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sweetsweetjellybean · 5 months

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After the kiss you can't forget about, your past and present with Eddie collide under the glow of the city lights and the glittering stars at the City Beats launch party.

Masterlist Listen to Clumsy Here

What to expect: Second Chance Romance set in 2012 Chicago. Eddie and Steve are in their 30s. Fem!Reader is given a pet name from each of the guys. No other name mentioned. No use of Y/N. No physical description. Reader does have a bit of personality, as I find it nearly impossible to keep her blank for such a long fic. You may find yourself at times making choices that you wouldn't normally make, but I hope you can put that aside and enjoy the ride. Sensitive Content. 18+ Mentions of DV. Smut Guaranteed happy ending. This is my love letter to Eddie Munson.

WC: 11646 beta'd by @superblysubpar

“Stop being such a baby and just let me look.”

The light in Eddie’s bathroom buzzes with a slight flicker, casting a pallid tint over the worn linoleum and water-stained sink.

“I don’t recall anyone asking for your services here, Florence Nightingale,” Eddie grumbles, perched on the edge of the vanity with a blood-soaked washcloth pressed against his forehead. The knuckles on his right hand are swollen and split, and the scrape along his jaw is already turning colors.

You pour a little iodine on a cotton ball you grabbed from the first-aid kit— the one your dad made you keep in your car for emergencies, though this probably isn’t what he had in mind. “Who else is going to patch you up?” you question, shifting until you’re standing in the space between his spread legs.

With a sigh, he lowers the washcloth and tosses it into the sink. Blood wells up in the gash above his brow, the skin around it swollen and purple. As gently as possible, you dab around the cut with cotton.

“Oww.” He winces and leans away. “That shit stings.”

"Sorry." You push up on your tippy toes, drawing closer, one hand resting on his chest, feeling the rise and fall of his breath. The scent of his apple shampoo tickles your nose as his hand moves to your hip, anchoring you. You purse your lips and blow gently over his wound to soothe the sting. His chest expands with a sharp intake of breath.

"Better?" you whisper, a flood of butterflies taking flight within you. His fingers press tighter into your skin, your shirt inching upward, eliminating the barrier between his touch and your warmth.

"Yeah." His throat bobs, his gaze roaming your face.

“Are you going to tell me what happened?”

His grip on you loosens as his eyes fall away.

You pick up one of the butterfly strips, pulling back the adhesive tabs. “You said you weren’t going to do anything. I asked you not to.”

The faucet drips into the cracked tub as you press the strip into place. “It was my choice to end things, Eddie. It didn’t feel…it wasn’t going to go anywhere.”

He grabs your fingers, holding them away. “Then maybe you shouldn’t have been running around with him in the first place.”

The anger in his tone has you stepping back until you can feel the towel bar pressing into your shoulders. He stands and faces away from you, shaking his head.

“So what? I’m a slut now?” Your voice is small in the cramped space, bouncing off half-filled bottles of shampoo and shaving cream. Maybe you shouldn’t have told him about losing your virginity to Parker Hayes in the backseat of his mom’s Chevy last weekend. But that’s something you tell your best friend, right? Eddie has certainly never shied away from sharing his sexual exploits with you. Maybe, deep down, you had been hoping for some kind of reaction, but not this.

“No.” His shoulders slump as he turns to face you, the hardness in his stance softening. “I don't think that way,” he explains, his voice growing gentler, “and I'd never think that about you. I want you to date. I want you to have everything. I just want to…” The rest of the sentence dies in his throat as a familiar shadow falls over his eyes, dimming their warmth. “I guess this is what happens when you're friends with a chick,” he chuckles.

“Might have been easier if Gareth had moved down the street instead of me.” You switch gears to match his tone, a familiar move after all this time.

“Yeah, you’re a pain in the ass,” he says, attempting a smile that doesn’t quite make it to his eyes. “Speaking of Gareth, I got a thing.” His gaze drops to his wrist, but he’s never worn a watch. “Lock up when you leave, alright?”

You're still standing in his bathroom when the front door clicks closed.

Your hands smooth down the skirt of your long-sleeved mini-dress. Its modest front sits elegantly at your collarbone, but the back—you twist your head to check the mirror behind you—the back dramatically plunges to just above the curve of your ass.

“Wow.” Steve stands stopped in his tracks at the entrance of your walk-in closet, his eyes drinking you in. “You look like a sunset.” He moves behind you, pressing a kiss to the bare skin of your shoulder as his hand slides over the rose gold sequins covering your dress.

“You’re not too shabby yourself, handsome.” You turn to get the full effect of his designer camel-striped suit with a bright mustard tie. “I always like you in yellow,” you tell him, running a finger down the cool silk.

His smile widens as he grips your hips, spinning you back towards the mirror, wrapping his arms around your middle. “We should do this more often,” he says, holding your gaze in the reflection.

“What?” you ask, crossing your arms over his. “Launch streaming radio services?”

“No, smart ass.” His lips find your temple. “Get dressed up like this and go out. With everyone coming, do you know what it reminds me of?”

“Dare I ask?” You flutter your lashes.

His grip on you tightens in a deliberate firmness that has you tensing. He steals another kiss, pausing for a moment before saying, “Prom.”

“Uck,” you moan, stepping out of his arms and moving to the island to pick up a pair of earrings. “Your parents went to prom? How sad.”

“Come on. Not them.” He shoves his hands in his pants pockets, his gaze tracking your movements. “Everyone else, though. Didn’t you have fun at prom?”

“I don’t remember,” you shrug, attaching the diamond to your lobe.

“Of course not. How stupid of me,” his tone drips sarcasm as he shakes his head, “How could I have forgotten about your Hawkins amnesia.”

The shrill melody of his ringtone sounds from the bedroom, pulling him away before words can escalate. Lately, high school memories seem to invade every conversation, leaving a residue of guilt that clings tighter with each mention. Alone, you face the mirror, taking a steadying breath. He’s under a lot of pressure. This is his night. You plaster a smile on your face, forcing a semblance of calm. You owe him.

With a final glance, you slip on a nude pair of heels and move to the bedroom to let him know you're ready. Steve’s phone is discarded on the bed beside him, where he sits with slumped shoulders and his hands raking through the hair he had just spent time styling.

“Baby?” You keep your voice soft as you sit down next to him, your hand moving to rub circles on his back. “What’s going on?”

He glances up, only now becoming aware of your presence. "It's my parents," he murmurs, his lashes fluttering with rapid blinks as he pinches the bridge of his nose. "They've decided not to come."

“What? But they’re at the hotel.” Your mind races over the possibilities, “Are they okay? Did something happen?”

“Yeah, my dad ran into a client. That’s what happened.” Steve's voice hardens, taking on a bitter edge as he echoes his father's words, “Business is business, Steve. You understand, don’t you, son?”

“I’m sorry, Steve,” you say in a near whisper, covering his hand with yours.

“It’s my fault. I didn’t really want them here, you know? But when I dropped by the hotel this afternoon with the tickets, my dad actually seemed proud of me for once. Fuck. I feel so dumb for getting excited.” He pulls his hand from yours to tug at the messy strands falling over his brow before his eyes find yours again. “Did I ever tell you about my baseball coach in middle school?”

“No,” you shake your head, shifting on the bed to move even closer beside him, offering what comfort you can.

“Coach Patterson.” His eyes fall to his lap. “He tried talking to him once when he dropped me off for a game. He told him that it would mean a lot if he’d stayed and watched me play. But Dad…” Steve's voice falters, “He just looks at me and says, ‘I've got better things to do than watch you lose.’”

“Steve-”

His eyes bore into yours, filling your chest with an ache. “The thing is, we did win, but he still never stayed. He didn’t believe in me. I guess he still doesn’t.”

His phone screen brightens with an incoming call, and he picks it up, silencing it with a push of a button. “I've poured everything I have into this, trying to be perfect, what they—what everyone—expects me to be.” The frustration builds in his voice,“But no matter how hard I try, it'll never be enough. Not for them. And maybe... not for you either.”

You cradle his larger hand between yours, wishing he could see himself through your eyes. “You’ve always been enough.”

“I want to give you everything–”

“Steve, stop. You can’t live for other people. Pursue this because it brings you fulfillment, not for anyone else. Think about everything your dad has given your mom. Do you think it’s made them happy?”

He pulls his hand from yours, a fleeting shadow crossing his features as his gaze drifts to some distant point in the room. “I’d never treat you the way he treats her.”

“That’s right.” Gently, you cup his face, your thumbs brushing lightly against his jaw, coaxing his gaze back to you. “You’re better than him. And if he can’t see that or celebrate your wins, that’s his shortcoming. Tonight is going to go off without a hitch, and Richard is going to thank his lucky stars for having the good sense to have assigned you City Beats.”

Leaning in, you press a soft, deliberate kiss to his lips. “You deserve your success.” His hand rises to cover yours, and your face softens into a smile. “Now, can we go? I need you to dance with me during the slow songs. I’ll even let you pretend we’re at prom.”

The corners of his mouth rise, his chuckle warming the space between you as he leans in, your foreheads touching gently. “What would I do without you, Ace?” The words are gentle as his lips seek out yours. A car horn blares from the street below, breaking the moment. “I think our driver is getting antsy.”

“Well then, handsome,” you say, a gentle determination in your voice as you smooth out an imaginary crease on his jacket. “Let’s go to a party.”

Dozens of spotlights pierce the night, illuminating the iconic Adler Planetarium. Limos and sleek cars roll up, dropping off the who’s who of the city—celebrities, influential politicians, and tech moguls—onto the red carpet-lined stairs. Banners emblazoned with the City Beats logo wave from the art deco building's great dome, set against the dark waters of the lake and the distant city lights.

“Wow,” you breathe as Steve takes your hand and helps you out of the car. The magnitude of the moment takes over. Now it’s your turn to be impressed. “Baby, you did all this!”

Steve’s signature smirk takes over his face, his cheeks tinting with a flush from your compliment. A camera flash pops in your face as you step out onto the red carpet. With a deep breath, you tighten your hold on his hand. The PR team's efforts have paid off. Photogs from all over the city and national publications line the step and repeat. The air is a blend of lake chill and expensive perfumes as you await your turn to be photographed. Steve’s reassuring hand, firm along your ribs, holds you steady as the flashes blind you. His gaze drops to yours, brimming with unmistakable pride, lending you his confidence. A quick squeeze of his hand coaxes a genuine smile as you face the cameras together.

“Not used to being on this side,” you murmur, keeping your teeth on display under the relentless flashes.

He chuckles, drawing you forward. “You're a natural,” he whispers, guiding you to the entrance with a hand at your back.

As you step into the grand foyer, your name being called pierces the hum of conversations. Rihanna waves from across the room, her manicured hand catching the light. She mouths ‘Call me’ before being swept away by her very tall date.

"Was that–" Steve asks, eyes widening.

"I interviewed her last year," you explain, returning her smile with your own as she navigates the crowd.

"Must have made an impression. That was the new point guard for the Chicago Bulls." His eyebrows raise as he watches them disappear into the throng of guests. Leaning in, his breath tickles your ear, “I don’t think we’re in Hawkins anymore, Dorothy.”

Light laughter bubbles from your throat. “Thanks, Toto,” you quip, threading your arm into the crook of his elbow, letting him lead you along.

Abstract designs mimicking sound waves, musical notes set into star patterns, and cosmic shapes elegantly adorn the solarium. The floor-to-ceiling windows extend the celestial theme, allowing for sweeping views of the night sky.

“From Skyline to Bassline: This is City Beats Streaming Radio.”

The DJ's smooth voice transitions the songs playing through the speakers as they live-stream from a platform beside a wall of digital screens alive with a social media feed and a map showing millions of listeners around the world tuning in.

Steve lets go of your hand as he’s swarmed with department heads buzzing with reports and updates. You stand alone, crossing one hand over another as muted conversation hums under the beat of the music. The waitstaff weaves through the crowd, offering trays of fluted glasses brimming with bubbling champagne, and you gratefully accept a glass. Guests interact with kiosks exploring the different channels offered by City Beats, including specific music genres, news, and talk shows, while others move onto the themed lounges or drift out to the terrace for the small bites and views of the city.

“Harrington.” Richard's booming voice sends Steve’s staff scattering into the crowd. “Everything is looking just splendid, son.” He greets Steve with a firm handshake before his voice drops,“Now, how are those numbers?”

You look away, rolling your eyes out of view as you drain the rest of your glass. He can’t give Steve five minutes of peace.

“According to sales, we are easily beating the first round of projections and are slated to hit our monthly target in the next hour.” Steve’s voice is filled with cool confidence, but his palm is damp when his fingers slip between yours.

“That’s good to hear,” Richard says, the tightness in his expression easing as the redness circling his face begins to fade. He leans closer to Steve, his tone firm, “I don't think I need to remind you that Second City has a lot riding on this, which means you've got a lot riding on this.”

Steve's lips press together in a firm line as he stands a little taller and smooths a hand over his tie. Your teeth clamp down on the inside of your lip, forcing your silence.

A waiter glides to your side, stopping to collect your empty glass. You place your flute on his tray a touch too forcefully. The clink with the other glasses is louder than intended, breaking the moment. Richard straightens, his attention drawn to you for the first time. He steps back, the wheels turning behind his eyes as he tries to place you.

His manufactured grin returns as he claps Steve on the shoulder. “Keep up the excellent work, my boy. This is impressive.” He waves a hand, gesturing around the party, “I don’t know what any of it is, but it’s impressive,” he laughs, expecting you to join him. When you only muster a weak smile, his laughter fades, replaced by a brief, awkward silence.

“I’m glad you brought the little lady with you tonight, Steve. She just gets prettier and prettier,” Richard continues, not missing a beat. “My wife’s around here somewhere, probably telling someone how to do their job,” he chuckles, then signals a waitress for more drinks. “Make sure you say hello. She loves gossiping with the other wives.” Handing you both a fresh glass, he adds, “Now, see to it our boy here doesn't work too hard, okay?” With a final pat on Steve’s shoulder and a wag of his finger in your direction, Richard moves off into the crowd.

Steve exhales quietly, the tension leaving his shoulders, as he gently squeezes your hand.

“I don’t know how you stand him,” you fume, “How many years have I worked here, and the bastard doesn't even recognize me.”

“Trust me, you’re better off not being on his radar,” Steve replies, downing his champagne in one go before passing the empty glass off to a passing waiter. “I’m sure he’s going to be on my ass when I meet with the investors.”

“But it’s such a nice ass,” you grin over the rim of your glass, letting the bubbles tickle your lips.

His eyes gleam as he leans in a little closer, but his response dissolves before it's spoken. Warmth heats the bare skin of your back as someone steps close behind you. Your stomach plummets like a rollercoaster, and goosebumps dot your arms—there's no need to look.

“Eddie,” Steve welcomes him with a handshake that shifts to an embrace. “You made it.”

Since the kiss, Eddie has honored your request, maintaining the distance you needed— a display of restraint that the high school version of him might not have managed. But after your talk with Hopper and the shadow of the looming deadline creeping closer, it was only a matter of time before you had to face him. And the clock has just run out.

“How could I pass this up?” Eddie’s gaze darts around the solarium before landing on you. “Doll.” He leans in, placing a light kiss on your cheek before turning back to Steve. “This is some party. Congratulations, man.”

"Thanks for passing the word down your contact list,” Steve says, his tone sincere. “My head of PR mentioned you've made her job a hell of a lot easier."

“Happy to help,” he shrugs, adjusting the gold cufflinks at his wrists. He’s ignored the last few buttons of his pressed black shirt and worn it open-collar, allowing a glimpse of the fine black-inked lines that grace the skin of his chest.

“Do you own a suit that isn’t black?” You ask, eyeing the slim-fit pinstripe, that's obviously been tailored to fit him like a glove. “Or is that a rental?”

“Ace,” Steve chides.

Eddie laughs, the sound rich and easy. “Gotta match with the sweet old tats, don’t I?” The edge that once sharpened your words now fails to cut. His smile blooms into dimples, and it’s contagious. Despite the crackling of nerves and self-made promises, he disarms you. A line creases Steve’s brow as the moment hangs, and your smirk echoes Eddie’s.

A peel of laughter rises above the blend of music and conversation as the party continues. A harried junior staffer pushes through the crowd, bumping shoulders and muttering apologies as she tries to keep a stray lock of hair from escaping her updo. “Steve, I’m so sorry to interrupt,” she keeps her voice low despite her breathlessness. “Ted's already on his fifth bourbon, and he's cornered Harris Blake from Bean City Brews. He's telling that joke about the nun and the circus tent, and I think we are about to lose half of our ad revenue for this quarter."

"Shit," Steve mutters, his fingers raking through his hair. "Okay, let's deal with this." Relief washes over the staffer's face as she quickly turns, leading the way.

Steve pauses, his eyes meeting yours, an apology written on his face. "I’m-”

"It's okay. Go," you reassure with a squeeze of his bicep. His lips lift at the corners before he turns away, disappearing into the crowd as your gaze lingers after him.

The weight of Eddie’s eyes settles on you before you’ve even turned to meet them. “So, is this the part where I chase you around all night until you finally agree to talk to me?” he asks, closing the distance with a step forward.

“Actually, I thought we’d skip that part.” Your eyes dip to your shoes, avoiding his stare. “I want to apologize for what happened. I let my emotions get the better of me. It was unprofessional.”

“Unprofessional?” Surprise lifts brows before his lips press together in a hard line. “Come with me.” His hand closes over yours, pulling you through the solarium without looking back before you can object.

“Eddie-” you start, but he’s already ushering you into the double doors of the sky theater.

He doesn’t stop as he leads you into the darkness, the room illuminated only by the soft rows of small floor lights as the soaring domed ceiling swirls with violet and periwinkle projections of the starry sky. Ignoring the few others milling around, he tugs you into the privacy of the shadows, finally releasing your hand. In the orchid-tinged light, his stare holds a depth that's hard to look away from. “This isn’t business, doll. You mean every–” he swallows, “you’re my closest friend.”

“You don’t even know me anymore, Eddie.” Your head shakes, silently begging him to understand.

His hands move to grip your shoulders. “There are some things that time can’t change.”

“It can’t happen again,” you state in a firm voice, taking a step back and widening the gap between you.

He shoves his hands into his pockets, waiting as a couple meanders past, pointing out Cassiopeia. “Then what do you propose?”

“I’ll finish the articles.”

“And then?”

“And then everything goes back to the way it was. I'm sure we'll cross paths from time to time.” The words emerge on a strained breath, tightness seizing your lungs. “It’s for the best.”

“That’s not good enough,” he counters, the shake of his head cutting through the dim light. “I want you in my life.”

“I don’t know if I can do that.”

“You can.” He inches closer, blowing out a sigh. “Look, it was my fault. Be my friend. Draw that line, and we won’t cross it. I know you’re still pissed at me, but we can work through it.” His voice falters, the earlier resolve in his eyes melting into a plea. “Aren’t you tired of carrying all this around inside of you?”

His question softens the tension in your chest, suggesting a sliver of peace you hadn't known you were seeking. Maybe the scars etched on your heart for so long have also shielded it from joy. You swallow the lump in your throat, offering an almost imperceptible nod.

“Can you try for me?” he pleads.

“I can’t make you any promises,” you nod again, more sure this time. “But I’ll try.”

His thumb gently traces the side of your face before his arms circle you, pulling you close against him—the scent of vanilla and clove clings to his jacket. Under your cheek, the fabric is cool and smooth, tinged with a hint of tobacco, taking you someplace you thought was lost.

“Don’t mark up my suit with that shit you wear all over your face,” he teases, his hold on you not lessening an inch. “It is a rental.”

There is a tentative hopefulness in your newly minted truce with Eddie. Almost as tangible as the pulse of the bass vibrating through the soles of your shoes. His smile, easy and unguarded, lights up his face as he guides you through the sea of finely dressed attendees with a hand resting on your lower back. Stopping to exchange hellos and handshakes with a group of industry professionals who are eager to discuss his Studio opening. He pushes the topic aside in favor of introducing you. With an effortless charm, he leaves no room for doubt about your credentials as a journalist at Stax and suggests the value an interview with you would bring to their clients.

“What?” His eyebrows lift, amusement playing across his features as he catches the pleased look on your face as you tuck a handful of new business cards into your clutch.

“Are you auditioning to be my new publicist?” you tease, your brain already teeming with the new articles his introduction just made a possibility.

The warmth of his laughter is becoming a welcome sound. “I’ll be anything you want, doll,” he offers, the words punctuated by a flirtatious flash of his dimples.

A snort accompanies the roll of your eyes, even as your stomach flutters.

“I’m proud of you, you know? he adds, a soft earnestness in his tone. “I like showing you off.” The tenderness in his expression doesn't waver as he follows you through the solarium. You find your fiancée chatting with a familiar face. A welcome distraction from all things Eddie.

“Dulcita,” Argyle wraps an arm around your shoulders. “Looking bitchin, as always. That dress is killer.”

Laughing, you nod toward his outfit, “Well, I’m just trying to keep up. You look amazing.”

With an exaggerated flourish, he poses with his thumbs stretching the lapels of his periwinkle floral suit before turning to greet Eddie with a handshake.

Steve's hand finds its way to your hip, drawing you near. "I thought I’d lost you. Where'd you disappear to?"

“Just exploring a bit,” you offer, meeting his look with a smile, but his eyes shift past you toward Eddie.

A pretty blonde waitress weaves through the crowd, her tray of fresh drinks catching Eddie's attention. He flags her down with a tilt of his head and a confident wink. “Thanks, sweetheart,” he says, plucking a few glasses from her tray to pass around.

“This event is popping off,” Argyle chimes in, taking a glass and nodding toward Steve. “Congrats, dude. I couldn’t have planned this better myself.”

Eddie extends a glass in your direction. “Doll?”

Steve’s shoulders tense as his stare fills the space between you and Eddie, the sides of his mouth dipping. “Have you eaten?” he asks, his hand tightening slightly on your waist.

For a heartbeat, you just look at him, letting the wave of irritation roll past. Your teeth sink into your lip as you decline Eddie’s offer with a shake of your head.

Eddie's face tightens, a flash of restrained agitation crossing his features as he retracts the glass and dismisses the waitress with a polite nod. Argyle, shifts uncomfortably, his lips pursed into an O as his gaze skitters across the room.

Turning fully towards Steve with a soft expression, you aim for lightness. “Argyle’s right, you know. It all looks perfect, Steve,” you say, channeling warmth into your words, “Everyone’s having a great time. All your hard work is really paying off.”

Half of his mouth lifts as his gaze wanders over the crowd. “Guess we’ll see on Monday when the final numbers come in. Richard is already pushing to take City Beats national.”

Your face falls, “But that’s...that’s a massive undertaking. You’d have to restructure everything, wouldn’t you?”

Steve nods, his expression turning heavy. “Yeah, it would mean a major overhaul, not just in marketing but across multiple departments. We'd likely need to set up satellite offices in other cities, which means a lot of travel for me. It’s ultimately up to the investors, though.”

“Not too shabby, Harrington,” Argyle says, clapping Steve on the shoulder. “You’re going to be running with the big dogs now.”

The conversation becomes muted as worry knots your stomach. Steve doesn’t seem to realize that his decisions impact more than just his own future. The coming months loom large with late nights and lost weekends. The toll won’t be just the dark circles under his hazel eyes but the shared moments slipping away like water through your fingers. His relentless drive for success and approval is edging him closer to repeating his father's mistakes—becoming distant, hollow, bitter. Pouring himself into work to the point of exhaustion, neglecting those he loves, just as he was once neglected. You can't just watch as he loses himself, not when you see the signs, feel the strain.

“Come on, Ace, smile for me. This is a good thing.” Steve says with a soft tone as his lips find your temple.

“I know that, and I’m so proud of you,” you manage, lifting your cheeks in the look of adorement he hopes to see. “You work so hard. I just worry.”

His hand shifts to cradle your jaw, tipping your chin to meet his gaze. “It will be fine, I promise. I’ll take some time before things really ramp up,” he reassures, the corners of his hopeful eyes crinkling. “Maybe for a honeymoon?”

“Sounds like someone is trying to think of excuses to get out of the actual work,” Nancy’s voice slices through the moment, her arrival almost as commanding as the deep plum of her silk dress that clings and flows in all the right places, complementing her sleek dark hair.

“A national campaign?” Jonathan steps beside Nancy, his narrow tie and vintage-cut suit making him look straight from the 1950s. “You might as well give back the ring now. Sounds like he’s already married to his work,” he leans toward you, cupping his mouth like a secret, earning him a chuckle from the rest of the group.

Ignoring him, Steve directs his attention to Nancy with a self-assured smirk. “Thanks for showing up, Nance. Wouldn’t want you to miss the moment Second City leaves Spectrum behind for the history books."

Her eyes narrow as her arms cross over her slender body, “That’s adorable, Steve, really. But the idea that your little radio project outshines a whole TV network? Please..”

Steve lets out a snort as his hands move to his hips. “Last I checked, Spectrum's sprawling empire was one channel.”

“We're thinking of expanding,” her voice is as smooth as silk as she examines her nails.

“With the tech we’re developing for on-demand music, who’s going to need cable?”

“If you can manage–”

“If I may suggest putting away the rulers,” Argyle’s voice rises above their bickering, “It’s Steve’s party, and I think we’ve had enough dick measuring for the evening.”

“Fine,” Nancy agrees as she holds Steve's stare, matching his smug expression, “I’ll concede. Congratulations on your accomplishments, Steve.”

“Appreciated,” Steve says, with a tip of his chin.

“But let's be clear,” Nancy adds, unable to help herself, “my dick is still bigger.”

Argyle groans as Jonathan's eyes roll skyward. Eddie takes a gulp of champagne, trying to stem his laughter.

“Where’s Robin?” you ask, cutting off whatever retort Steve was planning before it has a chance to leave his mouth, “Didn’t she ride with you guys?”

“She took off at the coat check with Jessie J—something about a twerking tutorial,” Jonathan explains, looking confused as he tucks his hands in his pockets.

Nancy's laugh tinkles with mischief. “Trust me, it's a sight. Robin insists she's better.”

“Well, I’m not missing that,” Eddie says, polishing off his drink, “I’ll catch you all later.” He turns and leaves your group, placing his empty glass on a waiter's tray as he walks past.

As he melts into the crowd, Nancy's gaze shifts to Richard making his way toward your circle. Her smile tightens ever so slightly, “Oh god. Is that Richard Kingsley?” she asks Steve. “I thought he’d have retired by now, off riding a golf cart in Florida.”

“No such luck.” Steve mutters under his breath, “Play nice, please.”

“I’m always nice,” she whispers before she plasters on her grin, “Richard.”

Richard approaches with a practiced smile, extending his hand to Nancy. “Nancy Wheeler, Spectrum’s shining star in the digital domain, or so I’ve been told. They’ve certainly sent us their best tonight. How’s the world of content directing? ”

“Actually, Richard,” Steve quickly corrects, his voice firm yet courteous as he positions himself alongside Nancy, “Vice President of Content Strategy. Nancy’s been leading the charge there for over a year now.”

Richard's smile doesn't falter as he turns to Nancy. "My apologies, Nancy. I’m sure it's a well-deserved promotion.” She offers him a polite smile that doesn’t quite meet her eyes as he continues, “Your insights at the conference in New York were…enlightening. It's always good to have industry leaders like yourself in attendance.”

As if on cue, a junior staff photographer weaves through the crowd. Richard snaps his finger at him, seizing the opportunity, "Let's capture this moment, shall we? A picture for the company archives.”

“Better him than me,” Jonathan mutters as the staffer directs the group a few feet away, ensuring the City Beats Logo will frame the background of the photo. Richard positions himself at the center, patting at the shine of his red face with a handkerchief before draping an arm over each of their shoulders.

“That’s depressing,” Jonathan snorts, watching the setup. “Well, I'm off to find a drink that matches my cynicism,” he adds, taking the opportunity to slip away, leaving you alone with Argyle.

“So,” The sweetness of pineapple and weed hit your nose as Argyle leans over your shoulder, his breath warm against your ear, “It looks like you and Eddie sorted out your shit, huh?”

“We’re tolerating each other,” you tell him without turning your head.

“I don’t know, man,” he muses, his eyes narrowing, “Tolerance was not the look on your face when you walked in here with him.”

A huff escapes your throat as you whip around to face him. “I’m interviewing him, remember?” you ask, trying to keep defensiveness out of your voice. “I'm just trying to be…pleasant.”

“You can tell yourself whatever you need to,” he adds, concern written across his face. “But from where I’m standing, you look like you’re in way over your head.”

The words die in your throat as Eddie reappears, weaving through the crowd with the grace of someone used to navigating this kind of affair. In one hand, he balances a plate arranged with an assortment of canapes and sushi, each piece a miniature work of art. His deep brown eyes keenly focused on you. “Eat something, doll,” he suggests, handing the plate over to you.

That feeling wells up in your stomach as you purse your lips, trying not to let your mouth stretch too big in front of Argyle, although he probably has picked up on the heat rising to your face. “Thanks,” you say shyly, accepting the plate.

“I’ll snag one,” Argyle reaches toward your plate with two fingers.

Eddie brows lower. “You can get your own, they’re not charging.”

“Sheesh, I know, dude. They're from my restaurant,” Argyle informs him.

“Then you know exactly where to get more,” Eddie counters.

“Did you find Robin?” you ask, changing the subject. “Was she twerking?”

“Yeah, I caught the tail end of it. And I’ll never unsee it,” his genuine laughter fills the space. “I think it’s burned into my retinas.”

“Mrs. Harrington," comes the voice of a junior staffer materializing beside you with such abruptness that the plate nearly slips from your grasp. "They want you in the photo now.”

“Umm, sure,” you say, glancing to where Steve is standing with Nancy, laughing at something she said. Eddie takes the plate from you, his easy smile from earlier erased by the downturn of his lips.

Smoothing down your skirt, you follow the photographer, consciously relaxing the clench of your jaw over how you were addressed. Steve’s eyes sparkle with warmth as he makes space for you between himself and Nancy, Richard positioned at the end. The clear happiness on his face eases your irritation. His hand finds a place on your ribs, pulling you into his side before the photographer directs you where to look.

“Very nice,” Richard comments with a nod after the flash goes off.

“One for your company Christmas card,” Nancy quips, throwing a look in Steve's direction.

Richard, not missing a beat, turns to you both. “Yes, well, it’s always a pleasure, Ms. Wheeler. I hope you enjoy the party,” he says before shifting to Steve. “Ready to give the investors a tour, my boy? They’ve had their share of drinks. Should be just about softened up for you now.”

“I’ll be right with you, Richard.” Steve waves him off, his eyes softening as he looks down at you, “You going to be okay on your own for a while, Ace?”

“Absolutely,” you tell him, rising to your toes to plant a kiss on his cheek. “You’re going to kill it, handsome.”

The side of his mouth tips up as you use your thumb to wipe away the gloss you left behind. “How did I get so lucky?” he wonders aloud, his gaze locked on yours. Leaning in, he captures your lips with his in a kiss that lingers a beat too long for a public place.

“I'll find you later.” Regret clouds his eyes as he pulls back, slipping on the professional mask he wears far too often. He walks away with Richard in tow.

“I better go find Jonathan,” Nancy tells Argyle and Eddie as you rejoin your friends, “or he’ll end up in a corner talking politics all night, and I made him promise me that he’d dance with me for at least one song.”

“You can sign me up for one too, Wheeler,” Eddie says, popping a piece of sushi in his mouth. “No arm twisting required.”

“I’m going to hold you to that, Munson,” she promises, pointing a playful finger at him before turning to leave, her dress swirling behind her.

“You, Eddie Muson, volunteering to dance,” you tease, your expression mockingly shocked. “Now I’ve seen everything.”

“Play your cards right, doll, and I’ll show you up close and personal,” Eddie says, his eyebrows dancing as he offers you a canapé.

“That’s alright, Eddie. I’ve got my regular dance partner right here, right Argyle?” you say, looping your arm through his.

“Yeah... yup,” Argyle murmurs, his attention momentarily snagged by a tall brunette striding past. She sweeps a waterfall of silky hair over her shoulder, pretending not to notice him, but the extra sway added to her hips says otherwise.

“Solo dame una noche con ese culo y te haré mami, querida,” Argyle calls after her, untangling himself from your arm.

“Traitor,” you accuse, watching him go with a shake of your head as he follows after her without a backward glance.

“Ve por ella, amigo,” Eddie encourages with a booming laugh.

Turning back to you, he rocks on his heels, a smirk playing on his lips. “Looks like it’s just you and me, doll.”

“Yeah, well, you don’t have to look so happy about it,” you chide when his dimples make an appearance, sending the rusted chains around your heart rattling when it jumps under your ribs. Maybe Argyle wasn’t too far off the mark.

A brisk wind cuts across the dark surface of Lake Michigan. The City Beats logo burns bright in yellow neon, its light spilling over the outdoor stage and dancing across the water’s surface in a rotation of colors. Despite the press of bodies, warmth is scarce, with the night air nipping at any exposed skin. Before you can even think of shivering, Eddie drapes his suit jacket over your shoulders, the fabric holding the residual warmth of his body. He stands close beside you, seemingly unfazed by the cool temperature, as Maroon 5 concludes their set.

The crowd sways as one, heads bobbing in sync with the rhythm pulsing into the chilly evening. The spice of Eddie's cologne is a veil around you, drawing you closer into his orbit. Glancing his way, you expect his attention to be on the show, eyes tracking each note and chord. Instead, you find the intensity of his gaze fixed on you.

As the song ends with the band offering their thanks, the MC dashes on stage to announce the next performer. With a tip of his chin, Eddie motions for you to follow him. Together, you squeeze through the crowd, walking along the path at the lake's edge until the sea of people begins to thin, their noise fading into a distant murmur until it's just the two of you left, accompanied by the quiet hush of waves lapping against the bank.

He stops, gazing out over the water, city lights dancing in his eyes. “I almost forgot how your face changes when you listen to music. It’s like the lyrics break right through, lighting you up from the inside.”

“My one true love,” you respond with a wistful sigh, giving him a shrug.

“Oh yeah?” He turns toward you, inching a bit closer to reach into the breast pocket of the suit jacket enveloping your shoulders. He pulls out a tightly rolled joint, eyeing you with a raised brow. “What’s with all the ‘Mrs. Harrington’ business?” he asks, placing the joint between his lips and fishing a brass Zippo from his pants pocket. “Did you get married and forget to invite me?”

Your eyes flash skyward as he lights it with a practiced flick and takes a deep drag. “I don’t know...Steve encourages it. I think it’s his way of reminding me he’s waiting for me to set a date.”

He passes you the joint and blows out a lung full of white smoke that swirls into the night air. “You have left the poor sap waiting for a while.”

“I don’t want to talk about my relationship with you, Eddie,” you say, flicking the ash off the burning paper's end before pressing it to your lips and inhaling.

“Why not?” His gaze probes, seeking an opening, a slip, anything. “Friends talk about their relationships, don’t they?”

You can’t help but cough, the potency of the smoke catching you off guard. “You know exactly why not,” you retort, passing the joint back to him. A soft fog settles over your thoughts, smoothing out the evening’s sharpness. “And you? Volunteering to help with the guest list...” You eye him skeptically, “Trying to ease your conscience?”

He chuckles, shaking his head as he takes another hit, “It was only a couple of texts, doll,” he says, passing the joint back to you, his fingers brushing yours. “Trust me, I sleep just fine at night. What’s between you and me started long before Steve entered the picture.”

"Well, he’s here now," you assert with defiance, your gaze locked with Eddie's as the joint burns down in your fingers.

His fingers wrap around your wrist, guiding your left hand into the streetlamp's glow until the diamond on your finger flashes. "I guess he is. But doll," he steps closer, his eyes holding yours, "so am I."

“Yeah? Let’s wait and see if you stick around this time.” Your skepticism is clear as you bring the joint back to your lips, watching his face fall with your pointed words.

“So this is where the cool kids hang out,” Hopper’s gruff voice cuts into the night, anchoring you back to reality. Eddie takes a step away from you, his hands tugging on the ends of his curls. Hopper’s eyes narrow on the joint between your fingers. “Really think it’s wise to smoke grass at a work function?”

“I promise not to operate any heavy machinery,” you respond in a dry tone, blowing out a cloud of smoke.

The older man’s eyes shoot skyward before he holds out an expectant hand, “Give it here.”

You hand it over, and the burning paper crackles as he takes a practiced drag, “Are you going to introduce me?”

“Sorry. Yeah,” you rub your forehead, “James Hopper, this is my…um, friend, Eddie Munson.” Eddie leans forward, reaching out to shake hands as you quickly explain, “Hopper’s my editor.” The steadiness in your voice doesn’t quite bridge the awkward moment.

Eddie’s brows raise as Hopper’s hand closes over his in a crushing grip. “Hell of a grip,” Eddie comments with a question written across his face.

“A handshake is a good measure of man,” Hopper offers him no other explanation, handing him back the smoking joint before turning to you. “I expect a write-up of the launch on my desk by 10:30 tomorrow for the digital edition. And don’t skimp on the details about the radio service. Downtown is keen on pushing this, so I hope you paid attention.”

“No problem, Hop. I’m on it,” you assure him.

“Now, I’m going home to Joyce. If she gets a whiff of this on me, I’m sending her your way.”

“You’ll be in the clear,” you promise with a soft grin.

Hopper's stern demeanor gives way to something gentler. “Alright,” he says with a nod, “Enjoy your evening, kid.” His eyes dart to Eddie. “But not too much.”

“Jesus, that’s your editor?” Eddie asks once Hopper is out of sight. “The guy missed his calling, he would’ve made a great cop.”

Your laughter accompanies the dismissive shake of your head. “We better go back inside.”

The walk back is steeped in quiet, the night’s emotions a heavy weight that weaves threads of weariness and a dull ache through your limbs. Eddie appears less burdened, wearing an expression of contentment, his hand slipping beneath the fabric of his jacket still resting over your shoulders. The warmth of his palm seeps into the bare skin of your back while his thumb traces soothing circles along your spine. Carried in on a breeze, the earthy spice of late-blooming asters mingle with the vibrant colors of marigolds softened under the glowing canopy of string lights.

As you near the terrace, the murmur of voices grows, and the sparse groups of people along the pathway thicken to a full gathering. The shift from the lake’s tranquility to the party's bright lights and crescendo of conversations is jarring. The solarium overflows with party-goers, their inhibitions loosened by drinks as they flood the dance floor, the music swelling louder and more insistent than before. Despite the sea of people, it takes only moments for Steve’s gaze to lock onto yours across the room as you reenter with Eddie by your side.

Without hesitation, he leaves the conversation he'd been having and moves toward you. The corners of your mouth lift in a greeting that isn’t returned. His forehead creases with a question. The air seems thicker as you slide the jacket off, returning it to Eddie, the tightness in your chest reappearing. Steve's jaw clenches as he reaches you, his arm circling your waist. “I’ll take my fiance back now, Munson.”

Eddie’s smirk sharpens as he hooks his jacket over one shoulder, “Just keeping an eye on her for you, buddy. Couldn’t leave the lady alone with all these musicians wandering around.” He leans closer, his free hand circling his mouth, “They tend to get a little handsy.”

"Thanks, pal," Steve replies, the last word stretched tight as he stands taller. “I’ll take it from here.”

Eddie’s gaze drops to his feet momentarily before his head lifts. Amusement widens his grin, reflecting a confidence that borders on smug. His feet shuffle as he adjusts his posture to match Steve’s. A twist of nerves tightens your stomach as a spark that you know all too well brightens Eddie’s eyes like an echo of the cocky teenager he once was.

“How about that dance you promised me, handsome?” you blurt, cutting Eddie off just as his mouth opens to respond. Stepping between them, you intertwine your fingers with Steve's and tug him toward the dance floor. As if on cue, the music mellows to a slower tempo.

Steve’s stare remains on Eddie as his arms circle your waist. “You know, it’s funny, I never realized what a dick Eddie is.”

Your head turns to see Eddie watching you with hands shoved in his pocket. “You barely spoke to him all night. What led you to that conclusion?”

Robin bops over to meet him, her blue eyes gleaming as she tugs at his arm, trying to coax him into a dance despite his shaking head.

“I don’t know. The guy is just rubbing me the wrong way,” Steve doesn’t hide the irritation in his voice as he turns you so you’re facing away from them.

A burst of protectiveness that has been dormant since high school wells up like a hot spring. The words escape before your better judgment can catch them. “Really. Are you sure it’s not because he’s my friend?”

The mossy green rings of his eyes burn into yours for only a moment before he blows out a soft breath. “Let’s not fight.” His big hand slides down to rest low on your back as he pulls you closer. “I’ve been waiting to get you alone all night,” he says into your ear before his mouth covers yours hotly, leaving you whirling with his quick change. “Where have you been all night, Ace?”

One side of his mouth lifts in a half-smile, but his confident mask slips. Behind his eyes, he’s lost—the familiarity tugs at you. Rising on your toes, you press your lips to his. “I’m right here.”

His expression softens, radiating a comforting warmth as his lips brush your temple. The rhythm of the song wraps around you both like a truce. Burying your cheek into Steve’s shoulder, your gaze follows Eddie as he turns his back and heads for the door.

Steve leans closer to the bathroom mirror, his fingertips shiny with the pomade he's using to piece out the strands of his chestnut hair.

“Don’t forget your glasses,” you remind him, turning away from the open doorway and entering your bedroom.

“Or the tickets,” you toss out, noticing the white envelope on his night table.

“What would I do without you, Ace?” His voice floats from the bathroom, light and teasing.

Settling at the end of your bed, you pick up the novel you started recently, the book's weight familiar in your lap. Seeing Steve so relaxed and happy broadens your smile. He deserves this night out to blow off a little steam. City Beats' launch exceeded every expectation. A success that's finally turned the heads of the old guard at Second City toward the efforts of their youngest executive. Of course, memories are short, and victories are fleeting.

Steve's workload hasn't lessened, and the prospect of taking the platform national is still on the horizon, but you've set aside any misgivings, at least for now. It’s been a week since you surprised him with the Bulls tickets during his birthday dinner at Maple and Ash, Steve’s favorite, surrounded by your closest friends–with one empty chair at the table when Eddie hadn’t shown.

“Sure you don’t want to come? I still have an extra ticket,” He asks, emerging through the pocket doors separating your bedroom from the closet. Securing his Jaeger-Lecoultre watch to his wrist, the scent of Dior Homme follows him.

You glance down at your cozy leggings and cream wrap sweater. “I’ve got big plans tonight, handsome.” You hold up the book against your chest. “Didn’t anyone from your pick-up game want the ticket? Or those guys you play racquetball with?”

“I didn't get a chance to ask until the last minute,” he explains. “Robin called my office about fifty times to harass me about inviting Eddie to the game. It took me all week to get the guy on the phone, and then he turned me down flat.” He shakes his head, walking over to his nightstand to retrieve the tickets.

“I don't think Eddie is much of a sports guy,” you muse, glancing down at your fingers, folding and unfolding a dog-eared page. “He used to say he didn't have time for throwing balls into laundry baskets. He’d go on and on about the unfairness of high school politics.” A quiet laugh escapes your mouth along with the memory. “He could be so dramatic back then.”

When you lift your eyes, Steve's standing frozen in place, the deep line between his brows wiping away his easy demeanor. He's looking at you like he's just found an uninvited stranger in his bed. It’s just a flash before he recovers, his features returning to the affectionate expression he usually carries for you, but it was enough. The parts of yourself you keep hidden loom like an iceberg–he’s just spotted the tip. You draw your knees to your chest, wrapping your arms around yourself.

“Yeah?” He pauses, the air between you thickening as a hint of challenge colors his voice. “That’s a little weird considering he got us seats at a Lakers game last time I was in LA.”

The silence stretches just a moment longer. “Guess he’s not the same guy you knew back in Hawkins. But then again, none of us are, right?” He lets the question hover, knowing an answer isn’t coming. “People change,” he shrugs, his gaze intense and probing. “Or maybe we just never really knew them at all.”

He steps closer and leans in, his lips brushing the corner of your mouth in a kiss that punctuates the conversation. His tone, sharp and heavy like a dull knife, cuts deep as he turns to leave. “Enjoy your book.”

“Wait.” You slip off the bed, bridging the gap between you. Your fingers tangle in the material of his shirt, drawing him closer until your lips meet his, adding pressure until his arms circle your waist and he kisses you back. His embrace grows warmer as your tongue slides into his mouth, grazing his before pulling back, making him chase you, and he does. You break away but keep him close, his forehead pressed against yours, his breath a warm whisper as his nose runs along your cheek. “Have fun, okay?” you murmur against his lips as his hands slide up and down your back. “Knock back a few. Yell at the Ref. Get Jonathan drunk enough to annoy Nancy.”

He chuckles, a smile lifting his cheeks. “You got it, Ace.” His eyes close as his lips find yours again. “I love you.”

"I love you too, Steve," you whisper, your fingers uncurling from his shirt as you let him go. He takes your hand as you follow him downstairs. He opens the front door to a car waiting at the curb, the driver hoping out to open the backdoor.

“I’ll see you in a few hours.” He smiles, picking up his keys from the small table.

The cold air rushes in from outside, and you pull your sweater tighter around your neck. Watching him step through the door, you call out, “Happy Birthday, handsome.”

As you close the door, Steve pauses on the landing with a thoughtful look crossing his face. “You know, now that I think about it, Eddie didn’t stop yapping that entire game. Maybe you’re right after all. The guy just doesn’t like sports.”

You give a noncommittal shrug, your fingers tightening around the edge of the door. "What did you talk about?"

“Can’t remember,” he shakes his head, resuming his descent down the steps. You watch for a moment longer before closing the door and latching the deadbolt.

With a sigh, you turn back to the now quiet house. The soft pad of your fluffy socks muffles your footsteps as you drift through the rooms, dimming the overhead lights to let the warmer glow of lamps bathe the space in a comforting light. You head to the kitchen, grabbing the remote from the counter. At the press of a button, the scratch of a guitar and a gravelly voice fill the silence, as comforting as an old friend.

You mouth the lyrics as you reach for a wine glass from the cupboard. With a practiced motion, you uncork a bottle of red, filling your glass halfway, only to keep going until it's right to the brim. The song shifts as you leave the kitchen, glass in hand, taking a sip, the rich flavors of dark fruit and spice mingling perfectly, soothingly. Sinking into the couch, you tip your head back against the cushion, letting the music and the stillness envelop you. Your eyes close, the lyrics weaving a soothing spell, chasing dark thoughts away.

The peace is predictably short-lived. A buzz jolts you. The phone tucked into your leggings vibrates with an incoming call. You try to ignore it, letting it ring to voicemail, but it buzzes again—this time a text. With a resigned huff, you pull it out and unlock the screen with a click.

Missed Call – Eddie

Eddie: Your neighbors don’t complain when you play music that loud?

You blink down at the screen and then lift your gaze to the room's dark corners.

Eddie: Don’t get freaked out. Just come to the door.

Pushing off the couch, you pad through the house to the front door and open it to the chilly November night. A brisk gust of wind blows down your street, swirling dried red and orange leaves around Eddie's black leather boots, where he stands at the base of your steps, bathed in the soft glow of the sconces flanking your door.

His hands are shoved into the pockets of dark-fitted jeans, a cozy half-zip sweater in deep charcoal hugging his broad chest. He looks up at you from under his long lashes, head slightly cocked to the side. “I tried the bell.” His head turns to the street as a passing car splashes water up from the wet pavement. “What kind of sound system is that? I thought Chris was in there with you for a second.”

Wrapping your arms around your chest, your fingers gently rub the fabric of your sweater as you ignore the surrealness of Eddie casually referring to Chris Cornell by his first name. “What are you doing here? Steve's not home.”

“I know. I thought the guy would never leave. How long does it take him to do his hair, anyway?”

“It’s not funny, Eddie. You can’t come in.” You glance down the street to see your neighbor, leash in hand, appear in the circle of light cast by the streetlamp.

“I don’t want to come in, doll. We’re going out. And we're late, so if you could light a fire under it.” Eddie’s lips press into a hard line as your neighbor passes him on the sidewalk, giving him the once-over, the poodle pausing to sniff his legs.

“Evening, Mr. Davis," you acknowledge with a wave as the man continues down the street, shaking his head. You turn back to Eddie, frustration evident in your tone. "I can't go anywhere. I'm not even dressed.”

Eddie raises an eyebrow, assessing your attire. “Those look like clothes to me.”

Your head tilts to the side, your expression unwavering.

He glances at the sky and lets out a frustrated sigh before his gaze returns to you. “You look beautiful, doll. Now, please. Just grab your coat,” he implores, his hands pressing together in front of him. “ I promise to have you back before you turn into a pumpkin.”

Your eyes lower to where your toes are wiggling in your socks, “Eddie, I–”

“Well, I could always just hang out here,” he muses, scratching at the scruff on his chin. “Might get awkward when the game lets out.”

“You're not serious,” you challenge, skepticism evident in your tone.

“Oh, aren't I?” he asks, cocking a brow as he crosses his arms over his chest. “Friends hang out together, don’t they?”

“Fine,” you fume. “But I better be back in plenty of time.” You catch the way his smile broadens as you turn back into the house to slip on a pair of boots and grab an old woolen peacoat off the hook by the door. Stepping out onto the stone landing of your brownstone, you hesitate, shooting him another look of apprehension before turning to lock the door.

“Christ, woman, was that so difficult?” He throws his hands in the air as he crosses the street to a shiny black Audi Q7 parked at the curb. With a wave of his hand, he opens the passenger door, beckoning you to climb inside.

The bare branches of the trees sway with the wind, casting moving shadows against the shining asphalt painted with the last of the fallen leaves. You walk across the road to where he’s waiting and step into the SUV. You sink into the plush seat, the smell of leather, smoke, and his cologne assaulting your senses. It's the same scent that seemed to linger for days after your last visit to CursedSound, the one your guilt tried to erase.

Your hands worry themselves in your lap, twisting the diamond on your fourth finger while you wait for him to round the vehicle. The agreement about keeping the lines drawn is fresh in your mind as he climbs into the driver's seat.

Without warning, he leans over you, the warmth of his body invading your space, the pout of his full bottom lip hovering inches from yours. The sharp intake of your breath echoes loudly in the vehicle's quiet confines.

“Seatbelt,” he reminds you, his big brown eyes dancing with amusement as he drags the strap across your shoulder and clicks it into position at your hip.

Heat rises up your neck, burning your cheeks as he settles himself in his seat, strapping in before pressing the button that starts the ignition.

“Shit.” His face falls as he glares at the glowing numbers on his dash. He turns the wheel, lurching the Audi onto the roadway. Your neighborhood disappears in a blur as he turns and heads north. “And I thought LA traffic was bad,” he mutters, weaving in and out of stagnant lanes.

The congestion loosens as he turns onto Lakeshore Drive, heading uptown. The moon hangs low, presiding over the rippling waters of Lake Michigan that stretch out into the night. A vast, dark canvas that reflects the tapestry of light from the towering buildings across the roadway rises to pierce the skyline.

Music from Eddie’s phone plays at a low volume through the stereo. It serves to fill the quiet between you, but there’s something in the clash of the electric guitar and smooth bass that's an itch in your brain. Familiar like a half-remembered dream, but somehow still new.

Your eyes steal glances to your left. His profile fades in and out of shadow with the passing headlights. The sharp line of his jaw tightens with a clench when he’s forced to slow his speed. The baby softness he used to carry in high school has given way to solid angles and the perpetual growth of stubble. There’s no denying it– he’s only gotten more attractive.

His head turns suddenly, catching your stare. Your throat clears as you reach for the knob, turning up the volume and letting the song replace anything about to be said. His hand moves from the gear shift to his thigh, his elegant fingers flexing against his jeans. Your eyes stay fixed on the taillights ahead as the song moves into its final refrain.

"Wait." You reach out to punch the back button, restarting the song. "This is you."

His eyebrows lift in surprise, his mouth parting slightly. "How did you—"

"I’m right, aren’t I?" you interject, pointing at the dash, focusing on the distinct chord progression and the sound of fingers sliding over frets.

"Yeah, it's something I’ve been working on for a while,” he admits, looking at you with soft eyes. “Still trying to figure out a part that's missing."

"I didn’t realize you still played," you comment, adjusting the volume again.

“I don’t know why you're surprised,” he says, reaching back to place his hand on your headrest as he smoothly backs the SUV into a space, turning the wheel to align with the curb. “I don't give up on the things I care about.” He shifts into park and turns off the ignition. “Come on.” His hand lands on your knee in a gentle squeeze. “We’re here.”

Exiting the car, you step onto the empty side street. Ambient light filters down from the high windows of the brick buildings lining both sides of the street. A nondescript bus with blackened windows and a few other cars sit parked at the curb. This is exactly the kind of place you'd normally avoid after dark. Sighing, you round the car to where Eddie is waiting. His hand finds its way to the small of your back, guiding you across the street to a lone, unmarked steel door. With a closed fist, he raps out five quick knocks followed by two slower and turns to you with a grin.

“What are we doing here?” you ask, shoving your hands into your coat pockets and looking up and down the street.

“I’m apologizing.” His words are cut off by the scraping sound of locks, followed by the door swinging open. Bright light spills out, casting a silhouette of a very large, bald man holding a clipboard, nearly obscuring the doorway.

“Can I help you?” booms the man’s voice, reverberating off the surrounding brick.

“I’m on the list,” Eddie says, undeterred.

“Name?” the doorman asks, retrieving a pen from behind his ear.

“Munson,” Eddie responds, glancing at the clipboard. “Edward and guest.”

The man sizes up Eddie with a thorough once-over, his gaze flickers towards you briefly before allowing you both to enter.

Following Eddie, you step inside, the brightness of the overhead fluorescents bouncing off the cinder block walls, causing you to squint after the dimly lit street outside. Flight cases and amp stacks clutter the small vestibule of the venue's loading area. The muffled thrum of a bass line vibrates through the walls and high ceilings.

“You’re cutting it close,” the man grunts, his staff shirt stamped with the Riviera Theater’s logo pulling tight across his chest as he hands Eddie two lanyards with plastic tags.

The sweet sound of a cascade of delicate strings drifts through the air from down the hall opposite you, drawing your attention like a moth to a porch light.

“Is that violins?” Turning toward the sound, tiny sparks ignite in your chest as Eddie slips the lanyard over your head.

“You know the way?” The doorman snaps his clipboard, ignoring your question.

“We’ll find it,” Eddie assures him, his fingers closing around your elbow as he tugs you toward the hallway.

The smile stretching your lips is automatic. Tingles of energy zip through your veins as anticipation builds, like being a kid at Christmas. As the stark fluorescents give way to dimmer bulbs, a murkier haze settles around you, mirroring the anticipation building in your chest. Their soft glow catches the shine of the dark curls resting on Eddie's collar as you trail after him down the maze of narrowing corridors.

Passing by closed doors and bulletin boards tacked with production notes and schedules, you step lightly to avoid the cords snaking across your path. The worn wooden floorboards creak with each step like they are responding to the growing clarity of the strings that now reach your ears, no longer muffled but rich and full.

The baseline of Dreams smooths into its final notes, and applause thunders from the audience. Eddie pauses, his hand resting lightly on your back, guiding you to a halt. You step between him and the canopy of curtains gathered at the stage’s edge, the sounds of the crowd's approval dissipating into the cavernous space. The polished instruments rest in the orchestra’s hands, poised for their next cue. Your hand flies to your mouth as the sight of The Cranberries at center stage fully registers. Dolores O’Riordan’s head turns, catching Eddie’s gaze. With an exasperated look, she taps the watch strapped to her wrist. He mouths a “Sorry,” his head tilting slightly towards you. At that moment, her brown eyes connect with yours. A hint of a smile graces her face before she turns back to the audience, her voice resonating in the stillness, "I was saving this one."

The first sigh of the violin expands with your breath, an arrow soaring through the air, piercing the center of your chest. A thrum of a calloused thumb brushing over the strings of an acoustic guitar accompanies the “Ahhs” of her lilting voice. The harmony is echoed by a cello, then a viola, and another violin, each repetition weaving into the next like a ripple of raindrops on calm water until it all fades into a hush, leaving your stomach swooping in its wake.

The silence shatters with the bold strum of the guitar. The air leaves your lungs in unison with the crashing bassline, the full swell of the strings washing over you like an ocean wave.

If you, if you could return

Don't let it burn

Don't let it fade

In the auditorium's darkness, the audience vanishes until only you and he exist. Eddie stands close, his warmth seeping into you as he presses into you with his shoulder. Clove and tobacco mix with the tang of iron and polished wood. The back of his hand grazes the soft skin of your own, but it’s the stage that holds your attention, pulling you in deeper.

Is that the way we stand?

Were you lying all the time?

Was it just a game to you?

The accompanying musicians close their eyes, becoming extensions of their instruments. Dolores tilts her head, her voice clear and strong, pouring from her slight frame. The music rises through the aged floorboards, tremors of notes climbing your legs and bursting within your chest. Stirring emotions so immense it threatens to spill over as tears sting behind your eyes.

Oh, I thought the world of you

I thought nothing could go wrong

Your head turns and you find Eddie has been watching you the entire time. His throat bobs as he swallows, the bright lights reflecting the shine in his eyes, and now it's you who can't look away. The soft expression he wears is tender and novel. The black lines that have always connected you pull taut, tugging at your heart. Lines that you thought were severed by anger and loneliness.

But I was wrong, I was wrong

But somehow, they’ve remained. Tattered and a little frayed but enduring all the same. At his core, he is who he’s always been, and so are you.

Things wouldn't be so confused

And I wouldn't feel so used

But you always really knew

I just want to be with you

Two souls found each other in the darkness, singing the same song. He brought you here for a reason—he's telling you he's sorry without words, reaching for you through the melody in a way you can't ignore—in a way that matters.

And I'm in so deep

You know I'm such a fool for you

Everything falls away, but the music and your shared heartbeats. Memories flicker, like pages of a faded scrapbook caught in the wind—sunlit and shadowed. The heavy musk of aged velvet curtains shifts into the fresh scent of cut grass and summer nights, the cool touch of lakewater, and the honeyed warmth of sunshine lingering on his skin. Hummed lyrics, shared laughter, the comfort of being by his side. You liked the version of yourself reflected in his eyes.

Recollections you locked away come back in a deluge. Past moments, both sweet and sharp, weave together, softening the edges of old wounds. Each verse, each look from him, peels back layers of hurt you’d clung to. The bitter shell around your heart begins to crack, dislodging the shards within. Lighter now, your wounds can start to mend. The remaining scars are reminders, but a warmth begins to unfurl in their place, reluctant and bewildering. It’s not forgiveness yet, but the possibility is closer for him and for yourself.

You got me wrapped around your finger

Notes spiral upwards, threading through the shadow-laden lattice of ropes and rigging until they dissipate into the darkness above. Under the glare of the stage lights, the harmonies that once defined you rekindle, sparking to life. Your fingers find his with intention, intertwining with deliberate grace, palm to palm, sliding, locked together. Warmth spreads through the both of you. It's unexpected the way lyrics unravel you, making room for something new. Your gaze leaves his, returning to the performance, but you lean into Eddie, your head tipping to rest on his shoulder. The breath releases from his chest in a shuddering sigh. And he feels an awful lot like home.

Do you have to let it linger?

Do you have to, do you have to, do you have to let it linger?

Listen to the acoustic version of Linger here Rest in peace, Delores. Ni bheidh a leitheid ann aris.

Big, huge, giant, hugs and sloppy wet kisses for sticking with me. I know the wait was long. Your encouragement got me through it. Especially Leighanne and Taylor who had to put up with me whining.

All your song suggestions have made this fic so fun to write. Please keep 'em coming.

We are about halfway through, kittens. It's about to get bumpy.

For updates follow @tornupdates

#steve harrington #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #stranger things #eddie munson smut #steve harrington x reader #eddie munson fanfic #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington smut #stranger things fanfic #torn series

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diorcities · 1 year

Text

dumb blond

pairing: park jisung x afab!reader.

genre: smut.

content: jisung's a pervert, oral sex, unprotected sex (jisung pulls out), choking, hair pulling, manhandling, riding, slight cum play.

wc: 1,5k (didn't count this time)

after inviting your boyfriend to your dorm room to keep you company while you were studying, you realized that maybe it wasn't the best decision you've ever made. you had asked him to help memorize the elements of the periodic table, but one thing led to another, and after getting bored, your boyfriend decided to change the rules of the game.

"it could be anything," he says simply. explaining the ways of his guessing game, where you'll get whatever you want if you get the answer right. so he waits, running his fingers over the pages, even when he already knows the answer. how he likes it when you're vocal. "what if i get it wrong?" you want to know. he shrugs. "then i get something."

he leans back against the headboard, making room between his legs for you. facing him, his gaze runs over the notebook.

"bromo."

shit.

he watches you lose your mind, hacking away in bits and pieces in search of the answer. "33?". he clicks his tongue. "too bad, gorgeous," he pities you, "now, strip."

your eyes widen at his words. almost speechless, but thinking about it. your hands go to your shirt, starting to lift the fabric up to the top of your head until you're down to your bra. you catch him looking too much at the exposed area. "atomic mass?" he asks, clearing his throat.

"jisung," you groan, rolling your eyes. he laughs. "you know the rules."

even when you lost at convenience, and getting exactly what you wanted, there was still a desire to win; reluctantly, you pull off your pajama shorts. "let's go on..." he says, but you cut him off. "you forgot the symbol," you remind him. crawling toward him, you say, inches from his face, "gotcha. it's br."

he smiles, satisfied, before you pull him into a kiss, humming softly as you feel his velvety tongue lazily play with yours.

"carbon."

"c," you reply. "atomic number 6." "atomic mass." with each answer, jisung leaves lingering kisses on your lips, until it is impossible to answer. he leans over you, causing his glasses to slide down his septum and hit your forehead gently. "12,011," you add eventually.

"mercury."

"hg. take off your shirt." you don't know if he's doing it on purpose, putting the easiest elements on you so you can guess them. at this point, he's not even looking at the notebook to make sure you're right. it lies open on the bed, oblivious. "atomic number," he asks. in his eyes dances the flame of mischief and amusement. pupils dilate in his crescent eyes as he smiles when he sees that you don't know the answer. "lie down on the bed." you do as he asks, watching him hover over you.

"antimony."

"ji...," you wail. "you should know better. you've been studying since the afternoon," he suddenly excuses himself. "i don't know," you admit, giving up. a smirk of victory appears briefly on the boy's face before he leans over you. you close your eyes as you feel his warm breath impact your skin, which reacts to the act impulsively. his lips leave a trail of random kisses all over your naked body. "iodine," he asks now, and because your mind is completely blank, you cannot respond.

you hear jisung chuckle lightly, feeling his smile on your skin, before his hands travel to your back, which arches at his intentions, freeing your bra.

"boro." his fingers brush the lower area of your breasts, frolicking. your skin bristles at his fingers, desperate for him to finally touch you. in a lucid moment, the fog in your head from the carousel of emotions disperses. "b."

"tell me what you want," he pronounces. his voice has become thick and husky, his brown eyes consumed in their entirety by his black pupil. you take his hand between yours, curling your palm around his index and middle finger, bringing his hand right where you want it.

jisung holds your chest, contemplating your bristling skin, before beginning to trace patterns on the sensitive surface.

"aluminum." his movements stop, and it's complete torture. your mouth feels dry and you feel dazed for a few seconds. "shit... a?" you try. jisung purses his lips and slowly denies “al, atomic mass 26.981539." he moves closer to you, and you think he's going to kiss you, but his lips drop down and miss yours before you feel his wet mouth around your nipple. you let out a gasp, as your hands shoot up into his hair. his head makes light movements as his teeth gently bite your skin. his kisses move to the next, using his hand to caress your other breast as his mouth does wonders for your sanity.

"ji..." you whisper, feeling your body beg for his. his face pulls away from your chest and down, and down, and down. "hydrogen," he says, and you know he's letting you have it easy. when your mouth utters an answer you're no longer sure is right or wrong, you add, "take off your pants."

you see him turn away from you to do as you ask. your gaze sweeps over his slender figure, before stopping on the bulge that is marked on his underwear, threatening to rip the fabric of his pants. your body moves out of self-consciousness, pulling you closer to him. jisung holds still as you scatter kisses across his lower abdomen. your eyes seek his gaze, already contemplating you from above. his thumb caresses your cheek as you decide to release his length, which hits his stomach, erect.

shit, you never get tired of admiring it.

jisung's hands go to your hair. on his wrist lies your hair tie, which he uses to put your hair into a messy ponytail. your heart skip a beat when you remember the other times he did the same because he has a thing for your hair tied up when he's fucking you.

"put it in your mouth," he encourages you, "i know you can." and that's all he has to say, for you to wrap your mouth around his cock using your hand to make circles each time it goes in and out. you bob your head up and down, hearing the little husky sounds jisung makes, urging you to keep doing it. his length jolts slightly as you pull it out of your mouth, making jisung moan in disagreement. you don't have time to react as he hovers over you and pushes you onto the bed, pressing your back against the mattress.

you see him hold his member in his hand, while the other remains holding your thigh, to one side of his hip. you feel it press on your entrance, a current shakes your body. your eyes roll to the back of your head as he pushes into your hips slowly, his cock expanding you for him. your arousal allows it to enter easily, stopping momentarily, and you are already seeing stars. your legs wrap around his back, pulling him towards you. jisung buries himself deeper, and your body reacts by arching. mouth open letting out a choked moan. his hand goes to your neck, squeezing slightly. you hear him laugh. "i haven't even started and you're already like this." before gently thrusting into you. “do you want it all, gorgeous?” he asks, and you nod two, three, four times. you want to feel it all complete. you want all of him.

jisung's lunges make you see galaxies. he penetrates you again and again, with harsh and hungry movements. his grip keeps you firm under him, as he destroys you with every thrust of his hips. touching the sweet spot of your pussy, without ease. he grunts and breathes, squeezing the soft flesh of your thigh, holding it at an angle that gives him more access to your abused cunt. your mouth produces nonsense sounds, brainwashed. an electric current whipping through your senses, skin-deep, before he stops. his hands turn you around effortlessly. you blink dazedly and lethargic, feeling his teeth bite into your ass cheek before he aligns on you again. you smile blissfully as he grabs your hair and continues to pounce on you, pressing your hips into him, he pushes you down, placing you in the position he pleases. you support your weight with your hands, burying your head in the mattress as jisung burrows into your cervix.

his rhythmic thrusts change pace, fucking you with slow, hard strokes. his moans accompanying his movements. yours join. feeling faint from the exhilarating sensations, desperate, eager for more. you start to move your hips against his. the impact clouds your senses and sends spasms through your extremities. "do you want to ride it?" you nod awkwardly. you almost squirm as he pulls himself out of your heat, but you fall silent as he sits next to you, waiting. you climb up on your hindquarters as best you can, swinging one leg over his waist. jisung helps you balance on him. aligning his cock his with your entrance. he glided hastily, moaning in sync.

you kiss the soft skin of his shoulders and neck, while you feel his arms around your waist. the feeling of him completely inside you is so intense and overwhelming, that it causes you to tighten your legs around his hips instinctively. your walls contract and jisung jerks his head back, before you begin to rock your hips, eventually bobbing up and down.

jisung holds you while he looks at you from below, your body in a desirable and sensual swing. he swears his vision blurs when he watches you. your face contracts before the carousel of delight that you are sharing. observing him moan for you, closing his eyes because the feeling is so overwhelming, but opening them again because he doesn't want to lose an instant of you, drinking in your sight.

"shit… ji, 'mgonna c-cum." your nails dig into his skin. his mouth finds your jaw and neck, and he sucks gently, marking you as his. "fu-uck, me too." his confession only makes you move faster. your moan dies in his mouth as he kisses you, before leaning back to get a better view of your hips colliding with his. the act allows you to lean back, holding on to his legs, bouncing mercilessly on his dick. feeling your muscles tense more and more. feeling a tingle followed by your mind clouding over and your walls tightening by wrapping up his length.

you hear jisung growl, and it's all you need to release in shock waves. a current bathes your body as you reach your climax, and spasms attack you in waves as you don't stop moving your hips, stimulating the sensitive zone. you feel jisung tense under your weight, finally reaching his orgasm. you take out his member that squirms as he empties his seed on himself. you use your hand to stimulate him as he cum, hearing him hiss at the sensation. with slow, firm strokes, you milk his cock for him until the boy is a bundle of soft moans. his length falls limp on your pelvic crease. you lick the residue from your fingers and do the same with his cock tenderly, savoring the taste of him.

jisung invites you to lie on his chest, welcoming you warmly as you listen to the erratic beating of his heart, becoming calmer and calmer. "even though i love this plot development, i still have to study for my test," you mutter, "how am i supposed to say that the atomic mass of aluminum is 26.98?" you remember, getting up to take your notebook and take a look.

jisung laughs.

"981539," he recites, as your eyes sweep over the number. your mouth opens in awe because he got it right. you look at him with a vicious look. "do you want to play again?"

#nct smut #nct dream smut #jisung drabbles #park jisung smut #jisung smut #nct dream jisung smut #♡jisung

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kotias · 10 months

Text

We Are in Our Eden - Until Our Stars No Longer Shine

A little reprieve from the angst war @opscuritas

Fluff story written with @daneecastle

Word count: 1492 words

Crowley was out for the day, and had stopped by a cliff close to Aberdeen, with the grandest view to the ocean he could experience in the country. The wind was strong, almost pushing him away, and he laughed. What a view! The waves crashing against the rocks beneath him, the smell of iodine taking into his nostrils, and most of all, the view of the sun setting on the infinite horizon, spreading its yellows and reds and purples onto this side of the world. But it was only when he lifted his head and watched above that he noticed- He took his phone out of his pocket and called home. “Angel! Come here! Cruden Bay, the highest cliff you can find!" He knew he had an unexpected squeal in the middle of that call- well, it was guaranteed to give his angel some form of curiosity, at least. He looked up again, a bright smile on his face.

“Cruden Bay? But why? It's almost time to eat!" he heard over the phone, and didn’t say a word. Just the next second, he heard the familiar flutter of white wings behind him. “Crowley, what is it?”

He instantly caught his hand, dragged him a little further up, feeling like a teenage girl eager to spend time with her crush. He was jittery, smiling, squealing- "Look!" He pointed to the stars. Shooting stars in the sky, crossing the ozone layer, lighting up like fireworks. He could barely stay put, looking at them with the wonder of a child- and he knew it was an unreasonable reaction- he knew! But this was the first time he had the opportunity to watch them with Aziraphale. Pressing his fingers around the angel’s, he looked back at him, caught the adoration in his eyes, the immensity of his love for him, trapped behind those perfect eyes, changing with his emotions, and the slight blush he was showing. Crowley was over the moon- it mattered not whether the angel had really looked at what he was trying to show him. And the stars- the stars! So close to his reach!

An idea came- he raised Aziraphale's hand and kissed it, before letting go of him and coming to the very edge of the cliff. Raising his left hand and snapping his fingers, he said "Here, boy!" And one of the shooting stars changed directions entirely, flinging in their direction and stopping right at his feet for him to collect two good pieces of it. He tapped it like a good dog and snapped his fingers again, leaving it to go back to its path. The rocks between his fingers were hot, almost crisp in his hand. And they smelled... so unique. He turned to Aziraphale again and showed them to him. "There's something I love about those shooting stars," he said, looking at the rocks like he would a child.

“What is it?” Aziraphale asked with a sweet, enamoured voice, never looking away from him. “I would love to know.”

He let out a small giggle. "It's a piece of Heaven, wrapped in the fires we find in Hell... falling on Earth. It feels like home. And also-" He turned to the shooting stars again. "My eyes aren't the best at seeing far. I miss a lot of the star lights that you describe to me. But the shooting stars? I can see them."

Aziraphale stepped closer to him, his deep blue eyes draping themselves in an emerald shroud. "Maybe…” He lightly touched his arms, caressing them with his thumbs. “Someday we could ask God to have your eyes changed back, so you could see the splendour of the world you helped create." He kissed Crowley's forehead. "I'm sure, after all you've done, She wouldn't mind."

Crowley shook his head slightly, losing his train of thought as Aziraphale’s slight sadness in his voice was gnawing at his euphoria. "Ah, yes, well- I think you'd miss the yellow in my eyes, wouldn't you?"

"I would, I won't deny it, but-" He kissed him one, twice, and reverted back to his little star babies in his hand. "Here, hold this-" He handed him one of the two rocks and cradled the other between his two hands. "Let see if I can still-" His eyes lit up as he felt his power surge into it. "Yes!" When he uncovered it, it was glowing like a little sun, and he beamed at his angel, who couldn’t take his eyes from it, shining in unison with it. For a moment, he paused, only looking at him and how beautiful of a sight his amazement was, everytime he showed him something different from what he knew.

He cleared his throat. “Okay, now-" He held the little star up, pointing it to the darkening skies. “What do you want to be called, little one?" It was like an old music sheet had been rediscovered. The little star glowed, surrounded his hand in affection. He smiled. “Ah, I see. How about-" The little star extended to his forearm. “Oh!" He gave a glance at Aziraphale. “Naming it would mean giving it to the sky. I believe it doesn't want that, it's clutching onto me right now." He pulled his hand back to their levels as the angel chuckled. “Perfect little thing, why would you insist on staying with me?" he asked, like one would to a small child.

“What wouldn't want to be with you?" he heard Aziraphale answer with a dreamy sigh, and he chortled.

“You’re barely objective, angel, we’ve known each other for-” A little power coursed from the star to his chest. “Oh-" Tenderly, he passed his fingers on the edges of the little thing. “Okay then- Angel, could you give me the second one? Thanks," he said as he received it, and kissed his nose. “Okay little star, do you want to help me, then?” He weighed the rock and the star; then, pressing the rock a little harder, he parted it in halves. The little star lightened excitedly. "Yes? That what you want?" He approached his two hands until they touched, and the little star crossed them to engulf the two new little rocks. He smiled and looked at Aziraphale. "It wants to stay with us, you see- so it's preparing a nest. I hope- I think you'll like the result."

The little star melted into the rocks, and the rocks melted into the star. Glowing brightly into Crowley's hands, they were exuding a homey warmth, and he let the three elements figure out what they wanted first, before guiding them gently into a form. For a second, his eyes darted to Aziraphale's hands, and he got back to work. They were shining so beautifully, he thought, as they let themselves be moulded by his attentions. After about a minute of working together, he blew on them, revealing two rings; one obsidian, textured like the meteorites coming from space and speckled with little twinkles all over it; the other perfectly white, gleaming like a happy little star, with a thin, tiny little black snake coursing its way all around it. He looked into his angel’s bright eyes, asking the question silently. Would you like me to put it on your finger? To make you mine for eternity?

Aziraphale gasped as he watched the rings come into existence, shining like their very own little stars, tethered to the world that they had called their own. He felt stunned, overjoyed and excited, on the verge of tears as he realised what they were meant for, what Crowley had done to them, bearing the promise of their eternal loyalty to one another. For quite a long time, he was staring at the rings, far from Crowley’s expectant eyes, until he shook himself off; they knew, the both of them, and many years had passed since they had truly needed the words to express this intense sentiment they felt for one another, or the promise of an everliving love for one another. Yet, he gave a vocal answer. “Oh, you silly demon… Of course I would.”

His smile warmed him like a fireplace during the winter, his fingers wrapping around his hand made his heart flutter, and his kiss felt like a cloud.

The white ring slid perfectly on his finger, and he felt its otherworldly warmth on his skin, draping around him and offering just a bit of Crowley’s essence to mix into his own, his final oath in this union they were making for themselves.

The demon slid his own, dark ring on his finger, then passed his hand into Aziraphale’s hair and sealed their lips and their Vows together with a kiss. Together like they had been since the beginning, and never intending to part, they were an us, like God most certainly had intended.

#good omens #crowley #aziraphale #good omens s2 #ineffable husbands #good omens season 2 #aziracrow #good omens 2 #crowley x aziraphale #aziraphale x crowley #fluff #fanfic #writing #creative writing #collaborative writing

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sycamorelibrary754 · 10 months

Text

The Piggy Story

Summary: Yelena is Melina’s Secret Santa and takes a crack at a few handmade piggy presents!

Pairing: Yelena x reader (platonic), Natasha x reader, Alexei Alanovich Shostakov x reader (platonic) Melina Vostokoff x reader (platonic)

Genre: Fluff

Word Count: 1.2k

Warnings: None

A/N: If you read Happy Thanksgiving, you will understand this story. If you didn’t, please enjoy the random silly fluffiness. 😂

Yelena had been acting suspiciously for two weeks, sneaking around and making everyone uneasy. She would disappear at night without letting you accompany her, which was unusual since you frequently joined her when she walked Fanny. Initially, you thought she might be gearing up for an undercover mission. Whenever you asked her about it, she would dodge the question, giving you a look that seemed to say, 'If I tell you, I'll have to kill you.' You had learned not to overthink your sister-in-law’s idiosyncrasies. If it was possible, they made you love her even more.

You were lounging in your comfy pajamas, engrossed in a game of cards with Wanda in her cozy room, when Natasha suddenly entered. "Hey, detka, have you seen Yelena? She was supposed to join me and Steve for a briefing twenty minutes ago."

No, I haven't," you said as you placed your cards face down on your lap. "Not since this morning, anyway.

“She’s been acting odd lately,” Nat commented.

While rearranging her cards, Wanda pointed out, "Odd in general, or odd for her because you know there’s a difference.

"That is true," you nodded, gesturing toward Wanda.

Natasha grumbled, "If you run into your best friend, would you tell her that her sister is going to kick her ass?"

"Sure thing, wifey," you chuckled, playfully saluting her and giving her a swift kiss on the lips.

Nat playfully rolled her eyes and teased, "It's a wonder I married you."

*^~^*

You couldn't contain your excitement as you and Yelena started putting up Christmas decorations around the compound the next day. Wearing your coziest Christmas sweater, adorned with festive patterns, you danced through the halls, humming cheerful tunes and happily hanging up ornaments and lights, infusing the entire space with holiday spirit.

“Dashing through the snow

In a one-horse open sleigh

Peter’s on the go

Laughing all the way

Bells on Fanny ring

Making Tony fight

Wanda wants to flip a coin

And sing this song tonight

Jingle bells, Clinton smells

Banner laid an egg

Ant mobile lost a wheel

And Loki got away

Hey!”

That was very nice, y/n; now, how about a White Christmas song to go with this delightful cup of hot cocoa topped with whipped cream?

"No can do, boo. Only one show per Christmas season," you said, as you sat together on the sofa.

You both savored a small sip of the rich chocolate beverage, watching the steam rise enticingly from the mug.

"Hey, did you know that one of Mom's pigs is named Clinton?" Yelena said with a sheepish grin.

"Is that so? I've only ever heard of Alexi," as you savor some of the whipped cream from the top of your hot cocoa.

“Mom named Alexi, and then she asked if Natasha and I would do the honors of naming the other two. Clinton was the poser’s choice.”

"I can't believe Nat never told me. What name did you choose?" You took another sip of your beverage, eagerly awaiting the answer.

“Sir Francis Bacon.”

You almost choke on your hot cocoa as you sputter, and it rolls down your chin. “That is adorable!” you exclaimed, reaching for a napkin. You’ll have to point out which is which when we go to your parents' house for Christmas next week.”

"Hey, you've got a little whipped cream on your cheek." Leaning in, Yelena sneakily licked it off.

"Oh my God! Who are you, Fanny?! I have no idea where your tongue has been! Ew! Get some hot water, get some disinfectant, get some iodine!" With a jolt, you lept up and dashed to the bathroom, leaving Yelena in fits of giggles on the floor.

*^~^*

The remaining week was filled with delightful Christmas-themed activities. As you snuggled up on the couch with my cherished blanket, preparing to watch "The Holiday" with the team, you noticed someone conspicuously absent.

"Where could Yelena be?" you mused aloud.

"In my lab," Tony said nonchalantly, casually tossing popcorn up into the air and effortlessly catching it in his mouth.

"Why?" you asked, slightly confused.

“Blondie wanted a private space to work on a project. I told her she could use the lab if she didn’t joyride any suits,” Tony explained.

“Yelena in your lab with unlimited access to nanotechnology.” Nat pondered, grabbing two Christmas cookies and offering you one before snuggling up beside you in your blanket ball.

"Go down there and see if she's up for watching the movie," you urged, tossing popcorn in Kate's direction.

"Why am I the one?" questioned the young archer.

"Since you're closer, and she's starting to freak me out," you explained.

"Don't worry about it, Y/N. FRIDAY is keeping an eye on her," Tony reassured.

*^~^*

You woke up at Melina and Alexi’s Christmas morning to the delicious smell of cinnamon rolls and coffee. You agreed to do Secret Santa with your wife’s family this year. You and Natasha were wearing your matching Christmas pajamas, ready to exchange presents, but Yelena was unusually eager and insisted on going first.

Guess what? I was your Secret Santa this year, Mama! I wanted to challenge myself and make a homemade gift for you," Yelena exclaimed as she reached for Melina's tablet on the counter and quickly tapped a few buttons on the touchscreen. "Hey boys, come on in!

The door creaked open, and in waddled all three of Melina’s beloved pigs, their little trotters pitter-pattering against the wooden floor. As the trio rounded the corner, they presented a charming sight - each adorned in a specially tailored vest. Alexi sported a vibrant red vest, Clinton rocked a regal purple one, and Sir Francis Bacon donned a cheerful orange number. Upon closer inspection, it was clear that each vest was meticulously handcrafted, complete with the pig's name beautifully embroidered. It was a display of piggy prestige at its finest.

“Surprise, Mama! Now, not only will the piggies be warm in the winter, but they are stylish individuals with many pockets!” Yelena declared.

"The pigs are sporting vests," Nat deadpanned. You gently squeezed her hand, silently urging her to play nice.

“Not vests, sestra. Pests! Piggy vests! My very own invention," Yelena clarified. "You can just call me the next Tony Stark.

"The pigs sporting Pests," you revised with a chuckle.

"Thank you very much, my dear! These are fantastic. I've always believed they needed some attire. The Russian winters are extremely harsh, and they truly deserve something exceptional," Melina exclaimed, planting a loving kiss on her younger daughter's cheek.

"Check it out, girls! Alexi's has the best Pest. He's a dead ringer for the Red Guardian, ready to go head-to-head with Captain America," Alexi exclaimed as he affectionately stroked his namesake.

“Oh my God, it’s like living in a Dr. Seuss book,” Nat joked.

"Who knew you were a crochet pro?" You turn to your best friend in surprise.

“I wasn't. No, no… Kate Bishop is the mastermind behind it. She taught me how to make it. All it took was $100 for the yarn and supplies, which I may have borrowed from Stark, and a promise to never show up again in the middle of the night unless it’s a real emergency,” Yelena explained.

"Is that where you were sneaking off to at all hours of the day and night?"The surprise is written all over your face.

"Where else did you think I was headed?" Yelena questioned.

Undercover in the Multiverse, I don't know!" Your face turned beet red the longer she looked at you. "You were scaring the crap out of everyone.

"Ha! That's hilarious. You're quite the comedian, y/n," she laughed, placing her hands on yours and Natasha's shoulders. "I don't want to give anything away, but by New Year's Eve, some stylish individuals will emerge from this group!" With that, she wrapped you and Nat in a warm, tight group hug.

Natasha's gaze met yours from behind Yelena's back, and a smile crept onto your face. It indeed was a merry Christmas.

#yelena belova #natasha romanoff x reader #red guardian #melina vostokoff #fluff #mcu #the avengers #wanda maximoff #tony stark #kate bishop

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amica-aenigmata-naboo · 3 days

Text

Accident Prone

Sylus x Y/N - drabble -772 WC

Masterlist

Warnings: fluff, based off a request, slight injury, very cute

Sylus watched as you cut up the fruit you insisted on having for a snack. It was a regular Saturday but you insisted on pampering your sleepy mob boss boyfriend. So he sat at the island and watched you hum while you sliced away.

“Careful sweetie.” Sylus said as you got a little too close to your finger for his comfort.

“I’m a pro.” you said waving him off. This would have been true if you weren't the definition of clumsy. You turned with the plate of fruit in your hand, but your socks had it out for you today. You felt yourself starting to slip, you shoved the fruit to the counter before you slipped, knife in hand. You didn’t feel it immediately, you saw the blood first. Sylus rushed to your side, the small knife sticking out of your thigh.

You sat in silence as you felt tears starting to stream down your face. Sylus didn’t hesitate, slipping his arm under your legs to pick you up. He sat you on the counter before he used his evol, disappearing before you then reappearing with his first aid kit in hand. You called it “the mob kit” because it was basically a triage kit, holding way more than the basic supplies of a normal first aid kit. Thankfully you weren't wearing pants so he didn't have to cut anything off you.

Sylus held your face in his hands, “Hey honey, I need you to look at me ok? Focus on me ok? Look at me…” he said before his evol ripped the knife from your leg.

You let out a sharp shriek, you felt it all now. You watched as blood trickled down your leg, spilling onto the floor and island countertop.

“You did so good, baby so so good.” Sylus said, inspecting the cut. “Good news - no stitches. I’ll give you some poor man stitches instead.”

You sniffled, trying to be tough in front of Sylus who had suffered far greater injuries. You nodded at him, giving him permission to do whatever he needed to do.

Sylus cleaned your wound with iodine to avoid it stinging, he wanted to save you as much pain as possible. Once the wound had clotted enough to wrap he pinched the skin together slightly, sealing it with super glue.

“That’s poor man's stitches? Glue?” you asked, slightly shocked.

“Sure is. You know how many of my scars are from these kinds of stitches?” he said with a chuckle.

He blew softly on the glue to help it dry, tapping it lightly to make sure it was dry and would hold. Once he was satisfied, Sylus started wrapping gauze around your leg, pinning it in place so you could walk around and not have it ride down or irritate your skin.

“There we go, my brave little klutz. I really have to keep an eye on you, you’re so accident prone.” he laughed, setting his hand down on the countertop. Well, what he thought was the countertop. His hand made contact with the plate of food, sliding out from under him. The fruit scattered over the counter and the floor but Sylus caught himself before he could get hurt.

“What were you saying about me being accident prone?” you said, stifling a laugh. “I worked hard to make that fruit plate, now look.” You could see the slightest dusting of pink on Sylus’ cheeks.

Sylus rolled his eyes as he picked up a slice of peach from the counter, biting off half before offering the other half to you. You smiled, taking it between your teeth, giving his finger a quick nip while you did so. You could see a flame stoke in him. You looked at him with innocent eyes, pretending like you weren’t trying to tease him.

“Think we can manage a way to get to the bedroom without having another accident?” Sylus asked, taking your hands and helping you off the counter.

“I guess we’ll find out.” you said, standing on your tiptoes to kiss his cheek.

He smiled as he watched you walk towards your shared bedroom, a small limp in your step. You felt Sylus’ evol wrap around you, carrying you to the bed. He leaned over you, pulling the fluffy comforter over you. “Stay here.” he said before disappearing once again. He reappeared once more after a moment, handing you a pain killer.

You swallowed it with some water. “Thank you baby.” you smiled, pulling him down by the collar of his shirt to kiss him.

Sylus smiled into the kiss, deepening it as he tilted your chin up.

------------------------------

Naboo's Note:

Hello all! Hope ya'll like this one, its based off a request from a while back. I'll be writing a few fics tonight since I'm working an overnight. Love ya'll XOXOXOXOXOX

#writing #sylus love and deepspace #love and deepspace sylus #lads sylus #sylus #lnds sylus #l&ds sylus #love and deep space #sylus x mc #lads mc #sylus x y/n #sylus x reader #sylus x you #sylus x oc

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circe69 · 2 years

Text

Say My Name

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Fem! Reader

Part 2 of "I Wanna Hear You Say Something"

summary: you get bit by a dog, SIMON helps you ;)

cw: mentions of injury/blood, maybe a lil' suggestive but nothing serious.

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You and Ghost had stood up off from the floor, the rainwater in your clothes weighed you down and it was hard to get up.

You heard a few gunshots in the distance. When you jumped, Ghost put his hand on the small of your back.

"It'll be fine, love."

You slightly smiled, still a little spooked. You grabbed your rifle and supplies and started walking outside.

Crouching down behind a rock ledge, you placed your sniper rifle on top of it. Ghost was still standing in the shack, periodically looking out the front door to shoot a few stragglers.

You closed one eye and put the other to the scope. All the sudden, you hear a dog barking, much closer than you'd like.

A huge German Shepard jumped over the ledge onto you. Biting your forearm, you yelp in pain.

"Y/N!" You hear Ghost faintly scream your name.

Blood was flowing out of your skin, the rain only making it sting.

Ghost's loud footsteps came booming behind you, he swept you up in his arms and ran into the truck.

"Y/N" He yelled, "Y/N, can you hear me?"

"Simon, I'm fine. I'm okay."

He laid you down on one of the seats, so your head was laying by the window.

"Lift your arms, Y/N"

"Simon, I'm oka-"

"Now." He growled.

You lifted your arms, and he carefully removed your t-shirt, exposing the wound and practically everything else.

He grabbed the iodine and cotton pads from the center console. As he unscrewed the top off, he leaned up to kiss your forehead.

"Stupid dog." He joked, before giving you a peck on the lips. He started to carefully wash the wound out with rubbing alcohol. As you winced in pain, he lightly squeezed your hips,

"Atta girl." You felt the pain slowly decrease, just by looking at him. Just by him talking to you.

The rain had stopped significantly, and you and Ghost had been sitting in the back of the car for a few minutes to try and take a breather.

"You called me 'Simon'." He leaned over to nuzzle his face in your neck. He wrapped his hands around your bare torso and lightly stroked the bandage on your fresh wound. Kissing your neck a few times, he breathed on your skin, "I liked it."

"Yeah, well it's your name, isn't it?" He lifted his head up to look at you, then you pulled him by his neck and kissed him hard.

"Simon." You said practically said into his mouth.

He groaned at the sound of it and pulled away from the kiss to rest his head on your chest.

"It sounds so good when you say it."

You hummed while you laid your hand on his scalp.

"I'll say it more then."

#ghost x reader #ghost x y/n #simon riley #ghost mw2 #ghost fluff #simon riley fluff #simon riley x reader #modern warfare #ghost imagine #circe69scribbles

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callsign-magnolia · 1 year

Text

Undiagnosed // Ch. 14

MATURE CONTENT 18+

Jake Seresin x Neurodivergent OC

Summary: Katie Blair grew up trying to be the perfect daughter. She always struggled to be the prim and proper little girl her parents wanted. Big personality as a kid, but now at 25, she's the shy admiral's daughter who just keeps her head down and tries to get through law school. So what happens when she's had enough and with help from a certain Lieutenant, she gets out.

Warnings: Emotional abuse, trauma response, abusive parents.

Word Count: 6.1k

Chapter 13 | Masterlist

I was up early the next morning to have a good breakfast before I started my exams. In his off time, Jake has started to sleep in a little, but never after eight a.m. So I made some eggs for protein and reheated some biscuits and bacon Jake made yesterday morning. I thought back to last night, the way Jake smiled at me as we ate. I wanted to believe there was more there but I wouldn’t allow myself. If I can help it, I will not have my heartbroken. Just because he’s nice to me doesn’t mean he has feelings for me. Once the food was ready I sat at the island to eat. I was itching to grab my papers to study but I think if I look at another anatomy question before this test my brain just might turn to mush. So I sat quietly and ate. Once I was done I washed everything and put it away before setting up at the kitchen table with Jake’s laptop. I had five minutes before the test started so I poured another cup of coffee just as Jake came downstairs. “Mornin’.” He said and I was startled as his hands fell to my waist and he kissed the back of my head. “Good morning.” I replied. The kisses don’t catch me off guard much anymore, but he’s never held me like that. “You about to start your first exam?” He asked and I nodded. “They said it could take about four hours each.” I said and he hissed. “Really?” He asked and I nodded. “I’ll be done around four.” I said sitting back down at the table. “I’ll make you some lunch for you in between.” He said and I smiled at him. “Thank you.”

“I will be quiet as a mouse while you take your test, don’t worry about me.” He said and I nodded, smiling at him. I looked down at the computer and saw the timer drop to one minute. “One minute.” I said and he smiled at me. “Good luck.” I started the exam and by question four Jake was making noise. “Shit!” He yelled and I looked up. He was holding his finger, blood seeping on the floor as he mouthed ‘sorry’ at me. I wanted to get up and help him, but if I got up the website would kick me out and I’d be given a zero. So I sat and took my exam, breezing through it and finished within an hour. I stood and Jake looked at me confused. “Are you done?” I nodded. “I don’t know if that’s good or bad.” I said and when I got close enough I grabbed his hand, looking at his finger. “It finally stopped bleeding.” He said as I removed the gauze he wrapped around it. “You really did a number with that knife.” I said and he scoffed. “About took off my first two knuckles.” He said and I smiled at him. I got under the sink and grabbed the first aid kit, and pulled out the iodine and the knuckle bandages. I cleaned it while he finished his food and bandaged it tightly. “There. All better.” I said, tossing everything back into the box.

“Mama always kissed my injuries.” He said with a devilish grin on his face and held up his finger. A blush crept up my cheeks but grabbed it anyway and kissed it before I kissed his cheek. “There. A little extra to encourage healing.” I said and he chuckled. “I’m feeling better already!” I laughed as I put the box away and washed my hands. “So what are you gonna do until your next exam?” He asked and I grabbed my book from the table and waved it at him. “I’m gonna finally finish this book! Then I have to buy the third one.” He smiled at me. “Is this the longest it’s taken you to finish a book?” He asked and I nodded. “Yes and it's been driving me crazy! I’ve been dying to finish!” I said and plopped down on the couch to fall into the depths of my own imagination. I wasn’t sure how long I sat there but I was broken from my concentration when Jake nudged my knee. “Hey. You got one minute before your next exam.” He said and my head whipped to the clock on the wall. “FUCK!” I screamed, jumping up and rushing back to the table. I still had to log in and get set up. If I didn’t get in on time then I would be locked out. I rushed, logging in and I made it with just a few seconds to spare. I took a deep breath and gave Jake a thumbs up before starting on it. This one almost felt easier than the last, and I wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing. I always heard that if you finish first you must not be trying hard enough, but I couldn’t sit here and stare at all these questions for an extended period of time. Then I would start second guessing myself and that was never good.

Around one p.m. Jake came over and sat next to me. “Want me to start lunch?” He asked and I nodded. “Almost done.” He nodded and got up, rifling through the fridge for whatever he could find. After about twenty minutes I had answered the last question and I stared at the screen, hovering over the submit button. I was so lost in my own head I didn’t notice Jake come up behind me until he wrapped his arms around my shoulder and lean his head down next to mine. “You okay?” He asked and I hoped he wouldn’t feel the heat from the blush rushing up my neck. “Yeah. Just thinking about how when I send this in, that’s it. All I can do is wait.” I said and he hummed. “How long until you hear something?” He asked. “They said a week.” I said and he nodded. We sat like that for a few minutes until I could feel his breath on my cheek. “Click it.” He whispered and without hesitation I did. “I’m proud of you.” He said before kissing my temple. I stared at his muscled back as he went back to the kitchen and finished up lunch. I felt like my heart skipped a beat when he wrapped his arms around me and I fought hard to fight back the feelings in my chest. Fuck, I liked him. A lot. I quickly stood and walked upstairs to my room, needing space. “Get it together, Katie.” I whispered to myself as I took a few deep breaths. A knock on my door startled me. “Katie?” “Yeah?” I answered way too quickly. “You okay?” He asked. “Uh, yeah. I got cold so I came up here for some pants.” I said and quickly got into my dresser and pulled out some black yoga pants. I swung the door open and he was gone. I furrowed my brows and he caught my eye when he came out of his room. “Here.” He held up a sweatshirt for me. “Oh, thank you.” I said, taking it from him. I slipped it on and his cologne enveloped me. “Lunch is ready.” He said as he started downstairs and I sighed. He was not making this easy.

By Thursday I was pacing while I was reading. I couldn’t sit still anymore, the anticipation of if I got in was killing me. I was pacing at the back of the couch, reading the third installment of the ACOTAR series when the front door opened. “Hey.” Jake said and I waved my hand, engrossed in my book. “Hi.” I said. I had chewed most of the skin off my bottom lip and they were raw. Jake walked by and set his bag down before getting in the fridge and grabbing a water. “How long have you been pacing?” He asked and I shrugged, just humming. He furrowed his brows at me but left me alone. An hour later I was sat on the couch, one leg out straight and the other bent under me as I leaned forward, reading. I would read for a few minutes, then stop and scroll on my phone. Soon my foot started bouncing when I turned back to my book. “Okay!” Jake said loudly and snatched my book. “Hey!” I yelled, shooting up from my spot and reaching for my book. But I wasn’t paying attention and almost went over the back of the couch, face down towards the floor but Jake caught me. “Slow down.” He said, helping my back upright. “Okay. You are gonna go upstairs, and put on something cute like you always do, then we’re going out.” He said and I pouted. “What’s wrong with me reading?” I asked. “Nothing. But you’re doing it to distract yourself because you’re anxious. So I’m taking you out.” He said. “Now, go get dressed, darlin’.” I wanted to protest, but I knew it was no use. So I huffed, standing and glaring at him as I stomped my way up the stairs. I threw on a light blue skater dress and slipped on some tan sandals before putting on a little makeup. I walked downstairs to meet Jake who was dressed in simple jeans and I white t-shirt that hugged his biceps.

God did he look good. “Okay, I’m ready.” I said, all annoyance gone as he smiled at me. “Good. Grab your purse.” We walked towards the door and he handed me my purse before he helped me into the truck. “Where are we going?” I asked as he got into the driver's seat. He just grinned at me mischievously. “You’ll see.” He said, backing out of the driveway. I crossed my arms over my chest, one knee over the other and stared at him. “As long as you feed me, I don’t care.” I said and he laughed, reaching over and patting my knee. “Don’t worry, darlin’. I will.” My breath hitched as he touched my knee. He’d touched my arms, my hands, my waist, but his hand on my knee made my nerves light up. We sat quietly, listening to the radio as he drove us down the road. He pulled into a parking lot and I noticed many trees and statues of animals. “Where are we?” I asked as he pulled into a parking spot in the half full parking lot. “Don’t tell me you’ve never been to the zoo!” He joked and slid out. I pulled my lip between my teeth, staring at the entrance. My door opened and I looked down at him, he reached for my hand and grinned at me. Once I got out he smiled down at me. “You ever been to the San Diego zoo?” He asked and I shook my head. “Never been to any zoo actually.” I said and he looked at me in surprise. “Are you serious?” I gave a single nod. “No school field trips?” He asked and I shook my head. “My parents never allowed me to go on them.” I said and his hand gently squeezed mine.

“Come on then.” He said, dragging me to the entrance. We were hand in hand and it felt so good to have his large hand wrapped around my smaller one. He bought the tickets and we went in. “Well, where do you wanna start?” He asked. “I wouldn’t even know where to start.” He smiled and pointed to a tall pole with multiple signs pointing every which way. “What about the safari?” I asked and he nodded. “If that’s what you want.” I just smiled. “Come on, last ride is at five.” I tugged his hand and pulled him in the direction of the safari. As we walked up there was an older man sitting on a crate at the entrance. “Just in time. The truck is about to come in.” He said with a large smile. We didn’t wait long and many people climbed off the truck. Jake and I got were the only two that got into the truck and we sat down. “What do you think we’ll see?” I asked, excitement thrumming through my body. “I don’t know. I assume animals you’d find in the savannah.” He said and I smiled. The truck started off in a slow roll before slowly gaining speed. It took a few minutes before we saw anything but then I heard some kind of yipping noise. I looked behind us to see a group of zebras. “Jake! Look!” I said, rapidly patting his shoulder and he turned. “I never thought I would see animals like these.”

The ride was fun. We saw Wildebeest, Antelope, Hyenas and Giraffe’s who leaned their heads down towards us. By the time we were going back to get out I was leaned against Jake and his arm was tossed around my shoulders. We got off and he pulled me away to the reptiles. Iguanas, chameleons, turtles and lizards. They were so cool, but I backed away from the glass slightly as we got to the snakes. “What? Don’t like snakes?” He asked and I shook my head. “No. We were stationed in South Carolina at one point, I was about ten and I was playing in the yard when one struck at me. Never bit me but I took off running and I’ve been scared of them ever since.” I said and he chuckled. “I used to catch them in the barn back home.” He said and my eyebrows shot up. “You mean to tell me you willingly went near snakes?” I asked and he chuckled. “And picked them up.” I shivered at the sheer thought of having a snake in my hands. We went and got ice cream after that and my jaw dropped as he wiped chocolate ice cream on my nose. “You ass!” I yelled at him and he slammed a hand over my mouth. “Not around the children!” He said, motioning to a mom and two kids gaping at us. “Sorry.” I said and we ran off laughing like children ourselves. We wound up in front of the lion enclosure and I looked down at the lion sunbathing in the last light of the day on his back. “That looks so nice.” I said and he furrowed his brows at me. “What?” He asked.

“Laying out in the sun. It looks warm.” I said and he smiled at me. “You know, if you wanted to lay out in the backyard you could.” He said, smirking at me with a certain glint in his eye. I felt a sense of bravery within me and decided to play the game. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” I asked, winking at him before turning and walking away, a little more sway in my hips. The rest of the night was full of subtle flirtations. We stayed at the zoo till it closed and when we left he pit stopped at a liquor store. “What are we doing here?” I asked, the dark surrounding us and allowed the neon lights to be the only light source for us. “Just wait here. You’ll love this.” He slipped out of the truck, leaving it running and jogged inside. I waited in silence until he came out in each hand he had a large handle of coconut rum and tito’s, he stopped and held them up with a goofy grin on his face. I laughed as he climbed into the car and handed me the containers. “What the hell, Jake?” I asked and he smiled at me. “Now, off to dinner. Hope you don’t mind fast food.” He said and I shook my head. “Not at all.”

He took us to the Sonic that sat down the road from the house and pulled into a stall. We stared at the menu for about ten minutes before ordering enough food to feed the team. “And two Route Forty-Four ocean waters.” I raised a brow and he grinned at me. “Why the drinks?” I asked. “You have to have one.” He said. Soon the food and drinks came out and he set it up perfectly along the large center console. I criss crossed my legs and turned to face him. “Drink some of that.” He said, handing me the incredibly large cup and I drank a considerable amount of it. “Okay, set it down.” I did and held the cup as he popped the lid off and started pouring the rum into it. “What?” I asked with a laugh. “We did this as teenagers. I grew up in a small town and a Sonic was all we had, so we would steal our parents coconut rum or vodka and put it in our slushies.” He said and I grinned at him. “I never did things like this as a teen.” I said, taking the drink back from him and taking a sip before I reeled back. “Strong?” He asked and I nodded. “What did you do as a teenager?” He asked and I shrugged. “Studied. Read. We lived in Connecticut at one point and I used to love sitting outside from spring till fall and I would just read. It was so pretty and I would lay under a few trees in the backyard for hours.” My eyes were closed and I could see the trees above me, their deep, rich autumn colors and the smell of fall in the air. When I opened my eyes I could see Jake staring at me, something in his eyes that I couldn’t quite describe.

“So, you didn’t go on field trips, did you do anything else for school?” He asked and I shook his head. “Other than graduation, no.” His smile fell as he looked at me. “No homecoming? Football games? Lock ins?” He asked and I shook my head. “Prom?” I looked down at my legs, adjusting my dress. “I wanted to go. I asked. But my parents said no.” I grabbed a cheese stick from the box and tore it in half as he watched me. “I’m sorry.” He muttered and I looked at him. “You have nothing to be sorry for.” He sighed before lifting his burger and taking a bite. Prom was one of those things that you see in movies, and you read it in books and you hear your classmates talking about it. I was dying to go. I wanted to wear the pretty gown and have my hair and makeup done. I wanted to feel like I was part of my class. I had never felt that way, we moved around too much. I had only been at that school for two months, and a few girls asked if I was going. I went home and worked up the courage to ask and my parents said they would consider it. After a few weeks I begged and begged to go, but while everyone else got to go, I was dragged to a naval function. “If you had the chance to go now, would you?” I thought about it and after a moment, I nodded. “I feel like it’s something everyone should experience if they want to. So yeah, I would.” I took a bite of my own burger and a smile grew on his face. “Did you go?” He nodded. “Did you have a date?” I pried and he chuckled. “I took Mandy Masterson. She wore this hideous bubblegum pink dress.” I laughed at him. “What do you have against pink?” I asked and he shook his head. “Nothing. But it was so big that it wouldn’t even fit in my truck, and it had glitter all over. By the time I came home I looked like a disco ball and I was finding glitter in places glitter shouldn’t be for weeks.” He said and we laughed. “Sometimes I still think I find some when I clean out my ears.”

I had been sipping on my drink and almost blew it out my nose when he said that. I was laughing so hard with a mouth full of ocean water I thought the only way I would breathe again was if I just opened my mouth and let it all flow out. But I eventually caught my breath again and swallowed. “It’s not that funny.” He said while laughing. “Yes it is.” I felt warm, a blush on my neck and I knew it was from the alcohol. I slowed down with my drink and ate my food as we talked. He told me some about his childhood, growing up on a ranch in Texas and all the trouble him and his siblings got into. “Maybe you can meet them someday.” He said, grinning at me. “As long as your brother doesn’t put a snake in my face like he did your sisters.” I said and he chuckled. “Don’t worry. I’d protect you darlin’.” I bit my lip at his words and I could see it, him sweeping me off my feet to protect me from the dangers of his brother. Soon we drove home, cracking jokes and laughing like kids the whole way. Once we were home I got out of the truck and stumbled slightly. “You good?” He asked, looking at me from the front of the truck. “Just dandy!” I said with a grin. I reached in and grabbed my purse, drink and food bags before walking inside. I threw away the bags and set my drink in the fridge before going back outside and grabbing the alcohol to bring in.

“You know, I don’t think I've checked my phone all night.” Not that anyone would’ve texted me or anything like that. I reached into my purse and rooted around for my phone. “I know it’s in here.” I muttered. I all but climbed into the bag searching for my phone when someone cleared their throat behind me. “Looking for this?” Jake asked as he waved my phone in the air. “Oh, thank you.” I laughed and reached for it, but he held it up over his head. “Please.” I said and he smirked. “That’s not the magic word.” He said and I looked up at him through my lashes, biting my bottom lip. “Thank you for tonight, and you looked very, very handsome.” I said, my finger tracing his sternum. I swore I heard him gulp and he lowered his arm. “And you look beautiful.” He said and I grinned, snatching my phone from him and walking out of the kitchen. I clicked my phone on and saw a few notifications but I had about ten emails. I sifted through them and saw one from USD and SDSU respectively. “Oh my god.” Anxiety struck and I tossed my phone on the couch, hardly able to look at it. I chewed my nail for a moment before grabbing it and opening the one from the University of San Diego first. I took a deep breath and read it. ‘Miss Motley, thank you for your interest in our program but we are sad to say you have been denied entry into our nursing program.’ Tears stung my eyes and I sniffled as I set my phone down. I didn’t want to cry, not loudly at least. I realized I still had one more email to look at, so I wiped my cheeks and grabbed my phone and opened the email from San Diego State University.

‘Miss Motley, thank you for your interest in our program.’ I sighed, setting my phone down and wiping my eyes. I knew I should continue reading it, but it started the same way as the last. I tried not to be negative and took a deep breath before lifting my phone up again. ‘Congratulations on your acceptance into our nursing program.’ I got in. I got in! A scream escaped me as I jumped in the air, practically touching the ceiling as I did. “WHAT’S WRONG?!” Jake yelled and I let out another scream before saying. “I GOT IN!” I rushed him, jumping into his arms. I didn’t care if he wanted to hold me or not, I needed to be held.“You got in?!” “I got in!” He squeezed me to him and swung me around. “Which one?” He asked as I looked down at his face. “SDSU!” I felt like I should sprint, I wanted to jump so hard I could put a hole in the floor, I felt like I could win an MMA fight. I had to do something or else I thought I would explode, appendages flying across the room. My body was practically vibrating and Jake walked over to the couch, still holding me and he set me down. He sat next to me and took my phone, reading over the email. I repeatedly slammed my hands down on the couch as I squealed and he chuckled. “Congratulations, darlin’.” He said, his finger hooking under my chin and turning my head to face him.

“You really truly deserve this.” He said, his finger still under my chin as I smiled at him. “You really think?” I asked and he nodded. “I know.” His eyes flicked to my lips then back to my eyes. I grinned at him, leaning forward ever so slightly. Kiss me, please. I don’t want to hold back anymore. Those thoughts were mine and mine alone, but with the way he was looking at me, it was like he had all access to my mind and everything inside. His hand came up, resting on the side of my neck, holding me close. He moved ever so slightly closer and I could feel his breath fanning across my face. His green eyes met mine and I couldn’t help myself anymore. I surged forward, my lips colliding with his in desperation. But that desperation was returned as his other hand went into my hair, fingers tangling in it. My hands reached up, running across his chest before gripping his shoulders. I moaned into the kiss, and I felt him grin. He tugged on my hair and I gasped, allowing his tongue to tangle with mine. I slid closer, desperate to close the space between us but Jake let go of my neck and wrapped his arm around my waist, hauling me into his lap.

I sat perched on his lap, he held me close as I wrapped my arms around his neck, moaning into his open mouth and I felt him grow hard beneath me. I couldn’t help but grind down on him, making him groan. “Do you know how hard it is to have a pretty little thing like you living in my house and I can’t do shit about it.” He said against my lips. I wanted him to touch me. Touch me in all the places he hadn’t yet. My breasts, my legs, my ass, my wet core. Suddenly he pulled away, both of us gasping as he rested his forehead on mine. “Why’d you pull away?” I asked, gasping. How badly I wanted to kiss him again. “We still need to celebrate.” He said with a grin and I bit my lip, arching my back slightly and tangled my fingers in the hair at the base of his neck. “Mm, but I liked the way we were celebrating, and I could think of other ways.” I said, leaning in and kissing him once. “Fuck,” He groaned, his head falling back. “I want to. God, I want to. But we’re both intoxicated.” He said as his hands rested on my waist, one of his thumbs brushing just below my breast. “I feel fine.” I said and he gave me a small smile. “Sure you do.” He was right and as much as I hated it, we shouldn’t. “But we will celebrate however you want.” He said and I grinned. “I want the rest of my drink. Some fresh chocolate chip cookies from the dough I have in the freezer and a good movie.” He grinned, standing with me in his arms and walking upstairs. My heart sped up, a small part of me hoping he changed his mind but my hopes died when he set me in front of my bedroom door. “You put on something comfy and I’ll get everything set up.”

I nodded and he walked downstairs. I knew exactly what to put on. The satin emerald green tank top and shorts, I saw the way Jake looked at me the last time I had them on, I was hoping to draw out the same reaction, maybe more. Once I was satisfied with how I looked I went into the bathroom and cleaned my face of the makeup and slid my glasses back on. I went downstairs and Jake handed me the giant styrofoam cup and I took a sip. I looked up at him and he smiled down at me. “Why don’t I roll the dough out and place them while you go change.” I said, taking the roll of parchment paper from him. He grinned down at me. “Alright.” He disappeared and I couldn’t help but wonder what he was hiding beneath those jeans. I shook my head, attempting to get the thoughts out. I was getting a little extreme, I needed to calm down. I got the cookies placed on the baking sheet and in the oven by the time Jake came back downstairs. Then everything in my head flew right out. The gray sweatpants accentuated the bulge between his legs and his tan skin contrasted, making his muscles and lines all very noticeable. He grinned helping me place the cookies on the baking sheet and we soon popped them in the oven. “Okay, what movie do you wanna watch?” He asked, raising his eyebrows and taking a sip of his drink. “I really don’t know. Something I've never seen before.” I said and he nodded.

We were silent for a minute before he turned to me. “Have you ever seen The Longest Ride?” He asked and I shook my head. “It’s a romance but it’s pretty good in my opinion.” He said and I nodded. “Then let’s watch it.” He grabbed both of our drinks and we made our way to the couch. The cookies would take a few minutes so we gathered blankets to cover ourselves up with. We waited till the oven beeped and we pulled them out before starting the movie. We got all the cookies on the plate and we flopped down onto the couch next to each other. He turned on the movie and I spread out the blankets before pulling the plate close. He set the remote down once the movie started and turned to me. He reached down, hands gripping my ankles before he hauled my legs into his lap. I couldn’t help the giggle that escaped me and he grinned at me. “Alright, give me a cookie.” I lifted one off the plate and held it out, I expected him to take it but instead he bit down on it, taking half of it in his mouth. He leaned his head back, moaning loudly, and I realized I wanted to be the one drawing those noises from him. “God, these cookies are better than sex.” He said and I bit my lip. Probably not better than sex with me. I thought it and I could feel heat creeping up my neck from the thoughts.

We ate the cookies and watched the movie, my head on his shoulder and one hand on his chest. His right arm was wrapped around my waist and the other was rubbing soft circles on the outside of my thighs, his thumb occasionally creeping close to the inside. I finished my drink and I looked up at him. He was watching the movie intensely. Heat was coursing through my body and all I wanted were his lips on mine again, or really anywhere else. I leaned up slightly, my lips pressing against his neck, and as soon as I touched him, his hands gripped me tightly. I smirked, placing another kiss to his neck and after a minute his breathing picked up, chest heaving before he turned to me, my lips losing contact with his skin. I thought he would tell me to stop but instead his lips pressed against mine roughly and my hands threaded into his hair. I felt him grow hard under me, his length pressing against my thigh as his hands made their way up under my tank top. They were so warm against my skin and I tugged him closer. He pushed me till my back was flush with the couch cushions and he moved my legs to settle himself between them. “Fuck.” He moaned against my lips and I gasped, his hand sliding down between my legs, discovering exactly how wet I was for him. His lips attacked my neck and my nails grazed his back.

He pulled away, forehead resting on mine as he tried to catch his breath and I attempted to pull him closer. “Katie.” He breathed my name and it sounded so good rolling off his lips. I stopped and opened my eyes, seeing him staring down at me. “Fuck.” I groaned, taking a deep breath. “Sorry. I’m so sorry, Jake. You said not to and I-” “It’s okay. Trust me, I’m struggling to resist just as much as you are.” He was still staring down at me as the credits rolled and I bit my lip. “You have work tomorrow.” It was already late and I knew he had to be up early. “Yeah, I do.” He replied, but neither of us made a move for a moment until I cleared my throat. Jake stood, and I followed. “You go to bed. I’ll clean up.” I said and he shook his head. “No, I’ll help.” I didn’t have it in me to argue, so he helped me straighten up before we both headed upstairs. I stopped in front of my door as he walked by, my hand was on the knob as I turned to Jake. “Hey Jake?” I asked as he stopped in front of his own bedroom door. “Yeah?” He asked, turning his back to the door and leaning on it. I walked over, hands behind my back. He looked down at me, a grin on his face as I stood before him. I stood on my toes, reaching up and kissing his cheek softly. “Thanks for believing in me.” I whispered before turning back to my door and stepping inside. I leaned my back against my door, taking a deep breath as a smile took over. I opened my mouth with a silent scream before shaking my hands around.

That night, my heart was beating so wildly I could barely sleep. I was excited and scared about what the next day would hold. All day I read, trying to keep my mind off Jake but I had decided I would cook dinner for him tonight, as a thank you for everything he’s done for me. When he came home I had just seasoned the steaks and covered them. I slid them into the fridge to marinate as he walked into the kitchen, showered and changed. “Hey.” He said, leaning on the doorframe. I stood, turning to him and smiling. “Hi.” My voice was soft and I was trying not to giggle like a schoolgirl at the sight of him smiling at me. “Um, I wanted to talk to you about last night.” He said, not meeting my gaze. “What about it?” Unease settled in my stomach at his words. “We should probably just forget about it. Pretend it never happened.” The sadness was overwhelming. I felt like my throat closed up and I tried to keep the tears back. “I just think it’d be best for both of us.” I licked my lips, my eyes falling to my bare feet, my toes wiggling. “Um, yeah. Sure, if you think that’s what’s best.” I said and he nodded. “Now come on.” He said, motioning me to follow him. “Where are we going?” Surely not out to dinner. “I’m gonna cook dinner, I have the steaks in the fridge marinating.” He turned and smiled at me. “I promise, we’ll be back and I’ll help you cook. We’re just gonna drop by Bob’s place.” I furrowed my brows. “Bob? Why Bob’s?” I asked, following him out of the kitchen. “You gotta have a way to get to school. We can’t share my truck if we’re going opposite directions.”

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#jake hangman seresin #jake seresin #hangman seresin #hangman #top gun maverick #jake seresin top gun #jake seresin x oc #jake seresin x neurodivergent oc #adhd oc

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chronically-ghosted · 9 months

Text

Have Yourself a Moreno Little Christmas

rating: T

pairing: marcus moreno x f!reader

word count: 6K

summary: when the Morenos' happy Christmas is in jeopardy, you think quick and invite them on a trip to an old family tradition. If he’s grateful, would it be safe to tell him how you feel? But why do you think he might already know? What if he feels the same way?

warnings: heavily influenced by the movie While You Were Sleeping, your typical amount of angst for a romcom, mutual pining, ballet in the park, a moody pre-teen, brief discussions of losing a loved one (parent/partner), bad dad jokes, canoodling in the park, one steamy kiss and a few other softer ones

a/n: Happy Secret Santa @noisynaia! You had Marcus M as your number one Pedro boy of choice, and given that I’d never written for him before, I wanted to do something wholesome and sweet in the world of super heroes. The Nutcracker has always been near and dear to me so I hope you like this take on it! @pedrostories

This will be my last fic of 2023 so - much love, stay warm, and happy holidays! 🤍Masterlist

What do you get a man who has everything for Christmas? A tie? A money clip? Something aggressively manly that smells like woodsmoke, patchouli oil, and the raw sweat of a lumberjack after felling a thousand forests?

What do you get a superhero for Christmas? Indestructible tights? A decorative plaque for his swords? A life-time supply of gauze and iodine?

What do you get for your boss, superpowered and single, with the ability to turn a paperclip into a rose? A silver ball into a flat pancake? Decorative swords into deadly weapons? What do you get him that is even remotely useful or exciting or heartwarming when he is so busy with being a single father and mentor, a symbol and an icon, all while running the world’s foremost superhero operation?

Somehow, “world’s best boss” mug feels rather . . . subpar.

What do you get him if he’s become one of your closest friends? When you try to wiggle some sort of information out of him about a potential gift on one of the many long nights where you’re stuck together doing paperwork for the UN and the NSA – but he is annoyingly vague.

His daughter – a fiery mix of headstrong and thoughtful, soothed by a loving kindness that clearly runs in the family – is no help. She teases you with promises “oh yeah, definitely get him a new spatula” when you both know the man has never been anywhere near a BBQ grill. You give her the rest of the Reeses that didn’t make it into the community candy bowl anyway.

You can’t ask for ideas from his mother, or his teammates, the security guards at the headquarter doors, anyone with eyes (who’s not ten years old) because then they’ll know, you sure of it. They’ll see and that’s just not something you can ever, ever, ever bring up because . . .

What do you get for a man who is your boss, a superhero, a leader, a father, your boss, a very close friend, your boss, someone you very much admire . . . and as a result, have fallen deeply, painfully, achingly in love with?

Your still beating heart on a silver platter seems like the obvious choice. A bowl of your tears for unrequited love is a definitely strong second option. A lock of your hair so the FBI can easily identify you as his certifiably insane stalker – there we go, brilliant idea.

A kiss under the mistletoe? A promise for more?

That damned mug is looking better and better every day.

You knock three times, then one more before opening the door. Behind unnecessarily thick glasses, Marcus glances up, life returning to his face when his eyes fall on you.

“Yes?”

“I’m sorry to interrupt, sir, but the president of Belize is on line one for you.”

The man with sticky, molded blonde hair sitting across from Marcus turns around and smiles. His teeth are freakishly white, all stacked together in tight, proper rows. His suit, freshly pressed and clean of any evidence of interaction with the world, carries a giant button on the lapel: Vote Tine!

“President of Belize, my, my, Mr. Moreno, you are a busy man!”

Marcus stands, his gaze peeling off you to the politician in front of him. “Mr. Tine, I apologize, but I have to cut this meeting short–,”

“Ah, it’s no trouble at all!” He stands, batting his hand through the air. “Just as long as we’ll see you at the next rally, right, Marcus?”

He holds out a perfectly square hand and with a tight-lipped grin, Marcus shakes Tine’s hand.

“We’ll see, Senator.”

“Wonderful, wonderful, alright, I’ll get out of your hair. Mr. Moreno . . .” he bows slightly before turning in the direction of the door. You catch a glimpse of him the instant the smarmy smile slides off his face as, with wolf-ish eyes, he evaluates you from your ankles to the candy-cane broach on your chest. You don’t smile as you shut the door after him – as if you’d be bothered by greasy politicians and their wandering eyes.

Marcus all but slumps back in his chair before taking off his glasses and rubbing his eyes with his palms.

“Every time election season comes around, they all want the Heroics’ vote. Until Miracle Guy chucks Dr. Evil through the Empire State Building and suddenly it’s ‘we need these vigilantes off our streets’ . . .” He shakes his head and slips his glasses back on, watching as you take the vacated seat. “Sorry, none of this is your problem. What does the president of Belize want?”

“Well, if it makes you feel any better,” you say, tapping the corner of your pad with your stylus, “his slogan sucks. Justine Tine – just in time. I’m not unconvinced he didn’t change his name for the sake of a cheesy one-liner.”

A small smile cracks open the dreary look on Marcus’s face. His eyes flicker to the door. “Seems like the type, doesn’t he? I think you’re onto something.”

“So that’s item one, for the day.” You stand, curling your pad into your arms, you lean on Marcus’s desk, knee against the edge.

He stares intently at your face.

“Number two, I just checked our records and there’s no Dr. Evil anywhere in our data banks. The Empire State building is safe, for now, so you can stop worrying about that.”

You mime-checking off something on your pad and the grin on Marcus’s face softens.

“And number three . . .” you pick up the phone on his desk, that suspiciously doesn’t have any blinking red lights. Marcus frowns, noticing this for the first time, when you lift up the receiver and drop it down. His mouth parts.

“Belize has a monarchy. A king, not a president.”

The frown deepens. You wait. And light parts the sky.

“Oh. Oh – you didn’t – that’s – really?”

His eyes are round, wide, relieved, and you want nothing more than to run your hands through those curls. To rub those broad shoulders loose of their tension. But rearranging meetings and make up fake world leaders to give him a break is the best you can do.

“Yes, really. The Heroics are prepared to make a sizable donation to Tine’s cause, and he will thank us at his next rally. So, Mr. Moreno, your next meeting isn’t for another hour, how would you like to spend it?” You smile, tapping your hanging shoe on the ball of your foot. “I suggest using it to eat something. Have you eaten anything today?”

Marcus sighs, eyes falling shut for just a moment. “What, and I mean this from the bottom of my heart, would I do without you?”

You avert your eyes before the heat in your cheeks climbs too high, his eyes on you, and you hop off his desk.

“Would you, hmm,” you clear your throat, your voice cracking in half, “would you like me to order something and have it delivered, Mr. Moreno?”

He’s chewing on the skin below his lip when you raise your head from the pad in your arms. Being indestructible is one thing; having his face entirely inscrutable is one of Marcus’s most impressive superpowers. He nods, the look of distant contemplation gone. He flips through a few of the notes you’ve left him on his desk – calls to return, items for next week, reports he needs to sign: busy work.

“Yeah, uh, that’s great. Pick something up for yourself too.”

The mood has soured and you’re not quite sure how or why it happened. A second ago Marcus looked like he was going to pick you up and twirl you around the room. Now, he doesn’t want anything to do with you. You nervously tap your stylus against your pad.

“Yes, Mr. Moreno.”

You turn to go, his head down, his gaze fixated on whatever isn’t you, when he calls out your name again.

“Oh, um, did you manage to get anything out of Missy abour what she wants for Christmas when she was here last Friday?”

You pause, remembering the uncharacteristically morose girl spinning listlessly in your chair while you watched from the break room as the hot cocoa warmed up in the microwave. You’d never seen so much as a pout on the girl before and no matter what you did, she didn’t crack a single smile.

“No, she didn’t tell me anything, but . . .” Now this is the part of your job that you loathe the most: trying to figure out the line. You saw Marcus as a friend, absolutely, but it’s not like you went and played volleyball on the beach with him, or went bar-hopping, or whatever it is adults with friends do. You love Missy more than you thought you could ever care about a child who isn’t your own, but you wavered how much to press her on her mood, because how did she see you? Nothing more than her father’s employee, most likely. In the end, you ended up getting one word answers from her until Marcus left his office thirty minutes later.

But here you go, overstepping boundaries . . .

“Mr. Moreno, is she alright? The last time she was here, she seemed . . . I don’t know, sad?”

Marcus’s jaw tightened, his eyes sharpened. You opened your mouth to profusely apologize when –

“Fuck.” Marcus tosses his glasses onto his desk and buries his head in his hands. The instinct to put your arms around him is so strong you take a step forward before you remember exactly who you are.

How do you comfort the man you love when you shouldn’t love him at all? How do you comfort a superhero, when he’s a father first and human second?

Keeping the desk firmly between you, you drop your pad onto one of the chairs and as slowly as you dare, you touch his forearm. He leans, not away, but towards you. He lowers his arms as you keep your touch on him. You squeeze once, looking down at his hopeless expression.

“What’s wrong? Did something happen with Missy?”

Marcus shifts his arm beneath your fingers, his fingers twitching, as if he wants to take your hand but instead puts his other hand over yours.

“This Christmas has just been really hard.”

The words are out of your mouth before you can stop them: “tell me.”

He looks up at you, eyes warm and wide in a way that only his can. Indestructible in the face of evil, inscrutable with his secrets, Marcus’s greatest weakness is Missy, and he knows it. You know you’re crossing a dozen professional lines leaning over him like you are, touching him like you are, asking him to open up. But you don’t care.

He presses his lips together, hesitant. He won’t look you in the eye. “You have to understand something first. Missy’s mom loved Christmas.”

His hand over yours tightens gently as if he thinks you’re going to pull away. You hadn’t considered it but your palm went a little damp at the mention of her.

Oh God, you’ve so played your hand wrong.

Marcus inhales, his gaze on your knuckles. “Isabel, that was her name, and every year Isabel made Christmas this big event. And every Christmas she bought Missy a little nutcracker. Missy was barely out of diapers at the time, I don’t think she even knew what they were, but she loved them. Thought they were the funniest things with their teeth and stuffy white hair . . . but he other day, going through the decoration box, Missy found them all and I guess she suddenly remembered all those Christmases with her mom and she, uh . . .”

He taps your wrist with his thumb, a tell he has when he’s nervous. The seat squeaks slightly as he adjusts himself in it.

“I haven’t been putting out the nutcrackers that Isabel gave Missy. The Christmas after she died, I couldn’t bring myself to put out any sort of real decorations, except for the tree. Missy was so young, I don’t think she cared. But as she got older, she never asked about the nutcrackers so I hoped she just . . . forgot about them. And she did, until she found them last Friday.”

“Last Friday?” You feel like you’ve been sucking on cotton. “Before she came to the office?”

Marcus nods.

“Oh, M-Mar-Mr. Moreno, I’m so sorry. That’s terrible.”

“She was furious that I tried to hide something of her mother’s from her. And she’s right. I was a coward.”

This move is an intentional one. You slip your hand out from his and cup his fingers around yours, as if guiding him. He finally looks up at you, guilt and shame and grief streaking his face like blurry rain against a window pane.

“You are the bravest man I know, Marcus Moreno. You’re a superhero and a single father. Most people can barely handle one. She’ll come around, I promise.”

You swallow the urge to bring his knuckles to your lips, and instead squeeze both of his hands and let go. You slide away from the desk, your heart tight in your chest when his thumbs pass over the palm of your hand. The look on his face is disappointed, you want to believe.

“Thank you. For listening and, uh, everything else. You’re right. I’ll just . . . well, I don’t know what I’ll do but I’ll figure something out.” He leans back, elbows on the chair’s handles. Marcus Moreno, or what you know of him, doesn’t like to dwell, so you watch some of the heaviness shift from his eyes the moment he decides to change the subject. “What are you doing for Christmas? Are you staying in town? Going to see family – or a boyfriend?”

The warm in your chest, lingering from his hands, suddenly bolts across your face. “No, no, um, no, there’s no one –,” Would it be pathetic if you fanned yourself with your pad? God, how does the man work in here for hours with no fresh air? “No, I’m not going home to anyone but I am . . .”

And suddenly there it is. A solution to your Christmas present debacle and maybe a way to save Christmas for Missy Moreno.

You shake your head, beating back the rising heat in your cheeks. “Actually, are you and Missy doing anything this weekend?”

Marcus seems taken aback from this sudden turn in the conversation.

“Um, no. I don’t think so. Why do you ask?”

“If you’ll let me, I’d like to show you and Missy something really, really special.”

You swear the tips of his ears go pink. “Uh, okay. Sure. I-I’ll have to clear it with Missy, but yeah, alright. What time?”

“I’ll put it in your calendar.” You smile and slip your stylus back into your pad. “Have a nice lunch, Mr. Moreno.”

He shakes his head and scratches the back of his neck as you head for the door.

“How many times do I have to ask you to call me, Marcus?

You pause with your handle on the door. “At least once more, Mr. Moreno.”

The mug drops to last place.

Good news.

If you’re ever stranded on a desert island, you’ll survive because you are already intimately familiar with the taste of your own foot in your mouth.

Why did you open with “Hey Missy, your dad tells me you’ve been having a rough Christmas?” to a sullen, grieving pre-teen?

And can time actually go slower, when the air is so stifled with tension? When you’re absolutely sure you’re breathing too loud?

You’ve been glancing at Missy in the rear view mirror for the dozenth time in twice as many miles. Her face is turned towards the window so you can’t actually see the murderous rage in her eyes, but oh wow do you feel it. Nevermind superpowers, this little girl could char you to a crisp with her eyes alone. Potential step-mom failure award goes to . . .

“So.” Marcus clears his throat and you tear your eyes back from the back of his daughter’s head. The fraught silence of the car stretches just long enough after Marcus’s statement to grate ever so gently – “um, how do you, uh, know about this place? Wherever, we’re going.”

You bite the corner of your mouth. Marcus doesn’t appear angry that you’ve soured the mood with Missy before the drive even began. In fact, he looks genuinely curious, the light in his eyes bright. If it weren’t for that single line between his brows, you assume nothing is wrong, but you know that almost frown. Marcus is anxious.

Great.

You settle back in your seat, trying to look as relaxed as you can in a pillowy jacket, your hat and gloves in Marcus’s lap, along with his own. The snow outside stopped falling only a few minutes ago, lining the trees and road with a crisp sparkling white. If anything, it ended up being a beautiful day.

You flex your hand around the steering wheel, trying to summon courage up through your body like your lungs inhale air.

“It’s an old family tradition, actually. My folks would take us out here every year to watch . . . to watch the show.” You glance at him briefly before checking to see if that piqued anything from the roiling black cloud in the back. It didn’t. You hadn’t told either one of the Morenos your plans for this Christmas day. “But I haven’t been back in a while.”

“Why not? And please don’t say it's because of work.” The lilt in his voice has you looking at him, long enough to watch a small smile uncurl. You really thought it was impossible for Marcus Moreno to get any cuter, but with his woolen floppy cap covering his ears and the little white bob at the end fluttering in the warm heater air, you force yourself to remember you’re driving a 3000 pound metal death machine if you stare, starry-eyed, for too long.

“No, it’s not because of work,” you grin back and his own crosses completely across his mouth. “It’s not work related . . . but um, after my parents passed away, my brother and sister moved across the country.” Your hands crinkle around the steering wheel. “I’ve spent most of my Christmas’s alone ever since. Coming here without them, i-it felt . . . wrong.”

In the rear view mirror, you think you see her move.

“That’s terrible. I’m sorry.” The weight of Marcus’s gaze, his own planetary gravitational pull, has your nose drawing down then over. He looks genuinely regretful of your situation and you’re suddenly hit with the understanding that not only did Missy lose a mother, but Marcus lost a wife.

Hell, maybe you can just continue up the bone and eat your whole leg while you’re at it.

“Mhm hmm.”

The rest of the car right goes on in silence, except for the faint, ghost-like christmas carols playing from the speakers through your phone.

When you pull off the dirt road and park your car in the cold grass with dozens of other vehicles, you can’t unbuckle fast enough. The patches of icy dead grass snap beneath your boots as you climb out of the car, and you’re struck in the face with a chilly wind.

The words are on your tongue as you look at him over the hood of the car, the breeze snagging the little puff ball on the end of his cap, his glasses already misting over.

I’m so sorry, Marcus, this was such a bad idea.

I don’t know how to talk about my grief or anyone else's and it’s been drowning me for years but I don’t want to pull you down with me.

I’ll drive you anywhere you want I’m so–

“Is this the Stanley Amphitheater?” Marcus takes off his glasses and rubs the condensation away. “This is where they have that jazz festival every summer, right?”

You’re so surprised by his tone that all you can do is blurt out: “yes.”

“So cool! I’ve actually been dying to check this place out!”

“Y-yeah?”

He smiles at you and you have to grab onto the door frame to keep your knees from buckling.

“C’mon, Missy.”

Tugging his hat further over his head, Marcus lopes forward and then he turns and reaches out for his daughter. The moment arcs, Missy’s stone faced glare demanding that he drop his hand, that he turn away from her, an inch away from leaving a mark that aches in a way that only a loving parent can feel from their loved child –

And she takes his hand.

You watch them follow the crowd, blanket in hand, just a few steps behind them, and you breathe out.

Across the stone amphitheater, a low murmur of dozens of eager voices vibrate in the dugout cup of the earth. Children squirm with anticipation in their parents’ laps, couples share lingering gazes over steaming styrofoam cups of hot chocolate, an air of excitement and delight hovering between chapped lips and knitted gloves as the sun arcs lower in the sky. Just in front of the large stage, a live orchestra prepares, discordant cords breaking and rising like smoke.

A man in a striped hat sells buttery popcorn and sweet, crunchy kettle corn in a small wooden hut a distance from the theater. A few families wait in line, children teasing one another behind their parents, their laughter light on the breezy air.

“So, what is this?” Your head whips around at Missy’s first sentence all day. Marcus looks at you equally stunned. The blanket you’ve spread across three laps keeps you intentionally close so you have to lean back slightly to see her face.

“It’s, um–,”

“Missy, do you like ballet?” You ask

Beneath her maroon hat, her eyes lift up, her back straightening from its hunch. You wouldn’t call her look eager, but you cannot deny there’s interest.

She nods.

“Well, what we’re about to see is a very special ballet performance. Some people who have powers like your dad, they don’t go into crime fighting. Instead, they use their powers to make art.”

She blinks, eyes widening. “What do you mean?”

“You’ll have to wait and see.”

The fringe smile is hidden by a curtain of hair as Missy tilts her head down to her shoes, nodding. Marcus glances at you over the wool of her hat, surprise thinning the lines around his eyes.

“It’s getting kind of cold,” he says slowly, to no one in particular. “Anyone want some hot chocolate?”

“I do,” you wave. Missy nods, grumbling.

Marcus waves over a woman in a striped hat as she wanders through the crowd. The metal box, hanging around her neck and strapped to her back reads, refreshments.

He pays for three styrofoam cups just as the lights in the back of the amphitheater flicker and the orchestra winds down to silence.

Despite the burgeoning chill in the air, and despite the grief dividing yet binding the three of you, and despite the fact that this may be your one chance for Marcus to see you as anything other than his assistant, you’re hopeful. Maybe it’s the music itself, that way that music has to ignite your soul when you need it the most, or maybe it’s the spirit of the season, but for the first time in a long, long time, you don’t feel so lonely. In fact, you can’t remember a time you’ve felt more connected than you do with the people next to you.

Missy’s eyes are bright, flitting around the stage as if determined to not miss a single thing, the cocoa in her hands leaving a dark rim around her mouth that she is blissfully ignorant of. That already full feeling in your chest expands and you want nothing more than to hug her, hug her till she’s warm and hug her till she’s happy. Behind her, her father moves and it catches your eye.

Marcus has never looked at you before the way he is now. Inscrutable, undefined, but it packs such a punch in your chest it feels like you gulped down your entire cup of hot chocolate in one go. You turn away, fearful of what he might see in your eyes, and realize the enormity of what you feel, how it’s all consuming and tugs at you when you least expect it.

The music begins to swell just as the sun sets and the lights at the rim of the theater fade. You take a shaky inhale – nerves and excitement and memories good and bad weighing on your shoulders.

And then it begins to snow.

But not from the sky and it’s not yet cold enough for the consistent sprinkle. Snowflakes tangle with your eyelashes, in the wool of your cap. Then Missy gasps as a translucent ice crystal the size of her palm trickles down into her lap. Glinting like glass, the intricate design of the crystal flashes once before disappearing – not melting – just gone. Around you, other children hold out, giggling their hands as more beautiful flakes of enormous size flutter down from the inexplicable snow drift. A few adults reach out to grab some that burst like bubbles, a wondrous awe crescendoing across the crowd.

From the wings of the stage, a man and a woman, dressed in beautiful light blues and silvers, silks glittering with inset shimmering stones, walk across the stage, their arms moving slowly, thoughtfully.

In sync, they coax the air and the snow follows in a dance of white. Delighted shouts rise up as the snow and ice spin together, arcing and weaving, capturing the essence of a winter wind. The pair on stage bend, their hands flung backwards in a bow and the ball of snow shatters in an icy solar flare, the million white flakes fluttering over the crowd.

Out of the exhilarated murmur that overtakes the crowd, one noise stands out above the rest.

Missy laughs. She laughs as she watches a snowflake melt on the end of her nose.

You wish desperately you could squeeze her to you.

The crowd applauds the snow dancers, bowing again before exiting the stage, as a woman in black steps out. Her short-cropped hair is nearly as white as the snow still melting on the ground and her eyes are crinkled at the edges. When she speaks, her voice booms without the aid of a mic.

“Thank you and welcome to another annual Stanley Kirby production of The Nutcracker.”

Missy’s smile doesn’t fall from her face. In fact it widens. Your heart is pounding in your chest, as you watch her from the corner of your eye.

“I’ve been directing this play for twenty years now and I can honestly say I find something new and beautiful about it every time. Winter is often seen as the end stage, symbolized through literature and poetry as the time when we humans grow old. But I like to think that doesn’t always have to be true. Spirit, however you like to think of it, is exactly that: an endurance, a bravery, a force greater than ourselves that we can either embrace or let slide through our fingers. We hope you leave today with a little bit more spirit in you. Thank you for coming and we hope you enjoy the show.”

She bows as two men enter in from the wings, these dressed in brown and green, the crowd clapping for both the director and the new players.

A little girl, in ballet shoes and a pink dress with ruffles, her hair down to her back and tied out of her face with a bow, joins them on the stage and sits down in the center as the heavy velvet curtains pull back to reveal a backdrop imitating a hallway. With a large door, two round, gilded mirrors and a single chair.

The orchestra begins, the dancers lifting their hands with a wave of a conductor.

Shadows flicker at the back of the theater, eliciting shocked, almost horrified gasps from the crowd. But you know what’s coming. You don’t turn around. You smile.

Beside you both Missy and Marcus stare, mouths open, as eleven foot tall wooden nutcrackers amble down the stone steps between the seats, their knees stocky, their weight uneven as they march towards the stage. Their giant mouths creak and groan as the switch on their backs moves without any visible force. The green and red paint shines in the lights from the stage, their silver buttons glowing like stars. The dancers in brown coax them closer with a curl of their fingers and a bend in their arms. They begin to sway and spin across the stage, their legs outstretched and their feet curved into satin shoes, the little girl paying them no mind. Instead, she gets on her knees and waves to the marching soldiers.

More awed gasps as now teddy bears then porcelain dolls, the size of elephants, follow the nutcrackers down the steps, the orchestra keeping time and building a sense of whimsy and joy. The little girl bounds to the edge of the stage as the first wave of soldiers approaches. With a kiss from her hand into the wind, the first nutcracker freezes and then shrinks, the dancer behind the girl flicking his wrist. The crowd hums with delight as the nutcracker, now the size of a toy, floats next to the chair. One by one, the little girl greets the marching toys just before they shrink and find a place next to the chair.

With the last doll fluttering in the wind as it settles, the little girl spins and twirls until she drops into the chair and seemingly to sleep.

The crowd roars with joy, a thunderous applause swelling in the amphitheater.

But, best of all, Missy is on her feet, cheering and clapping. Her face glows in the light of the stage, her eyes bright and hopeful, her cheeks pink and chapped. In the shadows that flicker of people moving and applauding, beyond Missy’s curly hair, Marcus stares at you in a way that makes your heart grow bigger with every beat, his own silent music swelling the cage of your ribs.

He reaches out his hand for you and you take it.

He keeps holding you long after Missy sits down and the ballet continues.

A nearby park has set up Christmas lights in the trees and on the pathway. Missy, after promising to stay close, has gone and disappeared in the dark, off playing with a few of the other children who stayed after the show was over.

Families sit on benches under covered awnings, the dark night cold but not encroaching, a food truck selling churros and Mexican hot chocolate mystifying the chilly air into white puffs as they serve eager mouths and cold hands.

You walk the lighted path with Marcus, your arm tucked up around his.

The sounds of children laughing fill the comfortable silence between you two.

“This is going to be embarrassingly underwhelming,” he says quietly, the warmth of his body enough to keep a shiver at bay. “But thank you. That was incredible. I mean, I’ve seen The Nutcracker before, but this . . .”

He trails off, shaking his head, awe curling his mouth open.

“It’s pretty fantastic, right?” You smile up at him and squeeze his arm.

He closes his mouth just as his eyebrows jump.

“Kinda makes me wonder if I picked the wrong profession, if other people are using their powers like that.”

You chuckle lowly. “Ha, as if there’s anything you could be except a superhero.”

“What do you mean?” The tone in his voice makes you pause. Just around the curve of the path, you’re hidden by silver-dripped trees and frost-covered shrubs. No children run here and the lights on the path are muffled by the overgrowth.

His eyes are dark when you look into them, but dark in the way under the covers of your parents bed is dark, or the dark in your friend’s mouths when they’re torn open with laughter. Dark in a way that holds and comforts and sinks deep. White mist puffs from his chapped lips, nose pink and cold. The lint from his scarf has stuck to the base of his neck.

“You have to save people. It’s who you are. I don’t believe for a second there’s any part of you that could sit by and watch terrible things happen to good people. Your powers don’t change that.” You swallow, fingering the snaps on his coat as you stand face to face, the decision to say the words on your tongue nearly splitting you apart. “You saved me. If that counts for anything. You saved me from being alone on another really shitty Christmas and I–,”

The soft but determined press of his lips against yours brings silence to the grove, your words dissipating into the air like snowflakes. The whole of the world narrows down to the sensation of his mouth on yours; you forget the cold, the chilly burn on your cheeks, the sweat on your hairline where your woolen cap sits. You forget the sound of people in the distance, forget the lights in the darkness. He kisses like he works, methodically, confidently, and with intention.

His well-kept mustache tickles your nose, his lips a little torn from the cold, but the heat of his mouth warms you to your core. He holds you, his scratchy mitten against your cheek, the rest of him staying perfectly still, letting you savor his touch, commit the shape of his mouth, and by the quietest of moans rumbling in his chest, you think he might be doing the same.

In the split second where you think he’s going to pull back, he cups the back of your head in his glove, sealing the hair around your shoulders to the collar of your jacket. Emboldened by your soft inhale, he turns his head, opening his mouth and more of himself up to you, and you, in turn, run as far as you can with this. You slip your arms around his scarf, trying to get at the heat of his throat, as he gathers as much as he can of you into him.

You aren’t sure who eases you both back down from the clouds, who lifts hands and pulls apart, but your mouths separate, your noses inches from each other, and great plumes of white mist rise from your heated gasps.

“So I’m not crazy,” he murmurs, his eyes nearly completely hidden behind condensation. “There is something here. You feel it too.”

“Yes, Marcus, God, yes.” You close your eyes and bump your head against his as he sniffs in the cold, his cheeks flaming.

“That’s what it takes to get you to call me Marcus, huh? A kiss that knocks your socks off?”

You shake your head, laughing, your nose seeking out the solace of his warm skin. “‘Knocks your socks off’, you’re such a dad.”

“Yeah, I am. And you made my daughter happier than I’ve seen her in weeks. I’ll never forget that.”

The heavy rasp of his voice has your eyes seeking out his. You can’t quite find what you’re looking for behind the glasses, but his relaxed open mouth, the tilt of his head down to you, begs for more.

“W-wait – wait, Marcus.” You fight the sudden spark of images flying across your mind; his bare hands, free of gloves and mittens and wool, lifts your shirt up and those soft lips imprint themselves on the curve of your stomach; scorching water turns his back bright red as he tugs your knees tighter around his waist don’t worry I’ve got you; waking up to him stretched out naked and loose and finally relaxed. Your heart squeezes at the mere fantasy. Everything you’ve ever wanted, inches from your outstretched fingertips. “Are you serious about this?”

Marcus grins, kisses your nose, and pulls you in by your scarf, as if you could possibly get any closer.

“Yes, I’m sure. Very sure. I haven’t made a choice this easy in years. Wait, I want to look you in the eyes when I say this.” He lets you go only to smear the condensation away from his glasses. Remind him to wear his contacts the next time you go out in the snow.

Next time next time next time

“There.” He slips those thick-framed glasses back over his nose and then takes your hand. He holds it near his heart. “I like you and my kid adores you. I’ve been slowly going crazy at my desk, hoping that the way you smile at me is only for me, and that you don’t know anyone else’s coffee order by heart.” You huff a laugh, if only to loosen the knot in your throat. “What? I’m serious.” He chuckles with you before taking you into your arms again. His lips are warm against your forehead. “I’ve had it bad for you ever since you started, but I never said anything because I knew you were new to the city and you didn’t need your boss crypt-keeping on you.”

“I think the correct term the kids use is just creeping, but I get your point.” You tilt your head up into his waiting gaze. Warm like chocolate. Warm like the sturdy earth. Warm like . . . “And if my employment is the only thing keeping us apart, then I totally quit.”

“Good, ‘cause you’re totally fired.”

You both laugh into each other, mist rising from your mouths, the corners of your mouths splitting in the cold. The temperature is steadily dropping, but you can’t seem to care. In fact, one big gust of wind could blow you away, suddenly lighter than air.

“So does this mean I don’t have to get you a World’s Greatest Boss gift?”

He kisses your cheek and you feel it in your toes. “You’ve already given me exactly what I wanted.”

“Merry Christmas, Marcus.”

“Merry Christmas, baby.”

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