#just for a second I wish they’d stop getting older

[januaryembrs]

FIGHT TALK | Eddie Munson x Sunshine!Reader

Request: Hi! Can I request a Drabble with the character Eddie Munson, with the prompt “I won’t let anyone hurt you, ever.”. Imagine that Eddie being protective and acting as a bodyguard to the reader who is being bullied a lot, he feels sorry and guard her.

description: Eddie is not very happy when he finds his darling girlfriend stashed in the AV room after her first fight

word count: 1.1k

trigger warnings: swears, blood, mention of the f slur, broken nose? very quick dirty thought from Eds (it’s Eddie what can I say)

main masterlist

authors note: eddie x sunshine reader is about to be a thing around this neck of the woods since my beloved @palacearcaderadiostation demands more 💗

“He’s gonna fucking kill us,” Dustin held his hat scrunched tightly in his hands, as if he were in church or in mourning. “I never even got to say goodbye to Tews, my mom’s gonna be crushed,”

“Are you shitting me, he’s gonna make us wish we were dead,” Mike rubbed a hand over his tired face, “Do you remember what he did to Tommy H when he shook her soda can and it exploded in her face? My mom said the Hagen’s had to take him to a specialist in Chicago to get his nose fixed.”

Dustin paled even more, as Lucas returned with a sweat on his brow, the older boy hot on his heels.

“Move! Move out of my way- Out of my way,” Eddie cursed, shoving the other students hard enough they shot him dirty looks over their shoulders. Not that he cared, he had a sneer of his own as he looked down at the three boys that seemed to quiver in their place under his sable gaze, “Where is she?”

“Eddie, please understand- We tried to tell her-” Dustin spluttered as Mike seemed to biting the inside of his cheeks to keep himself from doing the same. Eddie simply put his hand in the kids face, glaring at him hard enough to silence him immediately.

The three of them would rather face the Wyvern they’d fought in their last campaign head on than have to deal with their dungeon master like this.

“Where is she, Henderson?” He growled, and the boys could do nothing but point to the AV room they’d stashed her in to keep her from the other student’s nosy gaze. Eddie didn’t need any other instruction, he was at the door in seconds, bursting through into the small, darkened room, his eyes falling on the girl sat on the table, legs swinging back and forth happily as if she wasn’t sporting a black eye and a bloodied nose. His breath hitched, his chest constricting tightly as he watched her own gaze flick to his. “Oh, baby,”

“Eds! Did you see? Did they tell you what I did?” She asked, her lips pulling into a smile as her boyfriend came closer, his hands grabbing the sides of her face, thumbs stroking over her cheeks.

“Mother of Christ, what did those shits do to you?” He snapped angrily, though his eyes were wide, the sadness written clear over them. Waving him off, she held onto his wrists with split knuckles, another factor that had him nearly clutching his pearls in aghast.

“It wasn’t their fault Eds, David Johnson was picking on Dustin for his lisp and calling them all-” She stopped, her nose scrunching in disgust when she thought of the word they’d used.

“Gay?” Eddie asked, to which she shook her head, though his eyes were quick to notice how the movement tugged on her split nose, “The other one?”

“The F one,” She muttered, hating that she even had to say it, “I dunno, I can take it when they say it about me. I just couldn’t stand to hear that about them, they’re good kids,”

He felt his expression soften, watching as she fiddled with her sleeve, another thing that had fallen casualty to her heroics as a thin tear trailed up her arm.

“You are just the bravest maiden there is, huh?” He asked, his chest butterflying when she looked up at him with the same happy smile she always had when he spoke like they were in one of his games, “And oh, your teeth! Those beautiful teeth, are they okay? Did they survive the warfare? Let me see,” Within seconds he had puckered her cheeks with one hand effortlessly, his other thumb lifting her lips up and down as if giving her an oral exam.

Her giggles vibrated on his palm that rested on throat as she tried to pull away from his grip, only partially succeeding as he took his finger out but held her still.

“-ds” She mumbled through her pursed lips, feeling him loosen on her jaw for just a moment before he gave her a gentle peck, careful not to bump her nose. Trying to pull away to tend to her ailments, he was stopped when he felt her fingers loop through his belt, tugging him forward for another longer kiss, her pretty lilac nails brushing against his tummy.

Chuckling as he pulled away, his hand moving from her jaw to cup her cheek sweetly, his eyes seemed to zero in on the cut on the bridge of her nose, the skin around it mottling into a bruise. He couldn’t miss the way it seemed to welt with fresh blood, the sight of it worrying him despite it being no bigger than his nail.

“You are just in luck, brave maiden, your medic has arrived prepared,” She smiled wryly as he dug through his bag until his face lit up as he brushed against the packet, “Ah, ha!”

Pulling out two from his collection, he held the bandaids up to her face so she could see for herself.

“Dangermouse or Ducktales?” He asked, the two brightly coloured cartoons staring back at her as she pointed to the three little ducklings.

“Ducktales, please,” She said, watching him peel the paper from the back, gently sticking it over the bridge of her sore nose, “I bet you do this for all your patients,”

“Only the most valiant of warriors,” He murmured, pecking the tip of her nose with soft eyes, “That’s just because you’re my favourite,”

She giggled again, as he picked up her scraped hand delicately, scanning over the small cuts attentively. Putting his hand to his mouth, he fake retched, covering his eyes in horror.

“Oh God,” He gasped, turning away from the sight, “Oh, god. I think we’re gonna have to amputate,”

Shoving him on his chest, she snickered at his dramatics, her fingers already scabbing over from their minor wounds. “Quit playin’. I was very brave today,”

“Oh, I don’t doubt that, baby,” He said, giving her knuckles some tender kisses, not caring it seemed gross seeing as she was bleeding. “Did you get him good at least, honey?”

She perked up even more, eyes alight with a sick little delight he hadn’t seen in her before. He’d be lying if he said it didn’t have his boxers stirring.

“I split his lip, would have gotten his nose too if he hadn’t jumped on me,” She said, and Eddie couldn’t help the raucous laugh that left his throat.

Pressing more kisses to her hairline he smiled, down at her from her place still sat atop the table. “Don’t worry, you’re on the bench in round two, Balboa. I’ll give him something to cry about,” He smirked at her, his nose brushing against hers sweetly, “I won’t let anyone hurt you, ever.”

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[stargirlrchive]

dad simon doing skin to skin with his premie baby girl because shes in the nicu ☹️

:c he’d be so so scared to hold his little babe !!

tw: mentions of childbirth and preterm labor, fem!reader

but ok like i genuinely think if simon decided to have kids with someone it would be when they are both ‘older’ (and i say that term loosely bc im thinking they’d both be in late 30’s early 40’s) but because of that when getting pregnant there are more complications that could happen. simon would be so careful with you, and your pregnancy.

making sure to take a leave so he can be there for every single appointment and just care for you because above all else he needs you to be healthy.

so when you do go into preterm labor he’s a mess. but he’s pulled himself together enough to get you to the hospital and thankfully once you were admitted everything went smoothly. but it doesn’t stop that ache and fear of now having his baby girl out in the world.

he was so happy, you were both healthy, for the most part, little riley just needs a few weeks to be able to come home.

now came the really scary part. he already knew his baby was gonna seem like the smallest thing in the world, but now? he was scared one wrong move would break one of her weak little bones.

you’re so exhausted as you waddle your way to the nicu, but the second your eyes land on your little girl everything else fades away. and simon wishes he could feel that relief but he’s so fucking terrified.

his eyes are raw from not crying, throat feeling like they shoved sandpaper down it as he sees his girls in front of him, safe.

and before he can try to gently back out of it, the nurse is encouraging skin to skin contact, and you just look so so tired, that he can’t say no. his fingers trembling and feeling uncoordinated as the nurse places his baby on his bare chest.

his little girl instantly falling back asleep and one of his hands is gently resting on her back. he’s biting down on some of his fingers to hold back the sob that had been stuck in his throat for the past 24 hours.

and then you’re both crying, and he’s holding the two of you and he knows he’d do anything to keep this forever.

[morganbritton132]

was thinking about that wayne buying little steve cereal text post and was wondering if you still plan to write the fic its inspired? if so i am definitely looking forward to it and am cheering you on. if not that's cool too, i was just curious!

Unfortunately, I don’t think I’ll ever actually write the fic. But! I will tell you what I had in mind because it wasn’t supposed to be a sad fic!

Wayne starts noticing this kid around town.

He shouldn’t. He doesn’t notice any other kid, and this boy is well-dressed. He seems polite enough and well-behaved. There’s no reason that Wayne should pay him any mind, except… the hair. It’s a mess. It’s brushed up and backwards like the person who fixed it didn’t quite know what they were doing.

He keeps seeing that hair everywhere.

It’s asking questions at the hardware store about lightbulbs. It’s distracting Bob at the Radio Shack. It’s taking up half the aisle at Melvard’s with a cart it can’t see over, and asking Wayne, ‘Mister, can you reach the floss for me, please?’

There’s nothing out of the ordinary, honestly, but Wayne feels a might uncomfortable every time he sees this head of hair (a bit more stylish than the last) doing something that a parent might do. Especially because he never sees a parent.

It comes to head when he’s three people back in line at Melvard’s and people are complaining. He sticks his head out to see what the hold up is and sees that head of hair again, counting out quarters and dimes at the counter for a box of cheerios.

Davey, in front of him, swears under his breath and bounces on his feet like he’s about to say something, but Wayne beats him to it. Wayne takes the few steps up to the counter, looks Donald in the eye and wishes that it had been Joyce Byers instead.

He sits his carton of eggs and gallon of milk down on the counter next to the kid’s cereal and tells Don to ring it all up together. Then he tells the kid, “Put your money away, boy.”

He tries to talk to him outside the store, but the boy squeaks out ‘thanks’ and is running before Wayne can get anything out. He doesn’t see him for a while after that, and he can’t stop thinking about how hungry he looked.

A month and some change later, Wayne finds himself sliding into a booth at the diner across from the kid with the hair. He’s devouring slices of toast, pennies and nickels counted out on the table next to him.

The kid startles, and Wayne cuts to the point, “You hungry?”

The kid nods in that skittish way that reminds him of his nephew and Wayne orders two plates of pancakes. He lets the boy eat before he asks where his parents are. He gets no answer. He asks if he has enough food at home. The kid’s eye flicker to him and then back down, “Usually.”

He clicks his tongue, swears internally, and asks how often he’s left alone and hungry, and the boy says, “Their flight got delayed.”

The boy shrugs his shoulders and explains the money they leave him, and how sometimes he’s runs out but he’s learning better. It crushes Wayne just a little that he seems so proud of himself. Wayne gives the kid his number and tells him that if he’s ever hungry to call him.

For a while, Steve would call sporadically. Sometimes goes weeks, sometimes months. They’d meet at the diner and eat. This eventually lead to Wayne cooking for him in his trailer, then to him teaching Steve the basics, then to them cooking together.

Steve got older. He got a credit card. He got busier with school, and sports, and his friends. He didn’t need Wayne to feed him anymore, but they still tried to have dinner at least once a month.

When Eddie came to live with Wayne, he told him that Stevie came to dinner every third Saturday of the month. Eddie assumed Stevie was Wayne’s girlfriend.

The first Saturday that passed, Steve had to cancel because he had a basketball game. The second Saturday, Steve’s parents were in town so he couldn’t come. The third, Steve no showed, called the next day delirious with flu and apologized to Wayne.

The fourth Saturday rolls around and Eddie is thinking, “Man, this chick does not like Wayne. He needs to break up with his girlfriend before it gets really sad.”

Then there is a knock at the door, and Eddie opens it to the biggest jock asshole in the school.

Eddie stares at Steve in horror, and Steve stares back in total confusion, and then they both get annoyed like, “What are you doing here?”

Then cut to Eddie calling Steve out on bullying and Steve tattling about Eddie walking on the lunch tables. They bicker and argue, and Wayne secretly loves it.

[specific-dreamer]

stay gold is for darry too

“when you’re young and the world is new / it’s easy to forget when you’re trying just to make it through”

bc, cmon guys, darry is twenty. 20, two-zero. idk how different college was back then, so bare with me.

he’s from tulsa oklahoma, the south, and he’s twenty years old. assuming he didn’t take a gap year (i’m going off the musical sayin he had to drop out, instead of not go all together) he would’ve been in his second year of school.

(i’m putting a break here because this turned more into a headcanon than an analysis i fear)

and we know darry’s a lil extroverted social butterfly, i’m sure he made so many friends. do you think he told them he was going home for the weekend but would totally be back for that frat party? or do you think he had a best friend on campus that he couldn’t wait to introduce to his family and the gang because he just knew how’d great they’d get on?

because he’s at a state college likely, there’s gonna be greaser/soc rivalries still but chances are so high that the max tension will be arguments. so it’s likely he even got to (freely, and guilt free) make friends with socs.

his biggest worries sophomore year was if he would finish his homework and papers before the weekend so he could go home for his birthday. his biggest worry was working up the nerve to still his dad he blew his allowance that month on some girl. his biggest worry was struggling with being a first gen college student, juggling his papers and football practice, and his work study.

i’m willing to bet he didn’t even tell his parents he’d be home that weekend. i’m thinkin he told dally, because dally would likely forget to tell the others he was comin and everyone else can’t keep their mouths shut for shit.

i think he went to Oklahoma State, which is only 2 hours from tulsa. so, i’m thinking he caught the greyhound really really early that morning, like crackass of dawn early. and when he gets there it’s probably 6:00 and through the window darry can see his parents rousing soda and pony up for school. (school may start at 8:30, but they got two rowdy teenage boys one of whom hates school to get ready, they’ll wake up an hour earlier than necessary)

darry, in all his older brother glory, probably waits for the perfect moment to make his grand entrance. he’d wait until he hears ponyboy loudly complaining that “darry doesn’t have to wake up this early” and he fuckin grins because that’s the most perfect entry for him.

but he can’t get excited, not yet. he’s gotta act like it’s no big deal that he’s here, so he opens the door all casual like and starts toeing off shoes as he closes it behind him. and in his arrogant, i’m-the-eldest-of-course-i’m-right voice he says, “you’re so right, little brother. i actually woke up three hours ago.” and darry tries his damndest he really does, but he can’t help the way his chest loosens and his grin widens and it feels like every stressful thing he’d been worried about rolls off back when he hears the gasps and “sweet mother mary” from his family when he announces himself.

he probably doesn’t even get his second shoe off before he’s knocked to ground by pony (soda would have too, if he was anymore awake, instead he’s just staring at darry in confusion).

i’m gonna write a fic BUT BACK TO WHAT I WAS SAYING

do you think darry feels guilty for not having called ahead of time? do you think he wishes he stayed at school that weekend so parents wouldn’t have gotten in that wreck? do you think a small of darry, a part that he hates as each day passes, wishes that he let the social workers take his brothers? only to instantly regret that train of thought when his brothers crawl into his bed at 10pm trying to stop shaking and crying so they don’t “wake” darry

do you think that it was in that moment, that all those childhood jokes with his parents and phony arguments with paul suddenly became real. that sodapop and ponyboy are his babies. they may not be his in the same way that curly and angela are tim’s kids, but his friends at school are always sayin darry needs to stop referring to pony as his “littlest”.

we know darry didn’t cry at the funeral (or at all, at least to pony’s knowledge) but i really think college was such a breath of fresh air for darry that he was probably holding back sobs when he called his schools admission office to drop out.

i think before they could bury their parents properly, darry had to convince his brothers to go down to school with him so he could pack his things up. (i say convince because i think pony might’ve cried himself hoarse thinking that darry was going back to school and leaving them alone)

do you think darry cried the night before they went down to oklahoma state? because his friends were finally going to meet his littles that he could never seem to stop talking about. he’d have to find some way to apologize for missin the frat party (and his 20th birthday, hell, darry thinks his might’ve been more excited than he was) because saying his parents just died and he legally became a father of two is a little too comedic to sound real despite things.

or do you think he avoided his friends like the plague because he knows he’d break down if he saw their pitying eyes? he knew he’d break down if that one girl he couldn’t keep his eyes off of from his psych class saw him and soda carry his boxes to the car and stopped and ask him why he was leaving.

do you think after the funeral when darry made sure his brothers were alright, tucked in for bed and knew they could go find him if they needed anything at all, instead of going to his room he went to his parents room? just to feel their presence one last time. he probably went under their covers too, in the middle like when he was a kid so he could turn left and smell his daddy’s cologne or turn right and smell his mamas rosy perfume, just so he could get one more hug from them. just one more hug before he had to let them go

(do you think when ponyboy inevitably came lookin for darry to scare his nightmares away later that night he got scared when darry wasn’t in his room? do you think he started crying all over again unable to be tough because what if darry’s dead too or worse what if he really did leave them? do you think that’s when pony started sleeping with soda instead. that that’s when his image of darry being a hero cracked because what kind of hero leaves when people are still needing to be saved?)

[cillianmesoftlyyy]

As You Wish | Neil Lewis x fem!reader

Summary| You've had your eye on Neil for a while now and Neil's friends can tell but Neil isn't so sure until you come into Gumshoe Video with a boy on your arm with horrible taste in date-night cinema. When the date goes awry, Neil jumps to action.

Warning| Age gap, reader (19) and Neil (27), rudeness, flirting, touching, Neil being a little creepy, Neil's dubious consent, talk of virginity and inexperience, kissing, blowjob.

Mastermind- Taylor Swift (yeah, I said it) 🎵

Colorblind- Counting Crows 🎶

word count: 4933k

*sentences in italics are quotes from The Princess Bride (1987)

Please read warnings before continuing- thanks!

“That kid keeps coming around. If you’re not careful she’s gonna fall in love and you’ll be in deep shit,” Lucien fixed the thick frame of his glasses on his angular nose and returned the fake pipe to his mouth. 

“Why don’t you shut up, Lucien. It’s not like that. Just keep your weird thoughts to yourself in my store.” Neil called over his shoulder as he stocked the shelves with returned VHS tape sleeves. He ran his elbow over his forehead, wiping away the thin layer of perspiration. 

“Everyone’s thinking it…” Lucien raised his hands in defense and Neil rolled his eyes. Jonathan came in from Neil’s office holding a milkcrate full of new movies, still wrapped in plastic. Neil whistled at him. 

“Jonathan, do you think that girl likes me?” Neil shot Lucien a look as Jonathan answered. 

“Oh yeah, 100% dude.” 

“What, no! Jonathan, you were supposed to say no.” Neil spoke with his hands, slapping his hand against his face. Lucien chuckled and Jonathan looked between them, confused.

“What? Neil, did you want me to lie or something?” Jonathan put down the milkcrate and leaned against the checkout counter. 

“He’s blissfully unaware of how much that girl likes him.” Lucien sucked on the empty pipe and coughed, swallowing his spit the wrong way. 

“How? Neil, she comes by like twice a week to talk to you and shows up at all of our softball games.” 

“She’s only nineteen! For all I know, she just wants a job here one day.” Neil shrugged and went back to stocking the shelves, a blush creeping into his high cheekbones. 

“Sure she wants a job here if it means that she gets to fucking talk to you everyday, all day about classic films and shit!” Jonathan laughed. 

“She’s nice!” Neil exclaimed defeatedly and massaged his eye sockets. 

“Yeah, so’s my aunt but she doesn’t come around here every week to tell me about the latest movie she’s watched.” Lucien mumbled. 

“That wasn’t as effective as you think it was,” Jonathan sighed, then just to Lucien, “don’t use a family member next time, ok?” 

“Ok, OK!” Neil interrupted them, shaking his hands. “It’s not like that and she doesn’t like me like that. I’m like eight years older than her…” 

“That’s never stopped people before,” Lucien reminded Neil and he withheld a few choice expletives as the shop door opened and a customer came in. The bell twinkled and Neil called out the familiar greeting. 

“Welcome to Gumshoe Video!” 

“Hi, Neil.” Y/N smiled shyly. Lucien and Jonathan’s quiet snickers stopped as a second customer entered after the girl. “This is Woody. Woody, this is Neil.” 

“Hey, how’s it going?” Woody waved to Neil and his friends on the back couch. They waved back in shocked silence. 

“What happened to you?” She asked, recoiling away from the employees who stared at her as if they’d seen a ghost. Neil blushed, still embarrassed. 

“I was just not looking forward to telling you that we lost the copy of um, The Virgin Suicides that you wanted. It’ll take another few weeks and I assume that’s why you stopped by.” Neil scrambled for a reliable answer, and one that was partly true. She blushed slightly when she heard Neil use the word ‘virgin’ and laughed it off. 

“It’s ok, I just wanted to show Woody my favorite place.” 

“We’re going to get a movie,” Woody smiled and began to scan the shelves. 

“Sooo what do you like? Classic horror, westerns, Spike Lee, Hitchcock, Coppola?” Neil listed off categories of films he viewed to be superior and Woody shook his head, oblivious to Neil’s edged tone. 

“I like action movies mainly. I haven’t seen much else.” 

Neil smiled at the girl’s embarrassed reaction. He knew well that she didn’t like action movies and refused to watch them even if Neil recommended one. 

“So like war movies?”

“Sports movies.” Woody corrected and pretended to shoot a basketball. “Anything about football or basketball.” 

Neil felt a sharp pain in his chest at the boy’s words. He was a walking abomination to the film community. Lucien made a sound similar to a whimper and Neil cleared his throat to mask it. 

“Well uh i’m sure that we can find something for you though we don’t tend to carry sports movies because we have so little demand for it,” Neil explained blandly. “Have you ever seen anything by Tarentino? His movies tend to be more action-oriented. That and the old Bond movies.” Neil started to list movies he was almost completely sure Woody had not seen. Every shake of Woody’s head scratched a strange itch inside his head. What was this girl doing with someone like Woody? 

“Ah maybe,” Woody shrugged. “Do you have Rudy, Bull Durham, Remember the Titans?” 

“No, we don’t.” Neil pinched the bridge of his nose and exhaled stiffly. “We do have the Air Bud movies,” Neil mumbled as a joke but Woody looked interested. 

“Where’s that?” He asked, looking around the store. 

“The kid’s section. It’s about a dog that plays sports,” Neil deadpanned and Jonathan and Lucien stifled their giggles. 

Woody was completely oblivious to Neil’s pointed comment and shrugged. 

“Sounds good to me,” he looked at the girl with a smile. Her lips were parted in a look of displeasure and shock. 

“You want to watch Air Bud?” She stressed the name of the movie like a bad word. Woody smiled, still not catching the tone of dislike in her speech. 

“Um…” She started and trailed off, totally caught off guard. Neil smiled, almost enjoying the direction that this interaction had gone. 

“I’ll get it for you,” Neil used his best customer service voice and turned around. He widened his eyes at Jonathan and Lucien, I told you so. Lucien narrowed his eyes behind his glasses, not wanting to admit defeat just yet. 

“Sooo are you two dating,” Lucien tried to sound casual but his tone was suggestive and Y/N blushed deeply from embarrassment. 

“No, we’re just friends,” she answered too quickly and Neil glowered at Lucien. Jonathan looked down at his hands, wanting to stay out of the conversation. Woody looked at her and frowned. 

“Well on that note, I think I’ll just get going. Forget about the movie, dude. Thanks anyway,” Woody snipped and left the store abruptly. The bell beside the door clanged loudly as he walked down the sidewalk, fumming. 

“Lucien!” Neil exclaimed and Jonathan swatted Lucien’s arm. 

“Sorry…geez!” Lucien deflected Jonathan’s hands and scooted away. Neil, holding a copy of Air Bud on VHS, lowered it and slid it onto the checkout counter. 

“Sooo no more Air Bud?” Neil tried to break the awkward silence. She gave him a look that quieted him immediately and left the store, going the opposite way that Woody had turned. She went around the side of the building where she knew there was a shabby basketball goal and a place to sit. She wanted to wait it out, to make sure that she wouldn’t run into Woody again that afternoon. It was safer to hide here than walk home. 

“Nice going, Lucien.” Neil sighed and returned the tape to the shelf. 

“You just fucking ruined young love,” Jonathan quipped and Lucien gasped defensively. Neil joined them on the long section couch and they sat in silence for a while. A loud bang made them all jump. 

“What the hell was that?” Jonathan turned to look where the sound had come from. The three of them stood to investigate. The second time they heard it, the shelf of tapes on the wall was josuled. They each jumped again and Neil drew his face up into a tight line. 

“Is someone throwing something against the wall?” Lucien surmised and spoke with his pipe in his palm. 

“I’ll check it out,” Neil looked at the shelf warily and backed away. He left the store and went around the side of the building. Seeing Y/N made him jump again and he clutched his chest briefly. She had a basketball and was chucking it at the hoop without much care for whether or not it went in. The ball hit the wall again. Jonathan and Lucien collected the tapes that had fallen off of the shelf only to have more tapes fall on their heads. 

“Maybe you should watch more sports movies, it might help you with your technique.” Neil crossed his arms casually across his chest and smiled. She dribbled the basketball slowly and caught it in her arms. 

“It was more of an exercise of rage,” she spoke between heavy breaths. 

“Sorry about Lucien,” Neil gestured to the store. “He’s not great with people.” 

“I could tell… but I’m not really upset about it-”

“You fooled me,” Neil interjected with a laugh. She rolled her eyes with a small smile. 

“He gave me an out but it wasn’t the right time. I shouldn’t have said it like that to Woody.” She dribbled the basketball again. 

“So were you dating?” Neil opened his hands, signaling her to throw him the ball. 

“Kind of,” she tossed him the ball and shrugged, “we’d gone out once or twice. We met at a party. Nothing was official yet.” Neil aimed and threw the ball, it fell through the hoop with a quiet whoosh before bouncing on the pavement below. She retrieved the ball and with one hand, she fixed the legs of her shorts, pulling them down over her thighs. He looked away quickly. 

“Did you know his taste in movies before you started going out?” Neil asked and watched as she aligned herself to toss the ball. It bounced off of the backboard and spun into the hoop. Neil applauded and she smiled. 

“He said he liked action movies but I didn’t know that he meant… sports movies. He’s a business major and I doubt he’s ever taken a film class or seen anything that wasn’t about sports in some way.” She nearly shivered. “And you had to suggest Air Bud?” She asked him pointedly and he pursed his lips defensively. 

“That was not an actual suggestion. I can’t believe he fell for it,” Neil dribbled the ball around his legs lazily and circled her before shooting. He missed and she giggled. “I think you dodged a bullet,” he told her honestly and when they held eye-contact, he felt his navel twitch. 

“Could you imagine if I had to watch Air Bud on a date?” She looked down at the ball and missed the hoop by a few feet. She sighed and fanned herself. This is exactly what she had been hoping would happen. She wouldn’t go as far as to say that she was a mastermind but she’d been trying to get closer to Neil for weeks. She’d liked Woody enough but taking him to Gumshoe Video was more strategic than cute. She hoped to make Neil a little jealous, and show him that she could get other guys. Nothing had actually happened between her and Neil besides long chats and lots of laughter. Maybe she could change that. 

Neil picked up the ball and bounded over to the hoop, jumping and shooting the ball. His fingers pushed the ball into the net as he landed back down on the ground. When he turned his eyes widened slightly. 

“It’s really fucking hot today,” she mumbled as she pulled off her t-shirt, having just a camisole underneath. Her cutoff denim shorts and black camisole left little to the imagination but Neil still tried. She tossed the shirt to the side and dribbled the ball, her eyes focused on the goal. Neil looked down her camisole, staring at her chest as her breasts shifted beneath the fabric in her bra. Her pink bra straps slipped on her shoulders and after shooting the ball, she had to snap them back into place. He blushed more and looked away. She crossed the small makeshift court and sat on the shallow ledge beside the store, swinging her legs up and underneath her. Neil held the ball awkwardly in his hands and approached her slowly. 

“What movie would you watch on a first date?” She asked him.

 “Uh,” his mind blanked, “definitely Air Bud,” he nodded and she laughed. He sat beside her and shoved his hands into his pockets. 

        “Neil! I’m being serious!” She pressed the toe of her foot against her chest.

“Ok, ok ummm,” he wrapped his fingers around her bare ankle with a smile and moved it back to the ledge in between them. She shifted her body so that she was facing him, both feet planted on the ledge in front of him. “Maybe The Wizard of Oz.” 

 “Why?” She asked with a soft smile. He rocked back and forth, using his hands to support himself. His large hands sat on either side of her feet, his chest directly over her knees. 

“Well it was one of the first movies to use color,” he said first, “and it would give me a chance to brag about how much I know about film.” He pursed his lips and raised his eyebrows. She laughed and shook her head. 

“I thought you hated musicals!” She protested and he looked away sheepishly. 

“I do but I can’t pass up an opportunity to impress someone, especially a girl.” He looked at her and then blushed, looking away again. “I mean,” he started and she nodded.

“No, I get it. Do you like romance movies?” She fluttered her lashes discreetly, making Neil second guess whether she had done it intentionally or not. “You don’t seem like one but we all have our secrets,” she dragged her hand up her leg, drawing his attention to the contours of muscle beneath her shin bone. 

“You could argue that every movie is a romance,” Neil sputtered slightly, collecting himself. 

“Even Air Bud?” She asked with a raised eyebrow and he scoffed, looking away. 

“I don’t know about that.”

“What’s your favorite romance movie?” She rested her forearms on her knees and leaned forward. He looked at her briefly, his eyes dipping to her cleavage before meeting her eyes again. 

“Uh w-what?” He asked and she giggled.

“What’s your favorite romance movie?” She asked again and he thought quickly. 

“The Princess Bride,” his eyes flicked to her’s for approval and that surprised him. 

“I love that movie,” her eyes widened as she recalled the plot. 

“What about you?” 

“Well The Princess Bride is the best answer but I like The Great Gatsby too,” she smiled shyly. 

“The Great Gatsby is a tragedy at heart,” Neil argued and she shrugged.

“As you wish,” she quoted from The Princess Bride and his eyes flicked open wider for one second before he cleared his throat. The sun was starting to set and the sky bled with a sated orange color. She looked up at the sky, showing the vulnerable underside of her chin and swallowed. Neil watched, letting his eyes wander over the soft expanse of flesh. 

“We should probably go inside,” Neil broke the silence, “or I-I should go back.” He jerked his thumb back to the store and she lowered her head again and let her head fall to one side. 

“As you wish,” she said again and laughed. He watched her silently and licked his lips. He felt like he was going to say something but no words came to his mind as he sat there. 

“Or do you want to come inside? Sorry, I’m not trying to get rid of you…” 

“Ok, sure.” She nodded and followed him around the store, pulling on her big shirt again. Jonathan and Lucien were arguing inside but stopped when they walked inside. 

“Basketball game?” Lucien asked over his pipe and Y/N nodded with a sigh. 

“Sorta, I had to blow off some steam.” 

“He’s sorry by the way,” Jonathan added and Lucien started to argue but she cut them off. 

“It’s ok. You saved me a night watching Air Bud.” She winked and started to browse the aisles again. Jonathan shoved Lucien. 

“What? What’s your problem?” Lucien protested and Jonathan gestured to the door, hinting that they should leave. “You have to be joking,” he muttered under his breath, irritated. 

“Hey uh, Neil?” Jonathan cleared his throat. Neil broke his obvious concentration on the girl and looked at his friends on the couch. 

“Yeah?”

“We’re gonna head out. Lucien owes me a beer and I want to beat the bar rush,” Jonathan grabbed Lucien by the shoulders and shuffled out the front door. 

“It’s not even seven yet-” Neil started but they were gone before he could finish. His heart started beating quickly and he glanced anxiously at the disappearing silhouettes of his friends. The girl walked through the aisles, biting her bottom lip slightly as she looked. He didn’t want to be alone like this with her, it felt weird. She was young enough to be his younger sister and it irked him… and yet, she looked so pretty beneath the yellowish fluorescent bulbs inside the store and her hair was sticky from the humidity. 

“We should watch something,” she said quietly behind a rack of VHS and Neil cleared his throat. 

“Together?”

“No, in separate rooms… yeah of course together.” She laughed lightly and showed him the movie she had found. He chuckled and shrugged. 

“The Princess Bride? Ok, sure.” He approached the small box tv in front of the sectional couch and inserted the tape. Y/N slipped discreetly to the front doors and turned over the ‘open’ sign to ‘closed’ and locked the door. Neil stood behind the couch and set up the box player, struggling with the buttons on the remote. She collapsed on the couch and rested her legs on the wide ottoman. Her hair spread over the back of the couch and covered Neil’s hand. He looked down at it and struggled to exhale normally. The movie started and she wiggled in excitement. Neil sat on a stool behind the couch, worried about sitting beside her. After the first ten minutes of them each reciting the lines back to the tv, she looked over her shoulder, flashing a toothy grin. 

“Neil, come on, sit with me. It’s weird to have you looking over my shoulder like that.”

“Um I- uh yeah ok,” Neil stammered and joined her hesitantly on the couch, his hands between his knees. His longer hair brushed the tops of his shoulders and she resisted the urge to sweep a strand into her hand. Slowly he relaxed and they acted to each other as well as to the tv, adapting the characters they liked best. As the movie went on, she braved looking over at him more and holding his startling eye contact. They laughed hard at one scene and bent over with laughter, shifting their bodies closer in the process. Eventually they were nearly arm-to-arm on the worn brown sectional. Neil’s breath escaped in pained bursts as he looked at her thigh, relaxed on the couch beside his leg. Her shorts had creeped up to her crotch as they sat and she’d made no move to pull them back down. He caught himself staring at the crease at her crotch and wondering if the tightness was uncomfortable for her, how warm the material would be against her like that… he shook his head to clear his thoughts and clenched his jaw when he felt his cock twitch. 

“Neil?” She turned slightly to him and his breath hitched as he turned his attention to her. She bit her lip lightly and slowly pressed herself up onto her knee. He watched her, his eyes flicking between the tv and her face, inches from his face. 

Hear this now: I will always come for you. 

She exhaled softly and her breath rippled across his face. Her hands inched closer to his stomach clothed beneath his light blue shirt. Her bright eyes intoxicated him as she brought her lips to his, offering herself. When she kissed him, her eyes squeezed closed and she sucked briefly on his bottom lip, lacking technique from her barely nonexistent experience. When she pulled away slowly Neil’s brow creased as his brows flew up. 

“Y/N… we uh we shouldn’t.”  

But how can you be sure? 

Her eyes crinkled in embarrassment and her small cheeks flushed. “Oh, I’m sorry,” she whispered and sat back against the couch, pressing her sweaty palms against her thighs. Neil looked over at her and licked his lips, fighting an internal argument against himself. 

This is true love- you think this happens everyday?

She flexed her thighs anxiously on the couch and the movement sent a shock up Neil’s body, making his crotch throb slightly, weary from the close proximity to her warm skin. 

You mock my pain.

Neil brushed a shaky finger down the side of her thigh and felt her inhale quickly. She looked at him slowly, her lips parted. His hand slid up her body to her head and cupped her cheek. He leaned over and kissed her, not harshly but not subtle either. Their lips popped wetly when he pulled away. He looked down at her, she was panting slightly, her heart fluttering in her chest. 

“I shouldn’t have done that,” Neil whispered and fell back into the couch beside her, clenching his fists. They sat in silence, their breath mingling in the space between them like a mixture of heat waves. Neil smelled faintly of mint mouthwash and musk, the sweat worked up during their “game” clung to his body. 

Life is pain, princess. Anyone who says differently is selling something. 

And quick as a flash of lightning, their bodies flew together, their mouths finding each other like opposite ends of a magnet or a cap over a pen. She climbed onto his lap, straddling his hips and held his head in her small hands. He wrapped his arms around her waist, bunching the fabric in his hands. Her tongue slipped into his mouth and he greeted it with enthusiasm, his hands tightening around her waist. She licked his lips as she closed down around them, sucking everything out of him. He moaned softly against her kiss and his arms flexed, his cock hardening. She gasped when she felt him get hard against her crotch. He broke their kiss abruptly. 

“Fuck, sorry.” He loosened his grip on her waist and went to shift out from under her. “I didn’t mean to get…” he trailed off and moved her off his lap easily. She watched him, her mind already caught in a lapse. 

“This was a mistake. You’re in college. I shouldn’t have encouraged this,” he dragged his hands through his dark hair and pulled at the roots, mumbling incoherently as she looked up at him, her eyes wide like a doe. The front of his pants tented out and he started to walk to his office. She jumped and grabbed his hand, catching him before he disappeared into the backroom. 

“Please, stay.” She whispered and bit her lip, dispelling some of her pent up energy into the action. 

“You’re too young.”

“I’m nineteen.” 

“I’m too old for you.”

“You’re 27.”

“You’re a virgin.” 

She flushed redder and looked away, embarrassed. “Not really.” She looked back at him and shrugged. “We all have our secrets, right?” She cocked her head and tried to smile, her heart beating so fast that she felt dizzy. 

“I don’t know…” Neil added half-heartedly, having run out of reasons. “The customers!” Neil remembered and glanced, panicked, at the front doors. 

“You closed early.” She smiled embarrassedly and rubbed his wrist with her thumb. “Please,” she tried again and he looked down at her. His cock throbbed uncomfortably in his pants. He allowed her to lead him back to the couch and watched as she lowered herself onto her knees. Her hands rested on his thighs as she opened his legs wide enough to sit between them. He watched dumbly as she unbuckled his belt and slowly unzipped his fly. She tugged down the crotch of his jeans, exposing the waistband of his checkered boxers. 

“Wait,” Neil blurted and she looked up at him, “come here.” He asked softly and waited as she rose to her feet, her hands moving to his chest as she leaned closer. He pulled her back onto his lap, straddling her over his lap and kissed her, lapping at her mouth with his tongue. His small biceps flexed around her, his hands finding her hair and wrapping his fingers in it hungrily. She sat up on her knees and pressed her crotch against his chest, making him sit up taller to reach her mouth. She whimpered softly as he kissed her as if he was eating her, slowly getting deeper. His kisses felt so good on their own that she almost moaned into him, licking the tip of his nose. She licked the edge of his jaw and he let her, savoring the immature way she approached tasting him. His hands supported her back as she panted, bucking her hips against his chest as she kissed him feverishly. Racks of tapes shielded them from view but Neil hoped passerbys couldn’t hear them through the storefront’s display glass.

Slowly she slid down his chest and returned to her spot between his legs. She licked the warm mound at his crotch, leaving a wide wet spot. Neil sighed as he watched her, his cock twitched again. Her hands squeezed into his thighs and she licked his erection again through his boxers. 

“Oh god,” Neil gasped and looked up at the ceiling. She hooked her hands around his waistband and pulled it down slowly, finally releasing his cock which glistened with precum. She stared at it for a moment before kissing the head. Neil’s mouth fell open in pleasure and shock. “Look at you, god… fuck.” She smiled, self-conscious and wrapped her hand around the base of his cock, squeezing him slightly. He groaned and bucked his hips. She rubbed the head against her wet lips and slowly slipped him inside her mouth. Her mouth was already watering and he whined loudly as she took him in, hallowing her cheeks on accident but soon realizing that it made Neil feel good. She went as deep as she could and pulled away, allowing a thick line of spit to connect her lips with his cock. Neil’s eyes widened and his head dropped back against the couch. His hands flew up to his face and massaged his cheeks, unsure how to handle the things he was feeling and not wanting to force her head down on top of him. 

She took him back into her mouth and swirled her tongue around him, bobbing her head up and down. She rocked her head slightly and tried to create a rhythm that elicited the most pitiful sounds from Neil. His cock shook inside her mouth and she sucked hard against it like a lollipop. Neil’s hands tightened around his face and he moaned loudly, exhaling sharply. 

“Oh god, honey. What the actual fuck.” He whined between even breaths. He looked down at her pretty little mouth sucking him off and he nearly finished then when she pulled off of him and started to jack him off, her tongue pressed flat against his head. Her fist clenched around his length and he sputtered, unable to form words. After a dozen hard and fast jerks, she took him in her mouth again and bobbed up and down quickly, drooling heavily around him as she tasted his salty precum. 

“Oh fuck- fuck- fuck! Shit, I’m gonna cum.” He panted and moaned loudly, his hands finally finding her hair, the pleasure becoming so overwhelming that it was almost painful. The friction and sensation heightened and his knuckles turned white around her long hair. He thrusted his hips gently into her mouth, not wanting to gag her. She welcomed it, opening her throat and humming to let him deeper. She breathed deeply through her nose and her exhales feathered across his crotch, adding even more to the sensations he was already feeling. With a yell Neil spilled into her mouth, bucking his hips and falling back on the couch. She proudly continued to suck him off, pulling everything out of him. He watched her, breathing heavily. She swallowed his warm cum with a smile. 

I told you I would come for you…

Neil glanced up at the movie screen and chuckled. She licked him from the base up and plopped back onto the couch, breathing heavily too. Neil tucked himself back into his pants, leaving his belt unbuckled. She arranged herself proudly beside him on the couch, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

“That was fucking incredible,” Neil slapped his forehead and laughed breathlessly. “So so good…” he shook his head and looked at her, smiling lopsidedly. She snaked a hand onto his crotch again and rubbed him before wrapping her arm around his sweaty neck. He wrapped his arms around her and supported her body weight as she laid against him, their stomach crushed against each other. She shivered as she heard his heavy breath against her ear. “Good girl,” he whispered and sighed. He rubbed her back and kissed her shoulder through her shirt. She turned over, sitting nearly on his lap. His hands clasped around her stomach and held her tightly. Her soft belly shivered beneath her slowing breaths. They both relaxed again into the movie.     

[dwonfilm]

There’s no life after you. | Dean Winchester x Reader (one-shot)

Summary: Dean felt like he had no other option than to push [Y/N] out of his life completely. When he and Sam find a case in her hometown, he’s hit with all of the emotions he’d tried for so long to bury.

Warnings: swearing, mild-angst, mostly sadness and ending with fluff.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Flashbacks are in bold.

Dean and Sam had found a case in Reno, Nevada—a city that had a lot of memories particularly for the older Winchester. Sure they’d worked a dozen or more cases around here over the years but that wasn’t the type of memories that kept playing on his mind. He only wished it was that simple. Sam had opted to take the backseat, needing some extra rest on the drive and Dean usually drove his precious ‘67 impala anyway. Ever since they’d found this case, the eldest Winchester was uneasy. Not because it was anything special, from the details online it seemed like it was just another vamps nest—maybe even just a handful travelling together.

No, what began to plague his mind was something that cut much deeper than that. All he could think about was you.

It had been roughly two years since he’d last seen you. Every other second of the last year and half had been him fighting the urge to reach out, knowing two things for certain. One: you’d be far better off without him holding you down. Two: even if that wasn’t the case, he’d really hurt you the last time you spoke and despite how much he missed you.. you’d likely never speak to him again—but that’s what he’d wanted right? You to move on, you to live a life that wasn’t plagued by the dangers of all things supernatural. Find a good man, a normal man, settle down.. get married and have kids. Not have to worry about tending to someone who had spent his entire life broken. Shaking his head to try and rid himself of these thoughts, it seemed the universe had other plans.

It seemed at some point in the drive his playlist had changed and delved into the ‘divorced dad rock’ side of things—the first few notes of what he recognized as a Daughtry song began to play. Seemingly just as they’d finally crossed the state lines into Nevada, the lyrics began..

“Ten miles from town and I just broke down, spitting out smoke on the side of the road. I’m out here alone, just trying to get home to tell you I was wrong but you already know. Believe me I won’t stop at nothing to see you so I’ve started running.”

Now Dean knew exactly what song this was and it damn sure wasn’t helping with his desperate need to stop thinking about you. He reached out to change the song but when the chorus hit, he stopped and his finger merely hovered above the button.

“All that I’m after is a life full of laughter, as long as I’m laughing with you—and I think that all that still matters is love ever after, after the life we’ve been through. ‘Cause I know there’s no life after you.”

It was as if the song was delivered down by the hand of God himself, which only made the ache in Dean’s heart that much worse. He’d been in pain ever since he left two years prior, but he had no right to be—he knew that. After all, the reason he didn’t have you by his side was because he left. It was because he walked away. Deeply he’d sigh as the next verse again would line up with the exact thought in his head.

“Last time we talked, the night that I walked burns like an iron in the back of my mind. I must have been high, to say you and I, weren’t meant to be and just wasting my time. Oh why did I ever doubt you? You know I would die here without you.”

Death had truly paled in comparison to how he felt seeing the look in your eyes. All of the pain, the hurt as he watched you break in front of his very eyes. You’d been together three years in total, but what you didn’t know—what he refused to tell you is that his worst fear was becoming a reality. Lucifer had threatened you in order to make Dean comply with his demand. He’d figured out the only way to get to the elder Winchester was through you, seeing as Lucifer himself needed Sam for his own personal vendettas. It wasn’t long after this that Dean knew he had to get as far away from you as possible. All the pain and suffering he’d endured in his lifetime would be nothing if your death was due to him. He couldn’t live with that and more importantly, you deserved more than that out of this life.

“All that I’m after is a life full of laughter, as long as I’m laughing with you—and I think that all that still matters is love ever after, after the life we’ve been through. ‘Cause I know there’s no life after you.”

Sam began to stir in the backseat, which he’s caught sight of through the rear view mirror and so Dean quickly changed the station. He’d use Metallica specifically to shift the mood before his brother woke up and started asking too many questions. Questions that Dean wouldn’t have the answers to and he was already battling his mind to keep it all at bay.

Gripping Baby’s wheel tightly in his hands, he’d continue to path to Reno. About fifteen minutes later was when Sam’s eyes actually opened. “Mornin’ sleeping beauty.” Dean said with a (fake) smile on his face. “Ha-ha, very funny. Wait.. how long was I out? Are we in Nevada already?” He asked, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and noting their desert-like surroundings. “I don’t know, hours Sammy. Yeah we’re in Nevada—about an hour or two ‘til Reno.” Just saying the name of the city was enough to have him nervous again. There was a brief bit of silence between the brothers, Sam had a thought on the tip of his tongue but he didn’t know whether he should say it. Dean’s eyes had fixated on the road ahead and he sensed that his younger brother was gonna bring it up—bring you up, he’d always really liked you. Besides that, he could always seem to tell when things were troubling Dean despite his best efforts to hide it. “You know you could-“ Sam started but knowing it was coming, the elder brother immediately shut it down. “Sam, don’t. Please. I can’t and you know that.” Dean’s voice was shaky and that let him know that he’d already been thinking about things far too long. “You’ve been thinking about it. I know you, man. You think I didn’t see the look on your face when I told you we had something in Reno?” He sighed, knowing that his older brother was struggling with this didn’t make him feel good but he also knew it was making Dean feel worse. “Sammy, please.. I don’t wanna talk about it anymore.”

Sam would shake his head but he let it go, rehashing this with Dean while he was attempting to drive wasn’t gonna end well for either of them. Not to mention an hour and a half of odd tension in such a small place wasn’t ideal either. Instead, the younger brother’s eyes averted from the front of the car altogether as he turned to gaze out the window next to him. Sighing partially in relief and partially from the lingering thoughts, Dean would fully place his attention on the road and on the directions to this particular motel. They needed to get in, solve this case and get out before he did something he’d been trying for quite some time not to do.

Surprisingly this case was a little more difficult to follow through on, these vampires were incredibly elusive and their nest wasn’t the easiest to find. However, after a couple days lingering around they finally located the nest and were able to kill the three vamps that had been killing the locals. As it had become part of the job, Sam and Dean went out to a local dive bar to celebrate the victory—but Dean was trying to do more than that. He was trying to drown the lingering thoughts of you with whiskey, swallowing the liquid and letting it gently burn his throat. This would end up having the opposite effect and only made him think of you more. Over the first hour and change the brothers spent at the bar, three separate girls tried to hit on Dean but he didn’t really pay them any mind. Around the two hour mark the elder of the brothers decided he needed some air, getting up and walking outside. Dragging his dominant hand over his face he was doing anything to cling to that last bit of pride that he had. You were better off and he knew that, but every day that had been lost it was eating at him slowly. He needed a distraction and so he walked over to his precious car, getting into the driver’s seat and sighing. One flick of the wrist and the lights would come on, the radio coming in clear as day: it was that goddamn song again.

“You and I, right or wrong, there’s no other one. After this time spent alone it’s hard to believe that a man with sight could be so blind, thinking about the better times.. must’ve been out of my mind. So I’m running back to tell you.”

Again it seemed like the universe had intervened and Dean Winchester was far too drunk to fight it. Tears threatened to spill from his eyes and right now, all that he needed was you. He opened up the driver’s side door and got out just to come face to face with Sam, who had been worried when he couldn’t locate his brother in the bar. “What is it Dean?” He asked, noting the emotional state it was clear he was in—confused but not entirely. It wasn’t like him to be so open with his emotions, but you’d helped him with that. “I need to see her, Sammy. I can’t do this anymore.” There was enough emotion in his voice for his younger brother to know what he meant. Nodding Sam would approach the driver’s side door. “I’m driving, we’re not risking it with you.” Dean normally would protest but right now? All he needed to do was get to you. It didn’t matter how, he just needed to fill the void that he’d put there himself.

“All that I’m after is a life full of laughter, without you god knows what I’d do.”

Dean’s eyes were technically gazing out the window, but that’s not what he saw. His mind was flashing different images in rotation—one happy memory with you followed up by something he’d done to chase your memory away after he’d run away.

“All that I’m after is a life full of laughter, as long as I’m laughing with you and I think that all that still matters is love ever after—after the life we’ve been through. I know there’s no life after you.”

It seemed fast, but it had probably been about thirty minutes of time that had passed. Not that you lived very far at all, if you were even still at the last address the Winchesters had for you—Sam took a longer route hoping that Dean would sober up a little more before talking with you. Anyone would be able to smell the whiskey on him at this moment, but his words needed to be coherent if there was any chance of you hearing him out. It seemed that he had sort of the same idea because even when the impala had pulled into the driveway, he just sat there. “What if she doesn’t wanna talk?” Dean asked, somber tone to his voice as his eyes remained fixated on the front door of what he hoped was still your home. Mind racing almost as fast as his heart. “Dean, if I know anything about [Y/N], she’ll at least listen—even if she’s incredibly pissed and still hurt.” Sam reassured his older brother. Dean sighed again, not wanting to waste another second and also wanting to see have some alcohol in his system for this conversation. Slowly he opened the passenger side door and stepped out onto the asphalt driveway. Gently closing the door, it had still alerted a dog inside the home who was barking just a little bit every couple of seconds. He carried himself up the few cement steps, turning to see the front door closer than ever. Now more memories of the last time he was here were coming back.

“Dean, please.. why are you doing this? You can’t possibly just have stopped loving me, that’s not..” Her sobs were breaking his heart but he knew this was something he had to do. “Why are you walking away from this? From us? After everything we’ve been through.. after the life we’ve built from the ground up.. you’re just throwing it all away.” She felt as if there was a fire in your chest, she’d been sobbing so intensely for what seemed like forever. Mascara and eyeliner were smudged and made a mess of the space underneath her eyes. “Say something, Dean—please.. why are you pushing me away? What did I do?!” Every word became far more intense and the actual words were hard to discern from the sobs. Dean had just been staring at the floor since the words left his mouth. Three years next to her and he never imagined this day would come, but if you died just so Lucifer could get one up on him? He’d never survive. He’d never be able to carry the weight of your death or your blood on his hands—so this was the only way you got to live a long and happy life without him putting you in harm’s way. “[Y/N/N] I.. I just don’t think we were meant to work out. I’m sorry, I just-“ he was cut off by her intense sobs hearing him saying it again. “Please Dean.. don’t do this.. whatever I did wrong, whatever’s not working we can fix it. Please..” She pleaded, voice already hoarse from the crying and the wailing. “Sweetheart you didn’t do anything wrong. It’s me, I’m just, not made out for this relationship stuff.” He’d barely lifted his gaze again to meet her own, but only for a second. Seeing her like that was too hard for his heart to bare. “Why Dean.. please.. it’s been three years. Three years of this and we can talk about it. Whatever it is we can move past it together, don’t you love me anymore?” She sobbed out, arms wrapped around her own chest as Dean looked up to her face and met her gaze one last time. “Honey, I’ll love you ‘til the day I die.” Sighing he turned to walk out the front door, closing it and never looking back. He couldn’t look—his heart had already shattered.

Now here he was again, roughly two years later, taking the last few steps to fully stand at your front door. Lifting his hand which had formed a loose fist, he’d knock three times upon the wooden material of the door. There was no answer and no sign that anyone was home other than the dog barking that he’d heard moments prior. Dean was about to turn and walk back down the pathway when he heard the doorknob turning after the lock clicked out of position. “Do you know how late it is, what do you nee—“ her eyes widened when she realized who had just knocked at her door. “D-Dean.. what are you..” she felt her bottom lip quivering. Dean could tell this was the last thing she’d ever thought would happen. “Hi, sweetheart. I-“ before he could get another word out of his mouth, he was met with a harsh slap to the side of his face. His eyes fell as he collected his thoughts, waiting before speaking again. “I deserve that. I deserve that and so much more. [Y/N/N] I’m so sorry.. I’m so fucking sorry.” He got out, not being able to look back up at her just yet. “You’ve got some kind of nerve showing up here, this late at night.. Dean you broke my heart and you stomped on it to boot. Why do you think after two whole years that I’d listen to whatever the hell you have to say?” It was obvious that there was sadness and hurt laced within her voice, more so than the anger she’s trying to push forward. Slowly his head tilted back into its usual position and his eyes found hers again. “I know there’s no life after you.” It was all he could say in that second and her expression softened, before she’d built the wall back up. “You came all the way to quote a Daughtry song?”

“No, I’m quoting that damn song because for the three days Sam and I have been in Reno I’ve heard it everywhere. My car, in a store, hell in my head—[Y/N] I’ve been trying every day since I left to push your memory from my mind. I wanted so badly to forget about you and know that you were free to have a normal life. I also know that I’ve got no right to stand on your doorstep telling you how much pain I’ve been in since the second I walked out this door two years ago when this whole fucking thing is my fault.” He paused, tears slowly falling as he tried to blink them away. “[Y/N] I was afraid. I was so afraid.. I couldn’t lose you like that-“ Again he was cut off but just by her words this time. “Dean you did lose me, you pushed me away—fuck you pushed me out of your life altogether. You’re absolutely correct, you don’t have any right to stand here talking about your pain. I didn’t eat, I barely slept, for weeks after you left. All I did was lay on that couch and sob. Endlessly. After I couldn’t physically sob any more I thought, there has to be some kind of monster or witch doing this and so I researched for weeks and still barely ate and slept only a fraction more. All I came up with was dead end after dead end and so I finally had to realize the truth.” She sobbed out, pausing to try and steady her own voice. “You chose to leave on your own.” She’d opened her mouth to continue talking but now it was his turn to sob out, which caught her completely off guard. “He made me feel like I had no other choice..”

Now you stood with a perplexed look on your face as tears were streaming down your cheeks. “What.. who-“ before the question could even fully leave her lips, the man she loved began to speak again. “Lucifer. He needed Sammy, you know all that one true vessel shit, so he couldn’t hurt me that way. He knew any threat he put to Sam wouldn’t stick because deep down I knew that Lucifer needed Sam alive and well to complete whatever sick and twisted plan he had thought out.” She felt both her heart and her stomach drop, figuring out exactly where this was going. “[Y/N] he said he’d kill you and not think twice. I couldn’t.. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if you died all because I love you. I wouldn’t be able to breathe knowing that your death was my fault and I’d never get your blood off my hands.” His confidence had wavered, the alcohol mostly wearing off. You sighed, a silence falling over the two of you as you attempted to process what he’d just said. “Dean.. why didn’t you just talk to me? Tell me what he said and we could’ve talked about it.” She asked, the venom gone from her words and a sadness settling over them. “I was scared. I didn’t know how to admit that I was scared especially to you, I’m the one that was supposed to keep you safe. I know that’s not an excuse and I’m not trying to excuse me hurting you like I did—that image of you hugging yourself and crying the hardest I’d ever seen someone cry has haunted me all this time. I never wanna hurt anyone but I damn sure never wanted to hurt you.. at all—let alone like that..”

Again a silence fell between them, it felt like a lifetime between their words and the action she’d finally take. Stepping forward she used both of her hands to cup his face, both having glassy hues due to all the tears. “I forgive you, Dean.” She said almost in a whisper. He felt his heart racing and he eyes searched hers for any sign that this might not be true. Seconds felt like hours but he couldn’t find any sign of deception and instinctively, he plunged forward to connect his lips with her own. It had caught her off guard but she was returning the kiss with an explosion of passion. They chased the other’s lips in a back and forth motion until they both couldn’t breathe. After pushing the limit a little further they’d separate but remain forehead-to-forehead. “I know there’s no life after you.” She spoke in a soft tone before pulling Dean inside of her home and re-locking the door.

[miloformula123fan]

Could you do fic for Toto Wolff with wife reader? He opted to hold her hand during the celebration of the Merc's double podium because there were too many people. "Move through the crowd while holding hands so as to not lose one another – and not letting go afterwards". Just something fluff and comfort. Add something if it's not right. Tag me later!! Thanks :)))

sorry it's so short! but I loved writing this fluff, and honestly churned it out in like 1 hour.

also if you have older requests i am working on them, I am just also working on school work.

luckily, all my assessments are nearly done, and holidays are next week so yay! more updates :)

Please keep requesting - y'all have awesome ideas we agree on a lot of stuff :) - my guidelines are here, and if you want some prompts, they are here.

also feel free to come in and start chatting to me in my asks, would love to get to know y'all better

and if you want to be added to my taglist lmk :)

toto wolff x wife!reader

“AND THAT IS A MERCEDES 1-2 TO THROW THIS CHAMPIONSHIP WIDE OPEN AT THE SAUDI ARABIAN GRAND PRIX AND 3 YEARS AFTER WINNING HIS LAST GRAND PRIX HERE, LEWIS HAMILTON HAS WON HIS 104TH CAREER VICTORY AND WHAT A WAY TO DO IT IN HIS LAST SEASON WITH MERCEDES.”

The rest of Crofty’s speech was drowned out by the cheers of the garage around Y/N as the team who had gone so long without winning, especially Lewis’ side of the garage cheered and yelled and as the pit mechanics came back from where they’d been on the fence yelling and contributed to more noise.

Y/N felt a little overwhelmed. She hadn’t really been in the garage since 2021, due to her husband’s tensions during the year and her wish to continue to just focus on her own career. She tried to insist she was the team’s bad luck charm after Abu Dhabi, until people had pointed out that she’d also been there during the dominant 2020 season. And as she had spent 2022 and 2023, which also were not great years for Mercedes, she’d agreed to do a lot more of her work remotely and come to the grand prixs. She insisted that she was bad luck at the first grand prix, and Toto had basically dragged her along to Saudi.

Maybe she was their good luck charm, she thought, as the garage exploded when Max and Sergio had crashed into each other, making both the red bulls retire. The Ferrari’s had been having problems all weekend but no one truly hoped even when they were sitting in a 1-2.

At least until they’d crossed the line. And then they’d had hope. And then the celebrations had begun. Someone had already found champagne and begun spraying it around, no one thinking about the podium, until all of a sudden everyone was and they were all rushing around and Y/N was all caught up in the rush and being pushed around by everyone, trying to find Toto until she felt a hand slip into hers.

She jumped back, not wanting some strange man holding her hand until she looked up and realised that it was in fact her husband who was trying to hold her hand.

“Sorry…didn’t realise it was you.”

“That’s okay Liebe. I’ve got you. Now lets go watch Lewis on the podium, okay?”

The second she nodded in agreement, Toto slipped his hand back into Y/N’s as he tried to push through the crowd again. Being tall and the team principal helped, and as they weren't coming for the pre podium celebrations, which is where everyone else was rushing towards. As the drivers were hugged and yelled at again by the mechanics (honestly how were they going to have voices tomorrow, and how were the red bull mechanics’ voices not very raspy after doing this practically every week for the past few years). Y/N thought she was going to have to cancel her meetings for the next few weeks as she would just be unable to talk.

Toto pushed through the throng of mechanics, pushing through the Mercedes and Williams colours everywhere, trying to get a good position at the front, and then the announcers began, and Toto and Y/N were wedged against the barrier and they decided to stop and watch the podium.

Y/N watched as Albon mounted the podium, grinning to the feral screams of the Williams mechanics to her left. She’d ended up wedged between James and Toto, smiling at James’ excitement on Alex being on the podium. She smiled at him as the noise from the Williams side of the podium celebration. He smiled back, almost bouncing up and down by the excitement of what Williams was achieving. And as Lewis, George and Bono bounded onto the podium, bringing up a round of screaming and even Y/N raised her hands. And as she raised her right hand, she could feel Toto’s hand, still intertwined with hers. She smiled, locking eyes with Toto.

His eyes twinkled as he smiled down, before his attention was brought back to the podium and yelling at the drivers.

The German and British anthems blared out, and while Y/N knew most of the words of the British anthem (it was mostly just the same words on repeat ‘god save our king’). And while Toto was able to sing the German anthem while Y/N butchered it here and there. She loved listening to her husband singing or talking in his natural language. It was very hot, if Y/N had to admit it.

As they left the podium to go back to the garage, Toto had still not let go of her hand as they continued winding between what felt like millions of people crowding the pit lane.

When they finally returned to the Mercedes garage, and walked up to Toto’s office, Toto finally let go of Y/N’s hand and started to gather up his work and laptop to get ready to return to the hotel.

“Hey, toto?”

“Yes liebe?”

“Why were you holding my hand?”

“Well, I didn’t want to get lost, and I didn’t want you to get lost, liebe.”

“Yeah, but why didn’t you let go of my hand when we got to the podium”

“Do I need an excuse to hold your hand, darling?”

“No but…”

“Then I kept holding your hand because I wanted to keep holding your hand. Is that a good enough excuse?”

“Okay Liebe.”

Toto put all his files and laptop in his left hand after shrugging on his overcoat, and then offered his right hand to Y/N.

“Can I keep holding your hand liebe?”

“Of course you can darling.”

---

taglist: @leosxrealm, @pear-1206, @tallrock35, @wolf-knights, @janeholt3

[xmasterofmunsonx]

Got Your Number

Summary: You’re Steve Harrington’s older sister and after a rough and tumultuous breakup, you’re back in Hawkins, Indiana. 🌶️

Pairing: Harrington!reader x Eddie Munson

Author’s notes: hi hello!!! long time no update. been sitting on the first half of this for months and wrote the second half over the last two days. I love this story and honestly at this point I’m writing it for myself and everyone else enjoying it is just a plus. If you’re still hanging in there with me, thanks 🩷

Warnings: 18+ (Minors DNI!!), language, drinking, weed, mentions of past abusive relationship, body image issues, shitty parent relationship, smut

Word count: 8K

VII.

Two weeks had gone by in a flash while working full time at your dads office. It really wasn’t all that bad, and everyone that worked there had either known you your whole life, or they knew your dad well enough to not give you a hard time- whether it’s because they figured he gave you a hard enough time anyway, or they were afraid of him, you weren’t too sure.

Eddie and the guys seemed to have moved on from the record deal and decided to not sign it, and you were thankful because you were afraid they’d be making a huge mistake in doing so, but you didn’t miss the lack of spark that your boyfriend had shown the last two weeks- he’d canceled Hellfire one night, and was threatening to cancel it now at 4 pm, a few hours before it was supposed to start.

“C’mon, what else are you going to do?” You asked him, the work phone between your shoulder and ear as you were busy with some paperwork.

“Practice, and maybe practice some more. We’re having a really hard time nailing down Maiden’s ‘Wasted Years’ for our show.” You heard him sigh, and tapping his fingers on something at his work through the other end of the phone line.

“Babe, the song just came out a little while ago. I don’t think anyone expects perfection, and you don’t have to play it until you’re ready to.”

He was quiet for a moment before speaking, “I just can’t stop thinking about what if another scout is out there at the next show and we don’t blow them away? We could’ve just missed our chance to make it big.”

“Eddie, you didn’t. I promise.” You twirled the phone cord, “Steve said Dustin is driving him insane because he’s been bugging him since all you’ve been doing is practicing with the band or seeing me- you need to spend some time with them.”

“I don’t need the guilt from you too.” He said quickly.

“I’m not guilting you- I’m just trying to help you keep things normal as you… your brain adjusts to the meds.” Eddie had taken the doctors orders and actually complied with taking the medication he needed for two weeks straight. The first week was the worst- the mood swings were a little more unpredictable, and the anxiety was heightened but you could tell he was starting to level out a little now by the end of the second week. He was even getting better sleep already, and he hadn’t woken up from a nightmare since the third night.

“I’m doing better already. Do you want me to take you on a date or something instead?”

“Eddie, why don’t you want to have Hellfire tonight? You do every single Friday night.”

“I just… I don’t wanna feel different for that. I don’t wanna lose my spunk with it.”

“Do you really feel like you’ve lost it in other ways?” This was the first he’d mentioned any of this, and you really wish you weren’t having this conversation over the phone, but you knew it was probably easier for him to tell you these things without being face to face.

“I mean, kinda, I can’t get the riffs right on that goddamn song to save my life.”

You laughed, “Eddie. That song is a completely different sound from almost any other Maiden song, I heard you playing it the other morning before I walked out of your bedroom. You’ve got it. If anything, I think you’re focusing and you’re trying harder than you ever have before. Plus, this is Hellfire we’re talking about here- you are the most dramatic person I know, including right now, you could never lose your flair for dramatics. Do you want me to DM tonight, or something? I can pull out one of my old campaigns if you haven’t already stolen them all.”

“Would you?” He sounded sheepish as he asked the question.

“I may need some assistance in refreshing on actually how to properly be a dungeon master but I think I can swing that for once. If everyone’s okay with it.” You scribbled down some ideas you’d had as you listened to Eddie go on about how the guys usually played out the campaigns and you knew exactly which one you wanted to try out on them tonight.

-

“Never thought a Harrington would grace the table of Hellfire Club. Welcome.” Dustin spoke to you as you sipped on a glass of whiskey over ice.

“Henderson, who do you think Eddie got some of those twisted campaign ideas from? His little pea brain?” Gareth quipped at Dustin immediately.

“Hey!” Eddie said from the corner of the room, as you blew a kiss at him.

“I told you, we started Hellfire together back in middle school. Were you even born then?”

“What?! I’m not that young.” He shrugged.

You rolled your eyes, “Good luck. You’re gonna need it.”

“She’s not joking.” Gareth nudged Dustin- who’d looked all too confident when he learned you’d be the dungeon master tonight. “I almost cried once.”

You had to turn away to keep from laughing and avoid spitting out the alcohol in your mouth. You were feeling warmed up, but nervous as you waited for everyone to get to Eddie’s music store where he hosted the games in the back room. You loved the cozy feeling of it versus using a room at your school that you had to beg and plead for, and Eddie had told you it had been a fight to keep it going during high school without you being in the club to be the representative for it. He claimed they would’ve let you have any room in the schpracticeool if you asked for it, while they were begrudgingly given the drama room and even then sometimes they had to move a campaign night because of play practice running over. The back room was decked out with band posters, show flyers- new and old, and some odds and ends mounted on the wall.

“Ready, my love?” Your heart swooned at Eddie who’d also been sipping whiskey all night, his ringed hand was clutching a glass similar to yours, except his was a little more empty than yours. You loved how into character he always got, and you felt butterflies as he wrapped his other arm around your waist and kissed your temple. “Thanks for being willing to step up tonight.”

“I can’t say that it’ll happen often, but you owe me big time, Munson.” You locked eyes with his crazy wide brown ones.

“Oh believe me, I know how I’m paying you back tonight.”

“Then you better stop drinking now before you get whiskey dick, babe.” You whispered in his ear, and kissed his earlobe, your teeth lightly biting it- thankful his curtain of hair could hide your actions. Okay, maybe you were two glasses of whiskey deep now. But you didn’t have the energy you used to and you needed everything you could to pull tonight off.

Everyone had taken a seat at the table, Eddie had lent you his seat at the head of the table, and he scooted a chair up beside yours to help you if you needed it. You were excited, nervous, but mostly you were just happy that Eddie had decided to not cancel tonight. You could tell that he was really in his element here, and this normalcy was what he really needed.

“Alright everyone. Get nice and cozy, because we’re gonna be here all night long.” You sat down and rifled through your notes, smiling at a few of the add ons Eddie had scribbled down, god only knows when, as you started the campaign. You took a sip of your half refilled glass, then cleared your throat and started speaking. “Tonight, we’re in the kingdom of Evercrest.” You heard Gareth groan across the table and you shot him a look, he knew that you had many campaigns written for this kingdom. You remember that some of these used to take two or three sessions to finish, but they were some of your best work, honestly.

“Never heard of that one.” Mike quipped as he crunched on a Pringle.

“Shush.” Eddie snapped beside you, and you held back some giggles.

“Tonight we’ll be playing the Shadows of Evercrest. One of the darkest and most mysterious kingdoms of all- it’s a kingdom on the brink of being completely engulfed by darkness brought on by dark magic and ancient curses. Most recently, there have been many disappearances in the kingdom. Each disappearance has brought the kingdom closer and closer to being overthrown.”

Everyone was dead silent as they looked at you in shock as you felt yourself returning back to your old ways of being a dungeon master. You had the entire attention of the whole table, and you started to get sweaty hands. Eddie placed a gentle hand on your leg and squeezed it, you looked at him- his eyes were full of admiration as he encouraged you to continue on.

An hour into gameplay, you had another drink and you were feeling bold enough to reveal the first twist of the night.

“Elara’s influence in the kingdom is growing stronger, but how? When you’ve all been so successful so far.” You sipped and placed your glass down to your left. “There is a traitor among the allies.” Gasps were heard from all around.

“No! Absolutely not!” Dustin exclaimed, slamming his fist down, “that’s-”

“That’s how it goes, my friend. Elara has enchanted an ally, with her dark magic.” You waved your hand over them as if you were a witch yourself, pretending to cast a spell over them. “The illness that swept over Evercrest took her sister, and now she has plagued the kingdom with these disappearances seeking revenge in the name of her sister. The ally has been enchanted by her.” You kept on, “Will you confront your former ally and try to redeem them, or will you cut ties and focus on stopping Elara’s plans?” You sat back in the chair and watched as the group was talking amongst themselves and deciding what to do.

“Can we break?” Will asked as he raised his hand, almost afraid of what you were going to say.

“Absolutely.” Eddie answered for you, grabbing your notebook from the table so no one could peek, then clutching your hand and dragging you out the side exit door of the breakroom into the dark alleyway. “You. Have. No. Idea. What. You’re. Doing. To. Me.” He pinned you against the brick wall kissing your neck between words, the coldness was a harsh contrast to the warmth from his mouth. “Fuck, you’re such a goddamn nerd too, driving me crazy when you’re like this.” He nipped at your neck and worked his free hand over your body as you bit back moans.

“Never knew I did this to you, Eddie.” You chuckled as you entwined a hand of yours into his curls, letting him continue to scatter kisses over your exposed neck and chest. “Don’t leave a mark, they’ll know.”

“As if my raging boner isn’t enough of a hint, fuck.” He was out of breath as he pressed his forehead against yours. “That, t-that’s my girl back there. Not that bullshit cheerleader who was a fucking bully in high school.” You kissed him on the lips and he pulled you close by your neck. “I don’t wanna go back in there, ‘wanna take you right here.” His hand slid down to your lower back, then to your ass where he squeezed it and pulled it to meet his groin where he was very obviously hard.

“Eddie, we can’t. I promise as soon as we get back to your place we can, we’ve still got another few hours left.”

He quickly shook his head as he smothered you with more kisses, “can’t wait that long.”

“You’re gonna have to.” You pushed him off of you gently, grabbed the book from him and opened the door, walking back into the room, grabbing water and sitting back down in your chair. The rest of the room were gathered in separate groups, probably discussing game plans, and your absence didn’t seem to have been a problem for anyone to bring up thankfully. A few minutes later, a more calm (and obviously now high) Eddie returned to his seat beside you and winked at you, giving you a sinking feeling in your stomach that felt like butterflies mixed with a bit more of a tornado feeling.

“Alright, everyone ready to keep on?” You interrupted their quiet discussions.

“Question is, can you two kids keep it in your pants till we’re through?” Dustin joked as he sat down.

“Ask her, she’s the one who-” you lightly slapped Eddie on the chest to shut him up.

“Excuse you.” You fussed at him and everyone groaned. “It was all him, I swear.”

They all settled down and got ready, and the next two hours flew by. Finally you were getting to the end, and you were really proud of how everyone had handled your twists and turns to the campaign. You stood up to announce the next twist, “As you’ve now successfully uncovered all of Elara’s tragic past, you’ve all ended your quest at her lair, of all places. Hundreds of undead minions are waiting for you to cross her. Will you turn around now, after all of this? Or will you fight?”

“We’re going to fight.” Dustin answered for the group.

“Your death.” Erica chimed in and you held in a little laugh.

You went to sit back down, only to be met with the lap of your boyfriend instead of the chair, and he wrapped his arms around your waist. No one let out a groan of grossness at this show of affection, so you leaned into it.

The game continued, “Elara summons even more undead creatures to attack you in her lair.” Everyone fought on, played their hardest that they could to defeat Elara, and you could feel Eddie beaming proudly behind you. “In a moment of redemption, Elara hesitates, a flicker of doubt crossing her face as she gazes upon those who have fought so bravely to stop her. In a final act of sacrifice, she uses her remaining power to banish the darkness that has consumed her and restore peace to the kingdom, her spirit finally finding peace as she fades into the shadows. Thanks to all of you heroes for bravely planning along tonight, and saving the kingdom from an eternity of darkness.” You raised your last sip of your glass at everyone as they cheered triumphantly at their win, and you felt Eddie place a sloppy kiss on your cheek. You could feel his hips slowly moving underneath your ass as you wrapped an arm around his shoulder and sat sideways. “Munson, calm down.”

“Can’t, gotta get some relief. I had to use you to hide it.” He pulled you in for a kiss and you heard a few of the younger “kids” groan out their ewws at your sign of affection, to which you both held up your middle fingers as you continued to kiss each other.

“Alright, we’ll meet again next week.” Eddie pulled back from the kiss abruptly, and loudly announced to the group. You furrowed your eyebrows at him, “I forgot to close out a few things for the store tonight because I was too excited about having a guest DM so we’ve gotta stay back and do that anyway. You all can go.” He pushed you off of his lap, quickly, and everyone left the room in groups or pairs, the same ones they arrived in. You were browsing the dark music store that only had a few neon lights and lamps on as everyone seemed to have disappeared.

“Could you have been any more obvious, Munson?” You asked as you felt a pair of arms wrap around you from behind.

“I reaaaaally don’t give a fuck what they know, or think.” He pushed your hair to the side and started kissing behind your ear and you leaned back into him. His hot breath tickled and you shivered, “I also reaaaaally don’t think I can wait till we get home.” His hand was traveling down your stomach and you felt his fingers playing with the hem of your mini skirt. You didn’t stop him as he danced it up higher on your thighs, your body weight leaning more and more into his chest. Your arms were hanging onto his neck as your skirt was now bunched up at your waist, and he was playing with the waistband of your panties.

“Here? S’dark in here but what if someone sees?”

“Don’t give a damn baby, it’s my store, my rules. Now bend over.” He smirked into your neck and pulled your ass against his hard dick, you could feel how thick he was through his jeans already. One of his hands was pulling your lace panties to the side, while his other was skillfully undoing his belt buckle. “You wore these tonight, were you expecting something?”

Honestly, you weren’t. You just hadn’t done laundry to have any other of your more normal underwear clean. “No, promise.”

His hand grabbed at your bare ass cheek and he pulled back and slapped it, “anyone could’ve seen these, you know that, right?” You smirked at his possessiveness, it felt different than when your ex had been possessive. You knew Eddie was proud of you, and you also knew how talkative he was when he was this turned on, so you just let him keep going. You nodded to go along and felt his fingers tease your entrance. “Oh fuck, you’re so wet. I’m surprised you didn’t leave a mark on my jeans.” He lazily rubbed his fingers between the lips of your pussy, and you arched your back to beg for more than what he was giving you, pressing your hands into the wooden record display for support.

“Fuck, stop teasing me.” You looked back and saw him smirking, as he unzipped his jeans and let them slide down his thighs. He started lazily stroking up and down his dick, matching the pace of his slow fingers that were touching you earlier.

“You should know all about teasing, shouldn’t you? Grinding your ass on me, leaning over that fucking table tonight so I could just almost see what I wanted. Wanted to shove that skirt up and lick you clean tonight.” He stroked himself quicker and quicker, “You ready for me, babe?” He asked as he teased your entrance with his hard length, and you whimpered as he teased you with an inch or so, then pulled back out. He kept on a few times until you’d had enough and you thrust your hips back to take his whole length, making him grab onto your hips. “Fuck yeah,” Eddie grunted as he fucked into you and steadied your hips. The store was quiet except the low humming of the neon lights, and your quiet, low moans.

He pulled your hair in a makeshift ponytail with his hands and yanked your head up to his. “You drive me crazy, baby, do you know that? Can’t believe you’re mine after all these years.” He was relentless as he pounded into you, a skilled hand snaking around your front and circling your clit to bring you to your height of pleasure.

You felt yourself clenching around him as he kept a steady pace, and you came quickly before he followed suit, and allowing himself to collapse onto you.

“Goddamn, I can’t last more than a few minutes with you ever, can I?” You could feel his cheeks warm against your back as he chuckled and twitched inside.

“It’s fine, really. You’ve made up for it plenty of other times.” He let out a sharp sigh as he pulled out of you, and helped you fix your outfit and then his own. You both were smirking at each other as you wandered around the store.

“Ready to go?” He asked as he swung the keys around his pointer finger.

“I thought you had to- you’re such a bullshitter, Munson.” You realized he’d lied to everyone about needing to do something at the shop to get everyone to leave earlier.

“Maybe so, Harrington, maybe so.” He opened the door for you and you followed out after he finished locking the doors to the music store.

-

“They trust you with this?” You eyed your brother as you helped him scoot the grill out onto the patio around the pool.

“Mom and dad barely use it, so I taught myself how to a while ago.”

“Shocked that you haven’t burned the house down yet.” You muttered to him and he rolled his eyes back in return. It was an oddly warm fall Sunday, so you (Steve) had decided to have everyone over for a pool party, which you were sure would turn into a night party too. Absent parents were a plus sometimes, and you had Monday off of work because your dad had decided to close for the day.

You were both busy setting up the food and drinks in the kitchen when someone rang the doorbell, so you jogged to the front door to let them in.

In a line, all of the “kids” walked in, Dustin being last and giving you a high five as if you were Steve. You could tell they felt comfortable here as they piled in and made themselves comfortable before heading out back.

“We just… let them party?” You asked, coming around the kitchen corner to your brother.

“Nah, maybe a beer or two but they know the rules. I’m still the babysitter a little bit. Where’s Eddie?”

You shrugged, he was supposed to be here early to help you two get ready but he was either early, or late- never on time, but it was unusual that you hadn’t heard from him. “Must be running late.”

Steve raised an eyebrow at you as he sliced tomatoes. “What?” He asked as you eyed him.

“Just, not like him, that’s all.” You watched as he arranged the tomatoes and lettuce on a plate for burgers. “Alright, what do you know? You’ve never been so precise about where toppings for a burger go on a plate. I really don’t see anyone who’s coming even putting a vegetable on their burger.” You crossed your arms and leaned your hip against the counter.

“Nothing.” He moved on to cutting up an onion, and you snatched the knife from his hand.

“Steve.” He said your name back to you in the same sassy tone. “What do you know?”

He sighed, “He didn’t wanna come because it’s a pool party, and he’s nervous about everyone seeing his scars. So he said he was gonna say something came up with the store so he didn’t have to come, then come later tonight.”

You frowned, you felt bad for Eddie because he was so sensitive about his appearance. Everyone knew what they were from, but you guessed that no one had seen him since the wounds had healed, he didn’t strike you as the shirtless guy at a pool type even before, but especially now.

“I’m gonna go call him really quick, can you handle everything for a minute?” You asked Steve as you handed him his knife back, and he seemed to be finishing up any prep work that needed to be done.

The phone line rang three times as you sat on your bed waiting for someone to pick up.

“Hello?” It was Wayne, which took you by surprise.

“Hey uncle Wayne, it’s me. Is Eddie there?”

“Yeah, he’s practicin’ right now. Want me to get him for you?”

“Please.” You chewed on your lip, debating telling him it’s an emergency to hopefully have a better chance at getting him on the phone but you didn’t want to add to any anxiety he already has. You heard multiple footsteps before you heard the phone cord clinking against the plastic phone.

“Hey baby.” He sounded sweet and… oblivious?

“Hey, are you coming over? Steve’s about to get the grill going I think, and I’m kinda worried that he’s going to set something on fire, or give us all food poisoning.”

“I’m uh, I’m gonna come over later. Still practicing some today, and not really feeling like I wanna swim. Wayne’s home too and-”

“Steve told me you’re worried about everyone seeing your scars.” You blurted it out, immediately regretting it.

“I-I… yeah.” He sighed. You couldn’t see him, but you were willing to bet he was running his hand over his face and through his hair right now. “I know everyone’s got them, and they saw me all fucked up but, you know how I am.”

“Eddie, they’re your friends. And you don’t have to even swim, just come hang out with everybody. No ones gonna pressure you to swim.” You paced your room and looked out the back window of your room that overlooked the pool. Robin had arrived and was wearing a button up top, unbuttoned over her swimsuit. Steve was of course shirtless already with his swim trunks on, and all the younger kids were in the pool swimming. Nancy was in a cute striped one piece, and Jonathan had on shorts and a t-shirt. “Not everyone is swimming, and no ones gonna care if you don’t.”

“You really don’t think they’ll care?”

“No, Eddie. Come on over.”

He sighed, “Alright, give me a few minutes and I’ll leave. If I get pushed in, I’m blaming you.”

“Okay, you can fully blame me if someone else pushes you into the pool.” You laughed at him.

“Don’t wanna mess this hair up either, I’m actually having a really good hair day today.”

You giggled again at the thought of his mop of a mane getting wet from the pool, “I’m sure you are, every day is a good hair day for you.”

“Alright, Harrington.” He said, emphasizing the “hair”, “I’ll see you soon.” You hung up and ran down the stairs, and headed straight for the backyard.

“He’s coming but he’s not gonna swim, and please don’t push him in.” You said to your brother as he was crouched down getting the grill going, or at least attempting to.

“Thank god because I have no idea how to start this stupid thing.” He stood up and you were seeing his scars for the first time, too. The one on his face was obviously there and you were used to it, but it was so much smaller. You guys had been night swimming a few times since you had been home, but you hadn’t paid much attention or seen them like you could right now. He had one on the left of his abdomen that still looked pretty gnarly.

“I didn't realize how bad-”

“Yeah, it’s pretty bad, I know. Well, it was. I think just pretending they’re not there is the only way I can act like things are back to normal now.” He spoke softly as he pushed his sunglasses back up on his nose. “Gonna go grab a drink, you want one?”

“Just a water is fine for now.” You said as he walked away, the scars on his back just as pink as the ones on his front. You found Robin settled in on a pool chair and sat at the foot of her chair. She had already found a beer and was watching the kids play a game of chicken. Max and Lucas were very clearly about to win against Mike and Will.

“Your lover not gonna make it?”

“He’s on his way, he was a little hesitant to come over to swim.” You said, and Robin nodded, thankfully understanding what you were meaning without saying anything.

“I think he has the hardest time with it all because he thinks he should’ve died.” She said very bluntly, sitting back in the lounger. Steve walked over and tossed you a water, then returned back to the grill. “Like, he actually did. And the scars are just another reminder- as if any of us need one, and I don’t think he wants to be a burden and make anyone remember it anymore than we already do, you know?” You nodded, realizing again how little you had understood about what everyone had been through while you were gone, despite hearing so much about it all from them. “He had it the worst of us, but you know that. Steve was pretty fucked up too. He waited until Eddie was even somewhat stable before he got himself looked at, they could have patched him up way better but he wouldn’t leave his side.”

“What?”

“Oh yeah. Days. He spent days after we’d all been evaluated, cleaned up, stitches or whatever we needed before he said that he needed any medical attention other than what we could see on his face. Nancy finally told him he smelled like blood and sweat and needed to go before he ended up with an infection. I'm still not convinced he didn’t get rabies from those bats... She had to pry him away from Eddie’s bedside. Steve said he felt responsible for him dying, because Eddie sacrificed himself to save him for you.” She was staring out at the pool still, talking about all of this as if it were some lighthearted conversation, and you were left speechless. “When the doctors got their hands on Steve they couldn’t believe how much pain he was in for that many days and didn’t even flinch because he was so good at hiding it, but when they asked him to lie back on the hospital bed to get looked at, he was crying in pain. It was pitiful.”

You still didn’t know what to say as you fumbled with your water bottle. “I hate that I wasn’t here.”

“No, don’t say that. I mean, I hate that you were where you were, but you didn’t want to be here. In Hawkins, or the upside down.”

“I just wish I could’ve been there for them more. Anyone. You guys are so close and I feel like I’m just invading on this, and adding more to it all.”

“No, you’re good for everyone. You being back has helped Steve, and obviously Eddie too. That idiot is crazy about you. When he woke up and found out what had happened to the town, the first thing he asked about was some book in his trailer that none of us knew what he was talking about until Wayne got there after Steve called him to tell him his vitals were improving drastically.”

“What book was it?” You asked, not sure what he could’ve been talking about.

“We all thought he meant his copy of The Hobbit but he was talking about some dungeons and dragons notebook.” Your heart stopped as Robin rambled on longer, for minutes before you realized you weren’t listening at all.

You two settled into a normal conversation, but you kept thinking about the notebook that Eddie was worried in the back of your head until he arrived, he made a quiet entrance versus his usual display of dramatics. He was dressed in a ripped up, sleeveless Slayer tshirt and a very holey pair of black jeans, and a pair of black converse that you rarely saw him in. His hair was tied back loosely and he had a black bandana around his head too. You stopped mid sentence with Robin as you watched him gravitate towards Steve as if he automatically knew he needed help.

“Man, you’ve got it bad for Munson, don’t you?”

“Shut it, Robin.” You slapped her ankle playfully and she laughed at you.

“Have you guys said the l word yet?”

You looked at him again before looking over to her, “No, it hasn’t been that long yet.” You knew Robin was such a romantic at heart- she thought your story of two best friends torn apart, then reunited as “lovers” was the best plot for a romantic story.

“Hasn’t been that long?! You guys were friends for how long before this? And you both knew you had something for each other this whole time?! Come on!” She threw her hands up in the air. “Just say it and see what he says.”

Except, you knew how Eddie felt about the word. There were some things some people- most people actually, didn’t know about his life before he was living with Wayne full time. The only time he heard the word love and it actually meant something was his mom, and he didn’t hear it but a few times from her. And if his dad ever said it, it was when he was quite literally beating love into him. It was a subject you weren’t really ready to introduce into your relationship yet, and you didn’t want to be the one to push it on him either. You were following the cracks of the concrete around the pool until a pair of unlaced shoes caught your attention.

Eddie squatted down to your level of the pool chair and lifted your chin up with his two fingers before placing the most gentle kiss on your lips. “Hi.” He said, his cheeks rosy, and his eyes were a little bit bloodshot to match.

“Hi.” You giggled back, “You okay?”

“Smoked on the way over here, never been better.”

“I’ll leave you two alone, have at it.” Robin got up, abandoning her chair. Eddie replaced her at the top of the chair and motioned for you to scoot up between his legs. You settled with your back on his chest, as his arms wrapped around your body.

“Glad you decided to come. I missed you.” You said as you traced the faint scars on his forearms that were showing.

“Just saw me last night at the show, Harrington. But thanks for making me come here, I think it’ll be good.”

“I didn’t make you come here,” you defended, “I was just trying to get you out of the house and that head of yours for a bit.”

“I know.” He kissed the side of your head, “and I’m thanking you for it.” You’d half expected him to retort back with some type of a half argument comment like he was actually trying to say that you did force him to come here, but you could tell he genuinely was glad to be there. You snuggled in closer to him.

“I think your meds are working, you normally would have said something a little smarter than that back to me.” You said out loud.

“Yeah, I feel less on edge all the time now. ‘S kinda nice.” He hummed.

“Should you be smoking weed while you’re taking it?” You feel him shrug against you. “Guess we’ll find out.”

“Guess we will.” He said.

“I need to run upstairs and change, keep an eye on Steve to make sure he doesn’t burn anything, please.”

“You sure you don’t need any assistance?” He wiggled his eyebrows at you and you rolled your eyes as you made your way back inside to change into your swimsuit.

The first one you grabbed was an older black one that was a two piece bikini, you were a bit less curvy back in high school but you figured it would still fit. You slipped the bottoms and the top on and stared at yourself in the mirror. Your shape had changed so much, not necessarily for the worse by any matter, but you could hear the comments from your mom or Charlie in your head as you took yourself in from every angle in the mirror.

A soft knock rapped on the door, then it slowly opened and you weren’t one bit surprised to see Eddie there. His jaw was slack as he stuttered out a compliment. “Y-you look great.”

You blushed and tucked your arms in front of your tummy, attempting to hide your few pounds, suddenly feeling ashamed.

“I mean it. You look healthy. I know what you’re thinking. I haven’t forgotten what your mom used to say to you. I haven’t either.” He closed the door quietly behind him, then walked over towards you.

“How come I have to be the one confident about my body, but you get to hide yours?” You asked him as he enveloped you in a warm hug and rubbed your soft back.

“That’s a conversation I’m willing to have another day, sweetheart. You don’t have to swim either.”

“But I want to. All I have are bikinis though.”

“And you look fine in it.” He hugged you tighter, but then his arms dropped, “what’s that?”

“What’s what?” You pulled back to look at him and he was focused on your closet. “Oh, that’s just some old high school crap. C’mon, let’s go down to the pool so they don’t think we’re up to something.”

Eddie shook his head as he made his way over to your closet. He didn’t have to stand on his tiptoes to grab the shoebox from the top shelf of your closet. “I know exactly what this is.” He made himself comfortable on the floor of your room, and opened the lid. The laugh that escaped his lips almost sounded like a bit of a cry as he started to pick through the papers and pictures.

“C’mon, Eddie. I’m not in the mood for reliving the past right now.”

“Oh I am. Look at how cute we were.” He showed you a photo of the two of you, and some of your old friends from middle school. “God, I was such a nerd.”

“Was?” You asked as you sat down beside him and watched him carefully dig through your possessions. You watched as he pulled out each picture, most of them had a tiny hole in the corner from a push pin where they’d been displayed in your room. “Had to take all these down in 9th grade when I had my first sleepover with Grace. I didn’t want her to make fun of me. I don't think I’ve looked at any of them since.”

Your slightly shaky hand started to sift through the box too, finding a picture from your birthday party in 8th grade- the year your parents had the pool put in. Eddie was beside you, his arm loosely around your shoulder, and you were both grinning from ear to ear, everyone else at the party had smiles too, but none as bright as the two of yours. There was a picture stuck to the back of that one, and it was of you blowing out your birthday candles. Eddie was staring- yes, staring at you with nothing but admiration in his eyes. You realized then that Robin really was right about the two of you. Eddie had found a letter that you both would pass back and forth between classes and was smiling behind his hand as he read it, his eyes seemed to be shrink wrapped with tears ready to fall.

“Man, we were fucking clueless, weren’t we?” He said out loud.

You took a deep breath, “clueless to what?”

“Each other. I’m pretty sure I was in love with you back then.” He continued on, not realizing what he’d said.

“Back then?” You asked, picking at the corner of the picture in your hands.

“Yeah, back then. Look at this,” he pointed to a part of the letter and read it aloud to you as you giggled along. You didn’t want to ruin the moment so you went along with him as you continued pulling out old pictures and letters, some DnD notes, and random little trinkets.

Your heart was aching to say something to him but you didn’t want to press it, so you abruptly stood up and grabbed the box from him, putting the lid back in it.

“That’s enough for right now.” You stood on your tippy toes to place the box back in the top of your closet, where dust had settled around the edges of it for sitting in the same spot for so long.

“I can’t believe you kept all those. Even after the years you were so mean to me.” Eddie came up behind you and took the box from your hands and effortlessly returned it to its place.

“You know me, I keep everything.” You were a little nervous now, not sure where the conversation was going.

“What about pictures of him?” Eddie asked, his voice laced with disgust.

“Eddie, come on. You really think I’d keep any of him? I threw all the ones I had out in Chicago, and Steve got all of the ones out of the house before I made it home.”

“I’m shocked he didn’t make you burn your pictures with me.” He scoffed, pacing around your room.

“He didn’t know I had those.” You watched him scratch at his neck as he kept pacing. “Hey, Eddie?”

“Yeah?”

“While we’re on the subject of keeping things… Robin told me that my DnD notebook was one of the first things you asked about after you woke up.”

“Yeah, I was worried that you would kill me if we ever talked again and I’d lost it.”

“Lost it? Eddie, I didn’t even know that thing still existed until you showed it to me.”

“Well. It’s the one thing that I had of you, of yours that was still… you. You know? You just switched in freshman year to this completely different girl desperate to fit in. I tried calling you, but your mom always made up whatever excuse you told her. Cheerleading practice, or at Grace’s house, or whatever it was. Finally I just gave up after you started looking at me with disgust at school if we saw each other. Then your sophomore year I knew I was never going to get you back, you were long gone.”

“But I’m back now.” You said quietly.

“Yeah, but at what cost?” He let out a disparaging smile, “You were with that abusive piece of shit for all of those years, and I was here rotting in Hawkins, being the freak of the town and then almost dying. Now you’re back, and you’re just… you’re back in my life again. But nothing is the same.” He sounded defeated.

You looked at him with tears in your eyes, and you felt your heart crumpling down.

“Eddie, I’m sorry.”

“Everyone is. Everyone is so sorry about what happened, aren’t they?”

“Eddie, please.” You grabbed his arm as he tried to walk out. He pulled it away from you, then turned to face you.

“I loved you, but you didn’t see it. You didn’t care, you just wanted to be the popular girl, you wanted everyone to love you. Sweetheart, none of those people did, except me.”

“I never told my mom to make up lies about where I was. I didn’t know you ever tried to call me. I thought you hated me for joining the cheerleading team.”

“Hate you? I could never hate you. Fuck- all of that bullshit you said to me in high school and look where we’re at now.” His chest was heaving, and you were feeling woozy from the emotional whiplash of the conversation.

“Where are we now?” You asked, afraid of the answer. Eddie’s hands slowly reached up to your face, and he didn’t miss the tiny flinch you made as you realized he was about to touch you.

“I think you know where I’m at.” His hands were resting on either side of your jaw, and his thumbs were slowly moving in circles as he looked you in the eyes, searching for something. “I said I could never hate you, didn’t I?” You nodded slowly at him, “it’s because I never stopped loving you.”

He leaned in and placed a gentle kiss on your lips before pulling back and resting his forehead against yours.

“Eddie, I love you too.” You said, placing your hands over his and squeezing them. You watched as his eyes squeezed so hard that tears started falling.

“Don’t say it just because I said it. Don’t say it if you don’t mean it, you know-” he started getting himself riled up the more he spoke.

“I do know, and that’s why I’m saying it. I love you.” His eyes were still shut and he was breathing through his nose. “Look at me.” You grabbed his face to move it to yours and watched as his eyes opened up. “I can’t say it enough, I love you, Eddie.” He leaned in after he accepted your confession and kissed you again, still a quick kiss, but so much feeling behind it. “And I promise you, all of those people out there love you too. But not… not as much as I do.”

He smiled at you before grabbing your hand and leading you downstairs, and back out to the pool. To your surprise, no one made any comments about the two of you being gone together, and not as much time must have passed as you thought because Steve was just putting burgers and some chicken on the grill. Eddie kissed the side of your head before he went to the cooler for a beer and resumed his stand beside your brother.

Alright, you confessed your love to him, so why do you feel like you could hurl up the last 3 days worth of food as you stared at him?

“Grabbing a beer, you want one?” Nancy placed a hand on your shoulder and asked as she walked by you standing on the hot concrete, and you nodded a quick yes to her.

“Thanks.” You said as she handed one back to you.

“You alright? You look a little bit sick to your stomach.”

“Yeah, just hanging in there. We had another one of those big conversations and I feel a little off.”

“C’mon, walk it off and come sit over here with us and forget about it for a minute.” You followed her over to where Jonathan and Robin both were talking in depth about some movie ending and why it should’ve ended differently.

“Hey guys.” You sat down, sharing a chair with Robin again. You started drinking your beer quickly as they changed the conversation and you joined in as you heard laughter and splashing in the background. Minutes later, it all stopped. Everything. The laughing, the splashing, and any noise other than the few birds that were still around.

You four looked to the pool. Everyone’s head was accounted for, and then you looked over at the grill where Steve was laughing as he flipped a burger. Steve, just Steve. Where was Eddie? Suddenly you were being lifted up by a very cold, wet body and were getting thrown into the pool, beer in hand and all.

“What the fuck?!” You said as you came up from the water. Eddie was also… in the pool with you. Shirtless, but his jeans on.

“Dustin made a bet and I had to follow up on my end.” He swooped an arm around your waist and pulled you into him. “Love you.” He kissed you on the lips before he let go of you and swam to the side of the pool. He pushed himself out of the water, making a show of his wet hair, then pulled his jeans off to be left just in his boxers.

“Hey man, put some trunks on.” Steve yelled at him before putting the lid down on the grill and running inside. He jogged back out with a pair of his red ones and tossed them at Eddie’s chest, “for your decency.” He said with a smirk, and Eddie put them on and hopped in the pool with everyone else, and a fresh beer for you.

[dreamwatch]

Town Called Malice

Written for @corrodedcoffinfest

Day #21 - Prompt: Hate This Town | Word Count: 999 | Rating: T | CW: hospitals, mention of injuries | POV: Gareth | Pairing: None | Tags: angst, good uncle Wayne Munson, friendship

It’s been two days since the earthquake.

Their house has gone, Benji their beautiful mutt is missing. His sister hasn’t stopped crying.

Once they were all at grandma’s, mom went straight back to work. They’d watched neighbours bodies get pulled from their homes, some alive, some dead; she was needed elsewhere.

He went twenty four hours not knowing what happened to his friends. Jeff and Matty are ok.

Mom was the one that told him about Eddie, and you know, she’s his mom and he knows she wants to tell him more but as they like to say in their home, she took the ‘hippopotamus oath’ so all she says is “you need to speak to Wayne” and then because he’s not freaked out enough she adds “today.”

He knows his way round this hospital like the back of his hand. His little brother, Owen, has managed to acquire a cast or stitches in each of his thirteen years on this planet. His mom has been a nurse here since before Rhiannon, his older sister, was born. 

He’s never visited the ICU.

Before he heads up there he passes by the ER and gets a hug and kiss from his mom. She’s told him nothing, just that it’s not good and it would be good to let Wayne know they were thinking about Eddie. She gives him a final kiss on the cheek and then he heads up to the fourth floor.

Visitation is strict here, you can’t just walk in and wander around, doctors and nurses are rushing in and out of rooms constantly; people are spending as much time in ICU dying as they are surviving. But he’s not planning on going inside.

He finds a seat in the waiting area at the end of the hall. There’s ashtrays and a vending machine here and he knows Wayne Munson and there’s no way he won’t need a coffee and a cigarette at some stage. And sure enough he’s there about forty minutes when Wayne walks past him.

He gives him a second, doesn’t want to pounce on him from nowhere, lets him smoke his cigarette, watching the jittery movement of his hand. Wayne comes across as dour, hard faced, but he has a golden vein of mischief that runs through him, and he’s prone to fits of giggles, especially at Eddie’s expense. But that glint in his eyes is gone.

He finishes his smoke and stands in front of the coffee machine, coin in hand. If you didn’t know him you’d think he was just making his selection, but Gareth does know him. Wayne stands like a statue, coin in his hand, staring into nothing.

“Mr Munson?”

Wayne spins, eyes sharp and Gareth can imagine why. But Wayne’s face softens when he sees its him. 

“Since when do you call me that?”

Gareth gives him a one shouldered shrug in reply.

Wayne gets his coffee and sits in the chair next to him lighting another cigarette.

“Your mom sent you up, huh?”

“I would have come anyway.”

“She’s a good woman, your ma.” He takes a sip of the coffee, his face souring at it. “Jeffrey okay? Matthew?”

“Yeah, they’re all safe.”

Wayne sighs. “That’s good. Eddie would be worried, so that’s good.”

The mention of Eddie’s name pricks ears in the waiting area, and Gareth is wishing just one of them to say a fucking word because he’s ready to let go.

“What happened?” 

Wayne sighs, loaded and weary. “They’re saying he was bit. Dogs, or wolves or something. Spooked by the earthquake.”

What the fuck? “Wolves?”

“It’s bullshit. He’s been carved up, no dog did that to him,” Wayne says, voice rising, waiting area now fully watching him. “People in this town think we’re stupid. Think they know who we are, what we are. Well I ain’t stupid. I swear to God, when I find whoever did that—" his voice breaks, rough and tired, “to my boy, going to be a lot of very sorry people in this piece of shit town.”

It’s the truest thing he’s ever said. 

What is wrong with this place? The way they allowed Carver to rile them up with bullshit. Like they don't already live in a world where someone could drop the bomb at any moment, they had to go invent shit to be scared of. The way the cops, the fucking cops! just let Carver start a vigilante movement right in front of them. His dad always told them ‘there’s something rotten about Hawkins’, that maybe they should have moved. His parents usually end up fighting when they go down that road. But he’s already made his mind up, he's leaving this place as soon as he can.

“Is he going to be okay”

Wayne takes his time about answering, too particular, so Gareth knows it’s bad from that alone. But he’s willing to accept whatever Wayne gives him, will grab on to any ounce of hope.

“He’s strong.”

And… that’s it? That’s all he’s got for him?

Fuck.

“I should get back to him. Don’t like to be away for too long.”

Wayne stands and throws his empty cup in the trash. 

“Why don’t you come through and say hi? I think Ed would like that.”

Maybe he hesitates too long, Wayne adding “You don’t have to.”

“No. No I want to.”

Wayne gets his name added to the visitors list, and then puts his hand on Gareth's shoulder guiding him to Eddie’s room. When Officer Callaghan moves to block his way Wayne doesn’t even speak. Doesn’t say a fucking word, just stares at Callaghan until he steps out of the way and goes back to his post. It’s the most incredible thing Gareth’s ever seen.

And then he’s in Eddie’s room.

Later, he’ll ride in the car home with his mom and it will pour out of him. Eddie, their dog, their home.

But for now he’ll bite his lip and hold his friends hand.

[impishjesters]

Little Thoughts

warning(s): suicidal thoughts, suicidal ideations, child neglect, child abuse, suicidal thoughts of a child, abuse, financial abuse, hurt/comfort(?), mentioned manipulation, casual talk about death/dying, pre-relationship, uncertain reactions (basically Jax nor you really know how to go about the situation), implied crush (both ways) A/N: This was written for myself, read it or don't, I don't care. I just wanted validation and acceptance from somewhere, even if it's fictional...

“Do you ever just wish you were dead?”

Jax slowed his oncoming approach towards you, blinking in confusion. “What happened to, hi? Hello? How are you?” He heard you scoff and crossed his arms loosely in thought. Sure, he was used to hearing some pretty questionable things from you, but you’d never flat out ask him—or anyone else for that matter—if they wanted to be dead.

“Well?”

“Uh, can’t say I do. Sure, this place sucks but think of all the entertainment I’d miss out on if I was, ya know—” he swiped his thumb across his neck and made a noise, “—dead.”

“You’ve been here longer. Aren’t you tired?”

What was this? Morbid fifty questions?

“You doin’ alright there sugar?” Jax circled around you, allowing you to see him long before he approached you taking a seat beside you. “I know you usually say some pretty…intense shit, but this is a little too intense even for you.”

You shot him a blank stare. Huh, you did say some pretty out-of-pocket stuff when it came to the dark subject—but to ask him flat out if he ever wanted to just be dead? That was new, but it was a valid question in your mind.

How could they choose to suffer instead of just dying?

“This isn’t anything new… I’m not like you guys. I haven’t been here for years on end gradually going mad.”

“Hey, rude. I’m not nearly as bonkers as Rags or King-face.”

He got a playful eye roll from you and that was more than enough of a win for his little joke. Sure it was a serious topic but he didn’t do so well during talks like this.

“I’ve always been like this… for as long as I can remember, as a child I thought it’d just be better if I was dead. That way my family could stop fighting, and I could stop being the rag doll in their arguments.”

As you spoke the grin that was glued to his face started to fall, slipping bit by bit until his lips ran flat. What child wants to kill themselves? He remembers his childhood not being the greatest but he never thought about death, that’s for sure.

“We didn’t have a lot of money growing up, they’d spend it on unnecessary stuff and worry about food and bills later until years of it caught up and put them in a bind.” Your gaze fell to your hands, fingers picking and peeling at the flesh. “Most would say I was a very spoiled kid, I always got toys and the holidays were jam-packed with even more unnecessary toys for a growing child to outgrow.”

He had a feeling he knew where this was going…

“But I didn’t want that, I didn’t want all those toys. Expensive or cheap, I never asked for any of them. If my eyes made contact with something and lingered just a second too long they’d buy it for me.” You sighed, looking up at Jax. “All I wanted was my family to give me the time of day, to play with me. To love me.”

“Fuck, I’m..” he hesitated, saying sorry felt pointless, that was ages ago and he wasn’t there. He wasn’t at fault but he couldn’t even imagine that—his own parents argued but they kept him out of it.

“It’s fine you don’t have anything to apologize for.”

He shuffled in place awkwardly, how are you supposed to respond to that? Luckily he doesn’t need to because you are already looking away and took a deep breath before continuing.

“It never got better, toys became electronics and games. Because of my family, I didn’t get to socialize growing up and I’d be quiet and withdrawn at school. The older I got the more vocal they started to get about me, even though they didn’t want me they kept me chained down and limited my ability to fight them.”

“What they lock ya up or somethin’?”

“They didn’t need to, I had no reason to leave the house. I didn’t have friends, we didn’t have stores or anything fun to do that wasn’t an hour’s drive away.” He hates the way you laugh so casually about it. “No, they’d limit any money I’d receive making sure I’d spend it instead of save it. I used to think it was their way of trying to make sure I wouldn’t run away, but even if I didn’t have savings that wouldn’t have stopped me from leaving with nothing but the clothes on my back.”

“Why didn’t ya?”

“I was a coward.”

Jax snorted and caught your attention. “You were a child, not a coward.”

“Whatever, pointless to think about it now. Did me fat lotta good in the end anyways, here I am trapped in this hell hole where the closest thing to death is abstracting.” A dry laugh left you at the irony. “I can’t even fucking off myself properly.”

The two of you simply sat in silence for a few minutes, neither of you seemingly aware of how to continue the conversation. There was no reason to give Jax the whole sob story that didn’t matter anyway, and he couldn’t think of a response.

Sure he wasn’t the greatest at times but he didn’t want you to just…die… but he wasn’t going to try and guilt trip you into living for him. Even if that outcome sounded far better than you dying, he could live with a guilty conscience—probably…

“You don’t have to worry about responding, I sort of just… dropped that all on you. It’s fine, it’s the past.”

“Still doesn’t change that ya still feel like ya should’ve died because your family sucks.” You shot him an unimpressed look and he shrugged. “I’m just sayin’, you were just a kid stuck with a shit family and should’ve been given help a lot sooner.”

“Gee, thanks—”

“I’m not done,” he used your name, no silly or insulting nicknames, “someone should’ve done something, I know people are stupid and think if they just look away it’ll be fine. But someone should’ve stepped in, it’s still abuse, it’s neglect.”

It went unspoken about how you clearly didn’t seek any form of therapy or help as you got older, he already felt like he was pushing it saying what he did.

“Look nothing I say is gonna make ya not wanna pop yourself, but it’s different now. Yeah, ya stuck here but you aren’t alone, and the others like ya.”

“What about you?”

“Me?” he blinked, you weren’t asking him if he…

“Do you like me?”

Jax coughed into his hand, casually turning himself to face the same direction as you. He refused to budge even when you turned yourself to face him, he was not gonna lose his cool.

“Ya alright, better than King-face and Rags that’s for sure.”

His answer pleased you enough to pull back but still face towards him. Occasionally, you’d see him peeking over to see if you were still looking at him until he finally kept his gaze forward.

“Thank you Jax.”

It felt wrong to accept your thanks, he didn’t do anything. But again you responded for him, as if knowing his plight.

“Thank you for sitting here with me, and listening… nobody’s ever listened to me before and not tried to justify what they did like I was the one at fault. You don’t need to feel like you have to have done something to be thanked.”

His shoulders shrugged before relaxing, his gaze that had glued itself to nothing finally turning to you. “Look just, promise me if you get those icky thoughts again you’ll come to me instead of stewing in them okay?” He saw you hesitate and cautiously reached out for your hand. “Promise me.”

You sighed. “Fine, I promise…” Ironically, you didn’t think you could trust anyone but Jax with this sort of information. Personal feelings aside.

“Good, now shut ya face and enjoy my presence and this beautiful moonlight night.” He threw his arm around you and pulled you closer, hand lingering at your side. He was going to make sure not to take advantage of this information, he wanted things to be genuine and not manipulated—as easy as it would be for him.

If the two of you were stuck here he wanted your feelings towards him, and vice versa to be genuine before taking the next step.

[piratefalls]

i'm back with a header i like a lot more. this one's a little shorter than usual, but still has a little of everything. also, instead of individual links we've graduated to a masterlist!

masterlist.

you've ruined my life (by not being mine) by coffeecatsme

“I have a secret,” Alex whispers in his ear—he’s sprawled over Henry on the couch, calves and thighs and chests pressed together, breath washing over Henry’s skin. “I shouldn’t tell you.” “Oh?” Alex nods vehemently. “Can’t lose you,” he murmurs, fingertips on Henry’s face, and Christ that touch is deadly. “Can’t tell you I love you. You’d leave.” Henry stares. “Oh.”

i speak in grey (to match the shades on the inside of my brain) by sticktothescript

He spends all of that week researching what non-binary means, but he pointedly ignores the squirming feeling of excitement in his chest. He’s just curious, that’s all. That’s all it can be. He’s lived his whole life as a man. He’s the First Son. There’s no room for testing boundaries when the people need him. --- or; a 5+1 of Alex Claremont-Diaz exploring gender identity

And The Show Goes On by orestespdf

For the second time that evening, a hand suddenly smacks his shoulder. Henry looks up, expecting Philip, but instead he is greeted with a smarmy smile. Henry’s stomach drops at the sight of the man who stands behind him. “Christopher,” Philip laughs. His brother stands, and he and the man shake hands vigorously above Henry’s head. Henry wants to melt into his seat and disappear. “I’m so glad you could make it. Henry, you remember my mate, Christopher Lewis?” Henry stares down at the intricately folded napkin in front of him. Christopher Lewis: 2011 St Andrews graduate, former head of the Eton rugby club, excellent skier, wine aficionado. Seven years older than Henry. Green eyes. Nice shoulders. Yes, Henry remembers Christopher Lewis. He wishes he didn’t. After years of not seeing him, Henry runs into Philip's old friend again. Fallout ensues.

heartbeats under coats by HypnosTheory

Alex, a DC lawyer on his way back from a work trip, is stranded in New York after a freak blizzard grounds all flights. He gets the last available hotel room on the island, but a freak error means the room is double booked. Unwilling to leave the other stranded, both men agree to share the room and wait out the blizzard together.

don't just give it up. by smc_27

Alex checks the flight path for the 12th time this minute, and then rolls his eyes and groans. Amy, next to him, opens one eye. He apologizes wordlessly and tries to stop being so fucking antsy. Look. Look. He’s got something - someone - fucking perfect waiting for him across the Atlantic. If anyone knew what exactly he’s flying to, they’d speed the plane the fuck up and get him there.

this moment in time by rizcriz

She moves away from the couch, crossing her arms over her chest. “What did you do, Alex?” He turns back to the table and puts his hands in his hair as he leans over the cup of coffee. “I made Henry a christmas card, and snuck it into his bag before he left for London.” “Okay?” “I may have used it as a vessel to confess my feelings for him.” He says it fast, almost too quickly to be understood, but June’s had a lifetime of translating Alex-speak, and he hears her quick intake of breath and pulls his hands from his hair to look over his shoulder at her. -- Or, it's a New Years to remember.

when the silence screams by teacupivy

Today, Henry comes home to a stillness that’s out of place in the usually bustling December air. It's only a little disconcerting. or Alex is incredibly frustrated with the state of life and Henry offers to get on his knees.

i dream of our odyssey by violetbaudelairequagmire

Alex rests his elbows on the counter of the small cafe attached to Bankston’s Books, enjoying the quiet period in between the morning stay-at-home-mom-crying-toddler storytime crowd and the rush of college students that appear in the afternoon. It’s only a couple hours, but it’s nice to have that time with just a few black coffees in between the rush of “pumpkin spice latte and a cakepop” and “quad shot espressos and keep them coming” that dominate the busy periods at the bookstore. He’s not complaining though- he loves this job. He gets a discount on books, no one cares how much coffee he drinks in a shift, and, in the last couple of weeks, he’s had a great view of the new guy quietly shelving books. it's a bookstore au!

Shatter Me by politics_and_prose

Henry is resigned to the life he's meant to lead until he meets a man so full of happiness and life that he's got no choice but to confront the secret he's been keeping for years.

Singularity by OrchidScript

"Henry didn’t try to resist. He’d lost his capacity for it the moment his scruffy looking nerf herder had stood in the White House press room and called Henry his choice. Under the onslaught of purposeful dragging of fingernails, featherlight touches under tables, the pink-bitten promise of more, Henry abandoned all defense. He willingly succumbed to his fiancé’s heated breath and honeyed words." The boys find inspiration in a hotel room armchair.

In Every Universe by clottedcreamfudge

Alex and Henry will find each other in every universe. A series of either explicitly or implicitly soulmate-themed AUs, which are all heading in one very specific direction.

You Remind Me of Home by athousandrooms & ifyoustay

Henry had taken the news that he was being summoned to England early much worse than Alex had. He'd left him with a million apologies on his lips. Alex had swallowed them all with a parting kiss and the promise of seeing him on the 23rd, knowing full well that no matter how much as much as he wished to, he couldn’t afford to travel with him during finals season of his first year of Law School. It's been a week, and Alex... Alex would give anything to have Henry here. But, all's well that ends well, as they say.

well we're not here to fuck ducks by stutteringpeach

Henry is looking for someone to help him with his duck study. He makes quite a serious typo in his 'All Staff' email.

with my name on your lips, tell me how does it taste by viciouslyqueer

“I don’t think anyone will be offended if two... very close friends decide to try it out, H. I certainly won’t.” Alex laughs when Henry fixes him with a half-hearted glare. “And you felt the need to track me down and show me this on a random Tuesday morning because...” Henry trails off with a perfectly arched brow. It’s infuriatingly attractive. Alex braces himself on the table and leans in, stopping with his mouth an inch away from Henry’s ear. He can almost hear him holding his breath. “Because I want to take my time with you, sweetheart,” Alex whispers sweetly. “And this is the perfect opportunity.”

Don't - Don't You Want Me? by absoluteaudacity

Alex is bad at communicating sometimes.

(you might be) someone i could love by weather_stained

(...or you're just somebody I fucked once.) After Henry has an anonymous one-night stand at a party, he can't stop thinking about the boy with the beautiful brown eyes and messy curls. Months later, Pez scores them an invitation to spend Thanksgiving weekend with June Claremont-Diaz, her girlfriend, and her brother, at her family's lakehouse. It could be the second chance he's been looking for, or he could be stuck hopelessly pining for someone who only ever wanted sex.

Locked In by allmylovesatonce

After their night together in Paris, Henry and Alex get quarantined in their hotel, locked in for two full weeks.

hours by demigodbeautiies

Although the White House is fast, the British press is faster. It has to be a leak. An accident. A screw up. There's no way a story like this would be allowed to break if anyone had actual control over the situation. Perhaps the entire headline is wrong, and the agonising lurch in Henry's stomach is for nothing. He reads it again. BREAKING: Son of US President Ellen Claremont abducted, held hostage. Watch for LIVE updates.

Forty-Four Days by bleedingballroomfloor

"God, I haven't seen you in forty-four days," Alex suddenly spits, and Henry feels the pain of his words in his own chest, like ice replacing the blood in his veins. Because that's it, isn't it? Forty-four days of separation. Forty-four days of waking up to an empty bed, of making coffee along with his tea only to realize that Alex isn't there to drink it, of long meetings without any of Alex's witty jokes, of cold hands on chilly autumn walks because Alex isn't there to warm them up. Maybe it's the simple fact of hearing for the first time, or maybe it's the tipping point of the taxing day, but Henry feels something inside of him snap, and — And all he knows is that he needs to see Alex now.

Hope is a Five-Alarm Fire by AnchoredArchangel

“I’m just saying- we know you, Alejandro. I've ran the odds and with your personal history of decision-making and impulse control, there’s a less than four percent chance you of all people didn’t shoot your shot. Even if he’s in the closet. Even if he’s supposedly straight. Even if he’s a prince. You love a good story.” Doesn’t he ever. Too bad he’s never going to get the chance to tell this one. Or: Alex returns to real life after crossing the actual Prince of England off his totally superfluous valid No Consequences Sex List. It does not go quite like he expected.

Wrap Me Up, Unfold Me by @sparklepocalypse

After the Kensington confrontation, Henry gets on the plane with Alex. (Or, Henry and Alex join the Mile High Club in filthy, spectacular fashion.)

Shameless by everwitch

Henry has a lot of sex. A lot. He's young and in college and there is no shortage of men to fall in bed with. What better time to explore what he likes and what he fucking loves, as well as to catalogue how to make his many, many partners feel as good as possible? It’s all part of the learning experience. And Henry is a very dedicated student. Alex has been inescapably aware of Henry ever since that one time they kissed. You don’t just stop being aware of the guy who basically caused your sexuality. So when Henry propositions Alex at a lame frat party, Alex accepts eagerly. Maybe this is exactly what he needs. Maybe, if he can just have Henry once, he’ll have a better chance of finally getting over his embarrassing fixation with Henry. It's worth a try.

3/4ths Cup of Love by inexplicablymine

“What the fuck are you doing with my pinto beans?” “It says I need them for pie weights.” “Hell no, baby, sweetheart. Over my dead body are you using the beans I use for mole for your quiche recipe. I would like us to eat these.” “Hey!” “If you put my beans in the oven, I will make it so you can’t possibly ever put a bun in the oven.” “Noted.” Or, The ups and downs of Henry learning how to perfect his quiche recipe.

A Practical Arrangement by kiwiana

“I know.” In fairness, he didn’t ask his mom to delay the wedding after the betrothal was made official when he turned eighteen. It wasn’t that she expected another option to materialise—he’s pretty sure she was trying to give him and Henry more time to get to know each other, maybe move past their open animosity a little. They’ve been pushed together every few months for the last three years, their marriage an inevitability. “I just… I still can’t quite get my head around it, you know? Married. To Henry.”

if you ever want me to tag you, let me know!

tagging: @starkfridays @stilesgivesmefeels

[anika-ann]

Back and Forth - part 3.2

Part 3 - Bounce Back - 2/2

Type: series; agent!reader, inhuman!reader

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader    Word Count: 14000

Chapter summary:  In which you have to survive the charity auction and it's not easy... for several reasons.

Series masterlist

Warnings: overthinking, self-doubt and issues with self-image, A+ parenting and its consequences, mentions of (in)human experimentation, alcohol (briefly as a coping mechanism), SPOILER armed assault, language and charming Steve, because he is most definitely a warning

A/N: ALWAYS MIND THE WARNINGS; dividers by @firefly-graphics 💕; moodboard is for the vibes and does not necessarily reflect reader’s appearance

A/N2: Second 'half' of the 3rd chapter. As you might have noticed, this is a long one. But with hints of fluff. So…yay? 💕 If you wish/need to split the reading, I recommend to end a reading session at the second in-text divider 😊

Daisy Johnson, despite being the legendary Quake, did in fact have a moment – which was enough of a shock to stop your headache from getting worse, even if your hands seemed to get a little clammy as your phone lit up with her response.

You would have done just fine without anyone’s input, you considered yourself competent enough to choose an evening gown, thank you very much. But after the day you had had so far – you could hardly believe it wasn’t even noon yet – there was a small traitorous voice of hope in the back of your head. Despite the heavy feeling in your stomach weighing you down, a dull reminder of being alone in this world, it urged you to reach out to the one group of people that once made you believe that you could share more with someone than workload or more than lust that turned into ashes and smoke once the fire had been lit up too strong. Daisy had been in the centre of it – she and maybe Coulson.

It was a dangerous game you played, indulging in the one thing you knew would come back to slap you in the face; entertaining the idea that there was someone who genuinely cared for you regardless of your abilities was setting you up for disappointment. But there was something about Daisy, so honest and sincere, that had wormed its way through the walls you had sworn to keep up for support, several inches thick and vibranium-strong. And that didn’t change, even as you had been given, not for the first time, the evidence of how volatile a faith in friendship can turn just short of two hours ago.

Knowing that Daisy didn’t turn her back to people, not even to her father after all he had done wrong, knowing she chose to see the good in people and to put her heart into nurturing it in them despite the risk of getting hurt in more ways than one, left you defenceless against her powers that had nothing to do with her genetic code. She was, even if distantly, the closest thing to a sister to you, older, due to her experience with Inhuman powers and in Coulson’s team, and younger, due to her pure heart and excitement about new things; once she had managed her powers which she had got about a half a year before you did, she became your guide and confidant; though you hadn’t dared to taint her with the knowledge of your pain.

While you had started search for the dress without her, she texted you barely a half an hour in; fresh out of a meeting, apologizing she’d only have twenty minutes before they’d be in the drop-zone for their current mission. Twenty minutes. And yet, she had made the time for you. Somewhere, thousands of feet in the air, in between preparing her mission gear, she had decided to sneak in a few minutes for you.

The knowledge alone eased the pressure in your stomach and gave way to a wholly different feeling, equally dizzying. She cared. Yes, you could argue that since she had been tasked to lead the division of Inhuman agents of SHIELD, it was her duty to respond – and at times, you reminded yourself of that, that you really weren’t special – but the fact was that she was. And she truly did care. You hadn’t been wrong to call her a friend yesterday; and Daisy-the-teenager couldn’t have had picked a better role-model in life. For most part anyway.

It didn’t matter in the slightest that Daisy Johnson had barely squeezed you into her schedule; it still carried meaning. And it would be enough, because she could be very efficient, sorting through the dresses you had considered so far as easily as if she had been slicing through the security system of the Pentagon – for a person with her hacking experience anyway.

A set of easy questions you yourself had been asking was her effective tactics.

Mission or fun? she had asked first, no doubt already knowing the answer as she went through the early picks. There was a reason why no dress had bare back, while all of them had necklines designed high enough to hide at least a strapless bra.

Me: They call it a mission to have fun, but I’ll be damned if I go without being ready other kind of mission.

DJ: Fair

DJ: Charming or sexy?

Your lips twitched in a small smile, your mind conjuring the image of Daisy’s face when she was typing the question. She was one of very few people – probably the only one – who could make you feel the teenage-like excitement about challenging authority. There was always a reason to the madness of doing so, but there was something about her attitude that always whispered of poking the bear for the sake of fun only.

Charming, you replied, almost regretfully. As much fun as it would be to see brains of some of those pretentious jerks you were about to meet short-circuit just because they were seeing an extra silver of flesh on a young woman – a thing that would make for as much of an icky feeling as hilarity – your mission was to represent, not cause havoc or seduce.

Blah. Colour-coordinating with anyone? she asked then and you chuckled at her poorly hidden attempt to fish for gossip – and at the idea of actually trying to do what she was suggesting. No. You were not going to go and ask Rogers what colour he was about to wear. Less so since chances were high that he was about opt for a traditional black tuxedo suit with a white shirt.

Me: Nope.

DJ: Come on! At least tell me who you’re going with?!!

DJ: You know this is a much of a secure channel as it gets

DJ: And you said it wasn’t really a mission, so it can’t be classified

DJ: …and I can’t find it within the system.

I’ll tell you if we survive it, you replied simply, even as laughter already bubbled in your chest, cheeks beginning to hurt from disuse and the sudden exercise as to stop you from grinning.

You should have known that she’d hack the system and go straight for the mission database unless you told her the details. Tony, bless him, threw a tantrum whenever she did that – which wasn’t too often, but it had happened before. On days when you allowed yourself to ponder, you wondered why he never told anyone – as far as you knew, that was, because no one came down on you, raining holy fire of wrath, despite it being obvious you were the cause of Daisy’s hacks – and why he tolerated it. Some days, you thought he was amused by it and felt bad for you, seeing you missed your former team, granting you connection with Daisy even if the way she went about it drove him absolutely nuts. Other days, you were sure he simply enjoyed a challenge and this was as good one of those as any – and he’d be caught dead before he’d admit in front of anyone that someone was able to crack into his system. Most days, you were content not to look given horse in the mouth.

Like clockwork, FRIDAY’s mechanical voice interrupted your thoughts:

“Agent Spectre, Mr. Stark would like to know if, I quote, you know anything about some punk kid sneaking into the mission logs again, maybe Little Miss Richter Scale, end of quote,” she stated, causing a snort of laughter actually escape you at Tony’s new and dead-on nickname. You’d have to tell Daisy that later – she’d have a good laugh at that

Me: You’re getting better and better.

Me: He’s onto you now though.

DJ: He should, he’s slacking, took him forever to notice

Sometimes, you wondered what would happen if Tony Stark and Daisy Johnson found themselves in one room and she’d tell him that to his face; but that was a thought to entertain another day.

“Thanks, FRIDAY. Tell Mr. Stark to relax. We’re safe, it is just Daisy.”

“Very well. Apologies for interrupting your free time, Agent Spectre. However, I was also tasked to inform you that Sergeant Wilson prepared enough lunch for an army and extended the invitation to join him to everyone on the team. Even to those who are currently on a mission out of state, which I find odd and, frankly, despicable.”

Even though the corner of your lips twitched at FRIDAY’s comment, your heart skipped a startled beat, a fist of cold feeling squeezing your stomach. The invitation was a nice gesture, even if not meant for you. You could read between the lines: the family the Avengers team had built themselves into, even if the second strangest you had ever seen, did not involve you. You were barely a part of the team, a temporary loan, so to speak, even as you had signed a contract. Extending the invitation to the team meant extending it to friends, to that very family. As kind and welcoming as Sam seemed, you certainly did not belong to that category.

The vibration of your phone startled you; the message as amusing as bittersweet.

DJ: Fine, keep your secrets, Ms Avenger

Right. Ms. Avenger. Case on point. You might be one, technically, on paper, but in spirit… hardly. At best, you were determined to try and prove that the way you controlled your abilities could be at least Avengers-adjacent. The harsh truth however, was that if anyone from your old team would have had it in them to become a true Avenger, it was Daisy herself. Alas, she was too busy running and flying the world with another team, protecting, teaching, and recruiting Inhumans... and saving the world in the process.

DJ: Crap gotta run

DJ: Number four is the one I think

Whoever you’re going with is gonna lose their shit when they see you, she added, once again making you snort, this time without humour.

Yeah, right. Like that was going to happen. If chances of becoming a friend to an Avenger were astronomical, chances that Steve Rogers would be impressed by you dressing up to the nines were outside of all the realms known to Thor himself. But it was a nice sentiment, you supposed; the flicker of affection towards the optimist in Daisy was a testimony to that.

Me: Thank you for the help. Stay safe out there.

DJ: You too

DJ: But from what I saw about yesterday, you got it

DJ: …Ms Avenger

Shaking your head, this time unable to stop the smile taking over your lips, you set the phone down and ordered the dress to be delivered express, and moved onto shoes and a handbag; you ignored the growling of your hungry stomach and distantly couldn’t but wonder if maybe there’d be some leftovers of Sam’s pasta to have for lunch later.

Tony was not exaggerating when he was talking about the charity auction being a mission. A mission required preparation; having documents land in your inbox along with an alert of high-priority intel relevant to your mission lightning up your StarkWatch yesterday evening, you had never been more grateful for being obliged to read up on something.

As you were putting the last touches to your make-up in the quinjet bathroom, you sent another mental thank you to Tony, because the extensive files on all expected guests, besides having potential to be useful to you during the event, gave you the perfect excuse as to why leave last preparations to the flight.

Naturally, the intel itself was a message with a bitter aftertaste, because it highlighted your role and tasks. Represent. Make small-talk. Show interest. Compliment a healthy amount; meaning bootlick a bit, if necessary. You knew the dance and it had always made your head spin in the worst way. To show enough admiration and knowledge about the world’s finest to look professional and a bit of a fan, but not as a stalker, even as there were people among the attendees tonight who would have probably appreciated a stalker-level interest and considered it a compliment.

But despite the slight nausea hitting you when leafing through the files, you had appreciated the out Tony had given you, whether it was intentional or not; because with an excuse of mountains of intel to try to learn by heart, you didn’t have to sit opposite to Steve in the quinjet in awkward silence. Or worse, trying to make small talk with him, just as awkward. Or, in the worst-case scenario – which would be in the direct conflict with one of the mission’s laughable objectives, specifically trying not to kill each other – fight with him.

And you probably would have done exactly that because there was no way Captain America himself had been wrestled into this the same way you had. They might have had to twist his arm to make him go with you, but not to go. He had been given a choice and chose to attend, despite the concerns you had voiced. And you probably hadn’t been the only one, which meant Steve had to be hyperaware of the potential security issue and he deliberately ignored it. Of course. Why wouldn’t he? He was Mr. Captain America and nothing could ever happen to him; be it because he thought there was no danger and you were allegedly making it bigger deal than necessary or – which drove you all high up the wall and made you want to punch him into his damn perfect teeth or at least punch his stupidly firm pec – the threat was nothing he couldn’t handle.

Goddamn him.

You crumbled the fabric of your dress between your fingers in a firm grip as you breathed through the rush of pure indignation with him being a brave stubborn dismissive dumbass and breathed in slowly; you held your breath for a few seconds, and only then released it along with the grip on your dress. You blinked at yourself in the mirror and repeated the action, arranging your face into a neutral expression at least.

Tony might have as well come up with the idea to send the intel solely to prevent you from attempting to strangle Steven Grant Rogers before you even landed, so it would be polite to honour his efforts.

When you finally exited the bathroom and entered the main space, you found Steve in one of the seats with a tablet in his hand, the screen dimly illuminating his face. He looked up as you approached, rising to his feet almost as if on instinct, his lips slightly parted for a brief moment. His gaze glided over the dress from where it brushed your ankles, over the line of the skirt, the slit reaching mid-thigh opening and closing as you walked, revealing a silver of your leg tastefully and covering you again, then over the waist, V-shaped neckline ending mid-sternum, short sleeves with delicate frills. For a moment, the intensity of his gaze surprised you; but then you realized that he was committing the dress to memory to find you easily in the crowd in case any Avengers-related business came up.

Then, an obtrusively gentle thought nudged at your mind; he was an amateur artist. You had got a glimpse of him several times, a sketchbook and a pencil in his fingers, look distant or extremely focused on the paper in front of him. He could appreciate beauty – and the dress you chose was without doubt an embodiment of it. The glimmer of it was subtle and the sparkles sparce; in the rich dark blue blending into a purple just as dark, it resembled the sky just after dusk, with the first stars coming out. Whether he had a sense for fashion or not wouldn’t matter – the dress was, at least in your eyes, gorgeous. Not flashy, not too shiny to attract too much attention, but with an idea making up for the otherwise simple design.

When Steve met your eyes, the light of the quinjet made it appear as if there was a tinge of pink in his cheeks. And there actually might be, since his eyes lingered on the dress for a moment too long; which wouldn’t be a crime if you weren’t already wearing them, making it seem like he was staring.

“You look beautiful,” he said, the soft tone making it sound almost as if it escaped him unwittingly.

It was the most ordinary of compliments and yet, it surprised you that he had even paid it. Perhaps it shouldn’t have, as he was a product of his time – a time in which if men didn’t compliment a woman’s appearance, they were probably called louts. And yet. Even with that knowledge, something akin to warmth fluttered in your chest, a brief smile passing over your lips, the silent ‘thank you’ the least courtesy you could give in return.

If he had tried to commit your dress to memory, you’d allow yourself the same luxury. A quality black tuxedo with a faint navy-blue glint, pristine white shirt, a black bow-tie. His outfit would be but a drop in the sea, nothing that would stand out among those of other men; but you had the advantage of him being easily found in the crowd thanks to his physique alone. The broadness and strength he radiated could carry the weight of the world – and it felt like it did – narrowing beautifully into the trim waist in a ratio not even a loose jacket could hope to hide, let alone such well-fitting one which seemed to accentuate it a little more than was strictly necessary. With him towering over about ninety-five percent of people and having shoulders wider than about ninety-nine percent of the usual present company, he was truly hard to miss.

Unfortunately, it also made him an easy target who was truly hard to miss indeed.

And now you were staring and he was no doubt aware – it was impossible not to, less so with how much attention he paid to things. So you stood there in silence, awkward one, precisely the one you had wanted to avoid and yet managed to reach it in thirty seconds flat – but at least neither of you were yelling. Yet.

As glad as you were to see that Steve Rogers had clearly decided to leave whatever disagreements you had ever had back at the Tower for the sake of this mission, trying his best to be the exact opposite of antagonistic, you were not going to tell him he looked extremely good to make things even more awkward. You wouldn’t even think it, as right as the assessment was. It would be inappropriate, even as he had complimented you first.  You needed to be professional. There was a task at hand.

Right. The mission.

Steve was still watching you, something akin to curiosity in his gaze.

You cleared your throat, nodding towards the tablet in his hand.

“You were going through the files on the guests?”

Steve blinked, seemingly snapped from his thoughts.

“Yes. Have you?” he asked as he laid the tablet on the seat, straightening to his full height again; it was ridiculous how tall he seemed in the low-ceiling cabin of this type of quinjets. There was a faint smile on his lips, no tension in his jaw as he watched you; he already knew the answer and he wasn’t trying to provoke you.

Small talk it was.

“Yes, Captain,” you replied dutifully. You would swear a little twinkle of humour appeared in his eye – but it was probably just the lights reflecting in his cerulean blues. “Yesterday and today. Should be more than enough to represent properly.”

Alright, it must have been humour, because the corner of his lips twitched now at the lightest trace of defiance in your voice. Then he smiled fully, the spark burning brighter, your stomach somersaulting a bit.

Who were you kidding you had no idea; he looked more than just extremely good and handsome. In a different kind of suit than you were used to, bright eyes with their blue accentuated by the colour of his tuxedo, with uncharacteristically relaxed features and even a smile aimed at you, the beauty of him seemed so surreal you might have as well entered another dimension. Which, given your experience with Coulson’s team, was not unplausible. And yet, your heart fluttering had nothing to with fear as he went to sidestep you.

What was wrong with you today?

“Well… good. I’m sure you’ll have the two remaining objectives handled as well,” he said kindly.

You blinked, neurons firing in all directions, heart leaping to your throat. Surely, he didn’t just—the two remaining objectives. That wasn’t--- that didn’t mean anything. He probably didn’t receive the same documents, his mission package different from yours as he was one of the original Avengers, the strategist.

And yet, a worm of curiosity had already chewed its way through to your brain, an itch you needed to scratch otherwise you’d go crazy. Certainly, he couldn’t have implied-

He stepped out towards the bathroom, only to be stopped in his tracks by your impulsive words.

“Can I borrow your tablet for one more moment?” you blurted out, clearly taking him by surprise; but not unpleasantly. “I just… I just want to check on some of the guests again.”

“Sure.”

With the same faint smile adorning his absurdly handsome face, he took a few steps back to reach for the tablet, unlocking it for you and opening the file with individual documents for you to browse before taking his leave.

You weren’t sure why you needed to check – if you were a sucker for pain, needing to know your assumption he had only received three objectives was correct – but you opened the mission overview anyway.

A lump grew in your throat as you skimmed through the document, your stomach suddenly unbearably warm.

He didn’t mean it. He forgot there were four not three objectives, a sharp voice in your head argued, instantly opposed by another, even if less insistent, reminding you that Captain Rogers was believed to have eidetic memory and you had seen his impressive memory indeed in action before.

It didn’t matter. You were making a big deal out of nothing; and ocne you came back from this excuse of a mission, you needed to have your heart checked, because the irregularities in rhythm and the palpitations upon simply reading had to signal an underlying health issue.

But it was right there, in his device, in one of the documents he had just been reading through. The overview.

Location.

Time.

Two names.

Four objectives.

Four objectives which were no doubt written down by Tony, given the choice of words and their existence to begin with, because no one else would have treated an official document this way.

Make Avengers look good; Look good; Have fun (includes using Stark/Avengers card in the auction); Try not to kill each other.

You felt your cheeks heat up even though there was not a single reason to feel that way. You were a grown woman. You had been complimented countless times before, in much more flattering ways, though less playful ones. Steve was just being… polite. And a little teasing, trying to put you at ease, probably thinking you couldn’t handle yourself, having been informed about your… reluctance to attend the auction. His niceness was in overdrive since he had been literally given orders not to treat you as if he wanted to kill you. He didn’t mean it and even if he did, you had no business reacting this way.

But still. It seemed that Steve Rogers decided that for the sake of the mission, he would more than just leave your differences of opinions behind for the night; he decided to truly work hard on the one single objective that did not come easily to him. There was no other reason for that, but despite your better judgement, it brought a ghost of a smile to your face, one that felt a little stupid.

As you heard him open the door, you were quick to close the document and tap on a random one concerning the guests, just in case Steve would want to check. You pretended that you were too immersed in reading to address him as he walked to you, but there was no need.

The gentle swing of the quinjet slowing down made you forget about whatever he had been trying to imply alarmingly fast.

You were almost there; in the lion’s den. It was time to pull yourself together, be the picture perfect this mission required even if you were not. Just because your idea of a useful mission was different, you wouldn’t treat this one with any less focus or professionalism; even if you’d rather find yourself tied-up and gagged an abandoned warehouse in a middle of nowhere, with no back-up in sight, than kept a fake smile plastered to your face for hours.

Avenger or not, your task was to represent. And so you would, conveniently with the man who represented the goals and values of the team better than anyone else ever could. You’d do your best to support him in that, and you’d do so while fulfilling all the objectives of the mission indeed, even if you doubted that you’d be any better than an accessory the size of Steve’s cufflink. You doubted that Steve Rogers would need the slightest support in charming rich people and the staff alike.

Just for that, you mentally added a fifth objective, an objective anyone drawing up the document should have added themselves. For Steve, it would be not to be a dumbass and not to get himself hurt, hit by anti-serum, kidnapped or killed. For you, not to let any of these things happen to him.

It wouldn’t have been an issue in the first place if it was anyone else with you, but since Steve goddamn Rogers had decided to--- no. Not today. He truly was trying to be bearable. You’d meet him halfway; but you’d be damned if you didn’t keep your eyes open.

“I forgot to tell you earlier,” you murmured as the quinjet touched down on one of the rooftops on a nearby hotel, courtesy of Tony’s negotiating skills – his irresistible charm, as he would say – earning you Steve’s startled look. “You clean up well too.”

His shoulders sagged, eyebrow arching subtly, but his surprise melted into a slight smile again. “Thank you. Shall we?”

Like the gentleman he had been raised to be, he offered you an elbow as the ramp of the quinjet opened for you to step out. There was no need – you had walked on far worse surfaces than this in heels before, you had been forced to run and kick in them too – and you had to physically swallow the remark that would inform Steve about that. But you’d be an idiot to not see that he didn’t offer you an arm to be condescending; he did so to be nice. You could work with nice.

“Thanks.”

And with that, you stepped out, counting steps until you’d walk into the lion’s den indeed.

To say that functions, balls and auctions were not your scene would be a serious understatement. Not in the sense of you being unable to tackle them, no – you had plenty of experience – but in the sense of you absolutely despising them. Specifically, you couldn’t stand what people pretended to be when in that environment; and that included you.

It hadn’t always been like that; visiting events like this started off pleasant. People in luxury robes with wide smiles and subtle laughs echoing in glimmering halls were a thrilling environment before. Before you could fully understand what was happening, before you could read the room. It was only much later when you’d identify these events as necessary evil when working for SHIELD and the time between the two points was a long journey.

Your father would have sneaked into these, either in his own ways or through your mother’s alleged renown status; and you, naturally, went with them. She’d often leave you and your father to your own devices, charming guests into adoring her, speaking of her dedication to both her work and her family, particularly to her daughter, her tone speaking louder than her words in the case of the latter; contempt.

Meanwhile, your father was the complete opposite. He had you joined at his hip, a crutch for when his own tactics of pretending to be someone truly indispensable to SHIELD failed. If people roaming higher circles of society didn’t recognize him as the god’s gift to humanity he hoped to come across as, you’d come in; a charming young lady ready to take the world by storm, his beloved daughter, his pride and joy. Errors made that day, that week or past months didn’t matter – they didn’t exist at the moment, your performance always painted as perfect for the sake of the bragging.

It was a divine experience to receive so much praise, him sounding so earnest in front of all those people; it got sicker and more twisted the older you got, seeing the mask slipping on and off as it suited him, knowing that in the discomfort of home, you were none of what he described you as that to him. And yet. To be finally loved and seen as exceptional by your own father, the one person who had always believed in you and told you so; who wouldn’t want that? Just a taste; like melting hot chocolate on your tongue, thoroughly warming your very being, the softest of blankets that turned scratchy the moment you left the room, snatched away to leave you out in the cold reality of being born a hope and growing up a failure. But those moments, those moments you craved as much as you hated them. Because you knew they would never last.

It was one of the many contradictions of your childhood and adolescence, one of many topics of your therapy sessions that seemed to have no end. It reminded you of what Lincoln always said – that every Inhuman had a purpose and that every Inhuman’s power reflected, to a point, who they were. The way you felt you were often being pulled in two directions, loved and despised, dotted on and ignored, obedient and rebellious, to be exactly who your father had always intended for you to be and find your own path – or pretend you could, for a bit at least, to give him a glimpse of a real disappointment; all goals in direct opposition to each other. You were surprised your ability wasn’t the same as Alisha’s who could literally split herself into several images of herself. But you were hardly an overachiever, were you? You had learned long time ago that perfection was out of your reach, no matter how much you’d cry and bleed and clawed your way through to it, only to see the top of the mountain move when your fingers had almost touched it at last. And on top of that mountain; people like Steve Rogers. The man who could shove it into anyone’s face that it wasn’t that the summit was too high; it was just that they were too small of a person. That you weren’t enough.

It wasn’t fair to despise him for it. But it wasn’t fair that some of these people could insult you to your face and imply you were a lesser Avenger – while representing them nevertheless – and you had no chance to truly fight back without somewhat proving them right.

About a hundred and then some boring conversations later, encounters in which you felt your skin crawl because you hated rubbing elbows, facing fake smiles and carefully crafted politeness with veiled insults weaved between the words of those who could afford it, you were ready to take a break and you were afraid it was beginning to show too.

Captain Steve Rogers, of course, did not seem tired of pleasantries in the slightest; the golden boy still roamed among the crowds, more than willing to engage in any conversation, shaking hands and rubbing elbows indeed as if he had been born to do exactly that. Crowds loved him and that was a fact, whether what Tony had insinuated was correct or not and Steve couldn’t stand this kind environment either indeed.

You had to give it to Steve, however – and truly, you should have expected it, because this was Steve Rogers, originally a little man who could not stand people looking down at others, less so diminish someone’s worth, and he was the protector, the ultimate good guy, the perfection personified – the encounters you had handled side by side with him did not see you neglected. Quite the opposite. If someone didn’t recognize you, which applied to the majority, he was happy to introduce you, or, as it had been in most cases, he had you introduce yourself and only then he highlighted your importance to the team if anyone seemed less that impressed.

Contrary to what you would believe, his words and demeanour, however, pushed the icky sensation of the scene away rather than intensified it. Unlike your father, Steve didn’t have you trail after him. He didn’t belittle you to lift himself up. He didn’t boast about his brilliant decision to reassign you to the team since you were so useful When he spoke of you as the new addition to the team, he didn’t highlight your most recent accomplishment either, not with a condescending or patronizing tone or words that would make it sound as if he as saying oh she saved a few people just two days ago, including Natasha Romanoff, someone give her a candy.

Steve didn’t speak of you as if you were hisachievement, didn’t speak of letting you join the team, of the cooperation being his or their choice.

“We are honoured to have her join the team,” he’d say instead.

“With every mission she takes on, she proves how fortunate we are that she is one of us.”

“Her contributions to our common goal are invaluable.”

“She is an essential part of our team and we are thankful she continues to make this world a safer place with the rest of us.”

On one hand, it was almost sweet; on the other, it was irritating. You didn’t need him to earn you their respect and it should make you livid he was trying to do that, to play the hero who’d rush to your rescue. To a point, it did, because you could fight your own battles; but this battlefield tended to make you slip into a mindset you hated – made you slip into a skin you hated wearing. Still, Steve’s tendency to make it his personal mission that you were not overshadowed by him – a futile effort truly – should make your blood boil, because there he was, the world’s mightiest saviour in action again.

But the way his body language changed when someone eyed you as if you were an unwanted addition to the conversation seemed to whisper of other things than self-proclaimed white knight needing to sweep in; it expressed itself as a personal insult to him that your supposed brilliance was not acknowledged. It seemed almost as if he was gesturing to you wildly with his large palms, his voice as if demanding from the people he spoke to: do you really not see how amazing she is? Are you an idiot? Naturally, he was doing so in much distinguished manner, but that was how it felt.

You were certain someone must have got to you before Tony did back in the park, landing a hit to your head or two, causing a microtrauma that only now manifested in your entirely skewed perception and hallucinations. They must have, there was no other plausible explanation. Or maybe you had actually died; laying your life for Natasha’s would have certainly been a worthy cause. Or perhaps it wasn’t so dramatic and you had simply slipped into a coma and this was some weird manifestation of your brain recovering.

And yet, you had a feeling that if you pinched yourself, you would still feel as grounded in this strange reality as you did now, the intense surge of affection for the man still overwhelming, the satisfaction of seeing the swellheads meek and slightly embarrassed at Steve’s tone upon them dismissing you curling hot in your core. You needed to stop revel in it so much.

But be as it might, despite trying to carefully shield yourself from the effect of Steve’s very public words of appreciation due to knowing it wouldn’t last, you felt yourself grow taller than you ever had been in an event like this. You didn’t feel as obliged to smile politely just for the sake of pleasing others, even as you did smile. Despite the presence of Captain America, larger than life, you felt confident and powerful, even if this kind of feeling normally only came when you were on a mission with the target already in your pocket.

And yet, this surge of courage – and all the wondering about what an alternate reality you had entered – didn’t make the game of social chess less exhausting or brought it closer to your ideas of fun. After almost another hour of wandering on your own, tending to every conversation necessary and even those less necessary, you did find yourself in a need of a break and you liked to think you deserved one.

Naturally, fate – if there was such thing – did not grant you such courtesy.

When you finally did find yourself at the bar, it was one godawful encounter later – a single polite conversation that had sucked all life out of you, all of the little glow you felt you had gathered swept away with a single snap of fingers. It was unfair. It was unfair that your mother still had such hold on you after a lifetime of you being nothing but a bug on her windshield as she tried to drive into the sunset of her own glory, even months and months after her final abandonment.

The matter was only worse since it wasn’t even her. Just a distant colleague – her superior, no less. A few minutes, every second dragging since the moment Doctor Franklin had mentioned your mother, and you were ready to hit the bar for something far stronger than champagne.

“Ah, I knew I saw a resemblance. You must be so proud to wear your mother’s features and name. A strong woman, a survivor, truly dedicated to science, exploring the wonders of the nature of Inhuman transformation. Examining her own genetic code to be able to share fascinating facts of the uniqueness of her case. Even the draft of her study was most intriguing… pardon me, what was it that your abilities are after you, unlike her, simply acquired powers like everyone else?”

It shouldn’t have affected you; but it did. With what felt like chunks of metal in your stomach, the tickle of nausea in the back of your throat, you were almost proud you managed to hold somewhat of a smile, actually uncertain if the woman was clueless in the matter of politeness and tact or whether she was making a calculated insult.

“I’m afraid the exact nature of my abilities is classified, ma’am,” you replied. The words, even if they should feel full of vindication, tasted bitter on your tongue.

Trust your mother to finally find her exceptionality and built the pinnacle of her career on a flaw in her genetic code. Of fucking course. Making herself the centre of attention while being the primary source of that attention at the same time; what a brilliant move. Someone should give her a damn Nobel. You really were doing something wrong in your life.

So truly, you felt like were entitled to a breather as you walked away with a polite nod, trying not to throw up in your mouth as the world got slightly blurry at the edges for a moment, your heart pounding, knees feeling a little weak. You felt the sticky remnants of Doctor Franklin’s words linger on your skin, resisting the urge to rub it off.

You deserved a shot of something stronger. You weren’t sure anything weaker than absinth would do the trick and help you snap from the strange haze your body slipped into; but facing the man behind the improvised bar, you couldn’t make yourself ask for that however.

Well-aware that you needed to keep at least some face since the mission of the evening was to represent, you opted for vodka, small shot only. And despite the weary conversations, you didn’t forget: in addition to representing, you wanted to be ready to fight whoever could possibly go after Rogers. As much as you’d like to get wasted to feel actual nausea instead, something tangible and real like the burn of the strongest alcohol known to mankind, you couldn’t. Vodka it was.

You turned the shot bottoms-up, focusing fully on the hot trickle down your throat, the fire dampening all your other senses; and for a few second, it was bliss.

Until your nostrils were hit by an unfairly familiar cologne and aftershave, a deep timbre soaking into your bones whenever spoken despite how much you tried not to let it do exactly that.

“Having fun as we were ordered?”

You froze, shame, indignation and the alcohol lightning you up like a wildfire.

Great, Mr. Morality is here, you thought darkly, setting the glass down, turning to Steve with poorly masked annoyance. Annoyance which was quickly wiped out, the flames licking at your gut put out.

You expected his face to be full of judgement, anger and disappointment; but much like his voice had been, you realized, it was free of any bite or sting, simply showing light amusement and compassion, a slightly worried crinkle between his brows.

His voice had been quiet, purposely so, as not to attract lookers-on. It was a little naïve – to think he could walk in anywhere without at least ten pairs of eyes following him – but it was nice of him that he was trying not to embarrass you by publicly calling you an alcoholic.

But the gentle mix of emotion adorning his expression only made your stomach twist. It was a great paradox really; it would be so much easier to deal with tonight if he was being insufferable and judged you. But that bastard, the irritatingly handsome bastard, was being simply amazing. A much greater person you could ever be. And he didn’t mean to, probably – but he was just screaming exactly that to your face with every little action he had opted for tonight.

Not his fault, not his fault, you tried to remind yourself as he continued to watch you, curiosity sneaking into his gaze now.

Make Avengers look good.

Look good.

Have fun.

Do not kill each other.

Do not kill each other. Got it.

“Guilty as charged,” you said finally, the light tone you had hoped for not coming out quite right; but he didn’t hold it against you.

“Nothing to be guilty about,” he said, shrugging subtly. “I… might have gone for one of those myself had it had any effect on me.”

Right, you realized. Supersoldier. Accelerated healing, fast metabolism. You did happen to know he burned off most things even faster than other men built like mountains. Shorter and less broad mountains, that was.

You felt you head instinctively tilt to side a bit, contemplating what he said without spelling it out. He didn’t seemlike he needed a strong drink. In fact, he seemed perfectly like a fish in water among the sea of piranhas of people – and yes, you were aware that was a harsh judgement on some of them who were indeed rather pleasant to talk to – but Tony’s words echoed in your head.

He’s good at rubbing elbows, even if he hates it, he had said. Steve was exactly that; but apparently, he was also pretty great at hiding his distaste.

Of course that he was, you thought bitterly, even as a hint of compassion nudged at your mind; just because he was good at disguising it, it didn’t mean he didn’t feel just as sick filling the role of the most excellent companion.  

“You could do it just to feel the heat,” you suggested half-heartedly, regretting the words as soon as they left your mind.

You had to phrase it just like that, didn’t you.

Steve watched you with unnerving intensity for a moment, before he seemed to shake off whatever dark thought had occurred to him, a small smile appearing on his face.

“That is true, but somehow it’s even more disappointing if that’s the only consequence, you know?”

“…right.”

He cleared his throat, your gaze falling to his bowtie as he released you from the trap of his gaze.

“Either way. Would you like to dance?”

Your head snapped back up, shock no doubt painting your face, rendering you mute. He wasn’t--- oh he was.

Despite your expression – one painfully resembling of a deer in the headlights of an off-road SUV coming at it at hundred miles an hour – he seemed unfazed, a slight twinkle of amusement in his eye barely noticeable in the otherwise genuine demeanour. You frowned, suspicion dying out as fast as it had arisen.

Whatever motive he had to ask, it couldn’t hurt the mission, you supposed. And it would be impolite to decline. You had promised yourself to meet him halfway in his attempts to be civil; and he had gone far beyond that. For the past two weeks, not having confronted you about either the flash-drive situation nor the went-full-spectre-in-a-public-park incident, that had been him being civil. Tonight, he was courteous even. Pleasant. Kind. You had no idea why he hadn’t sought you out to get answers or scold you, nor why he went this far out of his way to treat you like this tonight, but you had enough common sense not to poke even as it had been eating away at the back of your mind.

You just needed to accept it and be thankful, and needed to aid the common goal; and maybe, just maybe, revel in it and store the memory for later, even if such luxuries only burned with emptiness once they were gone.

But how could you do any different?

“Sure,” you said simply. “Why not.”

How could you feel any different when his lips smiled half-heartedly, but his eyes showed true warmth? A startling warmth almost; but it was nothing in comparison to the heat of his body when he offered you his elbow and led you to the small dancefloor in the adjacent room with only a few high tables lining the walls; it was nothing in comparison to the soft jolt of electricity that ran through your nerves all the way down your spine when his hand took yours carefully, eyes fixed on your face, checking for any sign of discomfort when he pulled you close at the first notes of a waltz.

Up close, without either of you screaming into each other’s faces, he was painfully beautiful; you knew that. You knew that already, because you had played the forbidden game of imagining what it would be like to see his face from this distance; but the reality of it was startling, a tingle of a thrill and pain at once. Inches close and miles away from reach. To be at the receiving end of the look in his eyes, painted partly by delusion and the aforementioned hits in the head you had probably suffered, was the sweetest torture.

It was impossible to ignore his firm but gentle grip, his confident lead; a wall of perfectly controlled muscle, hard planes of his body and yet its surprising softness and warmth, leaving your head spinning and sending your thoughts to an indecent dangerous direction; what would it be to feel him even closer? What would it be like to—

You’d never know. For a large part, of your own doing; for another part, of his own, because you had never met a more irritating person in your life and you had met a quite a few. He was impossible in his very unique different way – even as you knew that was tainted by your own perception – he was impossible in a way you couldn’t but want anyway.

“You’re a wonderful dancer,” he whispered, just loud enough for you to hear, snapping you from your useless musings back to reality.

Yeah, thanks, I was signed up for ballet class about as soon as I could walk, because it should have helped my posture and body coordination in preparation for working for SHIELD before I could attend martial class lessons. Because a kid younger of six years getting punched would have been a bad image for my parents. Not that I knew any of that at that time. Anyway, I had to rediscover my love for dancing much later on-

You cut off your train of thought, swallowing the unnecessarily hostile and dark truth. Instead, you reciprocated his easy subtle smile, something inside your quivering at the casualness and sincerity of the compliment.

“Depends on the lead, right?” you murmured.

Mentally, you sighed, cursing yourself for your loose mouth.

You could have said something along the lines of you too, and it would be an understatement; Steve’s lead indeed was firm but not forceful, elegant ease without a shred of indecency, his sense of rhythm impeccable, which was much more than you could say about some of your companions on the dancefloor. But no; you chose to mention his leading skills, instantly circling back to what was bothering you – you having standing up to his lead as a Captain before and him not mentioning it. He had kept blissfully quiet and here you were, dangling the topic you should have been glad had been put to rest in front of him as if you wanted him to take the bait no matter the cost.

You really must have been hit in the head; or perhaps you were finally returning to normal yourself.

But Steve Rogers was a man of many faces and surprises up his sleeves, apparently. His smile only widened briefly at your note, eyes flashing with amusement, before a little frown creased his brow.

“Don’t sell yourself so short.”

You gulped. Again. He complimented you with such ease, as if it was the most natural thing in the world; and it seemed like he meant every bit. The way your heart fluttered at that ached pleasantly. Hadn’t it been for the sober voice in the back of your head, telling you were on a borrowed time of this kind of treatment, it wouldn’t ache at all. It almost, almost didn’t.

Because the one word you had left out when thinking about his lead on the dancefloor, having avoided it on purpose, was safe. You entered an uncharted territory tonight; you knew Captain America’s lead from your numerous missions you had been chosen for under his command. And even as you had challenged his leadership before, you trusted him on that front. But tonight was a very different thing; and still, he somehow emitted the same aura, in a considerably more intimate way.

It was terrifying.

But as much as you were taken aback, with no clue how to even respond to that, your instincts – probably all over the place, because had you been in sound mind, you would have run for the hills before accepting his offer in the first place – whispered you were safe indeed.

And if you’d turn it into a joke, you’d be even safer.

“If that was a reference to my height, I’d like to point out everyone is short compared to you. And that is with all the extra inches--- that my heels have.”

Oh for god’s-

Your fingers flexed reflexively on his arm; your hand in his would have twitched if he hadn’t held it so firmly. You did not just say that, did you? Closing your eyes briefly, you felt your face burn hot, the furnace of Steve’s body suddenly feeling like ice in comparison. Why on Earth did you talk about inches? First feeling the heat, then this, damn Freudian slips, damn his well-fitting suit and handsome face-

Bless him, his chuckle was good-natured and not in the slightest dirty – then again, you should have expected nothing less from the golden boy, shouldn’t you? He wouldn’t hold it against you and had it been anyone else, you would have been grateful, much like in any other situation. But this was him and tonight your mission was literally to avoid this kind of embarrassing phrasing.

“You know what I meant,” he said, not unkindly – much to your relief and irritation.

You hummed noncommittally, still processing this was somehow a reality you had found yourself in. A reality in which Steve Rogers was a pleasant company, kept you close and safe enough that you had spent several moments with your eyes closed while dancing without fearing you’d end up with a broken ankle, a reality where-

“I wanted to apologize.”

-he just said he was sorry.

Your eyes snapped open, your step, a second nature you barely needed to think about, faltering just a fraction. You found your footing with the very next step and perhaps not even Steve had noticed; but he for sure must have noticed the undiluted shock that overtook your features.

Yet, he held calm in the face of your awe and bewilderment, gaze fixed on yours whispering of nothing but sincerity and regret indeed.

He was apologizing.The sudden lump in your throat was the only thing in physical reality that felt real at all; the rest truly must have been but a fever dream. That and the frantic beats of your heart.

“For what?” you asked quietly.

You weren’t trying to be petty, if he truly was apologizing. You meant it.

Naturally, you had a good idea what he was referring to, but that was part of the reason why it was so puzzling; more so since he now knew what the intel was about, since he was aware who exactly you put in danger by failing. Then again, the fact you were both here despite it told you all over again that he didn’t let that bother him too much.

But even with him deliberately ignoring the threat…

Yes, he had not acted very thoughtfully, but whether you liked it or not, he wasyour superior, he had put together that mission and so you understood the frustration he had felt at the moment. Hell, you had felt it yourself – you would have yelled at yourself too. And looking back, you knew that some of your momentary view of his behaviour and attitude, of his actions, stemmed from the fact you had been disappointed in yourself too; and that most time, he did in fact realize he could do wrong and that he in fact did care for every single member of the team. He probably did give a damn about the fact that you – your spectre anyway – got shot. He probably cared about the fact that two days ago, you left a big damn opening when you projected in public without making sure you had someone in your corner.

You weren’t sure that there was any need to apologize, even with him yelling at you in front of everyone to the point where you hadn’t been able to stand it and a few tears had escaped you – because damn, did he touch a nerve – even if he had been a bit of an asshole.

Most people apologized because they felt the need to ease their conscience, to keep up appearances; but seeing Steve now, the soft and strict lines of his face, told you that he was apologizing for your benefit mainly. It would be sweet if it was so irritating.

Golden boy. Shoved straight to your face. You could never be as good as him, because he simply wasn’t human – and you were the Inhuman from the pair. God, he had his hands on you and he didn’t even try to cop a feel or anything for crying out loud. He was being kind and respectful and so damn beautiful and tall.

“I’m sorry for yelling at you,” he said slowly, gaze intent as if he wanted to make sure you absorbed every word. “I shouldn’t have done that to begin with, but the witnesses made it even worse. And all you did was making a quick decision in a difficult situation, according to your best conscience no doubt. I might not have agreed with it, but you still didn’t deserve such treatment.”

“And you’d do the same,” you added.

You almost slapped your hand over your mouth as soon as the words were out.

This was what happened when you felt safe. You talked back. Dammit.

You could see – and feel, because his chest was practically brushing yours, something you were hyperaware of even as you tried your best not to be– him breathe in to retort.

You really needed to have your head checked out. You should have just taken the apology and cherish it, like any normal person, even if it irked you that Steve Rogers was capable of self-reflection and had enough strength to admit his shortcomings. He was simply better than everyone else. It was easy to see that with no emergency in sight, but that didn’t make it easier to accept that and act accordingly every second of the day.

Yet, you tried at least now.

“Sorry! Sorry. Don’t push it, Spectre. Got it,” you blurted out, fixing a quick smile and you would have sworn you had seen a sparkle on mischief in his blue irises under the indignation. You cleared your throat. “Apology accepted, Captain.”

His relaxed his tense jaw, gaze softening further; painfully so.

“Thank you. And I thought you knew you could call me Steve.”

Golden boy – case on point. You swallowed, unable to keep the swirl of warmth in your chest from creeping into your voice even as you knew you were diving into dangerous waters with reckless abandon by following his request.

“Apology accepted, Steve.”

If your voice was warm, his smile was half the power of the sun, heating your very bones, your heart stumbling in your chest. You should run; you should run because you were never going to receive a gift like that again and the longer you basked in it, the worse it would be when it was gone. But you had already established that sometimes, you couldn’t help but throw caution out of the window despite knowing how much it would hurt later when you’d have to go and scramble to gather it again, hadn’t you?

And so when the song blended into another, the smallest squeeze to your fingers a wordless question, you nodded against your better judgement.

Steve’s smile grew a fraction, feet quick to adjust to the new rhythm, the air around you warmer another few degrees. It was hard to let his apology and kindness linger in the air and not react to it; even as you needed to breathe in and out a few times, eyes examining his face carefully as to predict whether what you were about to say would come back stabbing you in the back.

“I’m sorry for my outburst too. I… acted emotional.” As you recalled the traitorous tears that had escaped you, you thought that to say that was an understatement, but Steve didn’t seem to hold it against you. Instead, he listened with unnerving intent to all you had to say. “Which isn’t an excuse, but I’m still sorry. I… didn’t exactly watched my tongue. I mean, I didn’t-“

­-I didn’t mean what I said, you wanted to say, your voice dying in your throat at the startingly gentle blue of Steve’s eyes, your breath hitching at the sudden vice squeezing your chest. This moment, whatever it was, was becoming overwhelming fast; and you found yourself unable to force the words out.

Because they weren’t true; you had definitely meant a few things, your anger with Steve snapping you back when you had been this close to gathering intel on something that threatened, without exaggeration, his life, just because he had been outraged at… whatever, that was very real. Much like him, you had had a reason for your outburst; and for that itself, you couldn’t apologize. Not when you wouldn’t mean it. Not when he was looking at you like he’d trust anything you said. You couldn’t but reciprocate his honesty even if it should earn you an official demerit from Captain America himself.

“…I didn’t mean at least half of the things I said.”

Steve’s welcoming expression shifted in an instant, your heart already startling in reaction to the change, muscles tensing in an instinctual fight-or-flight response.

And then your brain caught up.

Steve was grinning. He was grinning with mischief lightning up his face bright, humour dancing in his eyes – good-natured humour without a single trace of offense, but maybe with a little speckle of surprise; and if you looked close enough and entertained the thought, pride.

And by god he was breath-taking, leaving you feel like you had flown too close to the sun for a moment unaware that the inevitable fall would kill you.

“Well, as long as it was only a half,” he hummed, his amusement audible in his voice too. There was a strange but not unpleasant tilt to it; almost as if he knew that if he simply accepted your apology right away, the situation would have had you run for the hills indeed. “Apology accepted, Spectre.”

You gulped, taking a wavering breath, flying just a little higher. “You know you can call me by my first name too, right?”

That was only fair, no? That was what you told yourself until Steve smiled softly and repeated himself slowly, this time with your name indeed. That was when you realized you really had caught yourself in a foolish indulgence, because the feeling washing over you was… nice. Very, very nice. His tone, his words were both indescribably nice, and so was the way he held you to lead your through the room without an ounce of indecency, and so was his proximity and his warmth. It was dangerously nice and you felt your chest, having briefly be filled with that tender fragile feeling, tighten instead.

And then Steve spoke up again.

“…and you’re probably right.”

Your eyebrows shot up, gasping; and had you any different company than a room full of important or at least self-important people dressed in black-tie attire, you wouldn’t have stopped your jaw from falling.

Did he just-

Stop the presses! you wanted to shout.

Did he just admit he himself was a hothead?

What peculiar kind of an alternate reality had you entered indeed to see Steve Rogers admit he had been a hypocrite?

This was simply too satisfying to be true.

“But that doesn’t mean I’m the best example,” he added.

You found yourself chuckling through your shock, earning a glare that might have no anger in it, but certainly emitted indignation and gravity. Except the corners of Steve’s lips were twitching.

Damn him. Damn him and his charming side. Since when did he have a charming side and engaged in self-reflection so deep?

Since always, an annoying voice whispered in your head, reminding you that at certain times, you were, in fact, very well aware that Steve Rogers was just as golden as people claimed – even if in way they couldn’t hope to fathom and neither could, not fully.

“Nah, I think it’s one of the very rare traits of yours that should definitely be copied,” you retorted cheekily, never having time to wonder if you went too far since Steve simply kept him mouth shut.

It was a good thing he did, because if he didn’t, you might get tangled in your lie; and might have to admit that you believed that while there were a few of those that shouldn’t be copied in order for the world to maintain some shreds of sanity, there were many more of those which, should they be replicated, would make the world a better place. He probably knew that anyway; he strived to be the example to all. He didn’t need to hear it from you, didn’t need to know that despite your disagreements, you felt everything but contempt for him, with respect on top of the list. And then there was the fact that you were not blind to him being literally meant to be built like the peak of man and looked precisely like it.

And still, his silence surprised you. Despite what you thought of him on better days, it was still a wonder he didn’t try to disprove you; he was full of surprises tonight.

Then again, that was probably the point.

“You know, Tony and Pepper would probably have had no problem coming here tonight,” you spoke lowly into to the silence that settled between you. “They just pushed us together to do something like this.”

Steve’s eyebrows jumped a bit, a brief smirk passing his lips.

“Well-aware. Does that bother you?” he asked, head tilted to side slightly.

You pondered his question for a bit, not sure why. You could have easily said anything, the first or the second or third lie popping up in your mind. But his genuinely curious gaze observing you as he waited for your response, his demeanour the whole evening, and his surprisingly open expression made you want to tell the truth again.

“Not that much. You’re not a bad dancer yourself,” you teased him lightly, feeling your lips permanently stuck in a smile now.

His own smirk melted into a smile again as well, soft crinkle in the corner of his eye.

“Thank you. I know I said it before, but you do look beautiful.”

You blinked.

There he went again, driving his point across; he wanted you to think, to believe perhaps, that his compliments were genuine, not a turn of speech. Why? And what could you even say to that when he kept looking at you like he meant it, the world around you blurring a bit, falling into but a background noise, years of training and his confident hold on you leading you through the dancefloor with ease still, even as the song must have changed again. Had it?

You wished conversation would come just as easy, even when emotions swirled in your chest wilder than your skirts around your calves.

“…thanks. Uhm, Tony said to buy something nice-“

“Mission accomplished, it suits you-“

“-I think he was probably sick of us clashing a lot lately,” you added quickly, almost speaking over him.

He was a lot smarter than people gave him credit for – after all, he had brought up the topic of your fight in an environment where it would have been rude of you to flee just in case you wanted to and he wasn’t called a master strategist for nothing – so he caught your attempt to deflect. And he graced it with brief silence, not pushing, letting your words hang in the air for a moment. Golden boy. Perfect. Too good.

“I suppose that’s fair,” he hummed, one corner of his lips rising higher, his smile almost boyish now. “Did I mention I was sorry?”

“Yeah... did I?”

“You did.”

“Good,” you muttered, blissfully lost in his gentle gaze, even as you had to crane you neck a bit.

The moment was sweet. Slightly electric. Surprisingly comfortable. Peaceful.

Peace.

That was a specific word. With a pang in your chest, it occurred to you that was precisely what it was that Tony intended to achieve when he assigned you to this. To begin to renew the peace that had been within the Avengers family before your presence disrupted it. And Steve had accepted the invitation with you attached to it because he saw the importance of the team holding together from the strategic point of view.

Tonight was a mission. Necessary networking, even as Steve had tried to make it feel like anything but, and necessary attempt at smoothening the relationships within the team. Yes, it was beautiful, but Tony himself had called you a Cinderella. This was but a fairy-tale. An illusion. A projection.

The very spectre of you and Steve, of you being a full Avenger.

Once tonight was over, you’d have to snap back, like you always did. And like always, the pain of what you had lost as a spectre, be it blood or a warm embrace, would linger too. Back in your cold aching reality.

But not in Steve’s; Steve would remain who he was, to the world, to his team, to his friends. To you. It had been a sweet sentiment, a good-natured attempt; and for the night, it lasted. Once again, you felt played by your own naivety, already feeling your waxed wings melting and slowly prepared yourself for the brutal landing.

You kept up your smile, even as you felt the pleasant hum in your ribcage fall silent, your eyes not burning, because there was no reason for it, was there?

“You have good friends, Steve,” you whispered, the blue of his gaze warming up with fondness as he no doubt agreed. “They might be nosy, but they mean well.”

“And they are your friends too,” he replied softly, the pang in your ribcage stronger this time. He believed that, he genuinely did. Maybe that was why it hurt so much; he had seen the worst of the world and believed in the best still; you could read it in his actions, in his expression right now.

But you couldn’t bear it anymore, your gaze falling to the smooth fabric of his bowtie, contrasting with the pristinely white shirt indeed, just as you had known from the start he would wear. Pure. The symbol of all goodness in your culture. Just like him.

You heard what he was saying and yes, it was a tempting thought you had fallen for before. That you could be friends with the team, that the others cared – but you could count the number of people who cared for you on one hand and still had fingers left. People cared for your abilities, admired them maybe, sure. But you were a realist. Even before the Natasha incident – which truly was just her doing her job – you knew and you kept repeating it to yourself, because entertaining any other possibility was dangerous: your abilities, your results or the lack of them, those were what truly mattered. To everyone. To your father, eventually your mother too, to your SHIELD team, to your fellow Avengers. To Steve too. Had those powers come in a different meatsuit than yours, it wouldn’t change a thing. You were just a casing for what they needed.

It wasn’t okay, but it was alright.

The thing was, you couldn’t make Steve admit that – not him. He was a good man – infuriating one, yes, not without fault, yes, but incredibly undeniably good in his core. All the Avengers cared for people too, you would be an idiot not to see it, but if there was one person who would try to look the furthest beyond the abilities you carried, it would be him. Perhaps that was the scariest part of tonight – of him being not only civil, but perfectly pleasant and meaning it. Because he was just that perfect.

And perfect was never in your reach.

“Sure,” you replied absently as you looked up again.

You could tell his own gaze never left your face; and he no doubt noticed the change. His eyes were roaming your features, searching, wondering and seeing; you found yourself slipping into a neutral mask, your way too relaxed stance straightening, muscles tensing.

You only tensed further when you recognized softness and understanding creeping into his gaze, his voice quiet.

“You know-“

You thanked your lucky stars when the song ended and you were allowed to step back from him with an awkward smile.

“I’m going to find the restroom, excuse me.”

You swallowed heavily upon seeing something akin to disappointment and exasperation on his face; but when you pulled away, he didn’t stop you, didn’t use his strength to keep you in place, leaving the choice – as much as he clearly not approved of it – to you. You tried to force your smile further, grateful for that if not for nothing else.

“Thank you for the dance, stranger.”

And with that, you disappeared to the crowd, well-aware that if he wanted, he could have followed, because even in the sea of robes, his eidetic memory told him exactly what yours looked like.

Getting a fifteen-minute break from people, one in particular, was more than generous and yet you granted it to yourself; because putting yourself back together took time. Not for the first time, you sent a silent thank you to Agent May for having taught you her ways of accepting your emotions as they were, locking them away for later and channel them in the right direction when needed.

If you counted your dances with Steve – even as you tried very hard not to think about them – it added up for almost half an hour of the breather you had planned when getting the drink. You needed to go back to work, back to networking, because it was getting late; you had no doubt there were still people to talk to, no matter how efficient your colleague had been.

As you walked the halls with a smile arranged on your face, nodding politely at people admiring the various pieces of art of all forms, from drawings and paintings to sculptures and installations, your gaze fell on one of auctioned objects.

You smile slipped, your steps faltering along with the steady beat of your heart; and then you forced the corners of your lips back up, nails digging into the back of your hand as you folded them in front of your abdomen, to stop yourself from running to the glass stand where what seemed like a very old artifact was laid proudly on display.

And by old, you meant thousands of years old. And you really, really prayed that you were wrong, that your mind was simply playing tricks on you to avoid the emotional turmoil of today, to-

“Son of a-”

Three more steps closer and the curse was on your lips before you could swallow it completely, heart thundering in your chest against the sudden tightness. You didn’t like to be wrong; but in this particular case, you really wished you had been.

But apparently not.

See, this is why we can’t have nice things, you thought to yourself as you released a wavering breath and took off in the search of Steve, as if you hadn’t run from what seemed to be particularly nice things yourself only a little over ten minutes ago.

You swallowed the panic rising in your throat as you caught a glimpse of him talking to an elderly couple, telling yourself that your discovery was the only reason for that. Because that would be plausible and completely valid; an appearance of what SHIELD called an 0-8-4, an object of unknown origin, was never good news.

Except you were rather certain of its origin and that only made it worse.

Steve spotted you now, a small smile lighting up his face as if you hadn’t just taken an escape from when he tried to convince you were a part of the team in the friendliest sense of the word, gesturing to you lightly so the couple turned to you as well.

You smiled wider, squeezed your hand stronger. Too bad – the Lewises – had seemed nice enough when you had read up on them, were one of the rare attendees who were here for their genuine interest in art.

“Good evening, I am so sorry to interrupt, Mrs. Lewis, Mr. Lewis,” you said sincerely, introducing yourself as the lady already extended her hand to you, followed by her husband’s. “It is a pleasure to meet you and I would be very happy to talk to you if you’d be willing, but I need to borrow Captain Rogers for a little bit-“  

“By all means, Agent, don’t let a couple of old folks keep you two,” Mrs. Lewis chuckled, gently touching Steve’s forearm as she smiled at him almost motherly. “Thank you, young man, it’s nice to see bright young minds interested in conversations about thought-provoking art. Do find us if you can spare another minute later.”

“I would personally use the words lovely couple, Mrs. Lewis,” you said warmly before turning to Mr. Lewis. “I promise to bring him back as soon as possible.”

“It’s been a pleasure,” Steve added as he covered her feebly hand on his, squeezing gently. “Agent?”

“Just a small issue, I’m sure it can be dealt with quickly,” you assured him in front of them, your face growing more serious the second you turned away, your voice falling so low only his enhanced hearing could hopefully catch it. “Thought-provoking art indeed. There’s an 0-8-4 on the items list.”

The way Steve’s back straightened, a sign of him turning mission-alert in an instant, would have been a treat to watch in any other circumstance, you supposed. But not in yours. And not in this case.

As you walked away, he followed your unhurried tempo, stopping by the displays briefly when you did, as if you were simply admiring the art. His face gave away nothing unusual happening beyond a minor inconvenience; you weren’t sure if he believed you were making a big deal out of nothing or if he was that good of an actor.

“Anything you encountered before? Potentially how dangerous are we talking?”

His voice had dropped too, but barely enough for you to hear. To an untrained eye, it probably looked like a normal hushed conversation, a couple – of friends – sharing opinions on the auction items indeed. Good. You didn’t need to spread panic on top of barely containing your own.

“Yes and no, I only recognize the symbols. And I can’t tell, but I wouldn’t underestimate it,” you uttered as you gradually moved closer, the artifact now in sight.

Steve stood diagonally beside you, barely a step behind your shoulder; he could keep his voice very low that way, practically whispering to your ear, while you could keep talking almost soundlessly.  

“Should I recognize this? I’m not familiar.”

You bit back a bitter smile, stepping in front of the display together at last. The item itself looked unassuming; a stabile built of plates of metal, interwoven and reaching out of the tangle like tentacles. Except the surface of the plates wasn’t smooth; an intricate pattern of lines and circles rose slightly above it, a geometrical masterpiece only a few people on Earth knew the meaning of. Outside of Earth, well; you wouldn’t dare to guess.

The good news, hopefully, was that the sculpture meant to be in one piece was broken into two; that meant that if the effect was, like with many others you had encountered, tied to breaking the casing of whatever weapon it could be hiding, it had been out for a while and thus might not pose danger anymore. But you weren’t willing to take that chance.

“I’m not sure,” you whispered, almost choking out the words, wary of one word in particular as not to alarm anyone in vicinity just in case. “It is mostly Coulson’s team that handles all the… Kree mess.”

Short silence followed, only for Steve to draw in a shaky breath.

“…are you positive?”

It probably wasn’t meant to be a challenge, but you took it as one anyway, a flare of anger rushing through your veins, because was he serious? That was genuinely insulting. You spent practically your whole post-academy service to SHIELD with Coulson’s team following the trail of artifacts left behind by the lovely alien race Kree were – in fact, artifacts uncomfortably resembling this one. So yes, you were pretty bloody positiveyou were right.

You turned to Steve and took a step back to throw to his face – in as calm manner as was socially acceptable despite wanting to just spit it out – that you were pretty damn certain, because one did simply not forget a single thing about the literally blue aliens that indirectly gave them powers. Except you never got to make a single sound, because Steve’s eyes widened all of sudden, gaze still fixed on the display you had just turned your back to and his fingers closed around your wrist and tugged you closer to him again with surprising force given how gentle he had held you when you-- so not the time.

“Alright, point proven,” he whispered hastily, stepping back and releasing you before you could question him just turning from a gentleman of the year to a lout who just… grabbed a woman and manhandled her.

Frowning, you glanced over your shoulder just in time to see a faint light of the symbols dying out, your panic skyrocketing and making you forget all about your exasperation.

Oh. Oh, that was not good at all.

It recognized you. It sensed the Inhuman in you as you had unwittingly moved closer to it. It was reacting even sooner than the Diviner had, the first Kree artifact your team had encountered, whose symbols only lit up upon being touched by an Inhuman, or a person carrying Inhuman markers in their DNA yet to be turned into one.

“Sorry for-“

“It’s fine,” you interrupted his apology, appreciating it nevertheless. Yet, your smile probably turned out to be more of a grimace, bitter sarcasm bleeding into your tone. “Well, Tony said we should bid on something anyway, right? I’ve got my pick”.

Steve’s eyebrow twitched without a hint of amusement, but he didn’t disprove you, moving to scan the room for any vendor to start bidding indeed; you automatically reached for your black-tie-attire-friendly StarkWatch, to alert the HQ.

You never got to finish the message.

Steve never got to even step out.

A tell-tale metallic sound, a clink of a grenade hitting the tiled floor had both of you snap your head to the source, losing two precious seconds by looking for where exactly it landed, startled intakes of breath taken before a scream could gather in your lungs to warn people to get down.

There was no time to react. The screams aligned with the eardrum-rupturing noise of an explosion, a blur of a movement to your right and a force to be reckon with slamming into you.

Even without his signature weapon, Steve automatically threw himself between you and the grenade, pushing you down and shielding you with his body at least. The heat licked at your skin just as the pressure wave slammed into you both, sending you flying and crashing hard into the glass cabinet, Steve’s arm taking large portion of the brunt of impact.

A jolt of electricity rushed through your nerves along with the pain, a dull crack in your head, the edges of your vision blurring. You barely registered the stream of agents in black gear cutting through the clouds of smoke and vapour tear gas. Smell of copper and iron hit your nostrils, strong enough to make you nauseous; blood and fire. Steve’s cologne; then more blood. Lights and shadows bleeding into one, the former too bright for your smoke-filled teary eyes. The noise was deafening too – shouts and shrieks of terror you knew you should respond to, because it was your duty as an agent and as a half-baked Avenger.

But you didn’t seem to control your body for long enough to as much as lift your hand to check if the sharp pain in the back of your head was an open wound or not, let alone to climb to your feet as Steve’s voice echoed in your ears, warm hands firm on your waist, prickling sensations like thousand needles piercing through your skin all over.

The pain tore through every single cell of your body without warning, but you didn’t have time to find the cause or wallow in it; darkness enveloped you completely and you sank into its thick waters without a chance to fight it, until it swallowed you whole.

Next chapter

Series masterlist // S.R. masterlist

Hope you don’t mind a little cliffhanger, hehe... as a treat for reading! I wanna say I was really excited about this chapter, sneaking in something soft and fluffy in between the angst, but I’m excited to share everything so... yeah.

I would like to take a moment or two to thank you, again, for your comments. They give me a rush of joy and I read every single one of them more than once; they give me strength to continue even when sudden feeling of ‘this is meh’ attacks me and the thoughts you share ground me back in the story when I feel like I’m slipping away from where I wanted to take it. I cherish your feedback, no matter the form, so much. Thank you 💕

[jtl-fics]

Fluent Freshman - Part 36

PREV

The Smiths had been a happy family.

A happy couple and three happy healthy children. Their first born son 2 years into a blissful marriage, a second born son 4 years in and the third, a first born daughter 7 years in.

They spent most holidays with his Mother’s large rambunctious family but his grandma on his father’s side and her mother were always invited to any family event.

“The more the merrier.” He had heard more than one aunt or uncle say. “We know that Gavin is an only child, we don’t want to leave you alone.” They would say to his Gran. Cousins playing, laughing, rough housing, and screaming. Family friends with their own kids stopping in. The adults who could cook cranking food out happy to feed people.

The more the merrier is something FF believed with all his heart.

FF loved being an older brother.

He loved them from the moment he knew they existed. Had wanted to meet them instantly. Waiting to meet Jay and then Robin had been the longest time of his life. Meeting both of them were two of the happiest moments in FF’s entire life.

Robin had loved to reach up and pinch at his face.

Nose, ears, or even cheeks his little sister had loved to clamp her fingers around it. He used to talk when she’d do it on his nose, purposefully sounding more nasally as he talked to her as she giggled wildly. It was her favorite game in the entire world and FF had always been willing to play it with her.

Jay fell asleep against his shoulders without fail on every single car ride.

Slight weight, drool, and tiny hands that always wanted to hold his arm like a pillow. He was getting big had denied that he did that with pure horror every time FF would ask him if he was going to take a nap. Yet FF very rarely made it to a far off destination without a little bit of drool on an outfit. FF had never cared, trying not to laugh too hard with Robin as she giggled so that he wouldn’t dislodge Jay.

His gran would pinch his cheek and tell him how good he was.

A good older brother.

The happy couple wanted more kids. Wanted a bigger and bigger family. His mom wanted what she knew, his dad wanted what he never had, FF wanted more siblings.

He always felt like he had gotten his wish, but only in the worst way he could have.

His mom and dad were fighting. They were driving home from the supermarket; he vaguely remembers that. He doesn’t remember what started the fight but he remembers how Jay and Robin moved in close to him. She was pointing at him and FF doesn’t remember what she said but he remembers her hands reaching and then-

His face hurt, his ear hurt, he looked over and Jay was asleep just like he always was but he doesn’t look right. He looks and Robin is there reaching for him but she can’t reach him. “I’m scared.” She had said his name, pleading and terrified. Her face was bruised, cut, and she had a burn that looked painful.

He lied to her.

He didn’t know it at the time, but he did.

He reached out and he couldn’t touch her face, but he held her tiny hand in his own, looked her in the eyes, and lied.

“It’s going to be okay; I promise.”

Then he woke up and that hand wasn’t the one in his anymore. The world is muted but somehow his grandma’s red eyes and pale skin stand out to him. He asks what happened and she tells him.

Things don’t get better.

His mom swears his dad tried to kill them all that he swerved so they’d all die together. He can’t corroborate that story; he just remembers her hand reaching and-

How do you ask your mom if she tried to kill you?

She must see the question in his eyes regardless. Must figure that if he can’t feel anything, can’t cry, can’t emote, can’t go and lay between his sibling’s graves in the middle of the night then maybe he’ll never ask the question and she’ll never have to answer.

He learned to live not knowing and maybe his mom learned that he was a coward.

His mom’s family don’t treat him the same. He won’t denounce his father and they look at him with pity and Daniel whispers poison into his cousins’ ears until they act like he killed Robin and Jay personally.

He can’t react.

Can’t plead with his cousins to understand.

Daniel would spin it and FF would find himself on the meds again. So, he got good at pretending. He got good at faking. He got good at everything that was needed to pretend like he didn’t have a care.

Then Coach Wymack and Captain Dan Wilds were there.

He’d been getting better.

Now Daniel was here.

Nicky tucked him into bed and he tried to sleep. Even feigned it well enough for Nicky to leave and to get startled by the shouting that shortly followed.

Daniel was going to stay.

Daniel was going to try to be on the same team.

Daniel was smart, strong, and very athletic.

Daniel was going to be on the same team.

He hears when Abby and his Gran come back, and someone must have mentioned that Daniel was there to his Grandma because she comes in and tells him that it will be okay. He puts on a brave face for her, and she kisses his cheek.

He lays there in bed and stares at the ceiling feel flushed and hot with anxiety.

He gets up and walks to the fridge and finds himself frozen there.

“Smith,” Bee’s voice rings in his ears as he had tried to keep pushing everything down. “Smith, there is only so much you can bottle up and repress.” She reached out and held his hand comfortingly because touch always made him feel like he was on earth.

“What am I supposed to do with it?” he had asked, ashamed.

“Smith, you’ll have to process it. Feel what you repressed and then after you’ve felt it maybe you can let it go.” Bee had said.

He had avoided taking her advice so far, it hadn’t felt safe, and it had been too much, too scary.

Nicky’s face comes into his vision, “Smithy?” he asks and there is concern that FF hadn’t felt worthy of. “C’mon bud. Let’s get you under the covers.” His friend says.

They get to the guest room and FF crumbles. His face in Nicky’s shoulder and when Nicky asks if he can hold him while he sleeps FF nods and holds on as tight as he can. Nicky’s hand finds his back, “It’s okay Smithy, I’m right here. We won’t let that asshole mess with you. You’re safe.” Nicky had promised and-

and it’s enough.

He relaxes against Nicky and he feels safe.

So, he decides to process it.

“Dig in!” Abby said not bothering with grace. It was good. FF still missed his grandma’s cooking. It was nice to have this loud Thanksgiving like he used to get but there was something special about helping his grandma in the kitchen and the two of them sitting down to eat. He missed events with his mom’s family. Loud and boisterous and his Gran welcomed and loved by everyone there. It was special to have his time with his grandma, but he wishes it could be with his cousins and his siblings still.

It’s okay to be nostalgic.

He lets himself process it.

Captain Neil was up front and had started  to play some music. Nicky and Aaron were conked out before they had even reached the entrance to the interstate. They had also slumped onto FF with Aaron asleep on his shoulder as Nicky drooled into his hair. “You can just shove them off.” Andrew said. “It’s fine.” FF said and had reminisced about the last time he’d had something like this. How maybe Jay would be this big, would he be tall like Nicky or shorter like Aaron? Would Robin be big? Would she still want to squeeze his nose and ask him to talk?

It wasn’t a bad thought, just one that hurt to consider.

He lets himself process it.

Aaron looked at him with a twisted mouth for a while before he relented, “Fine they’re not that bad. It’s a big brother thing.” Aaron rolled his eyes. FF swallowed down some acid in his throat and had pushed the smiling eggs and bacon over to Aaron who smiled back at the breakfast and proceeded to eat it. A big brother thing. FF used to be one of those but, unlike Aaron, he hadn’t managed to protect his siblings. Aaron was a good big brother and FF only had the memory of being one.

It hurt and maybe it wasn’t just his great grandma he had reached out to when he had baked those brownies. They had always always been Jay’s favorite.

Two kids hadn’t moved as the rest of the world continued to. He watched as they clung to one another, and no one seemed to take notice of them. He didn’t understand how anyone could mess them with the bright orange children’s jerseys they had on. One sporting 01 – Josten and the other 10 – Josten on the backs. He had said something to Nicky and then he was squatted down in front of them. A big brother and a little sister with a burn. He’s glad to see them off safely. Glad they’re safe and that Millie is smiling at him like he hung the stars because he got her an autograph from Captain Neil. Glad to watch Brandon be lifted up by his father. He hopes they get home safe.

They didn’t even look that much like Jay and Robin but it had made him happy.

There were other moments, small moments that had hurt that he bottled up but those didn’t take much time to process though.

He finishes processing and lets himself come back to the present.

Something tastes good in his mouth.

“…put the knife away!!” he hears Nicky yelling and looks up to find that Nicky is hiding behind Matt Boyd in Abby’s backyard.

“Just tell me where my car is Nicholas!” Andrew says advancing on Nicky with a knife drawn.

“Can we not do this with me in the middle?” Matt pleads.

“He won’t stab you so you’re the safest thing to hide behind!” Nicky exclaims.

“Where. Is. My. Car?” Andrew hisses.

“Look, I’m just saying that until that asshole is off the campus….maybe it’s for the best that you don’t have access to your car?” Nicky asks pleadingly.

“What the fuck is he drinking?!” He turns as he hears Kevin nearby.

“Milkshake, it’s fine. Doesn’t Smiths deserve something that is not one of your dogshit smoothies?” Aaron asks and he’s standing between Kevin and FF. He sees one of Kevin’s smoothies in the starting striker’s hands.

“It’s not fine!” Kevin hisses. “I didn’t approve of it!” he flails one arm.

“Kevin,  you’re not actually his doctor.” Captain Neil says, “Andrew, maybe put the knife away before people call the cops on you?” Captain Neil asks pleadingly.

“I’ll put it away once Nicky tells me where he put my car.” Andrew demands.

“We just barely avoided you going to jail a couple weeks ago Andrew. I just don’t want you to do something that would result in you being there on vehicular manslaughter charges!” Nicky pled from behind Matt.

“I wouldn’t crash the Maserati just to kill him.” Andrew is facing towards them, and FF can see him roll his eyes.

“I think they’re more worried that you’ll just run him over if you see him dude.” Matt says.

FF realizes belatedly that he’s sucking on a straw to an empty milkshake only when a wrinkled hand takes it from him and puts a hot drink in his hands instead. He looks and sees his grandma smiling at him.

He looks down and-

Oh, hot chocolate. This is nice.

He takes a sip.

Oh, his grandma’s hot chocolate.

Delightful.

He watches as his Grandma makes her way towards where Andrew and Nicky were continuing to run around a resigned looking Matt.

Andrew is stopped as his Grandma hands him a cup of hot chocolate filled to the brim with marshmallows. He blinks at the offering but takes it stopping his hot pursuit of Nicky.

“Jesteś moim ulubieńcem” she says. (“You’re my favorite now.”)

Nicky makes a noise like he’s dying. “Aras!” he cries dramatically.

“Got something to say about the drink from his Gran?” Aaron asks.

“No…” Kevin says petulantly. “…but he should leave room. I formulated a new healthier smoothie that tastes good.” Kevin says holding up his smoothie.

“Doesn’t taste like ass is more accurate.” Matt says walking over now that Nicky was immobilized by his despair and Andrew was enjoying hot chocolate. “Sorry Smithster, we’re still working on getting it up to ‘tastes good’.” He says apologetically clapping FF on the shoulder.

“Fat chance of that with Kevin’s sensibilities with flavor.” Aaron says rolling his eyes. “More accurate to say lack of sensibility.” He adds after a second.

“Don’t be rude, you ran off without even warning me.” Matt points at Aaron.

"You ran off?!" Kevin demands.

FF can’t help it.

He laughs.

MASTERPOST FOR ALL PARTS OF FLUENT FRESHMAN AU

NEXT

[cyborg-franky]

Pokemon AU Part 2 -Marco-

Art by @ ---donivanessdoodles

Repost of mine from libary of ohara

AN: I tried to smush in OP lore for some characters and mix it in a workable way for Pokemon but I’m not 100% in the know so I did my best.

AN: I wanted to go down Marco being a navigator route more than a doctor, but with some herbology, knowledge to help his and other people’s pokemon.

Meet The Team

Starmie always seemed like a strange choice when people would ask about the man’s team. He would chuckle and shrug his shoulders without giving much away. The truth was, Marco hadn’t planned on being a pokemon trainer, it wasn’t that he didn’t like the idea, not at all.

He just wanted to go to the sea and learn navigation. He spent every day down by the beach as a child and watched the ships come in. Wishing that he could take to see and learn everything there was to learn one day.

It was that day that Marco while trying to work out patterns the ships would come in from, slipped and tumbled into the sea. His Starmie saw him struggling and came to his aid, making sure he was fine.

From that day on the same Starmie would be waiting by the rocks, as if to make sure the boy would be safe. He later came back with a Pokeball, asking the pokemon if he wanted to join him.

Starmie and Marco have been together ever since.

–

Pidgeot [a pigdey when he met them] was his second pokemon when he was older, late teens, he’d been reading a lot on herbs and their effect on pokemon after he’d started to watch all the wild bird pokemon snap and eat at certain ones. He would sit and watch for hours when he needed a break from navigation studies.

He liked watching bird pokemon, they were the masters of navigation. Always knowing where to go, how far, could go by smell miles away just to get to a landmark they recognised. It always had him fascinated.

That was when he picked up all the other little quirks from the birds and started to take notes on what plants they would chomp at.

One Pidgey would always come close to Marco who would sit there quietly. A smile on his face as the bird pecked at his book, hoping for food. He’d share his lunch with the bird, watching him fly off every day before meeting him each morning.

Marco caught him one day and the pokemon has grown with Marco over the years, gives him good insight on what plants seem to have healing/helping properties and helps with learning certain sea patterns around the year.

–

Cramorant was obtained by Marco when he was older. He was starting to sail with Whitebeard, as a navigator. The bird had pretty feathers, but he would always watch them being stupid and his Cramorant had to have been the dumbest one he’d ever seen.

Each time he would come home he’d see the bird swallowing anything and everything it could get. He’d seen the damn thing almost choke to death on a small geodude, that was when Marco stepped in.

Capturing it for its own good. He at least got a new friend, the pokemon was hardly weak either. He didn’t use this one to help him learn anything, but he still cares for him all the same.

—

Tropius was a fun find, he’d been sailing with Whitebeard for some years now, they’d stopped by a tropical island, needing to anchor the ship somewhere safe while a storm he’d predicted rolled over the ocean. They explored the island for a bit where Marco found pineapples.

Sitting and eating them he watched as his Tropius lurched over and sniffed at all the fallen pineapples. Marco chuckled and held one out, which the creature took happily. Marco wondered if he fed the pokemon nothing but pineapples.. would that be a new variant?

He was charmed by the tropical pokemon and caught him. Wouldn’t hurt to have something other than birds and Starmie as part of the team.

–

Pidove was simple, the little thing had got lost at sea and ended up on the ship. Marco would feed it every day and it would simply sit on his window as he worked. Cooing and making happy sounds.

He became a comfort to Marco, every morning the bird would be there, singing and making sounds and he would roost on the empty supply barrel on the wall outside. Marco was fond of the Pidove and simply tapped him with a Pokeball and the rest was history.

The pokemon are happy to be accepted.

—

Exeggutor was from his and Ace’s trip for their first anniversary. They stayed at this cabin and the palm tree-like pokemon would always smell food and stick its neck in through the window. At first, it was funny, and Ace laughed and teased him about looking just like one.

Every mealtime Exeggutor would try and shove its head in and get something to eat, he blamed Ace, he always fed wild pokemon which attracted them.

Marco had to catch it in the end just to stop it. He then grew fond of it during their vacation and felt it fit in with his team.

—-

Marco’s Story

He’s the person you find walking around near the start handing out potions and good advice. He’s learned from his studies as well as watching his pokemon interaction with certain vegetation how to make healing potions.

Knows his berries at a glance.

His true passion is navigating and has honed his abilities since he was young. Whitebeard would be lost both metaphorically and physically without him. He’s first in command when Whitebeard is being challenged with the rest of the elite four.

[officiallyossy-haywooddent]

August 29th.

This is a fanfic / open rp starter so it’s kinda long. The writing might not be great, sorry.

TW for child death, loss of a sibling, minor mentions of bad parenting, minor drug use, minor toxic relationship

Every year without fail the week of August 25 was maybe the worst week of Ossy’s life. Every year they’d go through the same calls, same arrangements, same people. It never changed, even if their life circumstances did. Every year they would end up with a crown of flowers and a box of Halloween candy, completely and utterly alone.

It had been the same when they were eight and had been flown home from camp to give their testimony to the police. It had been the same when they were twelve, reeling from the loss of their brother and best friend and so, so many others; lost and alone in the middle of New York.

It had gotten worse when Ossy was thirteen, their palm sliced open over a marble altar, clasped in the hand of their best friend somewhere in the wilderness of the Yukon. Being fifteen in Gotham would be no different.

—

August 25.

It began, the preparations; the prayers. They called Frank first. Ossy hadn’t talked to him in years when it had first happened, he’d left the island with his mother to live with his grandmother in Vancouver, and they’d drifted apart.

A three hours on the ferry was a long time to travel to see someone, it wasn’t like they’d been good friends. They’d been five and eight, quietly talking in the forest behind their school every couple of days. That was all, Ossy didn’t think they’d ever speak to him again.

Then came the second war. He was there; they weren’t. He stopped by the med bay, asked where they’d been. They answered. He’d talked with them for hours, but he would always have to leave.

Nevertheless Ossy picked up their phone, dialled his number. They let it ring, once, twice. They hung up. It wasn’t right to bother Frank nowadays, and he hadn’t really known her anyway. Most people hadn’t.

They ordered a bulk box of Halloween candy. It would arrive in two days. They wished it would never come.

—

August 26.

Ossy’d found a place that did rush flower arrangements. They ordered three flower crowns, one for them, two for her. The place they’d gotten it, Belle Flore, was this tiny shop in North Gotham that imported seeds from everywhere in the world and grew all the flowers in a grow room above the store. The clerk, a red-headed guy probably less than a year older than them named Rhys, had been nice about the whole thing, suggesting an arrangement of Pheasants Eye, Prince’s Feather, Baby’s Breath, and Buttercup.

The combination was odd but sweet, symbolic. Buttercup had been her favourite after all. The crowns would be done in three days, the 29th.

Ossy would pick it up in the morning, flowers were always better fresh.

They spend the rest of the day asleep. The tranqs they’d gotten from Peter were nice, though they’d had to ration them out. They’d told him 2 wasn’t gonna be enough.

-

August 27.

Ossy sleeps through the day. They don’t move, but it’s fine. They don’t need to. Sleep is quiet, calming. Hypnos must have taken pity of them, each dream is an altered memory of their life before everything, a kinder one.

-

August 28.

The phone rings five times before going to voicemail, their mums soft voice letting them know to leave a message and that she’d get to it in the morning. She wouldn’t, not when she saw the caller ID.

“Hey, mum. It’s me. I just wanted to say I’m sorry, and I’m..I’m doing something for the 29th. You can always join me, I’ll pay for your flight and everything.”

Ossy pauses, taking a shuddering breath. It’s been a while since they’ve cried properly.

“…I miss you. And Grandpa. I’m sorry..about everything.”

They hang up quickly, regretting every second of it. She’d just delete it when she saw it, she always did. They leave the message anyway.

The package with the candy arrives at the manor, nobody asks what’s in it. Ossy doesn’t know if anyone even noticed it arrive. They request the day off tomorrow from the Deli, Mr. Maroni approves it. He’s been nice since he found out about the mugging, probably thinks they’re still scared of doing the night shift. They are, but they wouldn’t tell him that.

The night roles around and they pop the second half of a tranq. They don’t know if they want to wake up in the morning, sleeping away the 29th doesn’t sound half bad. It would be mean though, she would never have done it. She didn’t sleep, it was genetic. The gene had skipped Ossy.

-

August 29.

At 5:30 AM they show up at Belle Flores, it’s the same clerk, Rhys. He quietly hands over a pastel blue box with a subdued smile. He knows what the crowns are for, they’d told him. It’s easier to talk to strangers about these things.

Ossy stops back at the manor, grabbing the cats before hopping on one of the busses. They need to get out of the city again. Sometimes Gotham, with its constant noise and soaring buildings, felt like a maze. This then made them the rat, trying to find its way out before getting zapped.

The concrete held an energy they could never quite get used too. Ossy missed the blue pine of the salmon and rain forests; trees so large and thick they muffled everything within their shade, where oceans crashed against the conifered cliffs of their piece of home. They’d stolen that line from John Vailant.

The bus pulled to a stop outside a rocky beach. The cats had been quiet for the ride, good travellers. Ossy realized she’d never gotten to meet them.

They set up camp on a fallen log near the tree line, setting up a fence so the cats could be let loose to roam. Two of the flower crowns were laid side by side, the third resting on their head. It was good work, better than either of them had ever been capable of.

Ossy sat there for a while, listening to old songs they had long forgotten the words to, taking two bowls and pouring them full of the candy. It was stale, but that didn’t really matter. Stel had always saved her Halloween candy until Easter. They ate quietly, watching the cats play fight.

Ossy wasn’t sure how long it took for them to break down but they’d like to think it was close to an hour, a respectable amount of time to hold vigil before they imploded.

It was stupid for them to think they’d escaped it, moved past it. Not her death, no, they could never get over that, but being alone each year.

Not even having a picture of the family together. It was starting to get to them. Ossy would never admit it but they were starting to forget her face. People had always said they’d looked similar. They could never believe it. Stel had been good, so much better than any of the rest of them. Ossy would never be sure how she came from a family like theirs. Truth be told, they weren’t even sure what they looked like anymore, but that had little to do with the comparisons.

Ossy pulled out their phone, dialling half the numbers in their phone before deleting each one. They didn’t want to feel the need to explain it all to anyone. Deanna had told them to stop over analyzing their emotions, it wasn’t actually a form of processing apparently.

Finally, they landed on someone they wouldn’t mind calling. The gnawing sensation in their gut growing ever stronger as the phone rang, the soft click of the receiver letting them know there wasn’t really a way back.

“Hey.”

[steddieas-shegoes]

I don’t know if this is how you request so like sorry if it’s not!

Can you write Steddie getting Murray’d? I’ve seen some people do it before and although I’ve loved them I really wanna see your take on it❤️❤️

Murray thinks he really did something here, but did he? Maybe kicked Steve into gear, but overall, they were so obvious, it's not rocket science. I had some fun with this! I wanted them to be soft and cute and somehow oblivious to the pining. I love writing these idiots getting together. I'm a 0-100 kinda gal if you haven't noticed! - Mickala ❤️

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

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Steve asked Murray.

He was an asshole, plain and simple. An entertaining one, but an asshole nonetheless.

And when he stared at you, you had to be prepared for anything.

Steve was sitting by himself for once, not surrounded by children pining for his attention, or Robin cracking jokes about something or someone, or Eddie touching him.

“No reason,” Murray shrugged before turning away completely, acting like he hadn’t just spent the last ten minutes staring a hole through Steve’s head.

“He’s fucking weird, right?” Eddie said from behind him, eyes tracking Murray leaving the room. “Watched me for 30 minutes earlier. I didn’t even say anything because he was in a trance or something.”

“He does it to everyone. Just wish he’d say what he wants to say and be done with it,” Steve responded, resting his head on Eddie’s shoulder when he put his arm around him.

“Tired?” Eddie kissed his temple.

Steve nodded.

They were always like this, it didn’t mean anything.

Well, okay, it did mean something.

Like that they found comfort with each other and they both were touch starved and touch averse at the same time, and the only people they could tolerate touching them were each other for a long time, and now they relied on it like water, like air.

So yeah, it meant something.

But Steve didn’t want to say how much, and Eddie didn’t seem like he knew how to put it into words, so they just ignored it and did what was natural.

Which was whatever was happening now, as much of their bodies touching as possible, completely relaxed into each other's space.

“So you two are dating.”

Steve jumped, nearly knocking his head into Eddie’s nose.

Eddie was pulling away, looking at the floor with a frown.

“No, we aren’t,” Steve denied it, but watched the way Eddie’s face fell further, his arms crossing over his chest.

“Hm. Does Eddie know that?”

“Shut up, Murray,” Eddie spit at him, angrier than Steve had ever heard him.

“Oh! So Steve doesn’t know?”

“Know what?” Steve asked, inching closer to Eddie again. They’d be stronger if they remained a united front, power in numbers and all that.

“Shut up!” Eddie said louder, not quite yelling, but clearly trying to emphasize how much he wanted Murray to stop talking.

“You hang all over each other so much I started to wonder if you’re conjoined twins. But last time we all got together, Steve fell asleep in your lap. Awww, so cute,” Murray batted his eyelashes and smiled, but it was quite the opposite of cute. “You couldn’t look away the entire time, Munster. Not to mention before that when you just kept looking at him like he was breaking your heart more and more by the second. God, the yearning.”

“What are you talking about? Eddie’s just a touchy guy,” Steve tried to laugh it off, get the attention off of them. Murray was relentless when he got started, and he didn’t particularly like the way Eddie kept shrinking away from him.

“Really? I haven’t seen him kissing anyone else on the head. Or holding anyone else’s hand. Or cuddling anyone else. It’s just you, Steve-O! Lucky you!”

Steve’s mind raced. He thought of every time they were all together, every time it was just the older group, every time it was just him and Eddie. Eddie was maybe touchier than the average person with everyone, but he never lingered with anyone else, never kept anyone close like he did with Steve.

He watched as Eddie put more space between them, his arms crossing over his chest, his hair hiding his face. He was hiding and Steve hated it.

He never used to, not in school, not around the kids. Not until they started hanging out just the two of them.

Then someone would make a joke about how he wrapped his arms around Steve’s waist for just a bit too long, or Robin would give them this stare that made Eddie back away. It wasn’t all the time, but it was enough that Steve realized what was going on.

And he felt so stupid that it took Murray saying something for him to realize it.

Eddie loved him. Eddie was in love with him.

Steve turned to Murray, who couldn’t be more smug if he tried.

“You’re such an asshole. What if he wasn’t out to me, huh? What if you ruined our friendship over this? Or his relationship with everyone here?” Steve was livid. “You just have to be right. Doesn’t matter who you upset as long as you’re the one who wins or gets the final word. It wouldn’t matter what Eddie and I do, if someone tells you to stop, you stop. Got it?”

Steve’s hands were on his hips, like he was yelling at one of the kids, and Murray just raised his eyebrows.

“Sure. Whatever.”

He left the room, probably rolling his eyes at Steve’s dramatics.

But Steve meant it, no one should have to have their feelings aired out in the open like that, especially not to the other person. Especially not when what they had was so nice.

Eddie was avoiding eye contact, but Steve wasn’t going to allow that, not when he needed him to understand his own feelings.

“Eds, can I hug you?” Steve asked, hesitant to touch him with the way he held himself, like he would run the second Steve put his hand on him.

“Why would you want to?”

Eddie’s voice was broken. Steve couldn’t allow that, not after nearly a year of the soft touches, the gentle kisses on his forehead and cheek and, one time, his shoulder.

The way he always had room for Steve, next to him, at his table, in his van, in his arms, made Steve feel like he had to be brave, he had to show Eddie that he wasn’t in love alone.

“Because I always feel best when I’m in your arms. I want you to be okay,” Steve nearly whispered, his eyes staying firmly on Eddie’s still hidden face.

“But you heard him. You heard that I love you in a different way.”

“Do you?”

“Do I what?”

“Do you love me?”

Eddie looked up, his eyes watery and bottom lip red from biting it relentlessly.

“If you’re just gonna shut me down, I’d like to not say it out loud.”

Steve got closer, still not touching, not until Eddie said he could.

“Can I say something then?”

Eddie nodded, eyes wide, body still turned inwards to protect himself.

“Almost a year ago, this hyper idiot decided he wanted to attach himself to me. Me. He always found an excuse to spend time with me in that huge house when I was alone, always invited me to things even when I was busy, made me feel special. He hugged me hello and goodbye, he hugged me just because, he held my hand when we watched scary movies. He talked to me about everything he’s passionate about, even though I don’t think I ever understand most of it. He makes sure I’m happy, he does everything he can to make sure that I feel safe and loved, even when I maybe don’t deserve it. He made me realize that maybe I’m not bullshit, maybe I’ve just been put in a lot of bullshit situations that left me trying to find solid ground any way that I could. He shows me I’m worth being loved.”

Eddie was crying, his arms finally back down by his sides.

“He sounds like he really loves you.”

“Does he?” Steve smirked.

“He does. A lot.”

Steve’s breath caught in his throat. It was one thing to hear it from Murray, one thing to suspect he was right, and another entirely to have it confirmed by the man he loved more than anything.

Before Steve could ask if he could hug Eddie again, Eddie had his arms wrapped around him, pulling his head against his shoulder and threading his fingers through the hair at the nape of Steve’s neck.

Steve breathed out against his neck, breathed in his leather and smoke scent.

“You’re the best part of my life, Steve Harrington. Some days I’m grateful for almost being eaten alive by bats so that I could be alive with you in my arms.”

Jesus. Eddie always had a way with words, but it didn’t stop him from shivering against him.

“I’m glad I carried you kicking and screaming out of the Upside Down,” Steve smiled against his skin, letting his lips linger at the juncture of his neck and shoulder.

“I was bleeding out and can’t be responsible for what I was doing or saying.”

“You told me to leave you there to die like a hero and then accidentally punched me in the face when you tried to roll out of my arms.”

“I couldn’t let you get all the glory.”

Steve rolled his eyes and pulled his head back, smiling at Eddie’s smirk.

“But you’re glad I did now?”

“I dunno, maybe I could be more glad…” Eddie leaned in further, resting his nose against Steve’s, breathing slowly.

“How’s that?”

“I think if I got a real kiss…”

“Consider it done,” Steve whispered as he closed the final inch of space between their lips.

A year of kisses, and touches, and cuddling, and telling each other everything, was nothing compared to the way it felt to finally feel the solid pressure of Eddie’s lips on his.

He didn’t want to pull away, felt the pull to deepen the kiss, maybe let Eddie push him against the counter or the wall, or maybe drag him to the closest bedroom. But now wasn’t the time.

They’d had a year to get here, they could take as long as they wanted to have more.

Eddie’s smile against his lips told him that he knew what he was thinking and he agreed.