you are, as previously stated, your cheeks and nose, your hand, but also your neck if he’s feeling frisky. In return, he likes being kissed on the lips and jaw. It just does something to him.

L = Little ones (How are they around children?)

Alastor is not fond of children. It’s just never something he cared for or wanted. He’s terrified of being a terrible father, so he’d just rather not deal with it at all. He’s good with kids, sure, but it’s not something he’s interested in dealing with for the next 18 years. He’s mostly nice to them out of courtesy.

M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)

Very domestic. Will greet you with a kiss to the cheek and breakfast in bed. That’s if he stays up like usual. If he actually fell asleep the night before, he’s either up at the buttcrack of dawn or is honk-shooing until way after you wake up. Is super cuddly in the morning when he’s barely conscious. He tries not to show it, but he’s super embarrassed about it later. He’s also whiny as hell. If you try to wake him up, he’ll hit you with the “give me five more minutes,” and then almost rolls off the bed trying to turn away from you. Sleepy eepy man.

N = Night (How are nights spent with them?)

We know this fucker doesn’t sleep. Well, too bad, you’re making him stay in bed with you. Lord knows what he does at night canonically (or with any of his free time), but now it’ll be spent with you. You’ll both start to slow things down for the night: getting ready for bed, dimming the lights—that sort of thing. As you’re drifting asleep, Alastor will usually read a book quietly, sometimes out loud if you ask him. Maybe play some kind of white noise if you like that sort of thing. Cuddles? Sure. He doesn’t care what you do at night as long as it helps you get your beauty sleep. Like I said earlier, sometimes he’ll fall asleep with you.

O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

It’s a very, very long process with Alastor. He has been protecting himself and his information for decades now, and even with you, it’s very hard for him to reprogram that. He starts with little things: his favorites, his likes, his dislikes. Mundane sort of stuff. It’ll be a while before he gets into his past and other deep topics. He might even have to get drunk the first time he tells you about his life.

P = Patience (How easily angered are they?)

Alastor definitely gets angry a lot more than he shows externally. He is absolutely simmering under the surface if someone just slightly ticks him off. It’s different with you though. He doesn’t want to ruin what you both have, so he’s more accommodating to your more frustrating quirks. He might get snippy if he’s in a bad mood, but if he ever blows up on you, he’ll self-isolate so hard as his own punishment.

Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

Every. Single. Detail. This man does not forget. He saves the knowledge for gift giving and dates, or just anything that’ll make you happy. Oh, you mentioned in passing that you like, I don’t know, acorns? You’ll be getting Alastor’s best hand-picked acorns for the next month.

R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

Literally any first. That and when you two can comfortably bicker with each other. He loves fake arguing with you as if you were just friends making jabs at each other. Loves when you can play around and poke fun at each other. One of his favorite moments was having a sarcasm war in his bayou realm in his room that ended up with you tackling him into the mud. You both looked insane after, but you couldn’t stop laughing.

S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

Alastor is insanely protective. He’s only ever cared about very few people, so he has to protect you at all costs. He already lost his mother to Heaven, so nothing can happen to you. Has all kinds of protection spells put on you, including a necklace or some piece of jewelry that can notify him of your location at a moment’s notice. Goes absolutely apeshit if someone tries to hurt you. Alastor does not want to be protected by you. He thinks it’s his job to protect you, not the other way around. Besides, why would the Radio Demon need protecting? Despite this, you make him carry around a similar piece of jewelry. He fiddles with it a lot.

T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

Alastor is the best at spoiling you. His mother taught him to treat women right, and he will honor that wish until his second death. Has all the important dates memorized. Always organizing dates, either in public or in private. Loves cooking meals for you. He tries to give you everything in the world, but if he’s in a particular mood, he’ll surprise you with something a little gruesome, like the dead body of someone who gave you a weird look that one time.

U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

Very broken, very angry, and honestly pretty toxic sometimes. Reminder that he isn’t really a great person and is a master manipulator. Extremely petty about disagreements and would rather get angry and avoid you than talk it out. When he’s stressed, sometimes he’ll snap at anyone, including you. This leads to profuse apologies later, but his anger isn’t an easy fix seeing as there probably aren’t any great anger management therapists in Hell.

V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

Alastor tries to ask like he couldn’t care less but it’s so painfully obvious to everyone that he does. Always looks spiffy and crisp in just the way he likes it or it’s wrong. He absolutely hates his deer characteristics, especially the ears. His hairstyle is also a whole thing that I’ll explain in “Xtra,” but I like to believe he straightened his (naturally curly) hair to the point of permanent damage, and because it’s Hell, it’s just fucken stayed like that. Why did he do it? Internalized racism from when he was alive and the need to conform.

W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

Alastor doesn’t need anyone. He’s very independent and doesn’t pin his happiness on anyone. That being said, if something were to happen to you, he would feel an emptiness, but he’ll try to ignore it with every fiber of his being until it festers. So yes, he would feel incomplete without you, but he’d never acknowledge it. Ever.

X = Xtra (A random headcanon for them.)

I believe Alastor has trichotillomania and an anxiety disorder. It’s not explicitly shown in the show (I mean maybe the anxiety bit), but these are some less obvious things that I think apply to him. The reason he smiles so much? He’s terrified. He doesn’t even really know it because he pushes it down so much, but he desperately wants control over everything, and not necessarily in a power-hungry way, but that’s what he’s turned it in to. This is especially apparent during his breakdown after the battle with Adam. I believe it stemmed from an out-of-control traumatic childhood. Now, for his hair. Trichotillomania is a hair-picking disorder. My reason for his fuckass haircut? That. He has a weird undercut going on because he is always tugging at his hair back there. If he’s particularly stressed out, sometimes the only indicator is if his hair is thinning, letting you know he’s been pulling at it.

Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)

Alastor hates rushing into things. He didn’t think he could like anyone romantically, so taking things too fast would severely freak him out. Also, never humiliate him in front of others. If he’s doing or saying something stupid, talk about it in private. He will hold a grudge forever if you humiliate the Radio Demon in front of common sinners. Again, not too fond of PDA unless he’s feeling really jealous and needs to show you off.

Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habit of theirs?)

Alastor doesn’t sleep much. Like ever. He’ll stick next to you while you’re sleeping, but he just kind of hangs around. When he does sleep, it’s because you’ve forced him to because he clearly needs it. He falls asleep almost instantly. He has weird little static snores and his smile finally drops. He looks…peaceful. He feels really vulnerable sleeping, so he usually starts by staying as far away from you on the bed as possible. However, every time you wake up, he’s snuggled up to you, much to his horror.

[freedomfireflies]

404*

Summary: The one where you and Harry are software engineers on a project for Juno Inc.

And you can’t fucking stand each other.

Word Count: 2.6k

*Contains Mature and Explicit content! Please only consume what you feel comfortable with!💞You are so much more important!*

(Note: This edit is not mine!! I believe the @ is on it, but full credit to the incredible creator! It's so perfect!!)

“What the hell are you still doing here?”

Your eyes never leave the computer screen as Harry’s familiarly snippy question echoes across the empty lab. “Working,” you answer simply.

He snorts as the door falls shut behind him. “It’s two in the fucking morning, I thought you left hours ago.”

“I did. And then I came back.”

You vaguely hear him walk further into the dark room, slipping around the different tables as he moseys his way closer. “Why?”

“S’this fucking sequence,” you mumble, now glaring at the different variants that litter the test. “Every time I run the simulation, the connection fails. And it shouldn’t.”

Your peripheral catches the way he uses his knuckle to push his glasses further up the bridge of his nose. “Is there a missing link?”

“There shouldn’t be. I’ve run it before, and it’s worked fine. But now it’s not. It’s like something is broken.”

“Or missing,” he argues, coming to a stop behind your chair. He studies the project from over your shoulder, and you feel your muscles recoil when you get a whiff of his cologne. “There could be something wrong with the back end.”

“Okay, well, there’s not,” you retort, shooting him a quick glare. “I already checked.”

“Well maybe you missed it. You have a tendency to misplace things.”

“I didn’t misplace it, Harold, I studied every inch of that fucking code, and there was nothing broken or missing.”

He leans back, arms crossing as he regards both you and the program. “Maybe you should check it again.”

“And maybe you should bite me,” you huff, too overworked to deal with the snarky attitude. “I really don’t have time for this today, all right? Can you just leave me to it?”

“I’d like to, but clearly you don’t know what you’re doing,” he replies calmly, and even without looking at him, you can sense his smug smile. “Every time I leave you to it, I come back to find out you’ve wrecked our project.”

Your eyes roll. “First of all, it’s not our project. It’s my project. And second…why are you even here? I thought you had shit to do tonight.”

“I did, but I’m done now.”

“Oh, so, naturally you came back just to annoy me?”

“Naturally.” He places his hand on the desk beside you and leans down, hovering near your arm as he glances over the computer. “There could be something wrong with the framework. Try the sequence again, I wanna see how it behaves.”

“No thanks.”

Harry smirks, and you realize you don’t like how close his face is. “Relax, Tinkerbell, I just wanna help.”

“And I don’t want your help,” you remind him, using your elbow to shove him to the side. “I’ve spent months with this program, it’s my baby, and I will fix it alone.”

“We’re supposed to be working together,” he argues, but it’s much too coy. “So stop being such a bitch and just run the goddamn sequence.”

You snort under your breath as you spin around in your chair to look at him. “It was that bad, huh?”

He settles back against the table behind him, hands shoving into his pockets as he stares right back. “What was bad?”

“The sex.” You jut your chin toward him. “The thing you had to do tonight. It was bad enough that you had to come back here and start swinging your dick around just to feel better.”

He smirks, tongue running over his bottom lip. “It was fine.”

“Fine? Gee, how romantic.”

He exhales an amused laugh and glances around the lab. “She was still hung up on her ex. Think it lasted all of fifteen minutes, and I’m pretty sure she faked it.”

“Well, she was having sex with you. Of course she faked it.”

His smile gets a bit bigger. “Well, I faked it, too.”

“You?” you scoff. “No way. She could have sneezed on your cock, and you still would have cum.”

His head shakes, grinning wildly. “Normally, yeah. But we both just wanted to get out of there.”

“Poor girl.”

“Yeah? What about poor me?”

“Oh, I never feel sorry for you. You always find a way to get what you want eventually.”

His head tilts, green eyes sparkling behind the tortoiseshell frames of his glasses. “Do I?”

“Clearly.” You settle back into your chair, legs crossing. “I mean, have you ever heard the word no in your life?”

“Hear it all the time with you.”

“Exactly. I’m doing you a favor.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah. I’m keeping you humble.”

“Is that right?”

“It is.”

That smug look of endearment returns as the lab falls silent. He watches you for quite some time, and you think that you’d pay anything to hear what he’s really thinking.

Then, he smirks. “Good,” he says, and with that, he’s pushing off the desk and striding to you.

He bridges the five-foot gap between you with ease, and you aren’t even afforded the chance to take a breath before he’s grabbing hold of your face and kissing you.

His large body bends in order to reach you in the chair, but you can feel him tugging on you. Encouraging you up and into his hold as you gasp against his mouth and allow him to help you stand.

It’s a seamless dance. Familiar. He grabs onto your hips and slams you onto the desk, knocking a few pens and some of the various equipment out of the way.

His hands are sliding up your shirt. Memorizing the expanse of your skin as his lips press into your neck. Nipping and sucking just below your ear in the way he knows you love.

Your fingers have disappeared into his curls. They’re soft and oddly comforting. Perfect to tug on as you whimper gently and arch your back. Pressing your tits against his chest as he groans.

“Can I tell you a secret?” he murmurs, now sliding his hand toward the zipper on your jeans.

You nod quickly, mewling as you practically buck into his touch.

He smiles, mouth trailing across your jaw, “I was thinking about someone else, too.”

Your lashes flutter shut.

“The whole time,” he carries on, rough fingertips dancing down the front of your underwear. “When I was with her. Couldn’t think about anybody else but you. Every time she’d whine or say my name, I thought about how you’d do it. How you’d sound, how you’d feel.”

Your nails scratch down his black t-shirt, needing more than anything to feel his skin. See it littered with your marks. Your claim.

“She could never do it right,” he tells you, and it makes your stomach wrench. “Never do it like you.”

“Yeah?” you manage to breathe, wiggling in an effort to help him yank your pants down. “S’that why you couldn’t get hard?”

He grins as he flicks his belt undone. “Who says I couldn’t get hard?”

With a rather determined tug, he shoves your panties to the side, large hands stroking through your folds.

“Because if I’m thinking about you,” he whispers, eyes trained on your cunt, “I’m always fucking hard.”

You whine when he thrusts inside, two fingers to start. He’s rarely gentle, but you love it. And so does he, obsessed with the image of your pussy stretching around him. Any part of him. His tongue, his hands, his cock.

He’s bigger than most, and he always makes sure to prep you before he gives you what you really want. Granted, he taunts you with the idea of ruining you and splitting your poor cunt in half each time. Driving himself to the hilt before your tight little hole is ready. He likes the idea of corrupting you for someone else. 

“Relax,” he instructs, soft but firm. “S’gonna hurt a lot more if you don’t.”

You drop your head back and balance yourself on your hands, legs pushed open by his hips. “I’m trying,” you whimper, just to see his jaw clench.

“Gonna have to try harder,” he says, working his fingers into your wet cunt while his glasses slowly begin to slip down his nose. Settling at a crooked angle, and it makes you smile. “Can’t give you my cock if you don’t.”

You push your lips into a pout. “Please, Har.”

He looks up, the veins in his neck prominent as he seems to swallow another groan. “You’re so tight, Tink. Gonna wreck this pretty pussy if I don’t get you stretched.”

“Good,” you moan, thighs shaking as he brings a third finger closer. “Want you to.”

He grins. “Yeah?”

You nod fervently. “Want you to do whatever you want. I’m always good for you. Always fit you.”

“You do,” he agrees quietly, the heel of his hand pressing into your clit as he works through your arousal at a quicker pace. “Always take me so well. Even when it makes you cry.”

You whine again at the thought as he finally yanks his fingers free and moves to retrieve his cock. 

You’re nearly salivating at the idea, scooting toward the edge of the table in preparation as he pulls himself out and steps up to you.

Your eyes widen when you see him. Hard and heavy in his hand, leaking the most delicious looking drops of pre-cum that you’re already thrilled he never offered this other girl.

He runs the tip through your folds a time or two, making you both squirm before he gently begins to push in.

You have to give him props for the amount of restraint he always demonstrates for you. The ability to go slow and be delicate despite the fact all he wants to do is ram himself inside you and settle into your warm cunt.

Like now. You can see the effects of such sluggish movements, the way he holds himself back until he’s sure you’ll be all right. Teeth gritting, muscles tensed, cock throbbing.

You reach out and gently slide his glasses back up, making sure they’re comfortable and that he can see all right before kissing him. “Okay…okay, go.”

He kisses you back quickly before studying you. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” you whimper, hooking your leg around his hip. “Need it, Har, please.”

And that’s all it takes for him to sheath himself inside your aching pussy, disappearing completely between your legs as you both moan.

The quiet lab isn’t so quiet anymore, and you throw your arms around his neck as he begins to pull out and push back in.

“There she is,” he grunts, large hand squeezing your thigh to keep you still. “Look at you, Tink, taking me so well.”

“Always,” you exhale, pressing your mouth to his cheek. 

“Better than she ever was,” he continues, setting a quicker rhythm now. “So much better.”

He’s pounding you into the desk, hitting spots that make you see stars, and you clench around him until he gasps.

“Funny how well you take me…when you claim to hate me so much,” he says now, unable to resist needling you, and you whimper.

“I do,” you insist, despite the way you scratch down his back. “Fucking hate you.”

“Yeah?” His hips snap to yours. “S’that why you always beg for my cock?”

You don’t like the insinuation that you beg him for anything, especially when you know that he’s right. But you’re too far gone right now to take care, equally as depraved of pleasure as he seems to be.

The two of you don’t do this often. Maybe once or twice a month, if that. Most of the time, it’s incredibly unfriendly. A quick fuck in the supply closet or in his car in the parking lot. In between quippy remarks about how fucking unhinged the other is. How idiotic, and uncouth, and how goddamn annoying.

Because he is. So endlessly annoying and every day you have to resist the urge to slap those fucking glasses off his face.

But he knows how to fuck. That much is certain, and despite your immeasurable hatred for him, you can’t help but fall victim to his prowess.

In fact, moments like this are about the only time you don’t mind him. That you can actually stand him, and even want to submit to him.

Of course, you’re filled with regret and embarrassment the second you’re both finished, but for these few minutes…you don’t mind.

“Every fucking day,” he continues, holding onto your waist as he buries his cock deeper. “Have to watch you parade around like you’re fucking God’s gift to technology.”

You’d snort if you had enough air in your lungs to do so. 

“In your fucking tight little tank tops and see through dresses,” he seethes, dragging you back to the edge of the desk to angle you the way he likes. “With your hair always up in that stupid ponytail. Just begging to be pulled. To be yanked onto your knees while you take me down your throat.”

Your eyes roll back as you keen into his body. Memories of swallowing around him flooding your mind as you shiver.

Despite his aggravating remarks, he’s always so proud of you when you take his cock down your throat. He knows it’s a lot and he knows he can’t force you to do anything your body isn’t equipped to handle.

But he’s enamored with the way you try. Pleased to see you lick him, suck him, take as much of him as you can. He might hate you, but he praises you more than anybody else ever has.

And it’s one of the main reasons you can’t quit him.

“Then maybe…you shouldn’t look,” you pant, whimpering when he thrusts particularly hard. “I don’t wear that shit for you.”

He snorts, now grabbing onto your wrist and forcing your hand against your clit. He moves your fingers for you, pressing them into the sensitive nerves until you cry out and clamp down on him again.

“No?” he taunts, cock twitching inside you as he nears his release. “Then who do you wear it for, hm? Fucking Sam?”

You make another noise as he pushes your body into more immense pleasure, touch still locked atop yours.

“No, not Sam,” he decides. “Cause Sam can’t do it the way I can. S’why you came to me, isn’t it?”

You don’t dignify this with a response. You don’t have to. He knows.

“Sam can’t make you cum, can he?” Harry continues, almost vengefully as he feels you get closer. “Never fucking could. That’s why you only cum for me.”

It’s blinding. So intense that it makes your entire body ache as you fall victim to the wave of pleasure pulling you under.

He’s right behind you, spilling into your cunt before spilling out of it. Dripping down your legs, down the table, down his thighs as you both ride each other through the bliss.

He doesn’t let you release your clit for at least a good two minutes after, ignoring your pleas for mercy as your body struggles against the sensation.

It’s overwhelming. Hot, sticky, sweaty. He pulls out to go grab a towel from the supply closet before bringing it back and helping you clean up. 

He leaves a few teasing licks to your cunt in the process, and you swat your hand across his head in warning.

He smirks.

Once he’s finished, he pulls your jeans back on and up before tucking himself into his pants to do the same. 

Then, after helping you hop down, he offers you a lopsided grin and pushes his glasses back up.

“Now,” he says coyly, “go be a good girl and run the fucking sequence.”

Next Part:

~ Off the Shelf* (pt. 2)

~ Full 404 Masterlist

~ Main Masterlist

~ Blurb Masterlist

Taglist: @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @keepdrivingkisses @swiftmendeshoran @tiredinwinter @straightontilmornin @justlemmeadoreyou @harrysdaydreams @tiaamberxx @peterparker1sgf @myfavfanficsever @littlenatilda @vamprry @fdl305 @tchalametishot @ssaama @indierockgirrl @likeapplejuicenpeach @vane28282

[mythbringer-mayhem]

GODDAMNIT

man, I was just scrolling and now I'm a goddamn Raidioapple shipper what the FUCK

Ok ok-

And now I'm going to elaborate just because.

I was expecting someone out there to ship Lucifer and Alastor the second I heard Hell's Greatest Dad. I mean- two people singing/arguing over being father figures? Sounds gay to me /pos. The internet sure does love it's enemies to lovers (me included. I'm hopless lmao.)

BUT. I have specifics for this ship.

I hate it when people just look at Alastor's aromanticism/asexuallity and just go "nah. I'm just gonna do it anyways." I used to headcanon Alastor as complete aroace in the sense that he just can't feel that way for someone (this is not meant to sound like "oh he can't love anyone :( he's incapable" I mean specifically a romantic/sexual relationship.) Then fucking short ass king of hell arrives, and Alastor just IMMEDIATELY chooses violence.

I didn't think much of that besides "oh that's a little interesting," and then I stumbled across Radioapple and had to take a double take. My brain needed to figure out how that would work, like how it would start, flourish, ineract, yadda yadda-

.....so now I consider Alastor Demiromantic-

(I'm still goddamn writing jeez-)

Read on if you like random people looking wayyyyyy too much into fictional characters.

Headcanon timeeeeeeeee

When Lucifer and Alastor first meet, Alastor is surprised Lucifer doesn't know who he is. Up to this point, everyone knows about the terrifying radio demon, so it must be a little weird for someone to be completely ignorant to his existence. Especially when that person should probably know the ins and outs of what's going on- ....because he's the fucking king of hell.

This is something new for Alastor. It made him curious. When you're curious, you try to learn more right? So, Alastor starts pushing Lucifer's buttons, seeing how he reacts. On Lucifer's end, Alastor's just being a smug asshole. However his true intentions are information on the esteemed oh-so-powerful king of hell. Maybe Alastor doesn't quite know where this fascination comes from, but regardless he wants to learn more. I can picture him progressively bothering Lucifer more and more (this is his unique way of getting to know him semi-discreetly)

As well as figuring out what ticks him off, Alastor would also probably passively learn things Lucifer likes. For instance, he finds out what Lucifer's favorite alcoholic drink is or something- bare with me- Let’s say Lucifer has a rough day, and it's very clear to everyone in the hotel. While he's frustrated in his own room, he hears a knock at the door. Answering it, he finds his aforementioned favorite drink. At this point, he wouldn't know who left it. But after a while, he'd be able to figure out it's Alastor through process of elimination. (This is inspired by a comic I saw! :))

Now we've got Alastor trying to discreetly be kind to Lucifer, and Lucifer is aware without his knowledge. And Lucifer would call him out for it lmao. Slowly, they'd start acting friendlier towards each other. It would take a long, long time though. The slowest slow burn of them all. They'd hang out more, do things, kick angel ass, have friendly banter, do stuff with Charlie. Untill Alastor finally realizes that he might have a crush on Lucifer. Though, I feel he'd take a while to fully figure that out, do some soul searching, maybe go to Rosie for advice.

Then they'd confess. Or they wouldn't lol. I can totally see them going on what is essentially a date, even though they just consider it "hanging out". It would be a quiet relationship. Something you'd miss if you aren't looking for it, but it is there. They both just need someone they can rest with in my opinion.

These ideas are probably sporadic and nonsensical- but I ✨️don't care✨️ I just needed to rant about the old timey deer man and the short depressed apple gremlin.

[listofwhyyouloveher]

You are pumping out these request like a machine goddamn😦

Can I get the boys,separate, with a reader that they've known for a long time getting a glow up? Like they never found her attractive or saw her in a romantic light. But one day she BAM glows up, angsty pleeeaaaseee🙏🏽

Summary: In which you glow up after being rejected by your crush

Warnings: angst, no happy ending sorry.

Author's Note: these are all relatively small and under the same premise sorry!

You had liked your greaser friend for a while, like for a REALLY long time. So when you’d finally worked up enough courage to ask him on a date you felt heartbroken when he turned you down. Later you heard it was because you weren’t ‘pretty enough’. Well fuck that! You decided it was your perfect time to start a massive glow up!

PONYBOY CURTIS

As soon as you stepped into the classroom after everyone had returned from spring break, Pony’s jaw dropped. And so did a lot of other’s. You looked like a new person, so much so that he almost didn’t recognize you if not for your jewlery. God, you were gorgeous. He smiled at you, but you seemed to look right past him. He tried talking to you in the halls but nothing worked. You seemed so busy with your new life that you had barely any time for him.

“Hey Y/n, wait up!”

“Oh hey.” You said, not even looking him in the eyes.

“What’s up, you don’t even try to talk to me anymore,” he laughs awkwardly and you shoot him a confused look.

“Why would I?”

“Well, I mean..I thought you liked me?” He asked, and you scoffed.

“Yeah well not anymore,” you said before walking away.

JOHNNY CADE

You were hanging out at the lot by yourself when you turned around to find Johnny staring at you. His mouth was open in shock.

“Y/n?” He asked, truly blown away with how good you looked.

“Hey,” you said, trying to be respectful.

“Oh my god, haven’t seen you since..” his voice trails off and you cringe. The last time you talked to him you confessed and he politely declined, only to go off and laugh at you with Dallas later on.

“Yeah, that was my mistake,” you shrug, completely over him if it wasn’t for the embarrassment of it all.

“Mistake?” He asked, you catch the hurt washing over his face.

“Mhm, one big mistake that I’ll never make again.” You smile at him, milking your revenge for everything it was worth.

“Oh,” he said softly before you shrugged and walked away.

SODAPOP CURTIS

Sodapop was kind of like a big deal because of how good-looking he was. So when you walked into class looking like the next Miss Oklahoma rumours started to spread about how the hottest girl and guy would get together. Soda approached you during lunch, a huge smile plastered on his face.

“Hey, Y/n”. You narrowed your eye before speaking.

“Uh, hi.”

“I was wondering, if maybe you wanted to go to the drive-in with me tomorrow?” He asked. You nearly choked on your own spit.

“Hell no!” You laughed and Soda looked shocked.

“What?”

“I said no, now can you move? You’re in my way” You said before shoulder checking him while walking off.

STEVE RANDLE

Steve had seen you walking down the road looking prettier than the morning sun and was absolutely stunned by how much brighter and happier you looked. Your hair was perfect and so was your skin. He wanted to talk to you but he was too scared, so when he went home he immediately dialed up your number on the nearest pay-phone.

“Hello?” Your voice rang out from the phone and Steve smiled.

“Hey Y/n, uh, it’s me Steve, I saw you walking down the road but was too nervous to talk to you…anyways, would you like to maybe go out sometime?” He rambled into the phone, expecting you to jump on his offer like you would’ve when you confessed. Instead you just sighed,

“Pussy” and the phone clicked signalling that you hung up, leaving him standing there in shock.

TWO BIT MATTHEWS

You had always admired Two-Bit’s humor, but now it was too much. He was going around town telling people how he always knew you’d end up pretty and that you were going to practically run back into his arms when he asks you out. You cringed just thinking about ‘running into his arms’. So when you saw Two-Bit walking with his gang you took your chance.

“Two-Bit!” You called from across the street, running over to him. You watched as his guys hyped him up and he nudged them with an ‘I told you so’ look.

“Hey Y/n, how’s it been?”

“Good! Been hearing a lot about you recently.” You feigned a smile.

“Really? Like what?” he smirked.

“Like the fact you're telling people that I'd got ‘running into your arms if you gave me the chance’! Which is why I'm actually talking to you right now, I’d like to clear the air and say I'm totally over you. I know my league and you are definitely below it! Bye!” You giggled before running off, leaving him standing in shock with his gang.

DARRY CURTIS

You had known Darry in high-school. He was popular and you were not, so it made sense that he rejected you. However when you saw him approaching you at the drive in, the pain and embarrassment came crashing back down on you.

“Y/n,” he said to you, as if testing the waters. You nodded in his direction before turning your attention back towards the screen.

“How have you been, you, uh, you look good.” He said awkwardly and you glance at him.

“I'm fine.” You tensed up when he sat next to you.

“Hey, uh, do you….are you free next week?” He asked hopefully and you scoffed.

“Hell no”

“Really Y/n? Is this all because I rejected you?” You glared at him, livid over the fact that he would bring that up. “Look, I was under a lot of pressure.. I'm sorry”

“Doesn't make it hurt any less.” You mumbled before getting out of your seat and leaving the drive in.

DALLAS WINSTON

Dally only likes pretty chick's, and you learned that after he whistled at you as you passed. You of course returned the favor by shouting a harsh ‘fuck off!’ which left him open-mouthed in shock.

“Y/n?” he asked, a grin starting to form on his face.

“What,” you glared at him, eyes narrowing in anger.

“Damn, you look good!” He said, taking a step closer to you and examining you.You got pissed and pushed him back away from you.

“What? I'm just tryna compliment you!” He said, stumbling back.

“Fuck off, Dallas. I mean it.” You snapped at him before stalking away.

[yuri-is-online]

When I first listened to all the Kendrick Lamar distracts, I got so excited that I literally had the urge to just make out with somebody (I did not. There was no one else in the room) just to get all the energy out. But like. Imagine that with JadeYuu for a second. Imagine being do hyped up over some music that you just pull him into an impronto make out session. You don't even really care to get his reaction or freak out that you just kissed your crush and fucked up whatever weird floaty situationship yall got going on, your still too excited and bouncing around n shit. That's not getting the energy out tho so might as well kiss him again, right? Maybe give him a hickey or three, who knows at this point.

Bro is dead. Bro is dead and in some sort of strange purgatory. You just kissed him. You kissed him. It's not how he planned for it to go, but damn if he doesn't like seeing you being all out of control and excited, something very different from your usual disposition. Seeing you take charge like that... and your first reaction was to kiss him? Quite passionately too, multiple times too. He is dead. He is in heaven because this was something straight out of a dream. He's is in hell because that was supposed to stay a dream and he was supposed to be all romantic for your first kiss, he doesn't even really know if you'll ever talk about this again...

Well. He doesn't want that. So might as well set you straight.

This ask is so old I am so sorry Confused.

But this situation is so funny to think about with JadeYuu. There's a party in Scarabia and everyone is like "better keep an eye on Floyd hahaha no telling what he's gonna do" nope. It's JADE who's acting the fool? Jade is so collected, he's supposed to be the neat twin. The unproblematic looking twin. And sure Yuu has some problems but everyone seems to think of them as super responsible so why, pray tell, are they making out viciously- great seven did Jade just moan? In front of everyone? I think he's got his hands under the prefect's shirt and goddamn they are just biting the shit out of his neck, they aRE DRAWING BLOOD and oh thank god it's over. No Azul, you don't need to pay us off that was traumatic we aren't gonna say shit, look even the Prefect doesn't know what's gotten into them-

Oh Jade looks super happy though. He looks drunk and I don't think he tried any of the punch. Wait is he- nope. Not gonna think about why Jade's taking the prefect towards the rooms, you still offering that cash Azul? Jamil is going to need the harder stuff to get over this.

[thisapplepielife]

Written for @corrodedcoffinfest.

Tonight Isn't The Night

Day #7 - Prompt: Celebrate Good Times, C'mon | Word Count: 1000 | Rating: T | CW: Language | POV: Eddie | Pairing: Steddie | Tags: Older Steddie, Man Plans and God Laughs, Grand Romantic Gesture

Eddie wants it all to be perfect. This has been a long fucking time coming, and if he fucks it up at the last second, he'll never forgive himself. Jeff and Goodie are playing chauffeur, picking Steve up at the airport under an elaborate ruse.

They're supposed to keep him busy, and then drop him off at the arena to meet up with Eddie, pre-show. Eddie rented an event space, and Gareth is helping him try to get it ready.

Eddie planned all of this. 

But Eddie's nervous. 

Gareth is crawling around the room, stringing lights so it'll be romantic, and Eddie's gonna owe that kid. That kid is forty, and a dad to two, but still. Crawling on the floor sounded like hell on Eddie's worn-out body, so Gareth had gotten down and was doing it without complaint.

They don't have time to complain. Not when Steve will be at the arena in t-minus two hours. And Eddie will need to be there, if he doesn't want Steve to realize something is up. 

Eddie watches Gareth crawl out from under a table, and Eddie wishes he was still that goddamn spry. He used to be. He used to be made of elastic, Uncle Wayne always said so. But those days, and those muscles, are long gone, eaten away by bats over two decades ago.

Eddie's hip is killing him today. As if the Upside Down has decided to rear its ugly head again, just because he's so fucking happy. It's bullshit. 

He doesn't want to take anything that might dim his memory, not today, so he takes three ibuprofen and calls it good. That will have to do. 

The ring is burning a hole in his pocket. He keeps palming it, checking, double-checking, just to make sure it's still there.

It is. 

The small box, hard against his thigh.

He's gonna ask tonight. After the show, when they're alone. He's gonna take him back to this venue, take him up on the roof and while meteors fall from the sky, he's gonna ask Steve to marry him. 

When Jeff opens the door, he's making a face that Eddie doesn't understand, not until he sees Steve.

Steve's in a bad mood, a terrible one, actually, and Eddie cups his hand over the ring box. Tonight isn't the night. Goddammit. When Steve stomps off to the bathroom, Eddie fishes the box out of his jeans pocket, and tucks it into his jacket.

"What are you gonna do now?" Gareth asks, in an alarmed whisper. 

Nothing. He'll do nothing. 

He'll listen to Steve rant and rave. He'll be here, and present, not at all thinking about the thousands of twinkling lights or meteors up above.

It's not the night. 

After the show, Steve's still pissy. The ride back to the hotel is filled with Steve bitching and moaning, and Eddie knows better than to try and offer any suggestions, not while Steve's like this. This is just venting, and if anyone knows about venting, it's Eddie. He's made it an art form over the years.

But right now, it's Steve's turn. 

And Eddie listens.

Steve's mid-rant, when he looks out the window, "Hey. Shooting star."

Then, "Oh. Another."

"There's a meteor shower tonight," Eddie explains. 

"And you didn't make plans to view it?" Steve asks, because he knows Eddie, and this is a thing they've done dozens, maybe hundreds, of times over the past two and half decades. 

"Well, a little, but you're not in the mood for that tonight," Eddie says, trying not to sound disappointed. 

He isn't.

No, he is. He really is. But he understands. Life doesn't always go your way. Some days, you're nearly eaten by bats. Others, your marriage proposal gets scrapped. Eddie's used to be fucked by life, well and good and raw, by now. 

Steve looks over at him, "I'm not in that bad of a mood. We can still look at the sky," Steve offers, and Eddie would like that. He really, really would. But he can't take Steve there. It's too much, too over the top, and he'll immediately suss out what was really on the agenda for the night. Then he'll beat himself up for ruining it. 

So, no. They can't go there.

They end up out in the parking lot of the hotel, sitting in a patch of grass that Eddie's pretty sure other people probably let their dogs piss in. But Steve's leaning against him, and that's always gonna make for a nice night.

It's quiet, and peaceful, neither of them saying a word, until Steve suddenly says, "We should get married."

And Eddie nearly chokes. 

"What, you don't want to?" Steve questions.

"Steve Harrington, I'm gonna kill you, and then I'm gonna marry you. No, I'm gonna marry you, and then I'm gonna kill you. I had a whole night planned. And then, well," Eddie says, waving his arms around Steve's head. "Pissy. So. Postponed."

Steve is just looking at him.

Eddie keeps ranting, mocking, "We should get married."

Steve smiles, and Eddie digs in his jacket pocket, handing over the velvet box, "Here. We're engaged."

Steve throws back his head and laughs, absolutely delighted and it's contagious. Eddie has to laugh, too. He's not mad. He's frustrated. 

He's in love, and not even a little surprised. Nothing ever goes his way. He has the opposite of the Midas touch. 

Except. He gets to love Steve Harrington. 

And that's a pretty big win.

After a beat, Eddie says, "Please don't tell Gareth that this happened in the hotel parking lot. He crawled all over, stringing lights, and I'll never hear the end of it."

Steve laughs, and then kisses him, "I'll never tell."

And he doesn't. There's an elaborate romantic story that's fed to Gareth and the public, but it's not the truth. Not a word.

But that's okay. That just means the real deal is only theirs. 

A secret between them, the stars, and the dog piss-soaked grass. 

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @corrodedcoffinfest and follow along with the fun! 🦇

[dreamingofaizawa]

Violent Tendencies - Price

Sheriff! John Price x AFAB! Fem! Reader

~Small Town AU~

Warnings: Love at first fight?, descriptions of blood and injuries, allusions to physical abuse (past), John finds you hot in the strangest ways (does he have a thing for violence? idk, maybe it's just you), two suggestive lines

Word Count: 3.6k

Author's Note: Fuck me sideways. That's all I've got, I'm hyperfixating on this stupid AU

Part One Here - Part Five Here

ENJOY!

***

“Oh come on, live a little! It won’t hurt ya to get in bed with a bonnie lass.” Johnny’s drunk. Too damn drunk, if you asked John Price. It’s probably the fifth time the scot’s brought up Price’s dating life, or complete lack thereof. He’s already dragged three poor random girls from around the little bar to try to get him to take one home. He’s getting real sick of his antics.

“Johnny, if you don’t fuck right off, I’m firing you. No more Deputy MacTavish.” He only smiles, drunk and leaning over in the booth the five of them are tucked into. 

“Can you blame him, John? We can’t expect you to stay single forever. Get yourself a girlfriend, at least.” Laswell’s not nearly as drunk as she should be. If she weren’t coherent he wouldn’t have to hear this shit from her of all people.

“I’ve got a woman. Now drop it.” It feels like the whole goddamned bar goes quiet at that. 

“Fuckin’ spill, Price, or I’m starting a bar fight in here and it won’t fuckin’ end pretty.” Now Simon being invested in the whole thing was something he didn’t expect at all. Kyle’s watching, silently, from his corner. He’s also probably drunk. 

“Fine. But we don’t talk about it until you’re all sobered up tomorrow. I don’t want to have to explain it all over again when you don’t remember shit.” That is what’s agreed upon. And so the very next morning, he’s cornered by his three deputies and Kate Laswell. Kyle, for one, is very amused at the whole predicament.

“I think it’s poetic. Romantic, even. Fell in love with a girl in juvie of all places, after getting into a brawl with her, and he’s so fuckin’ whipped for her he can’t imagine ever loving another woman.” 

“Seven years ago? That’s an awful long time to be waitin’, Price. You sure the lass is still gonna be single by the time you find her?” Johnny’s words sent a spike of rage and fear through his heart. What if you never loved him like he loved you? What if you were just tolerating him? What if you found someone already? He tries not to spiral, tries to keep himself cool. It’s none of his business, no matter how far gone he is.

“So you lied, then? You don’t really have a woman. She ain’t yours yet.” Simon’s right. But he hangs onto the yet. He’ll find you, and he’s sure that when he does he’ll try his damndest to make you his. “You gonna fight her again?” 

“No. Absolutely fuckin’ not.” He’d made up his mind after that first fight. It’s the only fight you’ll ever have. After he’d had time to cool down in the infirmary, even if he found you covered in blood insanely attractive, he saw too much of his father in the mirror. You looked happy, getting into a fight like that, but he can’t get the image of his mother begging for a respite out of his head. He decided then that he’d never lay another hand on you for as long as he lives, not unless it was a spar to help you hone your skills. Even then, he’d never hurt you.

He tells them stories when they ask. He tells them about the way his Tempest was always ready for a fight. He regales them with the way you pummeled a guy that tried to corner you in the bathroom to try and get his dick wet. He recalls the time you’d smashed a guy’s skull against the nearest wall when he’d shoved a girl to the ground for something or other. It’s all vivid in his memory, when he recalls the way you bled all over the punching bag. Your knuckles are scarred to hell and back, you never gave them any real time to heal once you got that sling off. He distinctly remembers, however, that you wrapped them up once he’d told you to. Still hit the bag, but you wore wraps, however flimsy they were. 

It’s his favorite thing to do, really, remember all the shit you’d done, the squabbles you’d finished. The two of you had a wicked reputation in that little hall, and only a month after your collar healed you were avoided like the plague. Back then, watching the way people started to give you a wide berth, he wondered if that’s what it looked like for him when he got in.

“Let me guess, you were her only friend.” Kyle deadpans, like he knows what comes next, muttering something about a classic romcom trope.

“Almost. Her roomie liked her, after she pummeled the girl that tried to strangle her for something.” He thinks you looked the best when you were beating someone to a pulp. How you looked hitting the bag was a close second. Thinking about you like this makes his heart ache, but he falls so much farther in love. The image of you is imprinted so profoundly in his mind he’d recognize you instantly. 

And he does. 

“It’s wonderful to have you here, John. You and your deputies are gonna do a whole lot of good for this town. Everyone, welcome your new sheriff.” The man has just finished his retirement speech in front of the town hall, welcoming Price to the little podium at the front. He’s got an entire speech prepared about wanting to help keep the place in order, how he’s happy to be welcomed even though he didn’t grow up here, how he’s ready for the change of pace from the big city he’s used to. 

It all catches in his throat when he sweeps his gaze over the crowd and spots you. Your eyes lock, and he knows you recognize him, the way you don’t even blink, wide-eyed and barely breathing. The former sheriff’s hand is on his shoulder, and it snaps him out of his daze. You don’t move, don’t leave, just sit with the rest of the town and watch. His skin feels like it’s on fire, burning with the urge to run over to you and kiss you until you both pass out. He barrels through the rest of his speech. When it’s all done and dusted, and he goes to look for you, you’re gone. Back in the station, Kyle notices something’s off.

“Your leg hasn’t stopped bouncing since we got back an hour ago.” He stops the limb, briefly flicking his eyes over to Kyle before looking pointedly away. “Don’t ignore me, damnit. What’s got you wound up?” The other two perk up from their spots around the little station. The eyes on him make his skin itch. 

“She’s here.” It got so damn quiet a pin could be heard hitting the tiled floor.

“No fuckin’ way. Tempest? Your Tempest?” He nods, and the questions are flying. How does he know? When did he find out? What’s her name? Where is she right now? He only knows the answer to one of those questions, and he refuses to tell them anything on principle. He decides you must have run off for a reason. If you don’t want to see him that bad, if all you’re going to do is avoid him, then he’ll let you. That being the case, the last thing you needed were his three deputies snooping around your business.

You’re like a little spirit, running around barely in his sight for two long years. He’s seen you briefly, walking to or from the diner he frequents in one of the uniforms, but he’s never seen you there. You must work all the hours he isn’t there. There’s a glimpse of you every other week in the grocer, or at the market, or in the one hardware shop in town. He never approaches you. Deep down, he’s afraid of the rejection. It’s been nearly ten years since you shared a space in the juvenile hall to the north. There’s every possibility that you’ve grown to hate the time you spent there, and grown to hate him.

But then he spots you, being verbally assaulted by the town’s resident asshole who coincidentally also happens to be your boss, and he can’t find it in himself to care if you hate him or not. You’re not gonna just take that shit, not with him around, not when the scene looks eerily similar to one he’d witnessed in his own home.

In a way, he owes Graves. It’s the first time he’d spoken to you in a decade, and he’s falling in love with you all over again. You’re different, sure, but it’s not bad. He’s different too. If you both remained the same after ten years, it’d be some kind of weird twisted miracle.

The nights he spends in your diner have his blood warming. He feels a little guilty about the way he can’t take his eyes off of you, even when you’re not looking at him. He feels a little like a creep. But he just can’t help himself, observing you as you work diligently for the little diner. When you reach up onto a high shelf he locks onto the sliver of skin where your shirt rides up, the softness of your waist he desperately wants to feel beneath his fingertips. The scarring on your knuckles are faded, and the skin looks like it hasn’t seen a fight in years. You’re softer overall, too, your face rounder and body plumper, the muscle mass you used to tow around gone. He scolds himself for eyeing your thighs, the way they swell when you crouch or sit or kneel, mentally slaps himself for wanting to live between them. He still doesn’t know if you’re just tolerating his presence.

The deputies don’t believe him, that you’re his Tempest. Simon says you’re too reserved to be her, too shy and quiet and soft. Johnny thinks you’re a pretty little lass who wouldn’t hurt a fly. Kyle mentions how you’re not aggressive enough to be John’s Tempest, nothing agitates you at all, even the one drunk asshole that finds his way to the diner one night while he’s there. The guy nearly trashes the diner, toppling over stools and knocking the napkin dispensers and salt shakers to the ground. You aren’t even fazed, just wait for Kyle to kick him out and get to cleaning it all up. 

So you’re really different. So what? He knows you’ve got some of that spark still, he’d seen it in your eyes. Besides, he likes you now, too. You’re softer, sweeter, than he’s used to. You’re still snarky, still sharp-tongued, it’s just that your rough edges have been smoothed by time.

When he gets that panicked phone call from you, he swears he’d never felt dread the way he did when you were whimpering on the other end of the call. He sped like the devil to get to you. You being shaken more than anything else was such an immense relief he felt his heart shrink and swell with each beat. Taking you home and crawling into bed with you felt like he’d finally found the piece of his heart that’d gone missing since you left him behind. 

“You look smitten. Have a good night?” Kyle knows. It’s written all over his smug face. All he can do is roll his eyes.

“For the record, I had a wonderful fuckin’ night. I got my woman, and I got to prove you lot wrong in one fell swoop. And Graves got a beating.” The man himself scoffs from his spot on the cell bed. John turns, walking right up to the bars.

“I could always bring her back, you know. Let her break your arm more, let her show you just how easy it’d be to dislocate that shoulder of yours.” He can see the way the man swallows, but he doesn’t move or respond otherwise. 

“That’s what I fuckin’ thought.” He turns to his deputies. “Now I want a formal fuckin’ apology for doubting me.” Simon rolls his eyes from behind that bandana. Johnny groans out a protest.

“Can’t blame us, can you? Not a damn soul would know the beast she is just being around her for a little. She’s like a little sleeper agent.” 

“She’s nothing special.” Graves spits from his bed. It’s a wonder he has the balls to speak about you like that, or at all. John’s just about fed up, but Simon beats him to it.

“Says the guy with a broken arm and a concussion. You better watch your back, she’ll kill you if given the chance.” He laughs, sour and unamused.

“Yeah right. I was drunk, and she caught me off my guard. She couldn’t do it again.” Suddenly John knows all too well that Graves did not grow up in this town. Because the folks who did know that you were the most violent creature in a fifty-mile radius, and would pummel anyone half to death. He probably doesn’t even know about your stint in juvie, let alone your history for anger management. Then, John does laugh, at the notion that Graves got his ass handed to him on a silver platter by the girl he thought was some pushover subordinate.

“That woman will chew you up and shit you out dead. You’re lucky I hadn’t found her again earlier. You may have been dead long before you got the chance to be fired.” Words aren’t enough to convince him, but it doesn’t matter. If he’s stupid enough to come after you again, he’ll find out soon enough. He scoffs again, shifting to sit on the edge of the cell bed.

“Right. You got into this town two years ago. She’s been working under me for five. The fuck do you know?” It’s tempting to spill the history you share, but your secrets are yours.

“What does he know?” Graves jumps in his spot at the sound of your voice. John’s entire body heats, his eyes drifting over to where you’re leaning up against the wall. He didn’t even hear the door open. When he reaches for you, you drift toward him like a magnet, tucking yourself into his side while he presses a kiss to your temple. Suddenly he’s not so mad anymore, his blood settling from a rolling boil to a simmer. 

“How long have you been there, Tempest?” He watches you shrug, feels his heart speed in his chest when you lay your head against his shoulder.

“Long enough. Simon let me in and held the bell so it didn’t sound.” He glares daggers at the man, who only shrugs. “I wanted to come see you. Brought you boys some lunch.” He looks to the desk where you’ve put a large insulated bag. Wonderful fuckin’ woman you are. Your attention flits back to Graves, who’d stood up and backed into the corner but still tried to look intimidating. There’s this look on his face, eyes just a little too wide to be comfortable, chest moving with tiny, quick breaths. Still as a statue, like a deer in headlights. He knows that look. He’s seen it in the other juvie residents who were stupid enough to get on your bad side. He’s afraid of you, he’s seen the bloodlust in your eyes, seen the way you love to make someone bleed.

“Phil.”

“The fuck do you want?” There’s an urge bubbling inside him to rip the cell door open and pummel the man for talking to his woman that way. 

“I didn’t come for you. Didn’t think you’d still be here.” His shoulders visibly relax, but only a little. He nearly laughs at the guy. He’s pitiful really. You push off of John, slipping away toward the cell. He fights the urge to yank you back, away from the man that wanted to hurt you and still probably does. 

“But, since you’re here, I may as well give my piece.” Your tone goes sharp, dark with promises he knows you can and will keep. “If you ever come after me again, I’ll make you disappear.” Graves bristles from his corner. John’s hard in his jeans.

“Is that a threat?” 

“What the fuck do you think, Phillip? I’m intimately familiar with an assault charge, and attempted murder isn’t far off. All I’m asking is that you leave me the fuck alone, and you won’t ever have to find out what John knows and you don’t.” When you step back to John, Graves lunges for the bars where you stood.

“That’s bullshit. Five years I’ve been screaming at you and what did you do? You took it and went on with your day. I don’t believe anything that comes out of your mouth, lying bitch.” Suddenly, the urge is overwhelming. His heart is erratic in his chest, and when he lunges toward Graves it’s you that stops him in his tracks, a hand on his chest while you stand directly in his warpath. 

“It’s not worth it, John. He doesn’t know. It’s fine.” He huffs like a bull, but relents. Still, he’s pissed. You turn back to the cell. “Go get a damn life, Phil. Quit blaming your problems on everyone else and get your shit together.” The guy turns a concerning shade of red, but stays silent. He’s probably not all that used to having someone bite back. You wrap your arms around his waist, resting your chin on his chest to look up at him with stars in your eyes. You’re so fuckin’ pretty it hurts. He wraps his own arms around you, leaning down to press a kiss to your lips. He’s so far gone. 

“Pretty woman. I ever tell you how hot you look when you’re threatening someone?” When you giggle it’s like his soul leaves his body. The prettiest sound he’ll ever hear, he’s sure of it.

“No. That’s cause I don’t usually give them a warning. Used to just come out swinging, remember?” Oh yeah, he remembers. He remembers how often he’d jack off in the juvie showers to the memory of whatever violence you’d committed that day, watching you swing and sweat and grin like a maniac. 

“Ugh. You two were made for each other, that’s for damn sure.” He watches your grin stretch across your face when Kyle says it, pretending to wretch over his shoulder. Your eyes flit over to him, and you look so much like a mom trying to cheer up her child.

“You’ll find someone, Deputy Garrick. Give it time.” His eyes roll.

“Just go get a room, would you?” You laugh, and he laughs, and John couldn’t be happier than he is at this very moment. You lean up and kiss him, sweet and soft and far too quick for his liking.

“I’ll leave you to it, then. Have fun dealing with that one.” You jerk your head toward Graves, who’s still fuming. “Try not to kill him.”

“No promises, Tempest.” He releases you, then you’re off with another peck on his cheek. Simon chuckles from his corner once you’re out the door. John deflates, annoyance prickling his skin.

“The fuck is so funny, Riley?” 

“She’s got you wrapped around her little finger.” Hell yeah you do. He’s not ashamed of it, hell he’s proud.

“You got a problem with it?” Simon throws his hands up in surrender.

“Not a one. It’s just a wonder you ever let her go without even asking where she’d be going. Couldn’t have been me.” He groans and rolls his eyes. This conversation? Again?

“Fuckin’ can it. I’m not listening to another lecture about ‘the one that got away’. She didn't get away.” 

“Aye but she almost did!” Johnny pipes up from where he’s sitting on the edge of the desk, already digging into one of the sandwiches you’d made for them.

“But she didn’t.” He huffs, getting fed up with the conversation they’ve already had too many times. Kyle hums thoughtfully.

“Ten years. An awful long time to be away from someone you fell so hard for.” Yeah, it was. Hurt like the devil, too.

“The fuck? I thought you didn’t grow up here?” When Graves makes his presence known again, it sends a bolt of rage through his blood. All four of them turn to see the man suddenly invested in the conversation, arms through the bars and temple leaned up against them. 

“I didn’t.” His face scrunches up in confusion.

“Then how the hell did you know her ten years ago?” He glances over at his deputies, and they all seem to share the same sentimental shrug.

“We spent time in the same juvenile detention hall.” He scoffs from the bars.

“Juvie ten years ago? Right. And you liked her cause what, she was a docile little plaything? Let you do whatever you wanted?” He barks out a laugh at the thought. You? Docile? Fat fuckin’ chance. He reaches up and feels the bridge of his nose, the thing’s still a little crooked thanks to you.

“Nah, that girl broke my fuckin’ nose the first day she was in cause she wanted my punching bag. That’s all you’re gettin outta me. You can find out for yourself just how volatile she is if you wanna know that bad.”

“I don’t believe it.”

“That’s your damn problem. I’m not gonna waste my time convincing you.” He doesn’t give him any more of his attention, pulling one of those sandwiches out of the bag you’d hauled over. There’s enough food to feed the four of them and then some.

He’s going over to yours tonight, just to give you a heartfelt thank you between your legs.

[ophelia-writes-fics]

hold me close and hold me fast [alec hardy x reader]

It's winter in Broadchurch, and you've noticed a habit of Alec's.

Tags: GN!reader, fluff, romantic fluff, established relationship

Word Count: ~900

TWs/CWs: none, this is pure self-indulgent fluff :)

It was another frigid Broadchurch winter. The entire town had been covered in a blanket of snow and ice that was six inches thick and refusing to let up anytime soon. But despite the endless bad weather, life didn’t stop, so every morning you went to work as usual, and Alec went to the police station. He worked long, exhausting hours, and he was usually either gone before you woke up or out until after you went to bed.

You always knew exactly when he came home on late nights, though. Because if Alec was one thing, it was a goddamn stubborn bastard, and he was a stubborn bastard who refused to wear gloves, a scarf, or a hat in the winter. 

No matter how much you pestered him about it, no matter how you insisted he’d get cold, he would swear up and down that a coat was enough and he “didn’t need all that stuff”. And yet, every single night that winter, he’d come home, change into pajamas, climb into bed with you, and put his freezing cold hands under your shirt to warm them up. 

It would have annoyed the hell out of you, but when you finally confronted him about it, he looked so taken aback that you realized he’d had no idea he was doing it. Still, he’d apologized, and from then on, every time he came in late, he’d be absolutely sure that his hands were kept outside of your clothes. 

That is, while he was awake. 

After another few nights of being woken up by freezing hands clutching your chest, you quickly came to a conclusion: whether he wanted to or not, Alec would subconsciously seek out your body heat to warm himself up the moment he drifted off to sleep. 

As the weather got colder and colder, you woke up dozens of times to Alec holding you close like you were a teddy bear - every limb wrapped around you, ice-cold hands under your shirt, his face buried in the crook of your neck. It didn’t even bother you anymore. It was adorable, honestly. You knew he’d get all prickly and deny it if you told him, but he really was such a sweetheart, even in his sleep. The peaceful look on his face as he cuddled you made your heart melt every damn time, and no amount of cold hands could compare to how much you loved seeing him happy. 

Still, you really wished he would wear some damn gloves once in a while; if not for you, then to avoid getting frostbite when it was below zero outside. So, that winter, you decided to take matters into your own hands. 

You took your knitting bag everywhere you went, working on your projects whenever you had downtime, making sure Alec never saw what you were working on. Within a couple of weeks, you had a hat, a thick scarf, and a pair of mittens all completed, so you decided on a plan: on your day off, you’d wait until Alec left for work, then wrap the gift and meet him down at the police station to surprise him. And that was exactly what you did. 

---

“Darlin’, what’s goin’ on? What’re you doing here?” A worried look crossed Alec’s face as he met you at the door. 

“No, everything’s all right! Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” you reassured him, giving his hand a comforting squeeze. “I brought you a gift and figured I’d surprise you, that’s all!” 

You handed him the small parcel and watched with anticipation as he opened it, revealing the multicolored pile of warm winter clothes. 

He was quiet for a moment. 

“Do you like them?” you asked, a bit nervously. 

He looked up at you, a shocked smile on his face. “Did you make all this?” 

You nodded, and before you knew it, Alec was at your side, embracing you so tightly your feet left the ground for a moment. 

“They’re beautiful, love,” Alec murmured, still smiling as he pressed a kiss to your forehead. 

Your heart fluttered with pride. 

---

The next morning, you were at the breakfast table when Alec was leaving for work. Something was different this morning, however. 

“Hmm, someone seems to be dressed rather warmly today,” you teased gently. “Whatever happened to ‘Oh, I just need a coat, darling, I’ll be fine without a hat or a scarf or gloves’?”

He gave you a playful glance of warning, then smiled. “Well, someone put a lot of effort into making sure I’ll be warm, and it’d be a shame to let all that beautiful work go to waste, hmm?” He leaned in and caressed your cheek as he kissed you goodbye, whispered a quick ‘I love you’, then he was gone. 

---

As the winter wore on, it was much the same as all the winters before it, except two things had changed. 

One, Alec never left the house without the winter clothes you’d made him. He treasured them, and you could always tell - he handled them with so much care, folding them gently every night when he got home and running a loving hand over them every now and then when he thought you wouldn’t notice. 

And two, Alec never came home with freezing cold hands again. 

And you were absolutely delighted to find out that even when he kept warm during the day, he still held you close in his sleep, every single night.

A/N: thank you for reading! i know this is a shorter one and it's a bit silly. honestly, i really just wanted to give alec some love, he's such a sweetheart and the poor thing needs a break lmao. i'll be back soon with some smut! as always, feel free to like/rb/comment/whatever else, and my requests are always open! :)

🍓 this fic's title is from the english version of 'la vie en rose' 🍓

[procyonloser]

Mini au fic IDK. Pre adamsapple. Divorced Dad Adam. Modern/Human Au

Old man yaoi

Adam picked up Abel, who was still sniffing even as he latched onto Adam's leg. Cain, on the other hand, was glowering up at his brother, still holding onto his backpack and clearly not wanting to go. Admittedly, Adam wasn't happy about being here at fucking 2 in the goddamn morning either.

"Sorry," Charlie said, lisping a bit since she'd gotten braces. She might have tried to look goth, but she was still a theater kid at heart. "In school, everyone was talking about this new movie...I mentioned it to the twins, it sounded like they wanted to see it."

"I did want to see it." Cain complained, siding with his step sister and looking put out.

"Yeah, well, Abel pissed himself in fear, so maybe no fucking slasher movies for kids under 10?" Adam huffed, readjusting Abel on his hip so the kid wasn't strangling him. "Where's your mom?"

"On a date, in the city. They were dressed all fancy and left in a really cool car." Cain said glumly.

"Wouldn't take us with."

Yeah, no shit, Adam thought to himself. He couldn't imagine a worse hell than a romantic date with two 7 year olds tagging along the entire time.

"Why don't you have any cars like that?" Cain asked him.

"Because your mom took all my shit in the divorce, and then married a rich fuck." Adam said in feigned sweetness. Charlie looked upset, eyebrows fitting together, but she was all of 13, and she knew just as well as he did that her mom Lilith was Adam's other ex wife. So, he had reason to be annoyed. "Now get your shit and get in the car, we're going home. It's too late at night for this and your brother is going to need therapy."

"The monster that lived under his bed ate out the man's eyeballs." Abel mumbled into his shoulder. Great, Adam wasn't going to sleep alone for a year.

"You suck, I wish Lucifer was my dad..." Cain stomped down the front steps with as much force as a 7 year old could muster. Adam rolled his eyes, but before he could open his mouth again, a candyapple red car came screaming up the very long driveway.

"Fuck," Adam whispered under his breath. "Here we go again."

Lucifer practically jumped out of the front seat, running up the sidewalk looking concerned, but his tie was noticeably loose, and the buttons on his shirt weren't in the right spot. There was what a bit on lipstick on his neck.

"I got your message, Charlie, is everything alright?" Lucifer asked, looking at his daughter in worry. "No one is hurt, are they?"

"Everything is fine," Adam cut her off, glaring down at the older man. "Abel got scared, I'm taking the boys home."

Lucifer looked between him and the boys, frown curling his expression downwards. "Oh no, that's too bad. I'm so sorry to hear that, I was really looking forward to the weekends they were here..."

Not enough to stop you from going out and plowing Eve on a Friday night, Adam thought in smoldering anger. He'd had to drive all the way across town to drop them off, only to come back in the middle of the fucking night for them.

"Yeah, I had the rest of the weekend planned. Homemade pancakes and waffles with whipped cream and fruit, then I was going to take them to LuLuWorld, and then I was going to let them pick out any toy set they wanted." Lucifer listed off, seemingly legitimately upset by the news. Abel's head picked up off of Adam, and he looked at his step father in sudden fixation.

Eve got out of the car, glare fixed on Adam before rounding it to wrap her arm through Lucifer's. She sure as fuck never wore any dresses like that when he'd been married to her.

"Well, if the boys want to stay with Adam, that's fine. Nothing wrong with that, Charlie likes to stay at her mother's some days too." Eve practically purred, running a finger along Lucifer's jaw. Lucifer looked up at her with adoration that made Adam's stomach turn. How long had it been since he and Lucifer had been friends?

"I think I'm okay now," Abel said, pushing to get down on the ground. Adam let him go, and Abel ran over to his step sister's side, which caused Cain to do the same. "Yeah, I'm totally okay now. Thanks Dad, see you again Monday!"

"Or never, we could just stay here," Cain said under his breath, but Adam heard it anyway.

"Oh good!" Lucifer said, turning to smile at Adam, like he was doing him some kind of favor. "I'm sure you're happy to get your weekends back! I'm sure you're busy."

Eve scoffed, and Adam boiled below the surface.

"Fucking whatever man." Adam turned to walk towards his car, but Eve stopped him with a small smile on her painted lips. Lucifer was already leading the kids back into the house, promising them popcorn and a happier movie to watch.

"Maybe we should rethink custody arrangements?" Eve raised her eyebrow at him, a sly smile darkening her features. "The twins seem much happier here."

Adam fumed, marching up to get in her face, not afraid of how it looked. "Fuck. You. You didn't even want them. I had to fucking beg you to take them on the weekends because they wanted their mom. You're not taking them from me."

Eve didn't seem bothered by his response. "Looks like I already have." She flipped her hair over her shoulder and sauntered back into the house, only sending one last parting message to him. "By the way, Adam? He's bigger."

The door shut behind her, and Adam was left outside, cold, in the dark, and pondering arsony.

"Maybe I'll fucking steal him from you, see how you like it!" Adam shouted at the front door, hands balled up into fists at his sides. "I can't fucking wait until you're miserable and I'm the one sucking his fucking soul out through his co-"

The door creaked back open, and Lucifer looked out of it, brows furrowed. "...Uh...the kids can hear you."

Adam turned bright red from embarrassment. "Fucking good! I'm glad!"

Lucifer stared at him. "... Right, goodnight, Adam."

With that the door shut, and Adam got back into his car, slamming the door closed, and then hitting his head against the steering wheel about fifty times.

First loves sucked. Second loves sucked more. Third loves sucked hardest.

He hoped his ramen in the microwave hadn't gotten mushy.