#Charm City Kings | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

lxkeee · 2 months

Text

HEAVEN AND BACK !

—Lucifer Morningstar x Alastor's Mom! Reader

Fandom: Hazbin Hotel

Genre: Romance

Warnings: Love at first sight, fast paced romance and mentions of domestic ab*se.

Notes: to the anon who requested the platonic Alastor x Mom! Reader it would be part of this:)

Synopsis: In which Alastor's mother went down to hell to oversee the hotel's progress and met the king of hell.

Word count: 4.6k words

PART TWO | NAVIGATION

[Y/n] lived a good and honest life, a simple housewife with one son. After finally separating with her abusive husband, her life with her son, Alastor had become better. Alastor promised that he'll support her through his radio hosting, the boy has become quite popular amongst the folks—with his wits and charm, he was able to make a reputation for himself and earn money better for him and her.

[Y/n] was finally happy, proud of what she and her son have accomplished. She doesn't have to worry about her ex-husband coming home to hurt her or her son.

After the divorce, not a few weeks later, her husband was found dead with several of his body parts missing. She and her son were questioned about it but nothing could connect them to the crime and was proven innocent.

Alastor comforted her about it, promising to protect her if the killer ever hurt her. Which calmed her down as the whole situation did affect her, despite her harboring hatred towards her ex-husband, she felt bad he got murdered in a brutal way possible.

Peace and happiness didn't last long for her unfortunately, some fight happened in the city when she was out for an errand and she got in the middle of the crossfire, getting herself shot twice—on her shoulder and one in her stomach. She bled to death.

[Y/n] briefly remembers a tall black haired man walking towards her, black wings on his back while carrying a large golden scythe on his hand.

“[y/n] [l/n], age is 44 years old, destination is heaven.” the man says with an amused tone in his voice. A smile found its way to her lips, this must be death then? I am sorry Alastor, I can no longer watch over you. She thought sadly, and then suddenly darkness.

[Y/n] woke up with a gasp, her eyes staring at the bright blue skies. Blinking, disoriented about what just happened. She looked at her side to see clouds, clouds everywhere. Even the ground she's lying on is clouds.

“Where... Am I...?” she mutters as she sits, finally turning around to see the gates that are shining ever so brightly, the radiant rays of the sun reflecting against the golden gate.

“Am I... In heaven...?” she asked herself softly, eyes widening as she remembers what happened. The fight in the city, getting shot—twice, bleeding to death.

Tears were streaming down her cheeks, as the reality that she died finally settled in. “No, no, no, no, no!” she said to herself, her hands covering her mouth to stop herself from crying. Her smile now lowering, already tired of keeping it up. She was the one who taught her son to always smile in any situation, but this...? She can't keep it up any longer. So she cried, hysterically. Her cries echoing throughout the skies.

She's dead, that means she won't see her son ever again. Her son will be alone, she can't be there for him!

It took a while for her to finally calm down, with a shaky breath she got off the cloudy grounds and approached the gate. An angel sitting behind the counter at the side of the gate is what she saw.

“Welcome to heaven, can I get your name please?” the man says with a smile, [y/n] stood there nervously, “[y/n] [l/n].” she says softly and watched as the male flipped through his thick book, “[y/n] Alberich, [y/n] Gunnhildr, [y/n] Lawrence [y/n] Kreideprinz, [y/n] Ragnvindr...” the angel mutters as he flips through his book, [y/n] stood awkwardly as she watches him.

The angel's finger finally stopped at a name and his smile became brighter, “Aha! There it is, [y/n] [l/n]... Please, come inside. I Saint Peter, officially welcome you to heaven.” the angel also known as Saint Peter says with a smile, the gates of heaven opening up for her.

[Y/n] nodded and hesitantly walked to the gate, passing by it and finally got inside the heavenly city.

Her new life after death. She hopes her son will join her here when his time comes, for now, she'll enjoy her new life.

It has been a few years, decades even. Still no sign of Alastor, she wonders if Alastor was gifted with a long life, something she didn't have? After getting inside heaven, they are not allowed to check up on their remaining loved ones on earth as they are not allowed to and [y/n] respected that, she'll wait for her son to join her here. She does miss her son, she wonders how he's doing, especially after her death. She can't imagine the pain he felt after her passing. She wonders if he's in purgatory if that place ever exists, she prays that her beloved son isn't in hell. Not her Alastor.

During her time here, she somehow became a well respected angel, becoming a seraphim angel and helping around heaven, overseeing important matters around the heavenly realm. [Y/n] befriended another seraphim angel named Emily, the girl is wonderful to be around with! Very positive and such a kind girl. [Y/n] enjoys having her around.

Recently, a secret has just been revealed during a court meeting with hell's princess, the daughter of Lucifer Morningstar, [y/n] read about him and she believes that the angel didn't do anything wrong, just misunderstood but this belief is something she keeps to herself, in fear of the others throwing her out for that small reason.

All throughout the trial Charlotte Morningstar expressed valid arguments, showing that souls can really improve their ways.

It was revealed that the exorcists were going down to hell to cleanse them, a sugar coated word for killing. The fact that Sera agreed to it was ridiculous but [y/n] can't do anything about it, she is just a mortal soul after all. She can't argue with the high seraphim and risk herself getting thrown out of heaven.

[Y/n] can only pray that Charlie's plan will work.

After that meeting, [y/n] can sensed that high ranking angels trust on Sera significantly lowered.

[Y/n] and Emily spent most of their free time researching, finding ways to help Charlie achieve her dreams for her people.

It has been a day since the cleansing started, [y/n] was in the seraphim office together with Sera and Emily doing important paperwork when suddenly a bright light fills the room and out emerged a familiar snake they [y/n] saw during the court meeting when Charlie was showing Angel Dust, she could briefly remember this snake man to be one of Angel Dust's and Charlie's friend. The one who announced he'll have sex with everyone at the club, she definitely didn't forget about that. The only difference is that the man's color themes changed.

“Huh? Wha...? Where am I?” he says as he looks around the unfamiliar place.

[Y/n] covers her mouth in disbelief while Emily squeaked beside her, turning around to look at the other two seraphim, Sera was in disbelief, [y/n] can't tell what the older woman is feeling right now.

Turning back to look at the new guest, [y/n] gave the man a small wave and the man gave her an awkward smile while waving back, “Oh... Hello!” he says and [y/n] giggles and Emily squeaks beside her.

“Hi! Welcome to heaven!” Emily cheers, the man's eyes widened. “I'm in heaven...?” he says in disbelief and [y/n] nodded, “Yes, this is heaven and you're currently in the office of the Seraphims. It is a pleasure to meet you, Sir Pentious or dare I say... Sir Redemptious?” [y/n] says with a small and gentle chuckle, chuckling at her own joke. Emily giggled at the joke while Sera remained flabbergasted.

Sir Pentious blinks in confusion, “You know me?” he asked, tilting his head slightly.

Emily nodded, a bright smile on her face, “Yes! But it is a long story.” she says with a large smile.

“But first, let us introduce ourselves.” [y/n] says with a small smile, a smile that seems awfully familiar to Sir Pentious but less... Threatening.

[Y/n] clears her throat, “It is an honor to meet you, Sir Pentious. I am [y/n] [l/n] one of the seraphims.” she introduces and Emily follows after, “Hi! I am Emily but you can call me Em, Emmy, Ly... It is a pleasure to meet you!” Emily says excitedly, approaching Sir Pentious' side and admiring him, circling him and taking in his new appearance.

“And this,” [y/n] says, extending her arms towards Sera, “This is Sera, the head Seraphim.” [y/n] says which snapped Sera out of her thoughts. Sera cleared her throat, finally back to her authoritative self.

“Greetings, Sir Pentious. I am Sera, the head Seraphim. I would like to formally welcome you to heaven, I hope you'll enjoy your stay.” Sera says and Emily nodded excitedly while [y/n] just gave a small nod with a gentle smile on her face.

“I'm not dreaming...?” Sir Pentious says in disbelief and [y/n] shook her head, “I can assure you that you are not dreaming right now.”

Emily tilts her head in confusion, finally realizing something. “How come he arrived immediately here and not at the gates...?” she asked and [y/n] hummed, she too was baffled by this, placing a hand on her chin as she began to think.

“Perhaps... He's another Seraphim?” [y/n] asked, snapping her fingers and she smirked as she noticed Sera's eye twitches. Interesting... [Y/n] thought, a subtle smirk on her face, finding the situation interesting.

“How about I show you around? I'll let the grownups handle your stay here.” Emily says, Sir Pentious looked at the girl, “I hope that my egg bois are here.” he says with glassy eyes and Emily let's out a small 'aweee' and patting the back of the man, “I am sure they are here.” Emily says as she pulls the man out of the office.

[Y/n] turned to look at Sera, a mischievous grin on her face. Sera sighs, a frown on her face. “Don't say it.” Sera muttered and [y/n] chuckles, “What...? I am not saying anything yet.” she says with a mischievous tone. Sera rolls her eyes at the woman.

“I was in the wrong, the hotel does work.” Sera says, disbelief that it does. “[y/n]. I want you to go down there and make sure that the hotel runs smoothly.” Sera says and [y/n] blinked, confused on what the woman was planning, “Why me?” she asked, raising an eyebrow, her smile not leaving her face.

“Just do it.” Sera deadpans and [y/n] shrugs, still has a small smile on her face, “Alright, whatever the boss says.” she shrugs.

“Make sure it runs smoothly but don't tell them he's here, I fear it will influence the sinners. I want them to work hard for it, and work hard for something that they are unsure of.” Sera says, walking out of her table, walking across the room and stood in front of the window, gazing outside the office of the Seraphims.

[Y/n] looked at the woman's back, Sera's wings neatly folded behind her. [Y/n] nodded in agreement, understanding where she's coming from.

“Understood, when shall I start?” [y/n] asked, tilting her head in confusion.

“Next week, let them rebuild the hotel. Do you understand your mission, [y/n]?” Sera says, turning around to look at her, [y/n] kneels down gracefully, a hand over her heart.

“Affirmative.” [y/n] says softly and Sera nodded, “Good.”

[Y/n]'s head peaked through the small gap of Sir Pentious' door as she opens it, her eyes soften as she sees Emily and Sir Pentious talking and multiple egg boys asleep on the bed. Knocking to catch their attention, the two looked at the very tall angel woman standing by the door, a gentle smile on her face.

“Hello, Sir Pent. I hope you're comfortable with your new room. I see that Emi is warming up to you which isn't surprising.” [y/n] giggles and Emily smiles and nodded excitedly.

“Speaking of [y/n], she's like a mom to everyone! She's so nice, I hope you two will get along!” Emily says happily, [y/n] presumes that Emily was talking about other angels before she came inside the room. [Y/n] smiles and gives the two a gentle nod, “That is me, if you have any problem... Feel free to approach me okay?” [y/n] says with a closed eyed smile, Sir Pentious eyes sparkled and a small blush on his cheeks as he could literally feel the gentle warmth of the woman.

[Y/n] just smiles and tilts her head before looking at Emily, “Anyways, I just came to check up on you two on how you two are doing. I'll be leaving now, you two have fun okay?” [y/n] says softly and Emily nodded, “Okay! I'll see you later Miss [y/n]!” Emily says and then Sir Pentious nodded and gave a wave to the woman. The two watched the older and taller woman leave the room.

[Y/n] walks away from Sir Pentious' room, walking past multiple doors that decorated the hallway—these are rooms that souls occupy and sooner, Sir Pentious' room will be upgraded since the man is a seraphim after all.. Entering the elevator, [y/n] presses a button—a button to her floor. The door closes.

[Y/n] sighs as she feels the elevator moving upwards, her mind buzzing with multiple thoughts. Taking mental notes on what to bring for her time in hell, she'll have to oversee the hotel after all.

The door opens, [y/n] steps out of the elevator, walking past by multiple doors (but the doors are much lesser than the floor Sir Pentious was in), these hallways are the rooms of the Seraphims.

Her feet stopped, coming to a halt. Holding the doorknob, the symbol of the doorknob glows, signifying that the owner of the room returned and in turn, and unlocked the door.

Stepping inside, she closes the door behind her. Time to pack.

Timeskip a few days later.

[Y/n] stood at the opposite side of Sera's table, her hands holding her luggage, Sera the high Seraphim sat on her seat looking at the taller woman. Emily standing beside Sera, the smaller girl looked at [y/n] with a slight worried look but still had a smile on her face. [Y/n] is proud that Emily continuously applied her teachings, you're never fully dressed without a smile, as what she always tells the girl.

“Goodluck, Miss [y/n]!” Emily says with a grin on her face, [y/n] chuckles at the girl's enthusiasm and nodded nonetheless.

“Do not disappoint us.” Sera says, [y/n]'s eyes narrowed slightly but her smile never faltered. [Y/n] nodded, a charming tone in her voice, “No promises.” she says with a grin and Sera rolls her eyes and then snaps her fingers, opening a portal for the taller angel.

[Y/n] waved goodbye at the two and stepped into the portal.

The bright blue scenario was replaced with a dark red one, a door was in front of her, a glass tinted door depicting apples and snakes.

Placing down her luggage, she curls up her fingers and then knocks on the door.

Loud knocks were heard against the tinted glass doors of the hotel, the sounds momentarily cutting off the conversation the hotel dwellers were having.

Angel Dust raises his eyebrows as he looks at the door, Husk stopping midway of drying up a freshly cleaned glass. Niffty just resumes cleaning the lobby of the hotel, Vaggie and Charlie were on the couch with Charlie's head on Vaggie's lap, Cherri is passed out drunk on the counter of the mini bar, and Alastor was just grinning as he sat on the cushioned chair.

Getting off Vaggie's lap, Charlie Morningstar walked towards the door, getting a very strong sense of deja vu. Opening it and seeing a very tall smiling angel looking down on her, a familiar angel that she saw when she had the court meeting in heaven, she remembers that this woman stood at the opposite side of Emily. Charlie never got to actually meet her or know her.

“Good eveni—” the angel started but was cut off as Charlie closed the door.

Turning around to look at her friends, a look of disbelief on her face. There's an angel in her front door, there is a SERAPHIM ANGEL IN HER FRONT DOOR.

“Vaggie?” Charlie calls out to her girlfriend nervously, Vaggie gave her a raised eyebrow, “What?” she asked.

“There's a seraphim angel at the door.” Charlie says, pointing towards the door. This promptly made everyone freeze.

“Oh my fucking god... I swear, what do they want this time..?” Angel sighs loudly, Vaggie standing up and getting her angelic weapon.

Charlie took a deep breath and opened the door once more, the same tall angel looking down on her with a gentle smile on her face, “May I speak now?” she asked and Charlie nodded nervously with a smile, the angel laughed, though she is experiencing major deja vu at the moment, “Relax, I am not here to cause trouble. Keep smiling darling, you're never fully dressed without one~!” she says with a giggle and Charlie nervously puts a smile on her face.

“Hi... My name is Charlie and you are...?” Charlie introduces herself shyly, a little flustered. The woman was very gorgeous and... Tall...

The angel shakes the girl's hand enthusiastically, “I know, my name is [y/n], it is a pleasure to meet you, Princess Morningstar.” [y/n] says with a giggle but quickly stopping as an angelic spear was pointed at her, Vaggie muttering something in Spanish underneath her breath.

“What is a seraphim angel doing here? Last time I checked, you guys hated us.” Vaggie sneers and [y/n] just smiled, using her pointer finger to push away the spear gently away from her, “Hate you...? No, no, no dearie... It's just Sera, she's... How to say it... An old time bitch.” [y/n] deadpans with a chuckle.

Charlie and Vaggie blinked at her words, in disbelief at how a seraphim can easily say something like that quite easily.

[Y/n] flicked her hand dismissively, “Ugh, I don't like her that much.” she sighs and chuckles, her eyes returning back to look at the two shorter girls.

“Let us forget about her for a moment, the reason I am here is that Sera wanted me to oversee the hotel and keep track if it makes any progress.” [y/n] explained, her pointer finger pointed up as she nodded to herself.

Vaggie narrows her eyes at her but decides not to question it but still held some suspicion of the woman. Vaggie thought that the angel reminds her of someone, but who?

Charlie just looked at the woman, in disbelief that Heaven changed its mind. Though, she too held some slight suspicion but decided not to think too much of it, moving to the side to allow the woman to pass through the tinted glass doors of the hotel.

“Very well then, please come in.” Charlie says and [y/n] gave the girl a curt bow and invited herself in.

[Y/n] admired the interior of the hotel, her eyes sparkling in admiration as she appreciates the design of the building. The interior is filled with so many red, white, gold, and black hues—a contrast to what she was used to in heaven. Charlie closes the door behind them and starts leading the taller woman back to the lobby.

“My, this hotel is very beautiful.” [y/n] says genuinely as she follows the shorter girls as they lead her towards the lobby of the Hazbin Hotel.

Finally arriving at the lobby where the other hotel members were staying, [y/n] surveyed each one of them carefully. The man who resembled a red deer oddly reminded her of someone.

Alastor was quite interested in who the person Charlie was talking to by the door.

His eyes widened, his smile faltering slightly as he saw the woman he's long last seen and the most he has missed.

“Everyone, heaven decided to send someone to oversee the hotel's progress. This is [y/n], she is a seraphim. I hope you treat her with respect.” Charlie says with a small smile. The name makes Alastor's ears ring.

He couldn't stop himself as the words left his lips, “Mother...?” Alastor says with wide eyes and a smile still on his face.

Silence.

Angel Dust's and Husk's jaw dropped. Seeing a new facial reaction of the always smiling man.

[Y/n]'s eyes widened as she covered her mouth with her hands, she was right. Why was he here? Why was her beloved son here in hell?

“Alastor...? My sweetie is that you...?” [y/n] asked shakily, her hands trembling, in disbelief.

Alastor hesitantly nodded, nervous. He didn't expect to reunite with her. How can he explain this to her? How can he explain the reason why he ended in hell?

“No fucking way...” Angel Dust muttered, in disbelief.

Tears began to stream down [y/n]'s cheeks as she let go of her luggage and quickly hugged her son, he looked so different.

“My sweet son, it really is you... Why are you here?!” She asked, cupping Alastor's face comfortingly. Alastor avoided her gaze.

“Mother... It has been awhile, I have done things that lead me down here.” Alastor explained calmly, a smile still on his face but he is fighting back tears. He missed her so much, after her death he was miserable. He found out the reason she died and killed the two men who caused her death.

[Y/n]'s eyes soften and she placed a gentle kiss on her son's forehead, Alastor instinctively closing his eyes at the contact. Warmth, he forgot what comforting warmth felt like.

“Now, now... I'm sure it couldn't be that bad...?” [y/n] says with a small chuckle and failing to notice the other hotel members giving each other a side eye.

Well... It was fun being an overlord. Alastor thought to himself as he took a deep breath and began to explain it to his mother, the reason why he's in hell.

“ALASTOR [L/N] WHAT IN HEAVEN'S NAME DO YOU MEAN YOU KILLED PEOPLE?!” [Y/n] seethes as she chases after her son, holding her shoe in her hand. Alastor trying to save his own life from his seething mother.

“Mother I can explain—!”

The others just watched as the angelic woman chased the most terrifying demon they know around the hotel.

“This is so fucking funny.” Cherri mutters beside Angel Dust, Husk having a smirk on his face as he watches his boss getting chased around by his mother.

“Well... I hope they'll stop soon or dad will come down to see what the ruckus is about.” Charlie says, nervous that they are causing too much ruckus. She knows her dad needs the quiet time to make his rubber duckies.

Lucifer was in his room writing something on his desk, he just finished making a rubber duckie sometime ago and now he's currently writing plans for the hotel.

Well... Trying to.

His eye twitched as he heard the loud ruckus happening downstairs. With a sigh, he lets go of his fountain pen. Standing up from his seat, curious on what is happening downstairs, he left his room and went downstairs.

What the king of hell didn't expect to see was the annoying radio demon getting scolded by... An angel? And good lord, she's... Tall. Though, he couldn't see her face as her back was facing him.

“I thought I raised you better than this? Good heavens, I thought you were better than this?” the woman sobs and leans against the radio demon, sobbing into his shoulder while Alastor hesitantly comforts her. Lucifer was trying not to laugh as the radio demon gave him the middle finger.

“Who's this?” Lucifer asked and his daughter nervously approached him, “Well, this is [y/n] and heaven thought it would be a good idea to send someone to oversee our progress of the hotel.” Charlie explains and Lucifer's eyebrows are raised in confusion, confused on what changed their mind.

“I am truly sorry mother, it won't happen again,” Alastor says softly, still smiling while his mother lets go of him and flicks the radio demon's forehead making the taller man yelp in pain.

Charlie smiled and clapped her hands together, “Miss [y/n], this is my father and you might as well know him as Lucifer Morningstar.” Charlie says and the woman turns around to look at them.

And oh my devil, none of these thoughts are in the bible.

Lucifer thought as he finally took a good look at the very tall angel. She's gorgeous. Very gorgeous. The white dress she was wearing perfectly captured her figure, complimenting her skin. Her halo glowing above her head like the rays of the sun shining down on her. Absolutely divine. Lucifer blinks, trying to comprehend the beauty of the woman in front of him.

Angel Dust looking at him with a smirk, without him realizing.

[Y/n]'s eyes sparkled, quickly shoving Alastor away as she approached the shorter man, “Oh my stars, really? It's an honor to meet you, I've read about you and quite frankly I don't believe you got the justice you deserved.” [y/n] explains, she has to kneel down as her neck was starting to hurt at looking down.

Lucifer's eyes widened, surprised that an angel held him in such high regard.

“Wait... Huh??” Lucifer says in disbelief making the woman chuckle, and goodness, even her laugh sounds so beautiful.

“I am grateful that you gave us free will, if it weren't for you... Humans couldn't control their own fate, their own actions and for that, thank you.” she says sincerely and unexpectedly, a single tear streamed down Lucifer's cheek. Nobody really cared to say their thanks to him, he just assumed that humanity hated him for his actions, as heaven hated him for it. To see and hear someone say their thanks to him for the first time, may have healed some wounds he was desperately trying to heal with a bandaid.

The angel panicked when she saw the tear, “Oh my stars! Did I offend you?! Oh gosh, I didn't mean to.”

Lucifer began to chuckle and laugh. Amused at the woman's personality.

Charlie wonders if her dad finally went insane.

“Since when did angels be so nice to me?” Lucifer asked in-between chuckles, finally calming down as he offered his hand for a handshake.

“My name's Lucifer, darling. It's a pleasure to meet you...?” Lucifer says with a toothy grin but his charm and confidence were replaced by shyness and embarrassment as the angel opted to kiss his knuckles instead.

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Lucifer. I am [y/n], a seraphim angel.” she says with a smile, almost smirking, her tone almost sensual.

Lucifer was flabbergasted, flustered. Blinking animatedly, his mind is still trying to comprehend what just happened. So many things are happening at once, the warmth of his cheeks, the loud thumping of his heart against his own ribcage, he prays that she couldn't hear it.

Angel Dust nudges Charlie, giving the girl a knowing smirk. Charlie just gave him a confused look, unsure what he meant, saying something to angel along the lines of, my dad's reaction is valid, have you seen her?

The apple doesn't really fall far from the tree, Angel Dust thought as he cackles in amusement.

Alastor's eyes narrowed slightly at the interaction. Vaggie cautious at the radio demon's reaction.

Well, this is interesting. Husk thought to himself, already prepared of the chaos that's going to happen now with an additional member of the hotel.

TAGLIST:

@adaizel @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx @thedarkkitten @selvyyr @froggybich @brithedemonspawn @kottenox @totallymitya @many-fandoms-lover @dou-dou @mezzyb0nb0n @n1chxyaaenthusiast @cherry-4200 @koirb @galaxyj3lly @crystalplays28 @luleck @scootinonyourmom @rory-cakes @mixplara @crescent-z @bitchyzombienacho @kalisha2004 @altervex @nehy019 @napbatata @kouyoumarryme @sxgacxbe @kooidoom @yukichan67 @apple-pop @akiralovespenguins @storydays @kaurochika @amphiroxx @lil-writer-523 @punching-pentagrams @moonlovers34

#lxkeee answers #lxkeee updates #hazbin hotel #lucifer morningstar x reader #lucifer hazbin hotel #lxkeee hazbin hotel masterlist #lucifer #lucifer morningstar #lucifer magne #hazbin hotel x reader

2K notes · View notes

dyinggirldied · 2 months

Text

royal consort au brainrot

the royal consort au by @dcxdpdabbles makes me lose my mind so i have to share this so i can go to bed:

danny has his own wikipedia page though there is ongoing debate on whether they should use present tense (since he is alive) or past tense (seeing as he is engaged to the ghost king/high king of infinity realm)

some part of the social media romanticizes danny's situation as a hades and persephone or cinderella or both. you just know that some girls and boys out there are maddeningly jealous that danny manages to bag a king who is seemingly deeply in love with him.

unfortunately, he becomes a standard of beauty (twink, short, black-hair and blue eyes) because somehow rumors leak that phantom finds him the epitome of beauty. bruce is a bit worried since tim sort of fits the bill. in another city, billy batson/shazam is being teased by his adoptive siblings also for that precise reason

surprisingly, danny can be a charming speaker which people thinks it's part of why phantom fell in love with him.

bruce (and a portion of the world, including constantine) is concern since danny is still young (not sure how old he is in original prompt so i left it vague) and this whole thing; being the most popular public figure in the world and being haunted constantly by paparazzi, his joining with the ruler of the dead, the political between his home world and his future one, might damage his psyche sooner or later and bruce is trying to find a contingency plan for that.

and what's even is batman's contingency plans for this kind of situation, i don't know. im not that smart but clark, diane and constantine and the flash family will need to be there. to make sure bruce doesn't accidentally go too far.

also, this one comes like a hammer to my head but what if one day, danny feels an itchy sort of feeling in his throat but waves it off as a cold? he regrets it when barely a minute later he coughs out a palmful of blood. danny might be in outdoor place or in the justice league headquarter but the point is: everyone panics. especially once he loses consciousness.

this one can be branched off into two:

someone, either the leftover resentful giw or amanda waller, decides to poison him.

maddie innocently makes lunch for her son, after finding a new bag of spice for the meat. that spice contains blood blossom, which is deadlier for ghost (or half-ghost) if you eat it. of course, clockwork will ensure no one finds out danny is a halfa by making the machine detecting it as allergy, if a bit unsual one and danny will still live, if a bit disgruntle and so done with his half life already

#royal consort au #danny phantom #dp x dc #assumed pitch pearl #dcxdp #dc x dp #dpxdc

1K notes · View notes

luxurychristmaspudding · 3 months

Text

Pickup Truck

summary: frankie hates your boyfriend. in fact, everybody does. but he’s willing to give him a chance. you’re his best friend, after all.

until frankie discovers something he can never forgive.

pairing: frankie morales x f!reader

ratings/warnings: 18+. MDNI. this fic contains allusions to, but no descriptions of, domestic abuse. please do not proceed if you know this will upset you.

frankie's pov. no lady and no baby for our boy. drinking, violence (against pos bf), angst, lots of hurt, allusions to dv. comfort, fluff. frankie to the rescue. unprotected p in v (wrap it irl!). oral, f receiving. creampie. bad spanish (again). kings of leon references. happy ending, of course.

wc: 9.8k

an: whew, this was an emotional one to write. but i hope a good love comes to all of you in time, no matter where you are at the moment. and if you already have it, may it always keep you safe. lovely divider from @saradika.

Frankie really doesn’t like your boyfriend.

Scratch that. Nobody does.

Nobody really knows where you found him, either. A sweet, smart girl like you, moved back to your small town from your big city life, and it looks like you picked up the very first guy who sidled up to you in a grimy bar.

Which, if you’re really honest, is exactly what happened. Because he was nice at first. Real nice. He was charming and sweet and interested - he bought you drinks all night and didn’t push to come in when he walked you home. You went for dinner a few times, and sure, he could be a little rude to the waitstaff, but it was only because he was so focused on you. He bought you flowers and took you for rides, and sure, sometimes he’d come home far too drunk after seeing his friends and get a little too close, a little too loud, but he always apologised.

And sure, he sometimes made you cry, but he always made it up to you. Sweet promises, small gifts. And he'd never laid a finger on you.

Not until last week, anyway.

You don’t know what to do. You don’t know who to turn to. The thought of it makes you so sick you have to lock yourself in the bathroom at work. How did this happen? How did it turn so sour?

And how do you get out?

Walk you home to see

Where you're livin' around

And I know this place

Frankie walks you home from the bonfire. He always does.

It’s his favourite moment of the night.

He gets to have you all to himself. Gets to watch your cheeks cool in the night air, watch as the blush from the heat of the fire subsides. Your giddy, wide eyes, your tipsy babbling about stories which had been swapped over the flames, picking out particularly scandalous details for you two to giggle about before doubling over into breathless laughter over something Benny had said.

He likes to hold your elbow, your hand, as you catch him in your amusement, gripping onto his bicep. He loves to lose himself in this little pocket of time with you.

He loves the sparkle of the stars, the glow of the streetlights as they light your features.

Frankie loves you.

And he’s so glad you’ve moved back from your life in the big city to come and be around your real friends again. So glad that you’ve all found your way back to each other. Tonight has left him with such a mellow tingle in his bones that he finds he can’t stop smiling at you, looking at you, on your walk home.

Bonfire nights have always been your monthly hangout, a time when you can be sure you’ll get the whole gang together. There used to be more of you through highschool, and still a fair few during college. It dipped when the boys joined the forces, when people moved further east and further north. But eventually Frankie, Benny, Santi, and Will had come back. Jessa, your other best friend, had returned too. A few others coming and going - Lily, Marcus, Maggie - also back and forth from their new homes to their old ones. And then eventually folk had just… settled.

Frankie felt like he was one of the last, like he was maybe the one finding it the hardest, retired to a life of civvy duties. Unable to hold down a girlfriend, struggling to stick at a job, sofa surfing around friends’ places. He was still flying whenever he could, but then this coke allegation happened, and it was like the world was finally swept from under him.

You were the first person he had called, the first person to talk him down from his panic, that debilitating squeeze around his heart when he thought about the future. The first person who made him feel like it would be okay.

So of course his joy when you had come back had been immeasurable. Maybe this time, he’d thought.

And then you’d met Tanner.

He’s pulled from his thoughts as you drag your hand out of his, skipping a little further up the dark street until you reach a corner. Frankie watches as you spin on the spot in the quiet neighbourhood, gesturing down the pathway before you.

‘This is me.’ You say.

But you don’t turn to keep walking. You watch him, a small, excited smile on your lips. Like you’re waiting for him to work it out.

Frankie drags his eyes from you, away from thoughts of your new boyfriend, to look up and down the street you’ve led him to, and for a second he is pulled beneath the ebbing flow of memory, towed with the riptide of things forgotten.

This is his grandmother’s street. Was his grandmother’s street.

The cracked concrete, the peeling paint of the porches. The weeds, the flowers, the smell.

He breathes your name like you’re the only thing tethering him to the now.

Breathes your name through the bright, sunny flashes of his childhood. His mama bringing him here with his brother, his papa swinging him by his legs in the flower-riddled front garden. Cartoons in the ripe heat of the afternoons, him and his cousins stuffing their faces with Guagitas and Frugele until they’d made themselves sick while the younger siblings napped in the sunbeams of the bedroom next door. Cycling over on his bike after school to sit at her kitchen table to do his homework, letting her fuss over him - his height, his friends, his grades, girls -

A skinnier, younger Frankie stopping by his abuela’s house with you to pick up her up for his nineteenth birthday party, along with her homemade tamales, her chiles rellenos, and specially made pumpkin sopaipillas for later on. The way you had chatted to her, natural, easy going, how you had made her laugh, her eyes sparkle. How, when you had taken some of the plates to the car, his abuela had pinched his cheek. I like her, she’d said, Será tuya algún día, mm, mijo? And Frankie had flushed bright red, batting her arms away as she chuckled at him. He had hidden in the back bedroom when you came in from outside, and listened a little longer to your conversation as he waited for the heat of his face to die down. When he reemerged, you had helped his grandmother into her shoes, her cardigan, and kept ahold of her arm until she got into Frankie’s beat up old car. At the end of the night, his abuela had kissed both your cheeks several times, rocked you back and forth in a hug, and clapped her hands as she said how she looked forward to seeing you again.

When you came home from college every summer, you’d have tea with her in her garden. She always asked Frankie about you, about how you are doing. When he told her you were coming home, she’d been so excited. Quizás este sea el momento? She’d said to him, squeezing his hand. He’d smiled, his heart quietly full of hope. Tal vez, abuela, he’d said.

When he called you two weeks later, his voice weak from crying, to tell you that she’d passed, you had been heartbroken. And it seemed like her wish, the red thread she’d seen between the two of you, had been snipped, too.

Pour yourself on me

And you know I'm the one

That you won't forget

Frankie likes to listen to you talk, because he’s never much been one for talking.

He supposes you just bring it out of him, though. Because here on this street, in the moonlight, he tells you more about his grandmother. You spend hours walking up and down the pavement as he recounts every story he can remember; him and his brother, his parents, aunts and uncles, cousins. Birthdays, weddings, funerals. The street comes alive with the ghosts of people, the spectres of feelings. You and Frankie talk of growing up. Of falling in love. Of each other.

Your small, well-loved house is half way down the street, four up from his abuela’s. It does something strange to his heart to have two of his favourite people, who loved each other in their own ways, so close but so far away.

Your fingers hold his wrist as he shows you a scar on his palm from eating shit on his bike when he was eight, and when he looks up, your eyes are shining under the streetlights. There is a glint of moon in your teeth, and a shocking want so clear on your face, but when he meets your eye there is suddenly hesitation, a realisation, a shuttering. Frankie stops his story. There is a moment, and then it slips away like sand.

You shiver, chilled all of a sudden, and wrap your arms around yourself. Frankie tries not to look too hard at the goose bumps blossoming on your bare skin, tries to fight off the urge to kiss the little raises until you’re warm again under his touch.

‘Cold?’ he asks, and you smile back up at him. God, his heart.

‘As a hole,’ you giggle, and he feels himself smile goofily back at you. ‘We gotta warm up.’ You say, and then freeze.

It takes Frankie a little while longer to hear the inadvertent invitation in your words.

Boyfriend. Boyfriend.

You both stand on the porch, frozen, like some great frost has swept over the land. If Frankie squints, he can imagine the glitter of your eyeshadow, now fallen, dusted on your cheeks, is a collective of tiny constellations of ice.

Your body is wracked with a shiver again, but when Frankie looks you in the eye, you’re burning up from the inside. He swallows.

If he could only make the steps towards you. If he could only will his heavy feet to move, if he could summon his nerves to do exactly what his brain says, he would already be in front of you. He would have your face in his hands, be able to look into your eyes to see that deep, hidden want again, and kiss you. Again and again and again, and he wouldn’t stop, because things like that shitty boyfriend of yours wouldn’t matter anymore.

No. The whole world would be glitter and stars and constellations of ice crystals.

And then you blink, smile softly, and wish him a goodnight.

When he can finally lift his foot to move, your door is already closed.

And in your denim eyes

I see that something's awry

And I see you’re weak

You don’t see Frankie for a while after that, always finding a way to brush off his attempts to hang out.

At first he doesn’t worry too much about it. You’ve just moved back - you have a new job, a new place, new friends to get to know. Tanner.

Frankie finds other things to do. He gets business cards made up for the flying school he’ll be setting up next month. He pilots people across the state, sometimes across the country. He sees the boys for drinks, even sees Jessa for a coffee. He starts to worry when they say their texts have gone mostly unanswered, and they haven’t seen you either.

It must be why he turns up on your front step one day, a six pack in hand.

You open the door on the second ring of the doorbell, and Frankie finds himself rendered speechless. You look… different.

Tired and wary, a little thinner. And when he gets you chatting, you say you haven’t really been anywhere, done anything. You’ve been settling in, getting used to it. You have two beers each, but you seem on edge, like you’re waiting for a knock on the door. And then Frankie asks about Tanner, and your eyes linger on the entryway a little longer.

‘Yeah,’ you say, ‘He’s okay.’

Frankie’s jaw twitches, his stomach clenching uncomfortably.

‘Just okay?’ He asks.

Because you should be excited. You should be gushing and giddy and falling in love. But you’re not.

‘Yeah,’ you shrug. ‘He’s good.’

There’s something in your eyes. Something which shrinks away, skitters back. Something drained, something sapped of life, of energy. Hurt, maybe. Fear, perhaps.

When Frankie thinks back now, he knows he should have pressed you harder. Maybe should have taken you to his, made you talk a little more for a little longer. Away from Tanner, the threat of his presence. But he didn’t. He didn’t.

And he hates himself for it.

When he comes around

I see you're fixin' to shine

And my face won't speak

When Frankie next sees you, you’ve had a hair cut, and there are deep, dark bags under your eyes. Both of these things worry him equally.

Your beautiful hair that you’d been growing out since you were young, hair that you swore you’d never cut shorter than it was in seventh grade, when your mum had to chop it into a bob after you got gum caught in it. And here it is now, much shorter.

Jessa says she likes it, and you give her a watery smile, a weak thank you. She asks where you had it done, when. She asks if you like it, and you shrug. You say you’re trying something new. You say Tanner likes it.

Over your shoulder, Frankie exchanges a look with Santi.

You’re quiet the whole time you're at the bar. Far too quiet, so far from the bubbly conversation you usually hold, your loud cackle, your bent-double amusement. Your affection for your friends - the hands on knees, arms around shoulders, kisses pressed to cheeks. It’s hardly there.

Frankie offers to walk you home, but you wave him off kindly. Tanner’s picking me up, you say, he’s probably outside. Jessa frowns at you.

‘Are you sure, babe?’ She says. ‘It’s not even late yet.’

You smile and nod at her, gather your stuff to go. Jessa catches your arm.

‘We’re still on to go shopping Saturday, though - right?’

You smile at her, the first warm one you’ve mustered all night.

‘Of course,’ you say, ‘I’m looking forward to it.’

When you stand to leave, you hug everybody goodbye. Tightly, for longer than usual. Frankie doesn’t give you an option when he walks you out to Tanner’s car. The smug prick is hanging out the driver’s seat window. He watches Frankie as you walk up, hostile, threatening, arrogant, and somehow still ridiculous. And, Frankie thinks cruelly - ugly.

Frankie pulls you into his arms a few steps away from your boyfriend. He kisses your hair, and you sigh.

‘Have a good time on Saturday,’ he says softly. You twitch a smile at him.

‘Thank you, Frankie.’ You say before stepping back and walking to open the passenger door. As you climb in, Tanner winks at him.

‘Gettin’ a new one tomorrow,’ he says, stupid fucking grin on his face. ‘New car. Exciting stuff. Anyway, better get this one back,’ he says, squeezing your knee a little too hard. You don’t look at Frankie, something like humiliation colouring your cheeks. ‘See you around, Frank.’ Tanner says.

Frankie steps back from the car as it glides forwards, and he watches it disappear up the street.

Deep anger burns in him. And a kind of fear. It crawls over his skin, cooling the sides of his neck. His heart churns uncomfortably in his chest.

He tells your friends about it when he returns to the table. And they form a plan. Jessa texts you a time she’ll pick you up on Saturday. You say you’re excited again, you need some new clothes.

But Frankie knows Jessa won’t take you shopping.

No, she brings you here, to the beach, to the bonfire. To him, to Santi and Benny and Will. Because they’re worried.

So worried, they tell you.

They sit you down in one of the chairs around the fire, and they explain why they’re worried. They tell you they love you - so much - and they just need to know if you’re okay. Because they can help. They want to help, want you out of this, because he’s not good for you. The silence, the hair, the clothes you were going to buy. They tell you they hate the way he doesn’t let you speak, how he speaks to you. And you are so quiet through all of it, Frankie begins to get more worried. He speaks to you gently over the fire, but you can’t meet his eye. He tells you his worries, their love for you again. He swallows down his own confession, anything to make you see. How they don’t want you pushed closer to him, want you to be pulled closer to them instead.

But your eyes are so vacant, so far away, that Jessa leaves her deckchair next to you to sit on the burned up log closer to you on your other side. She takes your hands, and you finally, finally look at her. You open your mouth, and you say so quietly -

‘You’re right. You’re right.’

It feels like the biggest gulp of oxygen Frankie has ever taken. He feels lightheaded from the relief, from the knowledge. They were right, they were right, which is a terrible, terrible thing.

Will clears his throat, and Frankie looks at him to see similar thoughts flicking over his face like film reel. He licks his lips, opens his mouth, and -

Hate to be so emotional

I didn't aim to get physical

But when he pulled in and revved it up

I said, ‘You call that a pickup truck?’

And in the moonlight I throwed him down

Kickin', screamin' and rollin' around

A little piece of a bloody tooth

Just so you know I was thinking of you

Whatever Will is about to say is cut short by the sweep of headlights over the brush near the dunes.

A beat up old pickup truck bumps up the track and pulls up alongside Will’s Ranger. The driver’s side window slides down, and Tanner’s face emerges from the gloom. He revs the engine loudly, making you and Jessa jump. A sick feeling curls in Frankie’s stomach as he watches him, this piece of shit who’s been so busy crushing you down.

Tanner leaps out of the truck, and slams the door. Frankie looks over at you, visibly panicked on the other side of the fire. How the fuck did he find you?

‘Hey baby,’ Tanner says, sickly sweet as he strolls towards you, ducking to press a kiss to your unresponsive mouth. He turns to the rest of the group, eyes skating over Will and Ben until they land on Frankie. Tanner steps towards him, offers his hand.

‘Good to see you again, Frank,’ he says, ‘Told you I’d be getting a new ride.’

Frankie stares at his hand. He takes a deep swig of his beer, breathing deeply before looking Tanner in the eye, refusing to shake it.

‘I’m surprised to see you.’ He says to the dirty-haired man.

Tanner tries his best to appear unfazed, but there’s a glimmer of something hot behind his eyes.

‘’Course man, wanted to show off the new pickup.’ He says, grinning broadly. He looks around again, eyes falling hungrily on Jessa. She shifts uncomfortably on the log, rearranging her body so there’s less for him to look at. A deep heat begins to rise in Frankie’s chest.

He glances again at the ancient car that Tanner’s driven up in. The front bumper almost hanging off, the red paint aged and scratched, bumps caved in all up the sides, the roof sagging.

‘You call that a pickup truck?’ Frankie says lightly. Tanner narrows his eyes at him, angry, before he catches the sound of Santi’s laugh.

He whirls around to the other man and spits -

‘Who the fuck are you?’

Frankie almost laughs, too. Almost.

Pope spreads his hands. He looks up at him through his brows, a glint in his eyes that Frankie is violently familiar with. You must notice it, too, because you clear your throat and say -

‘Santi’s one of my friends.’

Tanner doesn’t even look at you. Just keeps staring at Pope.

The moment seems to last an eternity. Frankie feels like he’s watching everything through sludge, like he’s in someone else’s dream. His whole body is on edge, vibrating, ready to lunge - he’s just not sure at who. He looks between the two men before he catches your eye through the flames. The adrenaline in Frankie’s heart gutters at the look of panic in your eyes.

Please don’t let them do this. Please help me stop it.

Frankie glances back to Pope, and says, so softly only he can hear it -

‘Pope.’

And Santi immediately looks away, taking a swig of his beer.

Tanner stands there still, clearly baffled at Santi’s sudden lack of interest. Then he turns to the rest of the group like a petulant child, a toddler who has been ostensibly robbed of its favourite toy.

‘It’s a good truck,’ he says, before turning to you. ‘Ain’t it, baby?’

You hum your agreement as Tanner scoops a beer from the pile by Will’s chair, shucking off the top with his teeth. Jessa looks away, disgusted. He settles himself in the deckchair at your side.

‘Y’aint allowed to touch it, of course, sugar,’ he says to you, before laughing into his bottle. ‘Ruin everything you come into, anyway. Root of all my problems, ain’t ya?’ Tanner takes a pull of his beer. The group is silent around him. Around you. Tanner notices.

‘Boy, fun bunch you are.’

You look at him through your eyelashes.

‘Baby, that’s enough.’ You say as softly as possible, and Frankie cringes at the pet name.

Tanner looks at you sharply. Dark, furious. It’s in the pinch of his jaw, the anger at what you’ve said so obviously rolling around in his skull.

Frankie hates him for it. And he hates that he hates him for it. There are already so many things he hates him for, but he’s so fucking stupid it’s almost funny. Not your equal in any way. In kindness, in conversation or in intellect. And not even willing to try. To learn. For you. Just trying to dumb you down instead, squash you into smaller, more digestible bites to chew on.

When it comes down to it, Tanner has nothing smart to say back. He just pushes a short breath from his nostrils and mutters out a little -

‘Well, well, well.’

Then he flexes his fingers against the chair, and you flinch.

You flinch hard, your brows coming together, chin scrunching, waiting for the blow to land. And when it doesn’t, your eyes flicker open slowly. Hollow, bereft, drained and dim.

Tanner hasn’t noticed, but everyone else has.

The awful unveiling of your last secret.

Frankie forces the bile down his throat. His head swings forward to the ground of its own accord, a faint, resonant ringing in his ears. When he looks at his hands, they aren’t his own. In fact, he recognises no part of his body as the ringing gets louder, as he gently places his beer bottle on the floor. When his eyes leave the dirt, the mix of faces around the fire are all mirror reflections of each other. Horror, disgust, grief. Grief that this is what you hid from them, this is what they have taken too long to pull you from. The burning building splintering around you, your shell of a body immovable in the middle.

You won’t meet his eye. You won’t meet anyone’s eye as your hand shakes around your bottle. Jessa notices. She stares at your trembling fingers for too long, but she can hardly say anything. None of them can. Her eyes shine like beacons from her seat, wet with tears. Frankie sees her bottom lip quiver, her chin dimple. And then she swallows, swallows again, and reaches for your hand.

You flinch again, softer this time, and Frankie is sure everyone around the fire - everyone in the town, the world, must hear his heart crack. Because he feels it so keenly, so deeply, that it takes the air from his lungs. His breath is caught in his throat, and no matter how hard he tries to draw it, it seems impossible to claw it down. He’s drowning. He’s drowning right here in front of everybody, and it makes it all the worse to know that this is how you must feel. Every damn day.

Come on, he hears Jessa say, Let’s go and get another drink. And through the dark swirling of his mind he watches the two of you stand slowly and disappear towards the back of Frankie’s truck. He waits until Jessa has you hidden from view, her arms around your hunched back as you bring your hands to your face - crying - and that’s when the thread snaps.

Frankie gets to his feet, slowly.

Pope and Will watch him. Benny is still staring at Tanner.

Tanner looks up at him, chin jutted out, smirking as Frankie approaches.

He’s challenging him. He’s waiting for a war of words, for the shouting to begin, for the insults, the observations to fly.

He expected the wrong war from a soldier.

The first punch sprawls him out of his seat. It makes a satisfying cracking sound, and the first trickle of blood starts to bleed from behind his lip.

Then Frankie kicks him. He kicks him hard in the ribs, making sure he doesn’t have enough time to recover from the punch to deflect Frankie’s boot.

Tanner clutches at his abdomen, wheezing, gazing up at Frankie with bewildered eyes. Fucking coward.

Frankie grabs him by the front of his shirt, pulls him upwards. He has nothing to say to him, but the fury he feels, this deep, endless, swirling pit of rage, he lets him see. He lets it fill him from the soles of his feet all the way up through his eyes, and he lets it bleed out. He lets the blackness flood the ground. He lets Tanner watch it, lets it petrify him, and then Frankie swings again. Tanner takes it on his chin this time, his jaw snapping closed, and when it goes lax, a couple jagged bits of tooth fall out. Frankie grunts in satisfaction and swings again, again, until blood spouts from Tanner’s eyebrow and his cheek begins to bruise and swell. Frankie breathes deeply, in rhythm, doesn’t even feel it when Tanner manages to land a lucky punch to his eye socket. He plants a knee into the other man’s crotch, lands him an elbow to the back of his head when he keels over, and then shoves him to the ground. Frankie gets on the floor with him, raining blows down on Tanner’s body, his face. He’s methodical about it, a punch to each eye, the crack of the cunt’s nose, one to either side of his mouth, then bloodying up his jaw. He’s aware, somewhere, that Tanner is screaming. Strangled, gargling sounds trying to claw up his throat. And then he’s aware of two pairs of hands around each armpit, dragging him away, pulling him up. Will is saying something in his ear, that’s enough, Frankie, alright now, and Benny is speaking, too, panicked - you’ll kill him, Fish, come on man.

Frankie blinks, really looks at Tanner where he lays bleeding on the dirt. His eyes already swelling, a couple more teeth scattered on the ground next to him. His face different shades of red and purple, a mess of a man, and Frankie is pleased. He could keep going. He wants to see him bleed much, much more. Will and Benny keep their grip on him.

‘Leave,’ Frankie growls, low, without a quiver in his voice. ‘And don’t you ever come back. You ever look at her again, I’ll gouge out your fuckin’ eyes. You ever touch her again, I’ll break every bone in your body. I’ll make sure they don’t find anything left of you.’

Tanner doesn’t say anything, which must be the only smart thing he’s ever done in his life. But he still doesn’t move.

The four men watch him for a moment, the silence heavy, broken only by the crackle of wood and Tanner’s heavy, wet breaths.

Then Benny lets Frankie go, steps forward and picks the man up by his collar, swinging him around to the direction of his truck. He throws him down on the dirt.

‘Move,’ he spits. ‘Get out of here. And if you have the courage on the way, wrap your fucking truck around a telephone pole.’

Tanner finally has the good sense to crawl over to the vehicle. He hauls himself up the scarred body work before creaking open the driver’s door and slipping inside. The truck sputters to life, yellow bulbs flooding the bonfire site again before it quickly backs away, turns, and drives off. Frankie watches its blinking red brake lights until he’s sure the cunt is gone, and then he turns around.

You’re stood with Santi’s arms wrapped around you, back from the fire where Tanner’s blood is drying. Pope strokes your hair, squeezes you tightly as your body shudders. And Frankie can only stare.

Minutes might have passed. Hours. And Frankie is terrified. Terrified that he’s scared you, broken you, pushed you away. And then you turn your face on Pope’s chest, moving your head from shoulder to shoulder, and you’re looking at him. Eyes red-rimmed and raw, face flushed and damp, and it’s like Frankie’s trance breaks.

Frightened, he takes a step forward. He breathes your name.

‘I’m sorry,’ he says, and you shake your head. Fuck. What has he done? What has he allowed himself to do? ‘I’m sorry, querida, please - I know, I know -’ but what does he know? He looks to Santi, pleading for help, and the man offers him a small smile as you step out of his arms.

Through a fog, you come towards him. Your chin wobbles. Your eyes swim. You’re a little wide-eyed, a little shocked. And something else, something beyond his reach.

You get to him, and your arms make their silken way around his middle as you begin to cry. Hot tears stain the front of his shirt, and he cradles you to him, holding your skull gently, enveloping your abdomen. A loud sob looses from your ribs.

‘I’m sorry,’ he whispers, ‘I didn’t mean to scare you.’ You wrap your arms around him tighter, press your nose into his sternum.

‘I’m not scared of you, Frankie,’ you sob into his chest. He clutches at the back of your head, holds you even closer, strokes your hair. When you speak again your voice is higher, strained with your tears. ‘I could never be scared of you.’

The sting in Frankie’s throat becomes hot, burning. He doesn’t know whether to pull you impossibly closer or to push you away, to run as far as he can from your broken, heaving body in his arms. Because what he’s done should scare you. It should. He’d lost all control. The only thing he’d been able to see, to feel was his all-consuming, depthless fury. And Tanner’s face as it splintered, bloodied, swelled. And he’d wanted to keep going, until there was just pulp. No nerve endings, no teeth, no eyes, no mouth, no body that he could ever hurt you with again. He doesn’t want you to hurt any more.

‘I’m sorry,’ he whispers into your hair.

Trembling misery

And as cold as a hole

I hug your bones and skin

Frankie holds your hand the whole way home, the drive passing in a dazed silence.

You still don’t talk when you get to his place, when he unlocks the door, lets you in, and locks it behind him. You take his hand in the quiet cool of the house, lead him upstairs. He follows, slowly, sore, exhausted. Trying to process it all.

When you reach the landing, you turn on the bathroom light, and he trails behind you. He stands propped against the sink as you dig around in his medicine cabinet, finding wipes and bandages and anything else you think might be useful. You take Frankie’s hand again, examine his bruised, bleeding and swollen knuckles with solemn eyes. You are so gentle, twisting his hand in the light, inspecting. You look over it for a while, and Frankie watches you. When you reach for an antiseptic wipe, your hand is shaking.

Frankie winces silently when you start to dab at the blood on his knuckles, cleaning it away with minute swipes. You chase the dried rivulets of blood down his fingers, over his palm. The scar there from when he ate shit riding his bike.

‘I’m sorry,’ he says. You ignore him, breathing shallowly as you inspect his hand, holding his wrist, cleaning blood which is no longer there.

‘Might be a hairline fracture or two,’ you say, distant. ‘I won’t bandage it, gonna let it dry out first. But you’ll need to rest it. And we’ll need to ice your eye.’

‘I’m sorry,’ he says again, into your hair. You shake your head, and the light catches the different colours in every strand. Frankie’s throat tightens.

‘Please stop apologising.’ You whisper.

A shaky breath pushes itself from between Frankie’s lips.

‘No, querida,’ he says softly, ‘It wasn’t right. Shouldn’t have done it. And I shouldn’t have let you see -’ he swallows thickly, throat bobbing. He looks over your head at the white tiles behind you as your grip on his wrist tightens. You still don't look up at him. ‘But it’s not how you treat someone you love. Not how it should be. Should be protecting them, treating them right, loving them the way you love -’ him. He cuts himself off, because he realises as he says it he’s wrong. So wrong.

Right to be like you in your gentleness. In your care, your touch, your tenderness, your loving. But Tanner deserved none of those things. He didn’t deserve your faith, didn’t deserve your protection or your silence either. None of it.

He closes his eyes.

An image of you flickers through Frankie’s mind. Your fingers on his wrist as they are now, your eyes shining under the streetlights. The glint of your teeth, and the want so clear on your face, then the hesitation, the fear, the shuttering -

And if only he had kissed you then. If only you had taken him inside. He could have shown you what it was supposed to feel like. He could have saved you from the hurt, the fear which lay ahead.

There’s a splash of warmth on the pale skin of the underside of his forearm, and he opens his eyes again. You’re still hunched over his hand, but your movements have stilled. Frankie waits, confused, before another warm drop lands on his arm and you hiccup a sob out. He whispers out your name, and you turn your face up to him, devastated.

Frankie’s face crumples, and your grip on his wrist loosens enough for him to lift his hands to your face and cup your cheeks.

‘I’m sorry,’ he says, ‘I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have said it. I wasn’t thinking -’

‘You think I love him?’ You croak.

Frankie’s jaw works around his next sentence, his next thoughts. He tries to process what this means. That look in your eyes, your tears, your implication. His lips move, but no sound comes out.

‘I don’t love him, Frankie,’ you choke, ‘I don’t. Christ - I don’t think I ever did, I never could -’ you suck in a deep, stuttered breath. ‘I’ve never - never hated anyone more. I couldn’t stand him, couldn’t have him near me, couldn’t have him touch me -’ Frankie flinches at your words. ‘But I was so scared. And embarrassed. I didn’t know how to leave - I didn’t know how to tell anybody about what was going on. I was terrified of what he’d do. To me, to you guys, if he found out I’d spoken about it. And he made it so hard for me to see you, so hard for me to get away.’ You sob now, panic and relief forcing out your words. ‘I thought - wherever I go, he’ll find me. He’ll track me down, and he’ll bring me back - and somehow - somehow that was worse than if he tracked me down and - and - I don’t know, killed me or something -’

Frankie’s eyes shutter. He can’t even follow your thought, so awful is the image, the gaping emptiness. He pulls you close, he lets you cry. Curled into his chest, your body wracking with tears, shaking, tense and uncontrollable, the sounds you make rooting in his brain. They file themselves away in a box where very few things go. Deployment. Tom. The darkness after his investigation. You break and break in his arms, and it’s all he can do to hold the pieces of you together. To press kisses to your head, breathe in the smell of your hair, rub his hands over your back, cradle you like a child.

He doesn’t know how long the two of you stand there for. He waits until you stop sobbing, stop crying softly, stop hiccuping, stop sniffing. He waits for a few more minutes in the silence, too. And when he pulls away, he presses a long, sweet kiss to your forehead.

You blink up at him through red, swollen eyes.

‘You’re safe here.’ He says, and you nod.

‘I know. Thank you. For - everything.’ You say thickly. Frankie swallows, nods. You know it all anyway. Any time, for however long you need.

He pads downstairs to get you a glass of water, and while he’s pouring it, he can hear you blow your nose, wash your face. Somehow, they are the most perfect sounds in the world.

Crackling wood’s gone white

And my eye swole up now

I can see the light

Frankie gives you one of his sleep-stretched t-shirts and an old pair of shorts for you to wear to bed.

The clothes dwarf you a little, and he can’t wipe the small, thrilled smile from his face, even when he looks away. You look fucking adorable.

You giggle at him every time you see it, your little what? only making him smile harder. It stretches his mouth until it hurts and his cheeks start to cramp up, squishing his swollen eye. Stop he tries to say, but it comes out as an equally breathless huff of laughter - and that only makes you giggle more. So much so that he sweeps you up into his arms to stash you under the covers, and you laugh even harder as he tucks the sheets in tight around you, just like his mama used to do when she wanted him to stay put.

He looks down at you from the side of the bed, hands on his hips, and you laugh back at him - eyes shining, mouth open in wide hoots of delight, your hands coming up in a desperate attempt to contain yourself. He points a finger at you.

‘You need to calm down,’ he says, voice tight with bridled amusement. ‘It’s bedtime.’

But you cackle back at him, this glorious puddle of sunshine in his bed, only howls of laughter for a response. Unable to help himself, he returns your joy, turning off the bedside lamps to slip in beside you.

In the darkness, your snorts subside into ragged breaths, and you turn on your side to look at him. You study him as though you never want to forget a single line on his face; such warmth, such affection in your eyes that Frankie’s whole body swells and lifts.

You take his hand beneath the sheets and hold it between your faces, smiling softly at him.

The first and only girl he’s really ever loved. This brilliant, fierce, bright, intelligent woman damped down by the waste of fucking space who had bled by the fire. At the thought of it, Frankie feels his heart fall out of his chest, down through the floorboards, and plummet towards the middle of the earth.

And finally, he begins to cry.

He tries to stop it, he really does. It’s selfish, he thinks, so awful and selfish to cry in front of you when it’s you who should be wrapped in his arms, swept away by emotion again if you needed to be, safe and warm and unworried, never having to fret about anything again.

But he can’t stop it. It comes out in great shuddering breaths - pained, wracked sounds slipping past his lips, and he can’t help it. He tries to gather them in his hands to shove them back in his mouth, tries to scoop them in his arms and press them back into the caving ache of his chest, but he can’t.

When Frankie was a child, he saw his dad cry once. Only once, and exactly like this, after his father’s brother was killed in a car accident. He had seen it through a crack in his parents’ bedroom door, and it had hurt him. It had wounded him, as a child, to see his father break with such grief, such pain, such emptiness, and to know there was nothing he could do about it. And now, he is split into those two people - younger self, older self - as he thinks of you lying next to him on the bed. This person who he loves so much, who is now so full of the knowledge of the worst parts of living, wound up so tight within you that you let it settle, let it unfurl around your bones. He sees your hurt, your grief, your pain refracted around him tenfold, and he hurts with you. He sees you as the boy he once was, this poor creature looking in at a heart breaking, as he has unknowingly watched yours break for months.

And he’s so sorry, he doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to stop saying it.

But here you are, still, performing the ultimate act of kindness. Comfort.

He feels the mattress move as you slide closer to him, and then your hand is on his back, swooping in gentle movements. He feels the scrabble of your fingers under the ribs he has pressed into the bed, the pressure of your arm moving under him so you can hold him properly. Frankie sobs harder, but he opens his body to you. You press closer to him, burying your face in his neck, and he breathes you in as he cries. Your scent is here, you are here. And like you heard him, you whisper -

‘It’s okay, Frankie. It’s okay. ’M here. I’m safe.’ And this realisation allows a little more air, but it doesn’t make Frankie’s guilt, his shame any better. But you’re right, he knows it. And somewhere in his crying, this turns his gasps to tears of relief. Softly, you retract your arms from around him.

You take his hands away from his face, and kiss the palms. You kiss each fingertip, each bruised and cracked knuckle. You lean forward and press a kiss to each tear, each trail of saltwater on his face. And you are so beautiful in the moonlight. Soft and wide eyed. Safe. Kind, always kind, and full of understanding. Frankie sees now that you have been crying against him, too, your eyelashes cloyed with tears. Sees his thoughts in your eyes as though you have had each of them zip to you through the air. When you were a child, you saw your dad cry once. Only once, and exactly like this, after…

A smile breaks through your eyes, chasing away the remnants of tears, glazing down, softening your lips.

And Frankie doesn’t think this time. His feet don’t fail him. He doesn’t think of stars or glitter or constellations of ice crystals. He just kisses you. And kisses you and kisses you and kisses you. And he doesn’t stop, because nothing else matters anymore.

You’re safe. You’re warm. You’re in his bed.

You’re here.

You tip your head back, deepening the kiss, licking into Frankie’s mouth. He gives in so easily to you he’s almost ashamed. But then your fingers clutch at him, ball at the bottom of his shirt, tangle in the thick of his hair, and all his thoughts are forgotten. He feels you slip a soft, strong leg over his, pulling him forward. You groan against him, and Frankie’s cock twitches. You feel it, you must do, as you pull your body closer to him, tight against him. Frankie is so lightheaded he doesn’t know where his hands are, what they’re doing - and when he concentrates, he finds them skating over your back, squeezing the tension out of the back of your neck, gripping your hip.

He moans against you as you rock your hips over his thigh, as he feels the heat of your sex against his skin. He feels like he’s on fire.

You slip a hand under his sleep shorts and palm him, brushing his silken length with two fingers, feeling him grow harder, thicker against you. You take him in your hand, pump him once, twice with the perfect grip, the perfect speed, like you were made for him. He’s gasping against you, panting as you suck his lower lip into your mouth.

‘Baby,’ he groans, breathless, ‘We don’t have to. We really don’t -’

You look up at him through gorgeous, glazed eyes.

‘I want to,’ you say, ‘Do you?’

Dangerous, dangerous question.

Frankie tries to shake his head, look away, think of anything but the tight fist of your fingers around his cock.

‘I do,’ he says, ‘I do. But I don’t think - this is the right thing -’

You loosen your grip, draw away from him. His body aches with a shudder.

His eyes flick back to yours again - confused, hurt - fuck, he can’t do that to you, ever -

‘I - I don’t want to take advantage of it - of you,’ he says. Your eyelashes flutter against your cheeks as you look down the sheets towards your toes. His jaw tightens. ‘And - and I don’t want this to mean - different things for us. I don’t want it to ruin what we have.’ Frankie breathes out heavily through his nose. He has to tell you now. He has to. ‘I don’t want it to mean different things, because I love you. I always have. And if we do this, if I have you even just for a night, I - I’ll never recover from it.’ Tears spike in his eyes again. He tries to smile. ‘You’d ruin me. And I don’t think I’d ever forgive you for it.’

Your breath hitches in your throat, and Frankie watches as your eyes flit back up to his. They search his face, the dribble of his barely-shed tears, the slope of his sad smile. You bring a hand up to cup his cheek, running your thumb over his scraps of beard. He closes his eyes.

‘What you said earlier,’ you begin. Frankie swallows. He waits for the blow of rejection. ‘About me - about me loving him.’ He opens his eyes slowly to find yours, bright and clear. Something begs to bubble over in them. Something golden and warm. ‘You were wrong - obviously. And I couldn’t tell you truly why, because I was afraid. So afraid of pushing you away, even though I think that’s all I’ve ever done. I’ve never thought I was worth it, Frankie. I don’t deserve you. And I am terrified of how much I love you.’ You beam at him, eyes bubbling over with that thing - love - ‘I love you,’ you say simply, like it’s not the most beautiful thing he’s ever heard.

A stunned little laugh ripples up his throat, and you copy it. He grips your face in his hands, and kisses you again, again, again.

‘I love you,’ he says.

‘I love you, too,’ you giggle.

‘And you are,’ he presses to your lips, ‘You are absolutely worth it.’

He rolls over on top of you, and begins to kiss your jaw, nipping at the skin there, before moving down your throat. He kisses you with a hot, open mouth, sucking marks into the sensitive skin at your pulse point. Mine, he groans, and you whimper against him, rubbing your thighs together.

Frankie pushes your shirt up - his shirt - so he can bite at your chest, press kisses to every bit of exposed skin. Every single part of you that deserves to be loved, every single place which has so far been unknown to him. He sucks each nipple into his mouth, delighted when you keen beneath him, panting, please, please Frankie, before he sinks lower down, peeling his shorts away from you to expose your glistening cunt.

He groans, unable to take his eyes away from it as he leans forward, pressing his body into the mattress to lick a stripe from your asshole to your clit.

‘Frankie -’ you groan down at him as he begins to work at you, sucking and licking, nipping at your thigh before slipping his tongue into your hole, swiping and tasting everything you’re giving to him. He grinds himself into the mattress, hissing at the relief, the uncomfortable weight of his cock dragging below him.

‘Taste so good, baby,’ he tells you, and he doesn’t think he ever wants to taste, wants to smell anything else ever again. All he can do is eat at you, breathe you in, until you’re begging him -

‘Frankie, your fingers - please -’ And he flexes his hand at your hip before brushing a fingertip against your entrance and gasping at the pain.

You try to bear down towards him, but he rips his hand away, lifting his head towards you.

‘Can’t,’ he gasps, and you mewl, bucking your hips up to his face, desperate. ‘Hand’s fucked,’ he says, and you still your movements before beginning to laugh again. It’s loud and from your belly, and it's bizarre. But Frankie gets it. He gets it, and he giggles too. He doesn’t try to fuck his broken knuckles into you, but he does try to continue lathing you with his tongue. You’re making it pretty fucking difficult, though.

‘Stop laughing,’ he huffs against your clit, ‘I’m trying to make you come.’

‘Okay,’ you say, gasping for air, ‘Okay. I’m sorry. I’m very sorry. You’re doing really well, by the way.’ But this only makes him laugh. He groans, leaning his forehead against your inner thigh. ‘This is impossible.’ He pouts.

‘Nooo,’ you cry, leaning up on your elbows to pout down at him. ‘Please, baby. I’ll be good. I’ll be so good. I won’t laugh anymore.’

‘Promise?’ He says. You hold out your pinky to him.

‘Pinky promise.’ You say.

Frankie stretches his hand out to you and tries to extend his pinky. He winces at the sharp pain which shoots from the movement, and grunts at you, your eyes sparkling with mischief.

‘You bastard,’ he says, trying and failing to hold his smile, ‘You knew I wouldn’t be able to do that.’

‘Just keeping you on your toes,’ you grin, and then before you can make any more smart remarks, Frankie resumes his ministrations, lapping and tonguing at your clit, your hole, mouthing hot, wet kisses to your pussy. He shakes his head from side to side, running your bud in tight, hard little circles until you’re a moaning, whimpering mess beneath him. Your hips buck unconsciously, and Frankie hooks both his arms around your thighs to hold you down, flattening his hands against your belly to keep you firmly in place. He reaches up to twist at your nipples and you gasp.

‘God, Frankie, tongue feels so fucking good -’

He can feel you begin to pulse against his chin as your whines get higher in pitch, and he groans as you twist handfuls of his hair.

‘Come on, baby,’ he says, ‘Give it to me. Wanna see you come, querida. Wanna taste it. Come on my face.’

And you do, the sensation of it arching your back tight like a bow, a strangled moan cutting off into the ceiling.

‘Fuck, Frankie, fuck -’ as he drives you through it, nodding and murmuring against you as you try to wriggle free, squealing in protest until you manage to twist a leg and set a foot against his chest, pushing him off.

‘Fucking - hell -’ You pant, and Frankie grins down at you, smug.

‘Good?’ He asks, quirking an eyebrow.

‘Oh, fuck you, Morales.’ You laugh, pulling him in for a sloppy kiss, moaning when you taste yourself on him. Your tongue explores every part of his mouth, every crevice behind every tooth, like you can’t get enough of him. Like there'll never be enough of him. ‘Now fuck me.’ You whisper.

And Frankie does not need to be told twice.

He rips his shirt up and off his back, shucks his shorts down his legs, and squeezes himself tight as he can in his left hand. He ruts into his palm, thumb swiping to slick his heavy beads of precum down his length.

‘Ready?’ he asks, looking down to find you staring wide-eyed at his cock. It twitches under your gaze.

‘What?’ He says, and you shake your head in quiet disbelief and amusement. You lift your eyes back to his face, and they are so dark with arousal he almost melts into the mattress.

‘Nothing,’ you shrug. ‘I just somehow never believed Pope and the boys when they said it was like two coke cans put together.’

‘Jesus Christ.’ Frankie laughs, his face pulling tight with a grin as he lines himself up at your entrance, swilling the head in your arousal.

‘I mean, what if it doesn’t fit?’ You babble, and he shakes his head.

‘It’ll fit, baby,’ he says. ‘We’ll make it fit.’ Then he sinks the first inch in, and just waits. He waits and watches you, watches as your mouth falls slack, all the smart things coming out your mouth grinding to a halt. He throbs at how tight you are around him, at how you clench already, trying to suck him in further. And fuck, you are so wet.

‘You okay, querida?’ He asks through gritted teeth.

You manage a nod, a broken whine escaping you.

‘Move Frankie, please baby -’ you beg, and he groans as he pushes further inside you, watching the obscene stretch of your pussy around him, the way it pulses, the way it gets wetter and warmer and tighter around him. When he bottoms out, he feels the hot rush of his orgasm leap towards him a little too quickly.

‘Fuck, baby,’ he breathes, closing his eyes just to make sure he doesn’t come right away. You squirm beneath him, canting your hips up, trying to fuck yourself. Frankie grips you, gritting his teeth. ‘Stay still,’ he hisses, flushing a little. ‘God, fuck, please - just for a minute.’ He opens his eyes to find you watching him, your bottom lip caught in your teeth. His eyes glaze down your body - his t-shirt bunched up around your chest, perfect tits, perfect belly, and your sweet, sopping cunt split open on his cock.

He groans again, slipping out, watching as he retreats, soaked by you, before pushing back in. A high pitched whine leaves your lips, and you twitch your hands up to play with your tits. Frankie doesn’t think he’s ever seen something more sexy in his life.

‘That’s right,’ he says, ‘Keep playing with yourself like that, gorgeous. Look at you.’

So you do, looking up at him with doe-eyes as he fucks into you, soft at first, letting you adjust before quickening his pace, readjusting his angle, feeling you leak around him. His balls slap against your ass loudly, and you keen up at him, eyes wide, begging for something as you tighten like a coil around him, something you can’t quite voice. But Frankie knows.

He swipes his thumb against your clit, and your eyes roll into the back of your head, your back arching again. He groans at the sight, and works the bundle of nerve endings in tight circles, faster and harder, harder and faster, until you’re gripping him so tight he thinks you might push him out.

‘Come baby, come,’ he pants, ‘Please, querida, need to feel you - need to feel you soak me. Need you to come for me, come on this cock, baby, please -’

And he groans, long and loud as you clench and pulse around him, milking him, pulling him impossible deeper - fuck, Frankie, oh my god, feels so fucking good - the delicious pressure at the base of his spine at breaking point as he fucks you through it, as he pants and gasps -

‘Come, Frankie,’ you plead, ‘Please - want you, need you -’ and he spills himself deep inside you, hips stuttering, eyes clamping shut, overwhelmed and short circuited. He’s never known it could feel like this - good to the end of every synapse - and he’s fucking it in with three long thrusts, pulling out slowly just to watch it dribble out of you as he twitches against his thigh. He thumbs your clit just to watch you seize and sigh against him, then sits back on his knees to look at you.

‘You are something else,’ he says in disbelief.

You smile lazily at him.

‘Ain’t so bad yourself, Morales,’ and he laughs, throwing himself down next to you, kissing anywhere he can. I love you, I love you, I love you. Safe.

You lay there for a while afterwards, just feeling each other, calming your ragged breathing. Eventually, Frankie rises from the bed to grab a washcloth, coming back and swiping between your legs tenderly, gently, before collapsing back into bed and pulling you into his chest.

He feels like he’s in space, and he tells you as much. He spills secrets like a child at a sleepover. He tells you about the glitter and the stars and the constellations of ice crystals. You match him with a galaxy of feeling spanning the time he’s known you. And he feels that this is a dream, this love which floats like a nebula within the bed. He tries to keep his eyes open for as long as possible, even as you sleep. And even when he does drift off, he dreams of you. He dreams of you sparkling with stardust, waiting for him with your arms open.

When he wakes the next morning, you’re still there. Safe, soft and warm against him, furled into his ribcage, heart beating against the hand that’s pressed against your chest.

Everything’s okay. That red thread still intact, after all.

When the sun rises, bloody and mild, it’s never been so sweet.

A little piece of a bloody tooth

Just so you know I was thinking of you

#pedro pascal fanfiction #frankie morales #frankie morales x reader #triple frontier #pickup truck #kings of leon #Spotify #pedro pascal x reader

2K notes · View notes

loveshotzz · 2 months

Text

I guess it’s never really over

mechanic!steve harrington x fem!reader exes to lovers

chapter one -

Late arrivals and big asks

A broken down car, a party at Reefer Rick’s, and a bandaid that needs to be ripped off.

warnings: 18+ drinking, smoking, lots of tension, some king!steve angst in the form of a flashback.

wc: 10.1k

series masterlist | series playlist

June -

The air is sticky, thick with the kind of humidity only Indiana could have at 9:30 pm. An annoyed breath expands into your lungs as you lean against your car that refuses to do anything but sputter. Despite your irritation, your glossed lips twitch with the nostalgia that creeps into your heart because after all these years it still smells the same.

Crossing your arms, your eyes trail over the clear night sky not polluted with the kind of man-made smog that blankets the city and the stars shimmer like diamonds in its absence. The warmth of the overrun engine is still hot on your exposed calves, the light breeze making the bottom of your sundress dance across the tops of your thighs. White beams emerge, cutting through the dark at the top of the hill, followed by the roar only a tow truck can make, and this time, the smile you fought off before spreads wide across your face.

Robin.

Butterflies wake up in a frenzy deep in your gut, with nerves that twitch from your fingertips at the thought of finally getting to hug your best friend after months apart. You push off the side of your car as the truck approaches, eyes squinting to make out the second outline in the front cabin as it pulls over. You recognize the messy mane of hair that could only belong to Eddie Munson in the driver seat almost instantly and his dimple filled smile brings you back to memories you thought you’d long forgotten.

“Well, well, well, would you look at what the cat dragged in!” Robin sticks her head out of the window with a wide grin as the big tires slow to a stop in front of your car, “are my eyes deceiving me or is my best friend in the entire world actually in Hawkins, Indiana right now?”

The rasp in her voice sounds just like it does over the phone and despite the roll of your eyes, your cheeks hurt from how happy you are.

“Shut up, don’t act like you didn’t guilt me out here by saying the fate of your future depends on it.” Uncrossing your arms, you open them wide, “I made the ultimate sacrifice for you, so are you gonna hug me or not?”

Dramatic? Yes. But it works like a charm when she flings open the passenger door and charges at you in a mess of honey blond waves and freckles, almost tackling you with the force of her impact wrapping her arms around you.

Too distracted by Robin, you almost don’t notice the creak of the driver's side door or the filled out frame of the man that used to be a lanky teenage boy walking past as Eddie starts to attach your car to his truck. He’s taller than you remembered even bending down, and despite the navy blue coveralls, you can still see that his pale skin is littered with even more tattoos.

“I can’t believe my guilt trip worked!” Robin beams, finally letting you go, her whole body practically vibrating with excitement as she claps her ring clad hands together.

“I really can’t believe it either,” you laugh nervously, the reality of what it means to come back starting to set in after seeing just one familiar face, but this isn’t high school anymore and you’re definitely not the same person you were five years ago either.

“Thanks so much, Eddie,” you break the ice when he stands back up, and the sound of your voice has his big brown eyes warmed with gold light up just like his face when he turns his full attention onto you. Scruff filled dimples poking even bigger holes in his cheeks.

“It’s my pleasure, sweetheart, I almost didn’t believe Robin when she called me. I thought it was a prank.” He beckons you over with open arms, “now that I know it’s not, you have exactly 10 seconds to get over here and hug me before I change my mind.”

There’s zero hesitation about giving into his ‘demand’ and when your arms wrap around his waist, you’re brought back to afternoons in the woods behind the school with heavy lidded eyes and lopsided grins.

“Your own auto shop, huh?” You smile up at him, pulling away, “Eddie Munson, the business owner.”

He rolls his eyes but the pink tint that colors in his cheeks tells you he appreciates the praise.

“Yeah, something like that.” He chuckles, “Got a soft spot for that old man in the trailer park, couldn’t bring myself to leave.”

Your heart warms at the fondness that drips from his ton.

“Okay, as sweet as this little reunion is. You’re late, and we have a party to get to.” Robin interrupts snatching your keys out of your hand, dropping them in Eddie’s.

“A party?” You snap confused, and Eddie takes that as his queue to walk away with a knowing smirk.

“Yes, this is the summer of fun and reckless abandon, this is the last summer of our youth before we have to be adults. Do you understand me?” Her fingers are digging into your shoulders by the end of her rant, with the kind of look in her eyes that you’re absolutely going to have to revisit after a few weeks.

“This is the part where I remind you that I graduated college last year.”

Your best friend scoffs at you.

“Just humor me, okay? It’s your grand homecoming.” She pushes out her bottom lip, and makes her eyes big in a way she knows you can’t say no to.

“Fine.” You huff, making her finally let you go with the kind of pleased smirk that tells you she never thought she was going to lose to begin with.

“Great, it’s time to rip the bandaid off anyway.” Robin practically mumbles the last part turning on her heel to head back to the truck.

It takes a minute for her words to stick to your ears and their meaning to ring loud through your head, but when they do it feels like the air is stolen from your lungs.

“Rip what bandaid off, Robin?!”

It’s his name tightens in your chest but you refuse to say it, even after all this time it burns coming back up.

“Since you had to drive for so long, I’ll sit in the middle because I’m just that good of a friend, you know?” She winks with a shit eating grin before pulling herself up and disappearing inside the cab of the truck, ignoring your question, like she’s not asking you to do the one thing you said you’d never do.

See Steve Harrington again.

I tell myself, ‘draw the line.’

You wonder if Robin can feel the daggers you’re glaring into the back of her head as the two of you walk up the driveway to Rick’s house. Gravel crunching hard under your converse as you keep up with her black combat boots. She looks effortlessly cool in her high waisted jean shorts, and her oversized army green jacket covered in patches. You’d compliment her if you weren’t so mad.

“I can’t believe you guys still have parties here.” You scoff, making your sour attitude known, but your best friend ignores it with ease.

“I can’t believe you forgot to have fun. Don’t you live in the city?” Turning around with a smirk, she can’t help but laugh at the look on your face.

She stops abruptly, almost making you run into her leaving you both just close enough to the party to hear the bass of the music spilling through the cracks in the windows. The low chatter of people echoes through the trees that surround you and bounce off the lake not that far away. The thought of hearing the calm baritone of his voice mixed in makes your chest tight with the kind of nerves that dare you to high tail it and run.

“It’s been five years.” Robin’s playful demeanor breaks and becomes pleading with a kind of desperation you’ve never seen from her before. “He’s not the person you knew in high school, I need you to understand that. You think I’d call someone like that my best friend?”

“Hey!-“ You object at the title, and it makes her lips twitch despite serious lines that crease her face.

“Stop, you know what I mean,” her painted fingers grab onto yours, squeezing them lightly, “please, just give him a chance. I’m not asking you to get back together or even be friends, just get along enough not to kill each other this summer. I can’t choose between you. I won’t.”

The genuine love she has for Steve is apparent in the way her ocean blue eyes threaten to drown you in their sincerity, and you can’t find it in yourself to say no to her.

“Fine.” You accept your defeat in practically a whisper, but it makes your best friend squeal nonetheless. The giddiness from before coming back tenfold as she links arms with you, continuing your way up to the house.

It’s just a summer, right?

The crowd gets bigger as more people start to come into view, between groups smoking cigarettes outside, couples arguing by cars, others making out against them. The smell of beer gets more pungent with each step, the atmosphere a stark contrast to the way the moon glows against the peaceful waters behind the madness of the house.

Salt N Pepa’s ‘Push It’ plays loud enough for you to make out the words when you reach the front steps, walking through clouds of tobacco smoke to get to the unlocked door. The interior hasn’t changed at all since high school, the smell of stale lime and tequila stinging your nose. The bass of the music vibrates under your shoes as Robin unlinks her arms and you have to fight the urge to yank her back.

“Drinks or …Steve first?” She asks, her nerves about the situation finally showing themselves as she bites at her thumbnail.

“Absolutely drinks! Is that a trick question?” You half whisper, half yell, looking around as if saying his name out loud might summon him.

“Okay! Okay!” Robin hisses, grabbing your wrist, leading you towards the familiar path to Rick’s kitchen.

Suddenly you wonder what your makeup looks like after a long day of traveling in your car, your fingers tugging at the bottom of your dress before adjusting the front of it so it sits just right. You itch to grab your lip gloss that’s tucked into the side of your bra, but you don’t want to deal with the look you’d get if you went for it.

Rounding the corner to the living room, your heart sinks to the bottom of your stomach before you even have a chance to stop it when your eyes meet that messy head of chestnut hair, and a pair of hot pink nails tangled inside it.

“Oh - I - god dammit.” Robin groans, when you're met with number two on your list, making out with a pretty blond on the couch.

Despite the years and distance, there’s still a sting that you feel in the corners of your eyes. It’s not enough for any tears to fall, there’s none left for him anymore, but it’s enough for the anger you’ve clung to since the day he broke your heart to boil hot under your skin. It singes the wings of the butterflies that try to take flight when you see the way his frame has filled out, how he’s somehow grown more handsome than the last time you saw him.

Robin coughs, squeezing your wrist in reassurance.

“Hey, - uh, Steve.” The sound of his name catches his attention, long brown lashes fluttering open to reveal the deep coffee of his eyes that widen when they lock with yours for the first time in years.

His lips pull from the blond’s with a loud smack, leaving a small trail of glitter on the side of his mouth that he tries to wipe away quickly with his wrist. Black ink you’ve never seen before looks bold on his tanned skin that glows like it’s been freshly kissed by the sun.

His gaze wanders up and down your body like he’s unsure you’re actually real, and if it wasn’t for the obvious shock of your arrival and the way the color seems to drain from his face, you’d snap at him for the way it lingers over your curves.

“Um, Robin, what the fuck?” The sound of his voice makes your heart skip a beat, and again when his hand drags through his hair just how you remembered.

“Surprise?” She shrugs, wincing when he scoffs loudly and the warmth that went missing floods his cheeks, turning them bright red. The blond next to him eyes you up while she clutches harder to his waist, and you can’t stop the rise of your brows and the giggle that bubbles past your lips because of it.

Steve’s head snaps towards you, something softening the moss that hides in his eyes when he hears the noise despite the sarcasm that drips from it, and you really get to look at him for the first time since high school graduation.

God, you wish you could’ve had that drink.

The jawline that always drove you mad is sharper, peppered with the kind of hardly there stubble that tells you he’s only missed one shaving day. A problem he never used to have, and somehow, it makes him all that much more attractive.

His hair is a little messier than his carefully crafted look that used to take him a good forty five minutes every morning. It curls wildly at the ends now, tucking behind his ears and fanning along the nape of his freckled neck. It still looks as soft as you remember, though.

His shoulders are broader, stretching the white cotton of his shirt tight enough across his chest that you can see the outline of a thick patch of hair that had only just started growing when you knew him last. The dark wash of his jeans makes them look almost black, fitting snug over his thighs, cuffed at the bottoms framing the tops of his boots.

Why couldn’t Steve Harrington just peak in high school like he was supposed to?

“So yeah, this is awkward.” Your best friend laughs nervously, “We’re going to get a drink or three because this scenario is by far the worst case and not the way this was supposed to go in my head, but anyway, look who’s here for the summer! We’ll talk later!“

Robin grabs your wrist before Steve can respond, pulling you back into the party and away from your ex-boyfriend while the realization of the summer you’ve foolishly agreed to hits you all at once. It turns your body weightless as the two of you weave in and out of the crowd. It tightens in your chest, the music turning muffled hitting your ear drums. Suddenly, you're not the woman who crossed state lines to the one place she said she’d never come back to, happily living the lie that you’d actually forgotten about him to be a good friend.

You’re the girl who let him keep you a secret, and you hate him for it.

Sneakers hit the sticky tile floor that hasn’t changed since 1984, the harsh lighting of the kitchen makes you both squint. It’s calmer than the rest of the house, just a few groups lingering off in the corners, too deep in conversation to care about you and Robin. Letting go of a breath you didn’t know you were holding, your ears start to pop too, Eddie Money’s Take Me Home Tonight coming through crystal clear.

“The band-aid might have been violently ripped off, but hey, it’s ripped off nonetheless.” Robin shrugs, finding the half-drunk bottle of tequila on the counter. “I think we should count this as a win and take a shot to celebrate.”

“A win?! Are you kidding me?!” You hiss, completely bewildered.

“Yes a win - oh no.” Her blue eyes go wide at whatever’s behind you, but it doesn’t take you long to figure out when that familiar spice and cedar of his cologne hits your nose.

“Right so, who’s going to let me know what’s going on?”

His voice comes out close enough to send your lashes fluttering, mimicking your heart. The nerves you’d just gotten over threaten to come back tenfold, but you manage to swallow them down just like in high school, turning around.

“I think it’s obvious what’s going on, Steve,”

It’s not as hard to say his name as you thought it would be, but it is hard to stare at his face from this close. Specifically, the two moles that dot his cheek that you always used to kiss, or the ones on his neck that you hate still taunt you for more.

“I’m here for the summer.”

Steve Harrington had thought about this moment a lot, but Rick’s house was never the backdrop for it. His eyes take in the features you’ve not only grown into but somehow are even more beautiful than he remembers. Even if they’re twisted in a glare.

“I meant, why didn’t I know until right now?” He manages to get out with a shake of his head narrowing his eyes at Robin, who’s too busy trying to find clean shot glasses to notice.

“Why would you need to know?” You snap, making a nervous hand card through his hair

“Cause I’ve, uh, you know, I’ve asked about you a few times,” the last part comes out a little harsher, clearly directed at your best friend, who you know is actively ignoring you both now.

“Why? Why would you need to know anything about me?” Your hostility still shocks him even though he was expecting it. His eyebrows shoot up just like his hands in surrender. “Why didn’t you tell me, Robin?”

She groans loudly, slamming the tequila bottle down on the counter before turning around.

“You said you didn’t want to hear anything about him after you moved, why would I tell you he was asking about you?”

“Wait -“ Steve butts in this time, “seriously?”

“Oh my god, can you two shut the fuck up for a second and take these shots? You’re really putting a damper on the beginning of the best summer of our lives,” Robin snaps before waving a hand in front of three freshly poured shots.

It’s a struggle to tear your eyes from him, your body responding to his presence in a way that feels like it’s turning against you. It has you downing your shot in one quick motion before anyone else can even touch theirs.

“Wow, okay.” Robin deadpans before shaking her head, wasting no time in following your lead.

“So we’re not cheersing anymore? Isn’t that bad luck?” Steve mutters, shoulder brushing against yours as he leans forward to grab his shot, the slightest touch enough to engulf your skin into flames.

A whole summer? Fuck.

“Robin, pour another one.” You rush with pinched brows as you try to move past the bitter sting of the alcohol going down your throat, taking a step toward her and away from him, you add “and we’ll cheers.”

You refuse to meet his gaze when you say it, but you can feel the intensity of it on the side of your face, begging you to break.

“Rob’s, how are you guys getting home?” Steve finally breaks, giving up his quiet fight for now, and you hate the way his nickname for her softens your heart.

“Huh, that’s a good question, I hadn’t thought that far yet.” She admits, over pouring so tequila splashes against the countertop, looking up at him with a mischievous grin.

“Seriously–

“RECKLESS ABANDON STEVEY!” Cutting him off, she downs her shot in his disapproving face.

“You didn’t cheers again.” Steve sighs, hands finding his hips as you whine an irritated, “We needed to cheers!” At the same time.

Your eyes meet his finally, his knowing smirk twisting the corners of your lips despite yourself. You blame the tequila starting to warm the blood in your veins.

“Well, you need to take yours then if we’re doing another one ‘the proper’ way, or it’s not going to be even.” Robin points at your drink in a silent challenge.

You know how this game works.

“Fine.” You shrug, downing it with more ease than the last one.

“Oh my god. Stop! Do not pour another one before you answer my question, please!” Steve sounds exasperated, grabbing the bottle from her before she can disobey, “How are you getting home?”

You try not to focus on how much larger his already big hands are now, or how small the bottle looks wrapped up in his palm compared to your best friends. The second shot takes the edge off your nerves in a way that your shoulders relax. Leaning against the counter, you cross your arms, watching the two of them bicker, catching Steve’s wandering gaze on your exposed legs while he tries his best to keep his focus on Robin. It boosts your ego in a way that has the anger hiding just under the surface go from a boil to a slow simmer.

“I don’t know Harrington, do you know anybody with a car?” She wiggles two thick brows at him, the second shot making her blue eyes glassy, and her smile a little more goofy.

“Why’d I know you were going to say that? And why did I know you were going to do this?” Steve sighs, letting her snatch the bottle out of his hand.

“What? Bring her to the party?” Robin snorts pointing a thumb in your direction, making you gasp.

“Robin!”

“No! What? No. But don’t think,” Steve clears his throat looking at you awkwardly before finishing a little quieter, “don’t think we’re not going to talk about this later.”

“I can still hear you.” You remind him with a sarcastic smirk.

“Yeah, I know you can. Look, I’ll DD for you because obviously tonight is, uhh,” he gestures to you with cheeks that grow pinker by the second, “a big deal. But you gotta stop doing this to me, I need you to get your license you’re out of colleg-”

“Shots! Steve’s driving us home!” Robin whoops loudly, and an irritated Steve pinches the bridge of his nose before walking away.

Your eyes follow him out the door, shoulder blades flexing under cotton when he runs another hand through his hair before disappearing from sight. You try to push down the small pang of jealousy that makes a familiar home inside your chest remembering the blond girl waiting for him on the couch.

“Okay, okay,” Robin interrupts your inner struggle at the perfect time, sliding an overflowing shot over to you with a giggle that's contagious and it banishes Steve from your mind just like magic. “I’m not going to forget this time, promise.”

“I don’t think I can afford for you to forget again,” you smirk, raising your glass, tequila spilling over the tops of your fingers, “cheers!”

“Cheers!”

You both down them at the same speed, slamming the empty glasses back onto the countertop with laughter that bounces off the walls and threatens to drown out the music. And for a second you think maybe you can actually do this.

“I’m so happy you’re here!” She squeals, throwing her arms around your neck, doing a terrible job of holding her weight up. Grabbing onto her waist, you do your best to steady her, “Look I just want to say while he’s gone, I know this isn’t easy for you, okay? I know.”

She hiccups before pulling away slightly to look at you as she finishes,“But It means so much to me, and I just wanna say I’m proud of you. I mean, who knows, you’ve changed, he’s changed-”

“Nope, no, you’re done. Where’s the weed? I wanna smoke some weed.” You push Robin away, rolling your eyes at the loud laugh your reaction gets from her.

There’s a long summer ahead of you, but right now, all you need is to find a joint and try not to think about your ex in the next room.

With a few more shots and a couple of hits from a blunt you and Robin you’d stumbled upon being passed amongst a group outside, you start to really feel like you’re back home. Nostalgia hits you hard in the gut as you walk through the crowded living room hand in hand with your best friend, giggling and stumbling back to the kitchen on the hunt for some food.

“God, I’m so hungry!” Robin practically growls when you hit the harsh lighting again making you both hiss.

An empty bottle of tequila sits on the counter now and red solo cups litter the floor that weren’t there before, and a growing pile of bitten into limes cover the counters in a sticky mess. Alone and left to your own devices Robin begins to raid the cupboards, huffing when she finds nothing behind every door she aggressively yanks open.

“Why is his kitchen always so empty? Like? Do we just always miss the party?” You hiccup, tripping on a tile that’s coming out of the grout.

You catch yourself on the kitchen island in front of you, a loud laugh bubbling up from your chest, too drunk to focus on how gross the formica feels under your fingertips.

“There’s literally nothing to eat in here, not even like an old bag of stale chips.” She opens the first cabinet one last time before slamming it shut, officially giving up with a thump of her forehead against the wood. “This is why he’s always at the diner.”

“Wait, Rick actually lives here still?” Another hiccup, you foolishly lean your elbows on the counter, something you’ll regret in the morning as you stare at your best friend with a toothy smile, completely unaffected by the news about the missing food that seems to be ruining her entire mood.

“How can he sell weed and not have any food in his house? What happens when he gets the munchies?!” She throws her hands up, ignoring your question and answering it all at the same time. “I’m gonna find a bathroom, and then we’re gonna find Steve - don’t make that face, he’ll take us through a drive-thru.”

“Don’t be gone long, I don’t know anyone here!” You whine with a childish drunk stomp of your foot, still sporting that sour look she told you to wipe off. The carefree girl from moments before now gone in the blink of an eye.

“Literally like five minutes, I swear!” She promises, turning around with a smirk as she crosses her heart with a ring covered finger like you used to do as kids, easily earning the smile from you she was hoping for.

You watch her disappear into the party, staring after bouncing honey waves until they’re out of your sight.

Suddenly alone for the first time in hours, the kitchen feels quiet. The bass of the music is distant, and your thoughts are heavy just like your feet as your last shot of tequila settles with the rest. Your brain wanders to places that you thought you’d banished from the corners of your mind for years. It takes you to the pink fullness of his lips, and has you biting the bottom of yours. Then it’s the freckles that dot the bridge of his nose and explode across his cheeks, even leaving their mark on the bottom of his earlobe.

You’d found that one the night you’d tried to count them all. You never finished.

Then you remember the blond on the couch, and how her pink nails dug into the thick chestnut of his hair that you used to tug on when his kisses got to be too much. She turns into Nancy Wheeler and those stolen looks in the hallways at school, and suddenly, you hate him all over again.

“Jesus, you’re in here alone? Where’s Robin?” Steve’s voice makes you jump at the worst possible time, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scar-“

“Seriously?!” You snap, turning around with crossed arms. Leaning against the counter, you hope that you don’t seem as drunk as you are, but the way his lips twitch regardless of your attitude tells you that it’s not working. “She went to the bathroom and then was going to look for you.”

“So, it just makes sense for me to hang out here then, right?”Steve raises his hands in a silent plea for permission.

His big boots take heavy steps towards you, and just like on cue, has your body betraying you. The plush dough of your thighs pressing harder together each time he gets closer to closing the gap.

Cautiously taking the spot a few feet away from you, he keeps his hands up till he feels safe enough to shove them in his pockets. The spice of his cologne smells fresh, and you wonder if he sprayed it before walking in here. It overpowers everything else around you, invading your senses and committing itself to memory despite you.

“I um, I really hope this is okay to say,” he stammers watching the way one of your eyebrows arches up, and it doesn’t take long for his hand to escape from his pocket to run through his hair again, “but it’s, it’s good to see you. I m-missed you, Robin’s missed you.”

“Shouldn’t you be hanging out with your girlfriend?” You ignore him and tuck his words away to unpack another time with a sober mind.

“Cassie? She’s not my girlfriend.” He answers without any hesitation, something sparking alive inside the gold of his eyes that has one side of his mouth tugging up.

“Does she know that?”

“I’m pretty sure she does considering she left with another guy not that long ago.” He snorts, the confidence you’ve always known him to have finding its way back, and you don’t miss the way he scoots closer.

So you scoot back.

“Sucks to suck, Harrington.” You sigh, impressed with how well you’re playing off the victory lap you’re shamefully running in your head at the new information.

“There you are!” Robin rushes in, face flushed and out of breath, interrupting the moment you weren’t ready to have yet at the perfect time “Somehow I got roped into like a keg stand and I think it’s really time for us to go home guys.”

“Robin!”

“What?!”

She tries to shush you, but even you can see from across the room the way sweat starts to bead across her forehead, the blush in her cheeks going pale before she runs to the trash can. Steve pushes off the island without any hesitation, rushing to the other side of the kitchen, gathering her hair in his hands to hold it back.

“What were you thinking?” Steve scolds her in the softest way possible, rubbing her back as all the beer finds its way out of her body.

Those big eyes of his that you’re sure are going to haunt your dreams meet yours, and in that moment the room decides it wants to spin. You’re not sure if it’s the night of tequila with nothing but a weed chaser catching up to you or if it’s the onslaught of feelings you’ve successfully suppressed for the last five years coming back to seek their revenge. The deadly combination of both comes to a head the more you watch the gentle way Steve handles Robin and it makes you realize it’s time to go.

You manage to pull yourself together enough to help Steve get Robin in his car, heart almost stopping when you walk up to the same Maroon BMW he took your virginity in. It takes everything inside of you not to abort the mission, run to Robin’s apartment by figuring your way through the woods you used to play in, do anything but sit in those leather seats. But your best friend’s drunk rambles of how happy she is to have her ‘two amigos and how that it makes three now’ while professing her undying love for both of you has you putting on a brave face, and then your big girl pants when you have to sit in the front seat next to him.

It’s in perfect condition, just like the morning he pulled into the parking lot Junior year with it. Your stomach twists in the kind of knots that have you wrapping your arms around your waist. The smell of leather and pine pulling on the back of your throat, and all the memories that come with it. He keeps the radio low, and you can hardly make out the faint sounds of whatever late night talk show was on over the soft snores of a passed out Robin in the backseat.

“I thought you’d have a different car by now.” You grumble sinking further into your seat, keeping your eyes trained on the trees that zoom past your window.

“You’ll have to pry her from my cold, dead hands, honey.” Steve chuckles, relaxing a little more into his own, a big hand finding a new resting spot on the stick shift.

The endearment sends you reeling, the tequila making it hard to bite your tongue.

“Don’t call me that.” Quickly realizing that staring out the window does nothing to help your already dicey equilibrium, you decide to finally look at him, but you’re not sure if that’s any better.

‘What? Honey?” He asks, fully knowing the answer but egging you on just the same with a ghost of a smirk on his lips.

Narrowing your eyes, you turn fully in your seat doing your best to ignore the way the street lights bounce off his sharp features as you face him.

“What? So you just make out with girls that you’re not dating and get away with it?”

Steve snorts, licking his lips and meeting your angry gaze with an amused one.

“I am twenty-four and single.”

Scoffing at his answer, you pause to collect your words that keep getting tangled on the tip of your tongue from too many drinks and how the whites of his teeth start to show in a grin as he glances in the rearview mirror to check on Robin.

“You think you can do whatever you want don’t you?”

“No -“

“What? Because you didn’t peak in high school like you were supposed to, you somehow just got hotter, you think the rules don’t apply to you or something?”

“Good to know you still think I’m hot.” Steve’s face cracks into a smile, turning into an apartment complex you’re assuming is Robin’s.

“You’re the worst,” you try to deflect weakly, turning back in your seat with a huff.

“I definitely used to be,” he mumbles mostly to himself, putting the car in park, both of you jerking forward slightly. The sudden lack of movement makes Robin groan in the back, lashes fluttering open to look at her surroundings.

“Oh, thank god, I think I’m gonna be sick again.” Her throat sounds hoarse when she finally speaks, but it’s all she can manage before a dry heave has the boy next to you scrambling.

“Not in my car! Not in my car!” Steve’s quick to jump out of the driver's seat rushing to get your best friend out of the back, leaving you alone to fight with your seatbelt.

Frustrated, you blow a breath out from between your pressed lips tugging on the smooth material while your thumb smashes the release button. It doesn’t budge and the cedar starts to pick at your nerves. An angry noise squeaks from the back of your throat catching Steve’s attention who finally gets Robin on her feet. The spice of his cologne swallows you whole when he emerges back into the car. Leaning over the console he’s gentle when he pushes your hand away. You don’t protest his help this time, eyes tracing the gold chain that slips out from under his shirt. It shimmers everytime it swings from his neck when it hits the moonlight, clicking the button with ease, releasing you from your self imposed trap.

“Thanks,” you grumble, using a wobbling arm to open your door, clambering out less gracefully than you intended.

“Are you good to follow me? I don’t think Robin’s gonna make it up the steps on her own.” Closing the car door, he leans over the top of it, his eyes watching the way you maneuver around his car like you’re walking on thin ice.

“I’m fine,” you growl, right as you lose your footing catching yourself with an open palm on the hood of his trunk.

“Seriously, I can help I just have to take you both one at a -“

“Steve, I said I’m fine. I don’t need anything from you.” You interrupt and if you weren’t so focused on putting one foot in front of the other, you’d see the way the harshness of your words make him wince.

He stares at you for a minute longer before muttering a quiet ‘whatever’ scooping Robin up and tucking her into his side. You follow them at your own pace up the cement steps to the second floor, thankful that her apartment isn’t too far from the landing when you get to the top. Your legs start to feel like Jell-O waiting for him to unlock the door, the long drive from New York and the night finally catching up to you in a way that makes your eyelids heavy as Steve pushes open her front door.

“Bathroom! Bathroom!” Robin manages to get out when she and Steve cross the threshold first, a string of cuss words spilling out of his mouth as he tries to hurry her to the place she was begging to be taken to.

You use the full force of your weight with your back to the door, closing behind you with a loud slam. The navy blue couch in the middle of her living room begging you to sit down, an invitation your clumsy steps accept, leading you to the fluffy cushions. Collapsing onto them with a satisfied hum, you sink into the foam, lashes fluttering and eyelids getting heavier with each second that passes, and soon you find yourself giving in with a warm cheek pressed into the arm rest.

You don’t know how much time has passed when the feeling of your laces being tugged loose stirs you awake. Trying to focus with vision still blurry from sleep, Steve’s messy head of hair comes clear into your line of sight. Long fingers pull the white strings from the metal eyelets of your converse, a warm palm wrapping around your ankle that sends a shiver up your spine as he slowly wiggles your sneaker off your foot. The white tube socks that cover your feet make him smile with a thumb that dares to rub a small circle on your skin before dropping it to work on the other.

“Steve,” you manage to get out, voice still thick with sleep.

“I’m just tucking you in, that’s all hon- and then I’ll get out of your hair.” He clears his throat after the nickname that set you off earlier burns like acid dying on his tongue.

You grumble something unintelligible, rubbing the mascara off your eyes as he pulls your other shoe off the pad of his thumb doing the same thing to your other ankle making your toes curl. Both his hands find their way to your calves squeezing softly at the muscles before he starts to lift them up.

“Come on, let's get you laying on your side.” He coos, helping you adjust so you’re finally horizontal. You groan a little, reaching out for him on instinct, the softness of his touch making a very drunk you crave more.

“I’d love to cuddle but I think you’d actually kill me in the morning,” he laughs to himself knowing you won’t remember any of this when you wake up.

You make some more noises that he can’t figure out if they're supposed to be words or not as he drapes Robin’s thick throw blanket over you. Grabbing the material in your fists when you feel it, you pull it even closer, a low satisfied hum spilling from between your lips that still sparkle with leftover glitter from your gloss. He watches the way you curl into yourself, fingers twitching at his side to run his knuckles over your cheek.

“Steve,” his name comes out clear as day, kicking up his heart rate.

“Yeah?” He squats down next to your face, the warmth of your breath hitting his face while your eyebrows furrow in your sleepy state trying to get whatever you want to say out.

“You really broke my heart, you know that?”

Your words punch the air out of his lungs, just like your unexpected arrival. Something he’s fantasized about happening more times than he’d like to admit.

“Yeah, I know.” He sighs defeated, giving into his urges for comfort with knuckles that brush against the warmth of your skin, a familiar burn stings his eyes when you subconsciously lean into it.

You don’t say anything else to him, the furrow of your brows smoothing out as your face finally starts to relax under his touch. He watches the way your shoulders move with each deep breath that pulls you further into sleep and away from him.

He takes a selfish minute to stare at you uninterrupted, tracing your cheekbone one last time before he stands up to leave, he knows he won’t get any sleep, and the words you won’t remember saying are already haunting him like a bad dream.

“Do you really wanna love me like you say you do? Give it to me like you say you do? Cause it’s hard enough you gotta treat me like this, lonely enough to let you treat me like this. Do you really love me?”

Steve was late, glancing down at pink the digital watch on your wrist, fifteen minutes late. Five lockers down from his, you wait for him at what’s been your meeting spot for the last eight months. Far away enough from his locker that no one would suspect you waiting for the King of Hawkins himself, but close enough to the janitor's closet for him to steal you away from sight without anyone noticing for the forty-five minutes of study hall.

Hushed argumentative whispers catch your attention, nerves making your feet move from side to side unsure if you should abandon ship and just go and study for the final in your last period. Nancy Wheeler's eyes meet yours as she rounds the corner with her best friend Barb, the corners of her lips pulling up ever so slightly giving you a small wave which you return as she tries to ignore her friend.

“He’s just trying to get in your pants! Come on, you have to be smart enough to know that.” Barb points at the note Nancy is clutching in her hand so hard that the whites of her knuckles show.

“It’s not like that, I’m just tutoring him.” She argues but the blush that creeps across her cheeks and spreads down her neck gives her away.

I’m just tutoring him.

That simple sentence is enough for your world to tip off its axis, chest tightening at the realization of who they're arguing about. All the canceled plans the past few weeks with the excuse of extra tutoring starts to feel like a knife to the gut. Prince Charming rounds the corner holding and twists the handle with a bright flirtatious smile that used to be just for you, only now it’s flashed at the dainty brunette who melts under it because no one is immune to Steve Harrington.

It takes him a minute to see you, too wrapped up in Nancy who’s back is pressed to the lockers, caged in by Steve’s big hand splayed against the metal by her head. They’re too far to hear what he’s saying to her, but the confident way his teeth flash and the sweet giggle he earns from it tells you everything you need to know. Tears burn at the corners of your eyes, but you don’t want to give him the satisfaction of seeing them fall. Fists clenched at your sides, the blunt ends of your nails dig into your palms as you hold in the sob that threatens to give you away as you walk past them, meeting his guilty eyes before you round the corner.

The pounding in your head wakes you up before the sun that leaks through Robin’s small kitchen window. Your hangover rings in your ears with a vengeance, and has you letting out a pained groan. Everything after the joint you shared outside at the party is nothing but a blur, a scattered puzzle with pieces missing as you try and figure out how you ended up back home and tucked into the couch.

“Are you alive out there?” Robin’s voice calls out weakly from down the hall in her room.

“Barely,” you grumble, agitation kicking in from dehydration and the old wounds your dream decided to rip open.

“I’d say I’m never drinking again but we both know that’s a lie,” she says, muffled by what sounds like a pillow.

A giggle tries to escape, but it only makes you wince, clutching your forehead willing the pain to subside.

“How’d we even get home?” You croak, rubbing harshly at your eyes before attempting to sit up, covering them with a cupped palm as your surroundings get brighter.

“Steve,” Robin’s voice comes out right next to you, surprising you by appearing in the entryway.

Hearing his name out loud sends the kind of rage that scorches through your veins, it burns from your fingertips remembering the look on his face when you broke up a few weeks after that day in the hallway your dreams so sweetly reminded you of.

It was Pity.

Your best friend ignores your silence and the sour look on your face as you silently take a trip down memory lane while she shuffles into the living room wandering to the attached kitchen.

“How far is Eddie’s shop from here?” You grimace watching her chug from a carton of orange juice.

“Oh, super close. You can walk from here.” She answers, wiping her upper lip with the back of your hand, “they opened like two hours ago, I’m sure he’s already looked at your car.”

“I think I’m going to shower and go over, do you want to come with me?” Raising your hands above your head, you stretch your sore muscles as a yawn comes out in the middle of your question.

“I think I need to rot in bed for a little while longer before I go walk amongst the living, I promise I’m all yours after I don’t feel like a freaking crypt keeper.” Your yawn is contagious, giving you a view of all her perfectly straight teeth.

“I demand something greasy for lunch when I get back then.” You point at her finding your footing on the carpet, noticing your converse are tucked nice and neat against the couch next to you. The feeling of Steve’s knuckles is a ghost against your skin, details starting to come out clear from the murky waters.

Heat rushes to your cheek at the memory while your emotions start to go at war with each other over what to feel towards the man who tucked you and your best friend in last night, but also broke your heart in a way you don’t think you’ll ever quite forget.

“I’m on it boss, god, I wish Benny’s was still open.” Robin interrupts the inner struggle she’s oblivious to you having as she walks past you flinging herself on the couch you’d just won the battle of leaving “But I’ll think of something good, I promise.”

Just like your yawn, the smile she gives you is contagious despite the sharp pain you get in your head from moving too much and you both laugh wincing when it only gets worse.

Ibuprofen first, then your car.

Birds chirp loudly, mocking the headache that's turned into something more annoying than painful after a handful of ibuprofen. The sticky air is still suffocating even in a pair of black biker shorts and an oversized loose fitting tee, while the sun shines golden against the cerulean sky without a cloud in sight to hide you from its light.

The heat warming off its rays makes beads of sweat start to collect at the crown of your head and the nape of your neck, while the incline Eddie’s spinning auto body sign sits on top of threatens to take your breath away. Unwanted thoughts of Steve Harrington keep your pace quick, stewing over the last twenty-four hours and everything it’s unraveled.

The small parking lot is empty when you reach it, kicking small rocks with the toe of your sneaker as you cross it. The double garage doors are open, Metallica’s Seek and Destroy echoing loudly, tugging up the corners of your lips. Your Chevrolet Caprice is the only car semi-lifted in the air with a pair navy coverall-clad legs underneath it.

Opening your mouth, Eddie’s name dies on your tongue before you get a chance to shout it, clocking him and his wild curls sitting in the glass office inside. Those big brown eyes meet yours from across the way, a dimple filled grin lighting up his face waving excitedly from his chair before standing up.

“Glad to see you’re alive, princess.” He teases stepping out of his glass case, with coveralls that are gray today.

“Honestly, it’s a miracle,” you laugh, confused eyes darting to the large boots under your car that don’t seem to have any reaction to the sound of your voice.

“Oh, I heard all about your first night back home. In fact my shop opened thirty minutes late because of it,” he chuckles, crossing his arms over his chest as he leans against the open metal frame where the door should be. Faded bats that you remember when they were fresh dancing across his arm with his movements.

“Wait, what?” You ask, confusion pinching your brows together right as the mysterious pair of legs start pushing out whoever’s under your car.

“I didn’t get back to my place till almost four in the morning after getting you two home and in bed,” Steve emerges flashing you his million dollar smile as he sits up on the dolly, the sleeves of his own coveralls tied tight around his waist and hair wild like he’d just rolled out of bed, “I slept through my alarm.”

The immediate glare that hardens your face when you see him has Eddie's eyes light with obvious amusement.

“What are you doing here? And why are you touching my car?” You snap, trying to push the worries about what you look like deep under the irritation and the distraction that begs to steal your anger with his arms on full display like this. Or how the patch of chest hair that peeks out the top of it shines with sweat.

“I work here,” Steve snorts like it’s the most obvious conclusion, because, well, it is, “and I volunteered to look at it, Eddie’s got his hands full.”

That was a lie, he begged him.

“Since when do you know anything about cars?” Snorting, your attitude makes him roll his eyes, pushing himself off the ground.

It’s a struggle to hold his gaze when he stands at full height, biceps flexing with his movements practically daring you to look. He pulls out a faded maroon rag from his pocket and starts wiping off the fresh black from his hands that’s already stained under his nail beds. The hard bottoms of his work boots making their way across the cement floors of the garage.

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me anymore, that’s what happens when someone leaves for five years.” Steve antagonizes, his lack of sleep leaving him with thin patience.

He stops just close enough for you to smell how the woodsy spice of his cologne mixes with the sweet bitterness of the oil that seems to find a way to leave its mark on every surface in here. Including him.

“I’m going to finish balancing the books, why don’t you tell her the good news first and then the bad,” Eddie pours ice over the tension that threatens to boil over before it can turn hostile, catching the way both of your nostrils flare and shoulders square up.

“Wait, there’s good news and bad news?” Your focus on Steve shifts as Eddie’s words sink in.

“Like I said, I’m going to finish balancing the books.” The metal head reminds you, giving a half salute with two fingers while simultaneously shooting a stern look to Steve who’s mouthing something behind you. “Your mechanic’s going to go over everything with you, we can talk about pricing when it’s all said and done.”

“Seriously?” You bluster as Eddie shrugs with the kind of nonchalance that sends you reeling before sitting back down, tuning the dial-up on the radio in his office. End of discussion.

“Look -“

“How do I even know that you know what you’re talking about?” You interrupt, making his full lips set into a straight line.

“Are you going to be like this the whole time?” Steve sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose before crossing his arms, the tops of his shoulders moving with them.

A pleading expression softens his features instead of the hard combative one you were anticipating, and it helps your blood pressure return to normal. The realization hitting you that maybe skipping breakfast with a hangover probably wasn’t your smartest idea.

“N-no, sorry, I just feel like -“

“Shit? Yeah, I bet.” He chuckles, and your jaw clicks. Maybe if you count to three…

“Just tell me what’s wrong with my car, Steve.” It comes out clipped, but it's an improvement from your fingers twitching to rip that handsome head right off those shoulders that won’t stop trying to distract you.

“How about you tell me the last time you had your oil changed?” He counters, taking a few steps back to sit on the hood of the rusted baby blue Buick behind him.

“Uhh, I- I think,” All the blood rushes to your cheeks, warming your skin as you try to wrack your brain and not focus on the way his legs spread wide to keep his balance. “Maybe, like, six months ago.”

“Six months?!” The number must be worse than whatever Steve was preparing for when a dirty hand runs through his hair, “and then you drove it three states to get here?”

“Yeah, I - I mean, hearing you say it out loud,” you grimace thinking of all the weeks you ignored that flashing orange light on your dashboard.

“So then you shouldn’t be surprised when I tell you that your engine locked up.”

“Is this the bad news?”

“Kind of,”

“What do you mean kind of?”

“Look, the good news is that I can fix it, the bad news is that I have to order a few parts that could take up to three weeks to get here, then the job itself is going to take me probably another week.” He sighs standing up, starting back towards your car with you quick on his heels.

“That’s the whole summer!” You argue like it could possibly make a difference, frustration pricking at the corners of your eyes watching him pop open the hood.

“More like half of it, but hey, you’re lucky I can even get it running again without having to replace the whole thing.” He meets your gaze from under his lashes leaning over the engine, long nimble fingers unscrewing the cap where your oil should go.

“So what am I supposed to do? How am I supposed to get around?” You know that part isn’t his problem, this entire mess is your own doing but it doesn’t stop it coming out in a whine. You blame your hangover.

“You’re gonna be just fine, city girl,” Steve grins up at you before reaching even further under the hood, muscles flexing with him, “besides we both know I can’t say no to Robin.”

He pulls at a small tube that’s purpose is unknown to you but you keep eyes trained on his movements like you have an idea, anything to keep the focus off the gold chain that dangles from his neck.

“Or you.” The last part comes out so quiet, a focused look pinching his brows together as he continues his investigation.

“Me?”

He doesn’t look at you when he shrugs, pulling at something with a little more force that makes you both flinch.

“How much is this going to cost me, Steve?” Your defeat shows in your tone, as the question slips quietly from between your lips that you wish you’d have put gloss on now.

He grunts at the same time something pops against metal under his hands, muttering a string of curse words under his breath before standing back up wiping his palms on the white cotton of his tank top. Charcoal stains fill the small grooves in the fabric with each swipe of his hands, pulling the collar further down every time. It’s a losing battle not to look at his chest when every motion reveals more of the thick curls underneath.

Steve clears his throat, letting you know that you’ve been caught and it’s at this moment you wish you could walk in front of the moving truck that drives loudly past the shop, only exaggerating the silence that follows.

“Don’t stress about that today,” he smiles, letting you off the hook for now, something mischievous dancing in his eyes for another time. “Like Eddie said, we’ll figure it out.”

“Don’t stress about it?! Have you met me?” You huff, the money you’ve saved up for the summer starting to dwindle right before your eyes.

“I have actually,” Steve chuckles, stepping close enough for the tips of your shoes to touch his boots. He feels bold when you don’t make any attempt to move away like at the party or retreat when he closes the gap. A thumb and forefinger finding their way to your chin, tilting your head up to meet his gaze, “and you’re going to be fine, I promise.”

Your lips part on their own, the full force of his face from this close stealing the breath from your lungs. You can smell the coffee he had this morning and the mint from his toothpaste still lingering on his breath. The stubble that lines his sharp jaw is even more noticeable today, tapering off at the top of his neck making the cluster of moles that live there stand out even more. A pink tongue runs over his full bottom lip and it has your lashes fluttering against the tops of your cheeks.

“Now go get some food, grumpy,” his voice comes out low, a teasing edge to it that reminds you of what it’s like to have Steve Harrington flirt with you. “I’ll call when I get the parts, okay?”

It’s like detention junior year all over again as you turn into putty in his hand. Still too attractive for his own good, all you can do is nod while all the fight you had left inside you disappears as the pad of his thumb swipes soft against your heated skin just under your pouted lip before letting you go. He turns on his heel after that, walking back to the box of tools he has spread out over his workbench before adding,

“Do me a favor and tell Robin she owes me a new shirt.”

beta’d by @sweetsweetjellybean

🌻 chapter two

#my writing #steve harrington #steve harrington smut #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x reader smut #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington x y/n

1K notes · View notes

biteofcherry · 1 year

Note

Does mafia!Steve's Reader ever get jealous? Maybe there's a businesswoman or mafia related one that Steve has to have meetings with and reader gets jealous?

Nesting

Not an inch away

mafia!Steve Rogers x female reader

warnings for the part below: some angst; soft!dark Steve Rogers; mafia!Steve Rogers; possessive behavior; arranged/forced relationship;

~ * ~

You shouldn't care. You really shouldn't, you tell yourself as you watch Steve open the restaurant door for that other woman to enter.

A woman that looks stunning in a body-clinging white dress and killer heels, not a single thing out of place in her confident persona.

She tilts her head and smiles at Steve, who reciprocates with one of his most charming smiles - one that gets you weak in the knees when he flashes it at you.

He told you he'd be home late because he has boring business meetings to attend to, so you talked your bodyguards slash enablers - Natasha and Yelena - to go to the movies and for some greasy food afterwards.

It's pure coincidence that the spot you picked for your snacking was opposite of a fancy restaurant to which Steve took this woman.

You know plenty of women have successful businesses, but you don't think a mob boss of Steve's caliber would actually do any business with one of them. In a romantic restaurant at that.

Natasha's face is perfectly impassive at the sight, but Yelena cringes as if she feels bad for you for seeing this.

You tell yourself that it shouldn't matter. This whole arrangement, one practically forced upon you after Steve found out about your pregnancy, is one you wanted out of at first, right?

The elegant, shiny ring on your finger, which you grew to love and often looked at with a fond smile, now reminded you of the cage Steve trapped you in. Gold, pretty cage.

With how intense and dotting Steve was, you actually believed the cage could become a warm house, with a faithful, loving husband.

Seemed you were going to become a cliche, instead. A wife to produce heirs to a mafia king, while he fucked around with whomever he desired.

Perhaps you should walk into the restaurant, make a scene, throw a drink in Steve's face. Throw it at that woman's white dress.

But you only clench your hands on the paper bag with takeout you bought to eat at home (your pregnancy is turning you into a bottomless pit). You straighten your back and keep your head up high as you march to the car and get inside, Natasha and Yelena slipping inside soundlessly.

Yelena tries to say something, explain Steve's actions, but you tell her you're not interested.

"I don't care." You announce as coldly as you can, quite proud that your voice doesn't crack with how hurt you feel inside.

At home you devour your food. And some chocolate muffins that you baked in the morning. Each bite as delicious as heavy, your stomach revolting with the bitter jealousy and anger at the thought of what Steve was up to.

Are they having a romantic dinner and smiling at each other across the table? Is he sliding his hand up her thigh and under her dress? Does he make her come silently in front of all the patrons?

Will he take her to a hotel room, or one of his apartments that he owns all around the city, and fuck her into a screaming mess?

Will he fuck her better than he did you last night... yanking a fistful of your hair as he wrecked you into a dripping mess and praised you, A good little wife, taking all of me so well.

Ripping apart another muffin, you decide on your next step. You know running away wouldn't work. For one, you have two guards, who may be friendly, but still were loyal to Steve and what he said triumphed over whatever you wanted.

Secondly, even if you managed to slip out, Steve would find you. And he'd drag you back into the cage and the life he builds with you beside him.

You can't leave the penthouse, but you can make yourself a safe space in one of the free guest rooms.

Since Steve's dipping his dick in other woman's cunt, he doesn't need you sleeping beside him.

You definitely don't want to touch him when he reeks of other woman's perfume. You don't even want to see him.

So after you drag most of your stuff from the main bedroom and hastily put it in the closet in your new room, you close the door. Just in time, because less than ten minutes later the echo of firm footsteps resounds.

You flip a book open, trying to focus on the printed words and not on the way your heart hammers in your chest as you hear Steve's footsteps aiming for the main bedroom.

A vicious part of you hopes that he is a shocked, seeing that you're not there.

Not in the huge bed, naked under soft covers, waiting for your husband lord and master to throw you a crumb of his attention.

The emotionally heaving part of you shudders in sobs at the image of Steve simply not minding that you're not there.

Maybe he's only a little surprised, but brushes it off and simply takes a shower to wash off the remnants of that woman's arousal and his own sweat. Then he'll get into bed and fall asleep sated, uncaring for your state as long as you obediently stayed inside.

You rub at your eyes, cursing the tears away. You shake your head and try once again to focus on the words you're reading.

But then, after a long stretch of silence, footsteps sound through the space. A creaking of door being open. Then another. Slowly moving towards where you are hidden.

Your heart rate increases, fingers trembling against the paper pages of your book.

You take a breath, willing yourself to remain calm and not show Steve how hurt you are. Play it the way mob bosses wives in movies and tv shows do it - cold and indifferent, an armor around you, so nothing can prickle you.

The door to your claimed room opens and Steve stands there in the doorway in all his stormy glory.

He frowns, seeing you sitting stiffly on the bed.

He walks inside. Sleeves of his suit jacket are pushed up, showing his forearms and twirls of tattoos. He braces his hands on his hips and gives you a look that's a combination of concern and blatant anger.

"Can you explain what's the meaning of all this?" Steve's voice is thick and raspy.

You swallow, but shrug nonchalantly as if his heated gaze isn't bothering you.

"I thought it's better to leave the main bedroom, in case you brought your companion home for the night." You say and return your gaze to the book, fighting the urge to wave him away with a dismissive gesture.

"What?" Steve's frown deepens, actual confusion showing on his face.

"I'm not sure your mistress would like seeing me there. Might ruin the mood." You lift your head and sneer at him. "So I simply made it easier for you."

"I have a mistress now?" Steve raises a single brow, remaining calm while everything inside of you was boiling.

You snap your book closed and slam in onto the bedside table. With a little huff you get off the bed and stomp over to Steve.

"No need to lie." You scoff. "I saw you. With her. Didn't know mob business meant taking beautiful women to expensive restaurants."

You push at his chest in anger, but Steve's strong, muscled body doesn't even sway at your outburst. So you push at him again, unsuccessfully, but at least you get to unleash some of your fury.

"Just do me a favor and don't bring any of your whores home once the baby is here. Stay in one of your apartments, or allow me to move into one."

You can't hold off tears anymore and as some pour out, trickling down your cheeks, you clench your hands into fists and slam them against Steve's chest.

Steve's fingers wrap around your wrists, a tight, almost painful hold that keeps your hands bound to his chest.

"You are not going away from me." He declares, a definite order.

His eyes darken, a flash of lethal danger he rarely directed at you.

"In any form." He ads, obviously meaning you switching bedrooms.

Slowly, Steve's face lightens up. Twinkles appear in his eyes and it makes another wave of annoyance surge through you.

He keeps your wrists locked in one of his hands as he uses the other hand to cup your cheek.

"Any moving you're going to do is along with me." He says and tries to lean his forehead against yours, but you pull your head back.

Steve sighs.

"Which is why," he forces you to maintain eye contact with him, "I had a meeting with Camilla. She's a real estate agent who works for me on renovating a house that I bought for us. For our family."

His words make you speechless. A house? Someplace where you'd feel more free and where your kids could run in glee.

Still, you remain suspicious. You want to assume it's just a crafty lie, you're sure Steve's good at those.

"The Infinite is a rather romantic place to talk construction." You narrow your eyes.

Steve chuckles and shakes his head. He lets go of your wrists to wrap both his arms around you, pulling you close to him despite your attempt to squirm away.

"Jealous little bird." He hums and slides one of his hands up to grip the back of your neck.

"In my line of work-" Steve leans closer, his nose tracing the line of your jaw, hot breath tickling your skin making you shiver-

"I manipulate people. Some with threats, some with sugar. And some, like Camilla, with never voiced promise of something they wish for."

Steve's soft snicker puffs across your cheek at your sneer. His lips travel toward your lips. You close your eyes at the intensity of his blue irises and the way your body reacts to the touch of his mouth against yours.

"A restaurant dinner gave her that little spark that will make her work her ass off to grand me all my wishes regarding our house. Even though not once have I even brushed an inch of her body with my fingers."

"It also happens-" the tip of Steve's tongue licks over your bottom lip, his hand starts pulling up the hem of your nightgown- "that I know how to manipulate my wife's body, so she sweats out all that jealousy and anger while she creams on my cock."

Your tiny, needy whimper makes him chuckle in dark victory.

"That what you need, huh?" He grips your buttock and kneads it. "Should I fuck you braindead every day, so that your mind doesn't come up with silly ideas?"

"It wasn't silly." You try to defend your earlier outburst, but it comes out breathy and weak.

"Thinking I could be interested in anyone else when I have your sweet, ripe body at my disposal. Absolutely ridiculous." Steve flashes you a wolfish grin.

He lifts you up suddenly, forcing your arms and legs to wrap around him. His fingers slide from your ass to dip between your thighs as he turns around and walks out of the room.

"You're coming back to our bedroom." He growls a command.

"I'm going to keep you naked and full of cum for the next few days, so it really sinks in that neither of us is stepping away from this marriage. Ever."

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x female reader #mafia!Steve Rogers #mafia!steve x reader #mafia steve rogers #mob boss steve rogers #steve rogers x you #nesting #steve rogers smut

5K notes · View notes

starboyshoyo · 1 year

Text

Tropes-To-Lovers

Characters: All NRC boys x fem!reader (seperately)

Fandom: Twisted Wonderland

Genre: fluff

What were you to the NRC boys, before you were lovers?

Includes: Childhood friends to lovers, best friends to lovers, strangers to lovers, enemies to lovers, exes to lovers.

Childhood Friends to Lovers

Trey Clover the boy next door

Everyone and their mother knows Trey Clover, the golden boy in your little provincial town. Sweet, intelligent, and he can bake? He’s a heartthrob in every definition of the word. But Trey’s only ever had eyes for you, his parents’ best friends’ daughter and the girl next door.

Joined at the hip from the moment you met, you’ve done it all together- but Trey’s been away at NRC for three years. You were sure he would move to the city after getting a taste of the wider world. So you’re caught off-guard when he returns to take over his family’s bakery, eight inches taller than you remember.

His eyes crinkle at the corners when he sees you, and you can feel the firmness of muscles under his shirt when you launch yourself at him, embracing him tightly. He has to bend down to hug you now, you realize. And his face is sharper now, jaw angular instead of the soft cheeks you were used to. When did that happen?

And when did he get so handsome?

Leona Kingscholar betrothed to his brother

Leona has only ever had one friend- you, the heir from the neighboring kingdom. It shouldn’t be a problem to love you the way he does, but the stars in the sky had other plans, it seemed. Because from the moment you were born, you were meant to marry Falena.

Leona has long-since learned that no matter what he does, he’ll never be enough to win the public’s love. It didn’t matter that he knew you never had feelings for Falena, or that Falena was seeing someone else in secret. His brother will be king, not him. He’ll watch you walk down the aisle towards him, and then he’ll go back to his room and take a nap, and tell himself that he won’t be upset. That’s just the way life will be.

One day, while napping behind a curtain in the royal library, he catches wind of something so very interesting. Your parents arrived in the kingdom that morning, bearing news: Falena’s engagement has been peaceably broken, by your own choice, nonetheless. It’s a huge, life-changing decision and so a formal dinner is being held, to re-discuss the terms of the treaty. Leona wants to snap you up right away to be his, but he has to bide his time. For now, he’ll meet your eye across the banquet table, scowl softening a little. He should have known that he has always been king in your heart.

Silver childhood soulmates

Right person, right place, right time. Rarely did the universe ever align so beautifully. From your first meeting at the tender age of five to the time you were accepted into NRC, Silver has always been by your side.

He’s the first thing you see when you wake up in the mornings and the final good night you say before going to sleep. When small birds land on your desk and deposit gifts of acorns and flowers to you, you know exactly who they were from and who was thinking of you at the moment. And when you look at your handsome knight, you can’t help but imagine him by your side, every step of the way for the rest of your life.

Silver is more than just your best friend and first love. He is your person, through and through.

Best Friends to Lovers

Epel Felmier first friend, first love

You met Epel on the first day of school, getting beat up by a blonde upperclassman in the hallway. Much to the surprise of both boys, you jumped in to help him- pulling him off the ground and scolding the taller boy, who merely scoffed and wandered off. Though Epel’s ego was a bit bruised, he was grateful to you for helping him.

Epel became your constant companion after that. You could listen to him talk for hours while laying on the floor of your dorm room, a bag of apple chips in hand. His roguish accent and mischievous jokes charm you a little more each day, making him more than just the rough-hewn boy you met at the entrance ceremony not long ago.

His grandparents know all about you from the letters he sends home. Even in ink, they can sense his lovestruck heart. They had felt the same way when they started courting all those years ago. The Felmier family are fools in love, it seems. You would call him your best friend if someone asked, but Epel wants to be so much more.

Ace Trappola best friends to lovers

It’s pathetic how fast Ace changed his tune. The first time he met you, he was jeering you for being a magicless human. Now, he’s in love with you? When did that happen? And why did it have to be with you of all people?

Ace isn’t fooling himself. He knows why it’s you. It’s simply because no one could ever capture his heart the same way you do, with your smiles and your laughs and the way you look at him in both disapproval and exasperated fondness when he makes a crude joke.

Don’t act surprised when he holds your hand out of the blue or when he searches your face with those eyes, wondering what it would feel like to kiss you silly right then and there. He wants you, not anyone else, and it’s driving him crazy.

Kalim Al-Asim what are we?

Everyone thinks you and Kalim are dating already. You joke about it all the time. Oh, yeah, we’re partners in crime! Soulmates! Two sides of the same coin- but the line between teasing and reality has begun to blur. Once, you even made a jibe that you’d marry him one day, and Kalim got you an actual ring! It was so extravagant- a ruby inlaid with smaller gilded gems along the edges. He told you it was a family treasure, kept in the storerooms of Scarabia and just waiting to adorn the hand of the right person.

You tried to refuse, but he insisted. Money wasn’t something the Al-Asim heir ever had to worry about. So you go along with it, the golden band rubbing between your fingers and his when you walk down the halls, hands interlaced.

How does Kalim really feel about you? You’re not sure, so one day you ask- Kalim, what are we?

He looks at you curiously. “Aren’t we engaged?”

Strangers to Lovers

Deuce Spade the hallway crush

Every day between alchemy and history of magic, Deuce finds himself scanning faces in the hallway for someone who makes his face flush and his palms turn sweaty. And every day when you catch his eye and send him a wave, he finds himself tangled up a little more in his heartstrings, tripping over his feet as he tries to return your greeting.

He’s not sure when he first noticed you. Maybe it was when he fumbled and nearly dropped a potion on the carpet, and you caught it. His heart did flutter a bit then, but maybe that was because he nearly messed up the project he had been working on all night. He wants to talk to you again so badly- more than just a ‘hello‘ or a ‘thanks.’ He wants to brighten up your day just by walking by, like you do for him. Maybe if he becomes an honors student, then you’ll finally notice him too.

Jack Howl the mysterious savior

Being hounded by a group of rogue students wasn’t in your plans for the day. Trying to slip between the mob, avoiding their prying hands and sharp words, a sudden growl makes them all look up. A tall boy with wolflike ears towers over them.

Leave them alone. His voice is sharp, like a dog's canines. Golden eyes meet yours, steely and cold, but they soften for a moment when you manage to say thank you.

Your savior rubs the back of his neck. ‘S nothing, he says gruffly, but the lingering traces of blush on his face tell a different story. Only when he leaves do you realize that you had never gotten his name. Perhaps fate will lead you to meet once again, in the near future.

Azul Ashengrotto love at first sight

One minute he’s discussing the best way to mix a potion with his lab partner. The next, he’s sitting straight in his chair, eyes blown wide when you walk into the room. You’ve ensnared Azul Ashengrotto’s attention and heart without a single word. And when you finally say hi to him, ignorant of his shady dealings and strange company, he’s caught- hook, line, and sinker.

Azul begins to do things for you. Not in the way he does for others, with a flourish of his pen and a snap of his fingers. No, you’re special. He could never ask anything of you.

It’s so obvious, the way he favors you and gives you the best of everything he has. But he can’t bring himself to care- not when this new feeling brings him such happiness.

Idia Shroud closer than he thought

Idia Shroud has never met you irl. No way. All you are to him is a profile picture on a leaderboard, telling him to dodge the next attack or that he’ll never beat you in the latest game the two of you are playing. You make his gloomy days a little brighter. And when they’re brighter, he finally takes a chance to step outside for a bit and go to class.

In class is where he met you. His charming desk partner, whose presence he enjoyed far more than he thought he would. He likes your jokes. He likes that you play the same games as him and nerd out about the same topics. But when he returns to the world of online anonymity, he can’t help but feel disloyal- so much so that he doesn’t notice the lilt of the voice in his speakers is the same one that rings in his ears when he falls asleep in class.

Malleus Draconia love from afar

No one knows who you are, a mere human who attends NRC. You could be dangerous as far as his retainers know. Malleus isn’t supposed to speak with you- but oh, does he want to.

He’s tried to ignore the pull towards you, but he just can’t. Why is this mere child of man lingering in his thoughts, ensnaring his every waking moment?

One night when Sebek is busy berating Silver for falling asleep on the job, he sneaks away and finds you beneath the moonlight, staring up at the stars. He’s caught like a fly in a web from the first hello.

Enemies to Lovers

Riddle Rosehearts academic rivals

He’s so annoying. With a loud voice, short stature, and short temper, you could consider Riddle Rosehearts to always be underfoot. But even you have to admire his academic prowess, his name topping the scores at every turn. And just under him, is you. How very frustrating.

You’re so focused on one-upping one another that you don’t even catch yourself when thoughts of him wander into your mind throughout the day. Of course you think of him, you’re trying to beat him. But slowly the competition turns into wondering. What does he do in his free time? What’s his favorite food, his favorite color?

Little do you know, he thinks of you too.

Ruggie Bucchi the goodhearted thief

You heard from your neighbors about the slum thief who steals things from their shops. It’s only a matter of time before he comes to you next, they warn, so be ready.

And ready you are. When a skinny boy with rounded ears atop his head tries to slip something into his pocket, you call him out. And when he dashes away, you scramble after him- tackling him in a paved alley near some dumpsters. Cans go crashing over to reveal several homeless youngsters, shivering in the cold and barely more than bones. The boy tosses the food to them before you can intervene- but why would you, when you’ve just seen what you saw?

When he comes into the bakery next time, you make sure he pays. But you also slip an extra loaf or two into his order, with a wink and a nod. Your conversations become a bit longer, a bit friendlier. He’s quite charming and you have to berate yourself for falling for a thief.

He’s stolen your heart, hasn’t he?

Floyd Leech the hallway bully

Floyd Leech. Just his name makes you groan and roll your eyes. It’s not just you he teases you in the hallway by holding your things over his head, but you seem to be his favorite. How are you supposed to get your notebook back when it’s dangling almost 8 feet above the ground, courtesy of his freakishly long arms?

The graceful solution you come up with is to kick him. Right in his eel, to summarize. His twin brother is by his side in an instant while you walk off.

Jade expects Floyd to be livid. But even when he’s doubled up on the ground in pain, he’s got a grin plastered across his face.

His shrimpy is such a badass.

Jamil Viper flirting rivals

For someone who’s usually level-headed and cool, you sure bring out Jamil’s temper. He can find a million ways to insult and discredit you, but still you’ll bounce back with some snarky, suggestive comment that just makes his blood boil.

He swears he can feel your eyes on him from across the hallways. It makes him want to pull his hood up over his face. But when you approach him, he’s as calm as ever. Why are you leaning closer, prefect, and running your hands over his tie? He’s not going to fall for your ruse, so don’t even try.

Still, his eyes can’t help but wander down to your lips, wondering if they would taste like he imagined.

Rook Hunt one-sided annoyance

It seems like you’ve gained yourself a one-man paparazzi recently. If Rook is meant to be a hunter, you have to wonder if he’s any good at his job. He never seems to conceal his presence, following you down the hallways brazenly while spouting off fake compliments about your demeanor and beauty.

Well, you thought they were fake. It’s hard to believe anyone is genuine in a school full of villains, but you might have caught the attention of the one person who actually is. His company isn’t so bad sometimes, especially when you can talk his ear off about anything and everything.

Sebek Zigvolt forced proximity

This was meant to be a partner project, not a threeway. But being paired with the great Malleus Draconia means putting up with his annoying, self-proclaimed bodyguard for the next week as well.

You pity Sebek’s alchemy partner, because he’s ignoring his own work in favor of hovering over you and his liege. His loud, unsolicited advice and passive-aggressive comments don’t make him any more bearable. By the time Thursday rolls around, you’re about ready to drop-kick him into the cauldron.

Thankfully, you and Malleus get your work done early. When you’re packing up your things to leave, you find Sebek quiet for once, deep in concentration as he rushes to finish his own work.

I don’t need the help of a human, he proclaims in that loud, obnoxious bark of his. But he doesn’t complain when you settle down next to him, stirring the potion while he measures out ingredients.

Exes to Lovers

Cater Diamond the one that got away

Cater knows you probably hate his guts. Hell, he hates his own guts for fucking up so badly. You were the best thing that ever happened to him and he drove you away with his constant neediness and self-deprecation. It took him years to realize that he was so focused on himself that he didn’t realize that you needed support too.

He’s been lonely for a while, working on himself and his problems in the shadows. It’s been a while since he last saw you- he knows you might not want to see him again anyways, but he’s changed now- both for himself and for you.

Cater wants you back, if you’ll have him.

Jade Leech second chance romance

Jade was nothing more than a talking stage that never got off the ground. He was fun to be around and a good hiking partner, but you stopped seeing him after first year ended and you no longer shared a class together.

You didn’t think of him much throughout your second and third year at NRC . But when you arrive at your new work study to meet your partner for the program, a tall, familiar figure greets you at the door.

“Jade?”

Vil Schoenheit right person, wrong time

Vil has no one but himself to blame for the downfall of your relationship. He broke things off with you after his manager advised him to- she said that a young, taken idol isn’t marketable. You need to think about your image.

The stage lights blinded him and he dropped you without a second thought. Any trace of you in his life was erased; smoothed over to perfection like a beauty filter.

But oh, how Vil regrets it when he scrolls on his phone late at night, your Magicam account pulled up to a photo of you laughing. What he wouldn’t give to have you smile like that at him again.

The icon for a DM request sits beside your profile picture. Vil regards it for a second, finger hovering over the button, then clicks.

Lilia Vanrouge facing the future

Lilia has always known that humans live short lives. In his time, he’s seen countless people born and died. It’s just a fact of human life; a phenomena he watches from the outside in- disconnected. It doesn’t dawn on him that yours too will run out until Malleus points it out- and then Lilia becomes scared.

He’ll cut you off, hiding in the shadows and avoiding your eyes until a great danger almost befalls you. It is then that Lilia realizes he’d rather have loved and lost you than never have known you at all.

Please, stay with him. You have the rest of your life, however short or long, to live by his side. Lilia would gladly warp time and face the consequences just for one more minute with you.

5K notes · View notes

jp-hunsecker · 1 year

Text

Charm City Kings

Charm City Kings #MovieReview The filmmakers put the #motorcycle fetish to good use, infusing it with imagery that’s almost religious in order to reveal its real-world impracticality.

Charm City Kings evokes such films as Boyz n’ the Hood, A Bronx Tale, and Torque. I know; one of those things isn’t like the others. The filmmakers, however, put the motorcycle fetish to good use, infusing it with imagery that’s almost religious in order to reveal its real-world impracticality. Mouse (Jahi Di’Allo Winston) is a bright 14-year-old boy with a natural affinity for and encyclopedic…

View On WordPress

#charm city kings #movie review

2 notes · View notes

circeyoru · 1 month

Text

Collection of Overlords = Requested

[Alastor x Soul Owner of All Overlords!Reader]

The Request

Overlords. The sovereign rulers of various domains and areas of the Pride Ring. Sinners that rose to power through dealing with souls and troppling over the weak to show who’s the one in power and control. Together, they own millions of souls and representing the controlling powers of the city

Yet what sets them apart from the other demons in power? Why were they the sovereign rulers of their specialty and not another that claims or tries to threaten them so?

There’s a system, a power even beyond them combined and rival that of the King and Queen’s, that stablizes them. A supporting system, if you will, one that approves of the Overlords’ existence. As other rings have their Sin to impose power and their form of order, Pride has something similar. The founder of the Overlords and owner of their souls; the Collector

To call yourself an Overlord and rule over some form of territory, be it a street, a block, a town, a building complex, you have been approved by the Collector. No, one doesn’t seek the Collector out, the Collector seeks them out. It proves potential, it proves worth, and it proves attention-worthiness. All Overlords know who were the real one by the mark on their souls, a stamp of proof, that they’d take pride in

Rarely to none would the Collector gather Overlords together. So they make their own gatherings to keep track of any new members to their collection. There were times when some would fake their claim, they were viciously shredded where they lied. There was barely any proof, the mere aura and presence was enough to tell

All Overlords were the Collector’s prized souls, their worth to the Collector is shown when their mark remains intact as time goes by. Once the Collector deemed the Overlord as trash, they are let go and the other remaining Overlords will devour to keep the collection worthy

It’s the Overlords’ goal and duty to remain relevant and strive to be stronger. Not only to secure their title as an Overlord, but to also stay within the Collector’s elite collection

“Do you hereby swear your allegiance to me, the Collector, so long as you are in my favour? In return for entering my collection, you will be protected and secured of your authority and strive in your domain. Know that only I am able to throw you away and none other should you fall beyond my interest and favour.”

“I solemnly gage (I solemnly swear).”

“Yes, as you wish.”

“Why, absolutely, Darling!”

“F**k yes!”

“Of course, Dear.”

“Whatever you say.”

“Naturally.”

“Hell’s yes!”

Alastor felt it, his soul like a beating heart when one meets their love. His smile widening and excitement building up within him. At the same time, there was the touch of nervousness too. He quickly made his way down to the lobby where Charlie was seen welcoming a few guest that wanted to be redeemed

Well, the hotel has been gaining popularity after the battle with the exterminators and the fact that they won was no secret or easy feat to pull. Maybe the renovations also played a part. But Charlie was none the wiser whenever someone was expressing a want to be redeemed

Though to Alastor, it was a bigger deal when he spotted what was among the group of newcomers. There was no mistaken it, it had to be. While you were in disguise, you were still as elegant and commanding as the day he sold his soul to you and be the only one to have gained your attention and favour the fastest among your collection

Alastor held himself back, he wasn’t proper of him to interrupt Charlie’s little welcoming speech and you wouldn’t like it if he did. Luckily, while Charlie was busy with settling the other guest before you, he was given his chance to greet you

“Alastor, pleasure to be in your presence,” Alastor took your hand and kissed your knuckles, his eyes staring up at yours while he bowed low to show respect and the need to please. “Quite the pleasure.”

“Charmed.” You let a smirk form on your face, though it quickly fade to keep up with appearances

“May I inquire as to what brings you to this fine and renewed establishment?”

Charlie arrived in time to greet you as well. Being her usual cheerful and upbeat self even after all these years, and surviving the horrid battle against the angels. If you weren’t in disguise, you would have given her a pat on the head and a hug to comfort her. Yet you stick to your little plan and stayed level headed

It was merely to fine a place to stay, you explained how Vox was someone that had no sense of privacy with how he bugged everything. You kept the spying on you part to yourself, though you knew Alastor caught on when you mentioned Vox’s devices. Then you gestured to Alastor and praised that he was a perfect counter and addition to the hotel building since he cancels out Vox’s devices naturally

Alastor let out annoyed radio static when he learned of Vox displeasing you, how disrespectful. If only Vox could do even worse to be dropped out of the collection, then there’d be a real battle. Since deathly fights between the Overlords was forbidden. Still, Alastor could feel his smile widening at the superiority over Vox he had and praise he received, even with his 7 year disappearance, you didn’t let him go

Vaggie was quick to reject your stay and attempt to push you out when you weren’t even lying to want to be redeemed. Saying that the hotel wasn’t a rent-free place for demons to just show up to crash for their own amusement

Alastor was smart and quick to interject and maybe nearly slap Vaggie lobby but he managed to keep his hands behind his back. He gestured to the other guests as he made a point that turning away guest was rather rude for someone wanting to redeem demons. You added you can pay if it was too much, or just leave. Which gave Alastor a mini panic

Charlie agreed in the end and Vaggie received a look from Alastor while you thanked them with a smile. Alastor followed closely behind you while the tour was underway with the other new residents. When Charlie was arranging everyone’s stay, Alastor immediately had your room key ready, promising that it was the best room the hotel can provide. If you lacked anything, he’ll provide!

Since everything simmered down, you were in your room waiting for Alastor’s knock on your door to bring him to his radio tower that was guaranteed to not be listened in. He showed up at record time and offered you his hand to teleport the two of you to his tower

With a snap of your fingers, you let your disguise fall, revealing you in your glory and natural look. You sat on his desk while Alastor stood. The two of you started chatting then inquiring about the other’s well-being and current entertainment

It was rare, but you do visit your Overlords from time to time just to chat or catch up, it not only shows a want to connect and understand your souls, but also your continued interest in keeping them. There were times when your meeting with them could be a sign of you removing your hold over their soul, then it was a matter of time before the other Overlords knew about this development and hunt them down to own or destroy

An example was Husk. In your observant and keen eyes, you watched as he bet on the power and protection you granted him without a second thought, thinking that he would win back soon enough. Not soon enough for you as it would appear. You didn’t even visit him, you merely let him go without a word of warning. In fact, your patience and the extra time were your warnings

One that he didn’t even realize he was given. So Alastor set out to dominate Husk when he was removed from the collection. With Alastor’s win, he owned Husk’s soul and revealed that he was history to you. The look on Husk’s face was enough of a dedication to you, Alastor returned his dues

Though there were times when you allowed some lesser demons into your circle. Namely the Vees, specifically Valentino. He was at risk of your removal, yet time and time again, he was saved by Vox and Velvette who proved they work better as a team than individually like other Overlords. So to keep Vox and Velvette, Valentino was allowed to stay

That’s until you find more worthy ones

Yet it was in the Overlords’ nature to be the remaining one in your collection. To put down the other as a method of showing their superiority to you. You knew this ploy, so you set that they weren’t to fight or belittle the other with the aim to kill. You didn’t need or want souls that would harm other souls you hand picked

The Vees were your unique case. A case that was fragile to maintain. Wrong moves here and there, disrespectful words spatted out, risky actions committed. And they risk their entire group gone from your collection. Was there one that was save from your removal? Hardly, it was with a comparison does Vox and Velvette appear to be better

“When are you going to show me your wound, Alastor?” You got to your goal. You knew of the battle, you also knew Alastor took up the impossible task of defeating Adam to show you he was strong to remain in your elite. You knew your souls do their best to maintain your interest in them. Alastor was no different, especially when he disappeared for 7 years.

“A mere scratch! Nothing for you to worry over.” Alastor laughed, who was he lying to?

“It wasn’t a question.” You spoke with half-lid eyes staring back at him.

He flinched and bowed his head, slowly undoing his coat and shirt, finally showing you the large bandaged wound that was soaking with more blood by the minute. “It’s… not as bad as it seem…”

You becken him closer to you so you could inspect it. Silence filled the room. Alastor was ashamed, the silence was deafening to him, he can’t handle it. His heart beat fast, his mind wondered if you’re throwing him away like you did Husk. This was the calm before the storm.

His head jerked up when your soft hands pressed against the center of his chest, he’d have felt more of your touch if not for the layers of bandages. A warm feeling covered his wound and he felt energized and relaxed, his knees caving in when your hand retreated

He didn’t even realize his head was in your lap as his ears pinned back while your hands combed through his hair soothingly. His eyes closed from the peace he felt

It reminded him of the time when he first met you. How foolish was he to want to overtake you, to think you were weak, to think that you were only relying on the souls you collected. No, you held real power, power he can’t even imagine

“Alastor, you know I’m never going to let your soul go, right?”

“Thank you, My Liege.”

BONUS!

When another Overlord meeting was held, nearly all were in attendance. The news of your appearance was enough of a goad to draw in the others. Even the Vees were all present

Once everyone was seated, Alastor took the floor. You approached him, he wasn’t released by you, and you were staying where he was. As expected, there was an uproar. How was Alastor this lucky?!

Alastor directed to Vox, retelling your displeasure in his stalking while he defended that it was for protection. More eyes directed to Vox, seeing him as the reason why you weren’t as active as before, you were uncomfortable because of all the devices and camera Vox has around the city

“Hahaha! However you spin this to your favour, you can’t deny that Our Lovely Protector and Liege is vexed by your actions. So much so that Our Liege has seeked me out for haven! Now what’s to be done about that, hm?”

“You little!!!”

Meanwhile, you watched from the comforts of your room while a holographic display. A fond smile on your face and a chuckle of amusement let out, “I’ve collected quite the group, huh? I never get bored with them around.”

Note: Yes~ This is out now!! Wonder if you guys like this one. I'm wondering if I should add 'yandere', but then it's more like that, more of devotion and loyalty. Anyways! Love to hear your thoughts (if you have any)

I got a challenge for you though!! Can you name, in order, all the Overlords that were used to illustrate swearing allegiance to?

Circe Y.

Other Works: MASTERLIST

Taglist:

@aconfusedwonderland

@crowleysthings

@donustellaron

@mistpurpl3

#Circe's Nighty Writings #Circe's requested writings #alastor imagine #alastor x reader #alastor x y/n #alastor x you #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel alastor #alastor headcanons #alastor fanfiction #alastor #hazbin hotel oneshots #hazbin hotel imagines #hazbin hotel fanfiction #Collection of Overlords

630 notes · View notes