#or something to plunk away at when i feel like it

[alteredphoenix]

Was at a car dealership a town over to replace the door handle on the car we use at home and had to wait about almost two hours in the cafeteria/waiting room area while the technicians worked on it, so I was thankful that I came prepared and brought my sketchbook with to keep me occupied and do some character concept designing. Got at least most of it done before the repairs were finished and did the rest at home; I’d say this took around two hours, give or take?

I’m not sure how to describe this person, but I like to think they’re part of a race of...let’s call them “aliens” but the aliens are comprised of all the weird shit you’d see in Katamari Damacy, Mushishi, LSD Dream Simulator, Studio Ghibli films, and any whacky platformer from Sega/Nintendo/BamCo/whatever with outlandish creatures that came to a modern day Earth-like planet For Reasons because they’re naturally chill and wanted to bond with humans and share the power of magic with them as a gesture of goodwill. Except Humans Are Bastards, and when the aliens found out about nuclear weaponry and the concept of war crimes they shut that shit down fast that basically surmounts to them saying “we changed our minds, we’re not giving you this gift, after all, so we’re going to make sure you behave and get along with each other or we’re snapping your arms off at the fucking elbow”. Eventually, after much observation, they would come back and say to the world leaders “okay, we’ll give you magic but we’re going to vet people - and by people we mean ordinary people - based on the goodness of their moral and ethical values, on the added condition that only girls and women could be offered it. This caused plenty of backlash among the world leaders at large and some of the populace, but the aliens pretty much put their foot down on their rules and have held firm to it ever since. If a boy or a man should happen to be granted the opportunity to be given magic, then he must consider himself extremely blessed - and rather extremely lucky - to have earned the trust of those that have the means to upend civil order in the world as people know it but would prefer to be (more or less) nonverbal hippies that like peace and are one with nature.

While most of these “aliens” are of supernatural and surreal design, I like to think the governmental body that performs the vetting process is capable of humanoid form but with the added caveat of wearing ceremonial masks and robes to hide what they look like underneath. If anyone knows, they are very few and will not speak of it.

[luveline]

What about a lil fic of the first time bombshell reader gets mad at Spencer? Like it can be while they r dating or before and May be r is giving Spencer quiet treatment?

ty for requesting! ♡ fem, 1.3k

Spencer waits for Morgan to get up for a coffee before he gets up himself, tailing his teasing teammate to the microwave. He's hoping Morgan's in a sympathetic mood today, because Spencer is in dire need of some sympathy. 

"Loverboy," Morgan says, his voice steeped in suspicion. "Can I help you with something?"

"Do you know why Y/N's upset?" 

"You don't? You're the expert." 

Spencer rubs at his nose, the beginning of another migraine brewing between his eyes. The gesture draws a little more empathy than his misguided question. 

"You're gonna have to ask her yourself. I don't want her angry at me too, she's gonna fix my computer before Garcia finds out I fell for her phishing email test." 

"I've been asking her. It's making it worse. She won't answer my questions anymore. She just hums." 

"Silent treatment. Yikes." Morgan sips his tea through a grimace. "I mean, you must've done something bad. She's usually so–" 

"Lovely?" 

"–in love with you." Morgan laughs as he wanders off in the direction of the stairs up to Hotch's office. "Same thing."

Spencer decides to make a cup of bribery tea for you. He microwaves a mug of hot water and plunks a bag of your favourite blend in without ceremony, bobbing it up and down as he watches you from over his shoulder. You've moved desks upon request to sit with the rest of the team and opposite Spencer (against Hotch's self-proclaimed better judgement), your things set carefully in contrast to his books, a library's worth teeming on every spare inch. Some have even made their way onto your desk, pristinely stacked in wait of his perusal. It's one small gesture among the hundreds of kind things you do for him. 

"Here," he says, setting the mug down next to your mouse carefully. 

Your anger strikes him. Eyes frosted with an uneasiness he's not partial to, lips, so perfectly painted, screwed into a frown. It's not nice seeing someone he cares about upset with him, worse when he has no idea what it is he's done. 

"You're annoyed at me," he says. You wait for him to continue. "I don't know what I did." 

"That makes it worse." You frown at him. After a few seconds of this—your frowning, his looking sorry and confused— you sigh wretchedly (as in, he's never heard you sound that sad, ever, and he hates it). "Spencer, you stood me up." 

Everything in him goes cold. "No I didn't." 

Your sad frown melds again to anger. "Yes you did! I– I got my hair done at a salon, I bought a new dress, I bragged to all of my friends that my cute coworker was gonna be my date, and none of that mattered because you didn't text me back so I was worried sick all night that you were," —your voice drops to a private whisper— "in trouble somewhere, and then you come into work like nothing happened? Not even a hint of an apology? I thought you wanted to come."  

Your voice burns with embarrassment. Spencer can feel it in his throat, that plucky ache of someone letting you down. 

"That was last night?" he asks quietly. A friend asked you to their charity ball, not as ridiculously fancy as it sounds but an occasion of esteem and important to you nonetheless. "Y/N, I thought that was– I have it in my phone as next month. As November. I'm so sorry." 

"Why didn't you answer my texts?" 

He winces. "I had a migraine… Screens make it worse, and I haven't charged the battery yet because I was coming to work anyways I'm sorry, Y/N, really. I mixed it up. I should've asked you." 

You seem less disheartened at his admission. You cross your arms over your abdomen and lean back a touch in your chair, as if deciding whether he's being truthful. Spencer isn't in the habit of lying to you and anybody could tell you that, so after a few seconds you look away. "I asked you if you were excited yesterday morning. I told you my dress came."  

"I know." He can't believe he's gotten it wrong like this. Anyone can make a mistake, but he imagines you in your new dress with your hair done waiting for him in the cold weather that descended on Virginia last night and his guts twist into a knot. "I didn't piece it together. I didn't… I didn't…" 

Spencer can't remember the last time he let someone he loves down like this. His migraine spikes again like a needle in the eye, fiery agony that has him closing his eyes to cope. 

"Spencer," you say, softly admonishing. "Hey, it's okay." Your chair creaks.

"I'm so sorry," he says through his teeth. 

"I thought you were being a jerk, but I guess I should've known you wouldn't do something like that." You stand up and take his elbow into a very gentle hand. "I'm sorry for giving you the cold shoulder. It was childish. I was just hurt thinking you did it on purpose." 

"Sorry," he says again. "Migraine." 

Your hand rises to his cheek. "Yeah? Sit down, Spence. Take a breather." 

The doctors say that Spencer's migraines are psychosomatic. He doesn't get how something so odious can start from nothing. 

You seem twice as upset but in a different light, ushering him down into your chair. "Don't worry," you say softly, your hand falling into his hair, "I took a great picture. You can still see me in my nice dress." 

You're kidding but he's genuinely glad. Then the pain takes over and he can't see the other side of it for years. 

It only feels like years. 

When he can open his eyes, you've knelt by his chair. He hates to see you getting your pants dirty like that, hates worse that your eyebrows have pinched and the soft plane of your forehead has etched deep with concern. 

"You can still be mad at me," he says under his breath. 

"I'm a little upset," you confess, putting an uncharacteristically tentative hand on his knee. "It sucked, but not as much as this seems to suck for you." You're like an angel, all pretty and wide-eyed at his feet, your hand beginning a short path up his leg, a soft back and forth. "I'm sorry Spencer. I was punishing you for something that wasn't your fault." 

"You didn't know. How could you, I–" He winces as another wave of pain flares behind his eye, blurring your small smile. "I should've charged my phone." 

"Maybe. I can't imagine you had the capacity, Spence. Not if you're like this." 

"Don't just forgive me because I'm in pain." 

"I'm not, I'm forgiving you because even though it really hurt my feelings turning up alone, I'm not cruel enough to blame you now." You squeeze his knee. It's an instant balm, the chronic ache behind his eyes easing ever so slightly. Your forgiveness makes the rest bearable. "Can you forgive me for being so heartless?" you ask lightly. 

Your lips curve demurely around each word. Spencer scrambles to cover your hand with both of his, his neck craned forward. "Of course I forgive you." 

"Thank you." Spencer could collapse. "Drink some of this tea, okay? Maybe drinking something will help."  

Nothing ever helps, but he does it because it's your hands bringing the cup to his lips. 

"I know you looked beautiful," he says between sips. 

"I would've looked better on your arm. Too bad you're getting grievously attacked by your own brain. This is what happens when it gets too big, babe, it's trying to come out of your ears." He's a little sorry to have won you back this way, but mostly so, so relieved. "Anymore of this'll and you'll start messing up the months. Oh, wait!" You laugh as he laughs but soon scramble to apologise when the sound makes his head hurt. "Sorry, I'm sorry! Drink some more tea, sweetheart." 

[steddiecameraroll]

Steve’s pov to this post now both POVs on ao3

Steve sighs and lowers his head in shame as the group of old classmates leave the shop. Softly plunking his forehead against the counter in defeat. His uniformed hat slips from his head onto the counter. If Robin had been working she would’ve added more than one tally onto the board after that pitiful display.

“Buck up, sailor boy.”

Steve jolts up to find Eddie Munson nimbly twirling his hat around his index finger.

“Munson, what are you…that’s my hat.” Steve swipes the hat swiftly from Eddie’s hand, feeling unnerved under the man’s silly smile.

When he straightens himself up he sees Eddie take in the entire ridiculous get up with an amused gaze.

“Love the outfit, by the way. Really finishes off the whole ambiance.” He motions around them to punctuate his point.

“I know it’s ridiculous, dude. You don’t have to rub it in.”

Steve’s heard every pirate pun in human existence since he started this shitty minimum wage job.

“Oh no, you misconstrue, my good man.”

Misconstrue?

As Eddie continues, he flattens his palms onto the countertop and leans into Steve’s space. The seemingly simple movement causes a weird sensation in Steve’s stomach that he tries to ignore.

“If I’m rubbing anything, it wouldn’t be your uniform.”

Steve’s palms are suddenly sweaty because what the fuck does that mean? He thinks his cheeks feel warmer than they did a moment ago too, and he’s grateful when Eddie moves away to begin looking through the display case.

He takes a steadying breath then from behind the counter, steps in beat with Eddie’s movements.

As the curly haired man drags his finger across the glass he asks, “what do you recommend?”

Steve realizes he might get out of this interaction unscathed if he can get through the next couple of minutes. So he sucks it up and dons his most charming smile.

“Um, the USS Butterscotch is a favorite or the cherry’s jubilee.” He watches Eddie carefully scrutinize each and every flavor of ice cream before standing up and directing his attention back on Steve. “What do you usually get when you eat ice cream?”

The corner of Eddie’s lip ticks up and then he leans in.

“Wanna know a secret?” The man whispers.

And Steve does, he really does. “Um, ok,” he replies shakily.

He steps closer ensuring he doesn’t miss Eddie’s next words, and braces himself because it feels like something he should do.

“I’m more of a salty treat, kinda man.” Then Eddie winks implying some kind of hidden meaning.

Steve doesn’t get it.

But he doesn’t want to admit to that fact. So he tries to hide it with an uncertain chuckle, and an awkward scratch to the back of his neck. He prays Eddie doesn’t spring some kind of pop quiz on him, catching him in the ruse.

“Well, then maybe-um-a parfait? Peanut butter?” A lightbulb goes off in his head and he smiles bright. “Or nuts…something with nuts?”

Eddie snorts and bites back a smile, catching Steve’s eye. How has he never noticed how defined Eddie’s cupids bow is?

The words that just tumbled out of Steve’s mouth finally hit his brain, and he wants to jump through a window. Because it’s fine, he’s only a complete idiot.

The last five minutes with this man have thrown Steve off his game.

What is happening? Chill out.

He shakes his head and grabs an errant cleaning rag trying to busy himself. Maybe if he keeps his eyes off the super senior, he’ll stop putting his foot in his mouth.

And maybe he’ll stop noticing how oddly attractive Eddie’s mouth is.

“I could go for some nuts,” Eddie’s voice pitches low and Steve’s knees almost buckle.

An image flashes in Steve’s mind of Eddie looking up at him from below and it makes his mouth go dry.

“What kind of nuts do you have, Stevie?” Eddie asks while leaning over, drawing Steve’s eyes to the taut bicep muscle suddenly appearing under his shirt sleeve.

How in the world is he not supposed to hear the sexual innuendo in that question? He swallows hard and pushes through, trying to pretend he’s not chubbing up in his stupid polyester shorts.

“Um, just -y’know- normal ones.” He can’t help himself and continues. “What kind do you like?”

He licks his lips, holding his breath, waiting to see if Eddie will continue the banter.

Steve feels like his skin is burning. He can’t remember the last time someone so blatantly flirted with him. Let alone a man. A sexy man, he’s realizing, but a man nonetheless.

There’s not enough time for him to question why he’s enjoying Eddie’s eyes on him. He feels like prey of some kind and fuck does it feel good.

He wonders if the rumors he’s heard about Eddie are true. If Steve pulled the man behind the counter would he really like Steve’s nuts?

When Eddie responds, his voice is lower and it sends a shiver up Steve’s spine.

“I’m sure I’d like anything you give me, captain.”

Steve can’t control the shuttering reply that slips from his mouth.

“Jesus,” he sighs. “Uh, how about our peanut butter brickle topped with our candied almonds?”

That chubbing from earlier is becoming an annoying problem. So Steve nervously pulls his scooper from its holster and starts mindlessly spinning it.

He’s trying so hard to not think about Eddie’s tongue.

“Sounds delicious. I’ll have one of those. Is there a show or anything I get with my treat?”

“A show?”

Like a strip tease?

Steve grabs a parfait cup, grateful to busy his hands with the order.

“Was just curious if there’s some kind of song or dance you have to perform in this adorable little outfit. Y’know, like that one restaurant in Chicago, Ed Debevic’s?”

Steve scrunches his nose in confusion while sliding open the display case.

“I don’t know what that is.”

“Really?” Eddie cocks his head. “It’s a 50’s diner place where the staff are dicks. Nothing? Really?”

Eddie’s face looks so earnestly surprised Steve wishes he had known the place. He shakes his head though, while reaching into the giant tub of swirly looking ice cream.

Steve can see Eddie in his peripheral, dip down to watch. Customers are always watching when Steve scoops but this customer makes Steve want to show off a little.

“Is there a shower back there?”

“What?” The question comes out of left field.

“In the back. Was just curious if you go home sticky or not.”

The timber of Eddie’s voice makes it sound like he’d prefer Steve to be sticky. Would he want to lick Steve clean? The flash of Eddie’s tongue fills Steve’s mind for the millionth time in the last 5 minutes.

“Um, no… I mean yes I’m generally pretty sticky at the end of my shift, but there’s no shower…in the back.” But he wishes there was. “There’s not really anything back there. Only a table and some safety posters, a white board that Robin shames me with.”

Eddie quirks an eyebrow. “Shames you? Robin…?”

“Buckley?” He’s sure Eddie knows Robin. Doesn’t he play an instrument? “From school.”

“Yeaaahhh, that’s what I thought. Good for her.” He says with a smirk.

Steve pours a sprinkling of candy coated almonds over the ice cream with a furrowed brow. The snarky comment is a perfect distraction from the uncomfortable tightness that has been growing in his shorts.

Steve almost forgot the whole point of this interaction was to get Eddie out of here quickly. Not to fantasize about how warm and wet those pouty lips would feel.

“Anything else I can get for you?” He asks while trying to hide his nervousness behind a smile.

He sets the concoction down on the counter and holds his breath.

A slow yet wicked grin spreads across Eddie’s face causing a knot to develop in Steve’s stomach. That grin looks dangerous.

“Naw, I’m good. Unless…” He pauses a beat before continuing. “There’s something available that’s not on the menu.”

And then the man has the audacity to lean over the countertop, dip his head slightly, and glance up at Steve with the most mouth watering gaze.

Oh, he definitely has something Eddie can have. He wants to give it to him. Wants to feed it slowly between his lips until they’re spread tight. Then shove his fingers into Eddie’s hair and massage his scalp. And from the look on Eddie’s face, he’d love every single inch of it.

Steve’s never wanted to fuck someone’s face more.

“Um,” he looks around the empty restaurant, gauging if he could sneak in the back for a few minutes unnoticed.

The mall does seem quieter at the moment. Maybe no one will be craving a sundae for the next 10 minutes.

“Y-yeah, there is actually.”

Nervous energy is strumming under his skin. He prays he’s not misreading this. He’s never done this before, but he really really wants to. Didn’t even know that, until the curly haired man walked in here.

Now he thinks if Eddie doesn’t suck his cock in the next 5 minutes he’s never going to stop thinking about it.

“It’s in the back.” He swallows hard. “Um, in the-in the break room. Wanna see it? Maybe?” Hopefully Eddie doesn’t hear the crack in Steve’s voice.

Steve stands in nervous anticipation waiting for this whole thing to blow up in his face. Maybe Eddie will bust out laughing, call Steve a creep and stomp his way out of the restaurant. If he’s lucky Eddie won’t go around town telling everyone how the old king Steve is now queer Steve.

“Yeeaaah, definitely need to see it.” Eddie’s tongue glides languidly across his bottom lip. “Maybe wanna taste it even.”

Steve’s heart stutters while it quickly redirects his blood flow south. A tiny gasp slips past his now gaping mouth as Eddie’s eyes darken before him.

He nods in silent understanding and knows he needs to move quickly before anyone shows up. While biting his bottom lip to prevent a whimper from slipping out, he motions his head toward the break room door.

“Cool, very cool.” He keeps himself pointed toward Eddie and walks backward leading the way.

When Eddie makes it to the gap in the counter, Steve sees Eddie’s pupils widen and hears a heavy groan rumble from the man’s chest.

The break room door hits Steve’s back and he wonders how quiet they have to be. Because he’s sure from the look Eddie’s giving him, he wants to do more than suck him off.

And the way Steve’s body is responding, he would seriously consider it.

They disappear behind the door for 17 minutes, where Steve receives a sexy metalhead shaped hickey on the inside of his thigh.

“I don’t have all day, sailor man.” Erica Sinclair stands with her hands on her hips, glaring at the two men when they stumble out into the open.

Steve’s eyes fall on the melted mess of Eddie’s ice cream before taking in the angry tyke.

“Well, get after it, sailor man.” Eddie brings his palm down quickly, smacking Steve’s ass.

“Oh,” Steve startles forward feeling his cheeks heat up.

“Call me later?” Eddie whispers.

Steve tries to bite back a smile but fails while nodding eagerly.

Apparently Steve had been right, Eddie did want to lick him clean.

Eddie’s POV

coffee? ☕️🍩💕

[carolperkinsexgirlfriend]

Steddie Upside-Down AU Part 44

Part 1 Part 43

Eddie ushers Jonathan and Will into the trailer in front of him. Steve’s standing behind him, close enough that he can feel the body heat. Eddie closes his eyes, savoring the heat for one moment before following the brother’s in, Steve right behind him.

He hears the schnick! of the lock clicking home and wonders if either of them will ever break the habit of locking every door they walk through. 

Will has led Jonathan into the living room, settling familiarly onto the couch while Jonathan dawdles, eyes darting back and forth before he sits down next to his brother, at the edge of the cushion.

“What do we owe the pleasure?” Eddie asks, dropping his handful of Steve’s belongings carefully onto the coffee table as Steve does the same.

Jonathan eyes the pile, flicking his gaze up to Steve with a pitying look that Steve luckily doesn’t catch. Steve’s gone into the kitchen to pour out cups of coke like a consummate host. Like this is already his home.

“I wanted to see you,” Will says quietly, looking down at his knees.

“Aww, Baby Byers, we missed you too!” Eddie says, knowing it’s true. He can feel the kids' absence like a lost limb.

“Actually,” Jonathan says, sitting up straighter and looking between the three like he’s trying to solve a complex math problem that Eddie’s never even heard of. “He said something weird on the way here.”

Steve hands out cups. Will sips his while Jonathan drinks his down in three big gulps. “What?” Steve asks, not looking at Jonathan at all. He settles on the coffee table in front of Will, plopping his feet familiarly between the brothers and nudging Will’s hip with his toes. 

“I don’t know,” Will says, still looking down. “I can…feel you?” 

“He knew when you guys were pulling up,” Jonathan interjects. He plunks his empty glass on the coffee table beside Steve. Eddie wonders if he should refill it, but doesn’t.

“Right here?” Steve asks, rubbing his sternum. Eddie does the same, feeling the very minor fish-hook tug that comes with them all being in the same room.

Will nods. 

“You know, I could feel Steve, in the Upside-Down,” Eddie says, walking over to Wayne’s chair and plopping down. “Hopper wouldn’t listen, but I knew you weren’t in your house before we even got there.”

That same bitter curl unfurls in his sternum, at being the most knowledgeable person in the room, and being talked over like he had nothing to offer. By Nancy, by Hopper, by Mama Byers. 

“You did?” Steve asks, voice small. He reaches up to his throat, the same way he always does when he’s thinking of those last days alone. Like that thing is still making its home in his throat.

“Yeah, Stevie,” Eddie replies, the rest of the room dropping away as he looks at Steve in profile. He’s all sharp angles – jaw and nose and chin – but there’s still a softness in his cheeks. Eddie wants to pinch them. Wants too many things that he’s not allowed to say. “I’ll always find you.”

He can see the way his adam's apple bobs with the force of his swallow. Steve looks over at him, eyes glimmering in the low light of the trailer. The dark circles under his eyes are dark, the stitches on his forehead stark and macabre. Eddie wants to stretch his hand across the room, trail his fingers along Steve’s stumbled cheeks, feel the proof of his life through the warmth of his blood. 

“It’s not just me?” WIll asks, and Eddie’s sucked back into his body, remembers the audience and the circumstances of living in Nowhere Indiana. 

“No,” Steve says, always ready to reassure. “It’s not just you.”

They stew in the silence. Jonathan uncharacteristically breaks it. “What does this mean?”

“Fuck if I know!” Eddie says, flopping sideways in Wayne’s chair, head lolling uncomfortably off the side as he looks at the other three from his new upside-down vantage point.  “Maybe we’ve got superpowers.”

“Like El!” Will says excitedly, practically bouncing in his seat. Jonathan looks like the thought of his little brother having superpowers has taken years off his life. Eddie can’t help the sputtering laugh that comes out of his mouth, even as Jonathan glares at him.

“We can be a crime fighting trio,” Eddie says, putting his hand on his hip, and raising his fist in the air, messed-up pinky sticking out at a weird ankle, in an approximation of the stereotypical Superman pose. 

Steve, still rubbing his throat, eyes unfocused as he seems to stare at something the rest of them can’t see, says, “Maybe we brought something back with us.”

Well, isn’t that a cheery thought. “Maybe it’s something good?” Eddie says, as if anything good has ever crawled out of that place. As if Steve and Eddie and Will didn’t crawl out of that place stripped down like turpentine on paint. Colors leeched and bleeding down. 

“Yeah,” Will says, eyes wide, like he’s watching the Demogorgon break down the trailer door. Like the devil himself has got its hooks in him. “Maybe it’s something good.”

Part 45

Taglist: @deany-baby @estrellami-1 @altocumulustranslucidus @evillittleguy @carlprocastinator1000 @1-8oo-wtfbro @hallucinatedjosten @goodolefashionedloverboi @newtstabber @lunabyrd @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @manda-panda-monium @disrespectedgoatman @finntheehumaneater @ive-been-bamboozled @harringrieve @grimmfitzz @is-emily-real @dontstealmycake @angeldreamsoffanfic @a-couchpotato @5ammi90 @mac-attack19 @genderless-spoon @kas-eddie-munson @louismeds @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @pansexuality-activated @ellietheasexylibrarian @nebulainajar @mightbeasleep @neonfruitbowl @beth--b @silenzioperso

[familyvideostevie]

stand to gain

did i write this for me? maybe. enjoy anyway <3 you get a raise at work. steve has a tough day. and yet somehow your good news turns it around for him. | fluff, established relationship, being loved wholly and completely, 1.3k

It's a small victory in the grand scheme of things. Life these days is like that -- normal enough that sometimes a seemingly insignificant thing will make your whole day. A rainbow on the way to the grocery store or a perfect leaf on your windshield. Steve washing and folding your favorite shirt or calling you on your lunch break. It doesn't take much to feel like you've got it pretty good.

But maybe this is something you're allowed to be extra happy about: you got a raise at work. You'd been expecting it and practiced your pitch for weeks with Steve and had been waiting for the right time to sit down with your manager. Today ended up being that day and it worked. Better than you'd expected, really. You're feeling pleased with yourself, ready to share your news and maybe celebrate once you get him. You want to see the look on Steve's face when you tell him all of the prep paid off and then some.

You hum as you unlock the door and look for him when you toe off your shoes and plunk your keys into the bowl. He doesn't seem to be on the couch or in the kitchen as far as you can tell but you know he's home as his jacket is hanging on the hook. The entryway smells vaguely of his cologne, so he must have arrived not long before you.

"I'm home," you call.

"Bedroom," Steve yells back. "Thank god you're home," he continues. You set about putting away your bag and getting a snack, trying to be quiet so you can hear his hollering. "I had such a shitty day."

Oh. Your excitement shrinks back into a box in your chest, shoved to the side for later. He had a bad day? Bad days for Steve can mean anything from someone being rude to something really bad actually happening. He's not great at specifying.

"What happened?" you ask.

He grunts. "Just...shit." He finally appears, hair a mess from tugging his sweatshirt over his head. He's already in comfortable clothes and looks ready to go to bed. You can see the tension in the line of his shoulders and the twitch of his jaw. 'Not worth hashing out."

Steve steps into your space like he was made to be there. Arms around your shoulders, chin hooked over your shoulder as he slumps into you. "I'm sorry," you say softly. "That you had a bad day."

You're partners. Partners comfort each other when things are tough, and that's what you're going to do. But there's a part of you that's a bit down now, too, that it isn't the time to share your good news with Steve. It can wait but you really did want to tell him.

"Not your fault," he huffs. He presses his lips to your neck, your cheek, your temple, and then pulls back, hands on your shoulders. The tension has seeped out of him somewhat but he's frowning now.

"What?" you ask.

"Hold on," he says. His hands frame your face and tilt your jaw side to side gently. "You look like..."

"Steve, what?"

"You look like you're excited about something."

You laugh out of shock. "How do you know that? I didn't know I could look like that."

Steve shrugs. His thumbs stroke the skin of your cheeks. "I know all of your expressions," he says. "You get a crease here when you're thinking --" he presses between your brows "-- and a line here when you're holding something in." His pointer finger traces a line at the corner of your mouth. "And when you're trying not to laugh at me you get three tiny creases here --" He presses his thumb to the corner of your eye.

You bat his hand away. "Alright, alright, I get it." He looks pleased with himself. "It's not a big deal."

You circle his wrists with your hands and try to pull away. He likes pasta when he's in a bad mood and you know you've got some tomato sauce leftover. But you can't make anything if he's still holding you.

"Hey," he says, softer than before. His eyes are bright and warm. "Tell me. It'll make me feel less shitty."

You're not sure that's true, but you really do want to tell him. "Okay," you give in. "I got a raise today."

Steve's mouth drops open and he smiles at the same time. You can see all of his teeth before he lunges, wrapping his arms around you and twirling you in a circle right there in the kitchen, your toes brushing the ground.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" he cries.

"Steve!" He puts you down and laughs. "No, I'm not kidding." You're both breathing quickly.

"You let me talk about my bullshit day when we could have been talking about how you got a raise! You should have screamed it when you got home!"

He starts to press kisses to every inch of you he can reach. Your forehead, your brow, your nose, your cheeks.

Breathless giggles surge out of you, the excitement you felt all day returning full force now that he's sharing it.

"That's amazing," he says between kisses. "Best shit I've ever heard. I'm so glad and I knew it, that pitch was really fucking good."

Steve kisses you properly once, twice, three times in quick pecks before pulling you in for another hug.

"I'm happy about it," you say into his shoulder.

He sways you in his hold just a little. You press closer to him and breathe him in. His sweatshirt smells a little like him, a little like you. "Are you proud of yourself? I'm really proud of you."

"Yeah," you admit. "I am. I...almost didn't tell you because I didn't want to make you feel like we couldn't commiserate about your bad day.

Steve pulls back. He palms your hip with one hand and cradles your jaw with the other. You lean into the touch.

"Okay," he says. "Hey, listen."

"I'm listening," you tease, but he doesn't laugh.

"That's nice of you but your good news is my good news, yeah? This makes me really happy even if my day sucked," he says. "Because I love you and you being happy makes me happy."

"But you being upset means I can be upset with you," you counter. "We can wallow together."

"Yeah, but we can celebrate together, too. Don't keep good things to yourself because I'm carrying bad ones," he says. Steve isn't always the most verbose guy but when he wants you to understand something he always manages to get his point across in a way that makes you feel incredibly tender.

It's a battle you know you won't win. Steve loves you and that means he wants as much of you as you'll give him, good, bad, and ugly. And you love him, so it's the same in reverse. It's a good problem to have, being loved this much.

"Fine," you allow. He beams.

"So how are we celebrating?"

"I didn't think about that," you say. "I just wanted to tell you."

Steve's expression softens. "Okay, now that's just stupid sweet," he says.

You roll your eyes. "We could order food?"

He snaps his fingers and heads for the phone on the wall. "Amazing idea. Genius. That's the kind of thinking that got you that raise," he says. "Go put on your pjs and I'll order. The usual, right?"

You nod. He looks so happy, receiver in hand as he looks for the phone number in your menu drawer, hair still a riot and feet bare. You love him for being so excited for you. You love him for loving you.

"Steve," you say softly. He doesn't look up.

"Yeah?"

"Thank you." That gets him to look.

"Don't thank me, baby," he says with a smile. "I'm just a trophy boyfriend." You laugh all the way to the bedroom.

thank you for reading <3 reblog, send feedback, general masterlist here!

[solarmorrigan]

Hands Where I Can See Them, Part 9

Pt 1 | Pt 2 | Pt 3 | Pt 4 | Pt 5 | Pt 6 | Pt 7 | Pt 8 | Ao3

Thank you once again to @azure7539arts for listening to me play relationship counselor for, like, an hour while I figured this chapter out &lt;3

-

It takes a bit of driving before Eddie finds Steve. 

He swings by Steve’s house just to be sure, then the overlook at the quarry, then the roadside where people park when they’re heading up to Skull Rock, then the park where Steve goes running sometimes, and then finally, begrudgingly, the lake. 

Which is where he spots Steve’s car. 

He parks next to the beemer and gets out, glancing out over the moonlit surface of the lake. He still doesn’t like it here; avoids it when he can. He wonders briefly, bitterly, if that’s why Steve chose to come here over anywhere else. 

Eddie shakes the thought away and approaches the shore, where he can see a figure standing, the light of the moon glancing off the pale fabric of a members only jacket. 

He isn’t quiet as he comes up behind Steve, letting his sneakers crunch across pebbles and dying grass to signal his arrival, and he watches as Steve bends to pick something up off the ground – a stone, Eddie realizes, as Steve draws back and flicks it out over the water, sending it skipping across the surface. 

It bounces two, three, four times, and then sinks into the water several yards out. 

“How’d you know I’d be here?” Steve asks without looking over as Eddie comes to stand next to him. 

Eddie doesn’t mention how many places he’d checked before coming here. Instead, he glances around and finds a smooth, flat stone of his own. “When you’re sad, you go to Robin,” he says (or me, he doesn’t say; you used to come to me), “but when you’re angry, you want to be alone, because it still scares you. You’re afraid you’ll say or do something you regret, and you won’t be able to take it back.” 

Eddie sends the stone skipping out over the lake; one, two, three jumps, and it sinks. 

Steve scoffs, picking another stone up out of the dirt. “Yeah, you know me so well,” he mutters. He doesn’t bother skipping the rock in his hand; he hurls it like a baseball over a field of water, where it lands and sinks with a loud plunk. “So fucking well.” 

“I thought I did,” Eddie says. “I thought I was doing alright, until tonight. That I could give you what you needed and make you feel like… like I see you.” 

“Dinner in the park was nice,” Steve mutters. “The diner date was a shitty idea.” 

“Yeah, I get that now,” Eddie replies ruefully. 

“I just– Where was all of this before?” Steve finally turns to look at him, eyes demanding in the silvery light. “You know all of this about me, you were paying attention and you saw all of this, but you just – what? Ignored how I was feeling, anyway?” 

“No,” Eddie says. “I didn’t– I wasn’t ignoring you, I was ignoring everything. You, me, the whole situation – I thought I had it figured out and I didn’t let myself think about it any other way.” Eddie pulls in a breath, trying to keep calm. “I’m not trying to make excuses, okay? I’m not saying it was okay, I know that I hurt you, and I’m trying to make up for it, and you keep saying you’ll let me, and then– and then I fuck up and you shut down again, and I don’t know how to fix it.” 

Steve glances away. He kneels down to pick up another rock, but doesn’t immediately throw it. Instead, he stands for a moment, worrying the surface of it with his thumb. 

“I’m sorry for jerking you around,” he says quietly. “That wasn’t fair. I thought I was ready, but I just– I still don’t understand why you’re doing this.” 

“I told you: I fucked up and I hurt you and I want to make it better–” 

“But why?” Steve pushes, looking back over at Eddie. “Why do you even want me? Is it that you miss the sex, or – just that I threatened to take everything away? Because I was there, for months, loving you, even before we slept together, and falling deeper after that, and you didn’t even notice. It wasn’t good enough for you then, so why is it suddenly good enough now?” 

Steve’s voice cracks, and a little piece of Eddie goes with it. 

“Steve, no. It was always good enough, you were always good enough.” Eddie turns and takes a step towards Steve, instinctively trying to bridge the gap between them; Steve doesn’t step away, but he watches Eddie warily. “I didn’t– I didn’t know what I was looking at. I didn’t understand.” 

Steve doesn’t say anything, just crosses his arms over his chest, stone still clutched, forgotten, in one hand. 

“I mean, it’s like I had the world’s most precious object in my hands, and I didn’t know what it was, and I used it as a fucking paperweight,” Eddie manages. “No one has ever loved me the way you did. No one has ever put as much work into – into making me feel good, making me happy, doing things for me and teaching me how to do them and – and bringing me fucking flowers. You’re like something out of a fucking storybook, Steve, and I didn’t think I would ever have or… deserve that, so I didn’t even let myself consider it. 

“And that’s not an excuse, I get it. It’s not. It’s just– it’s the only reason I can give you. And I’ve–” Eddie breaks off, takes a breath, and pushes on; Steve needs to hear all of it, deserves to hear all of it. “I’ve never been in love before. So even though it was sitting right on my fucking chest the entire time, I didn’t recognize it for what it was. It should’ve been all yours, but I couldn’t even name it, and I’m sorry.” 

Steve pulls in a sharp, shuddery breath at the end of Eddie’s confession, watching him now with wide and startled eyes. 

“Can you say it?” he asks softly. 

“What?” Eddie asks, thrown by the unexpected question. 

“Can you say it? Tell me that you love me?” Steve’s voice nearly chokes around the words, and he’s staring at Eddie with so much trepidation that it’s almost smothering out the hope that’s there beneath it. 

“I love you,” Eddie says automatically, without even having to think, because it’s true. “I love you. Of course I love you, Steve, holy shit. I love having you around, I love when you’re being selfless and kind and I love when you’re being petty and bitchy and I love when you listen to me and when you tell me about what you like and I love you when you’re in my bed and I love you when you’re angry at me and I can’t believe I’ve never said it before because now it won’t stop coming out–” 

The problem is solved when Steve takes two steps forward, drops the stone he’s been holding at their feet, puts one hand on Eddie’s jaw, leans in, and cuts him off with a kiss. And in spite of the words that had just been streaming from Eddie’s mouth, he has absolutely no trouble immediately getting with the program and kissing back. 

He can’t help the “I love you” that slips out when Steve pulls away, but then he grips the front of Steve’s jacket and reels him back in for another kiss. 

“I love you, I love you, I promise I do,” Eddie manages between presses of lips. “I’m going to show you every day if you let me, I will.” 

“Yeah,” Steve says shakily, finally breaking their connection so he can bury his face in the crook of Eddie’s neck, wrapping his arms around Eddie’s middle and holding him tight. “Yeah, okay.” 

Eddie’s arms are around Steve’s shoulders in an instant, pulling him closer still. “Okay.” 

“I love you, too. I still do,” Steve says, a little muffled. 

Eddie inhales sharply. He’d had a feeling – Steve Harrington isn’t really the sort of person who ever stops loving someone, not really, but having it confirmed is like a burst of pleasant static in his chest. He lets one hand slide up over the back of Steve’s neck and into his hair, cradling his head, and Steve nuzzles in a bit closer, only to make Eddie flinch when the cold tip of his nose brushes his neck. 

“Jesus, you’re cold,” Eddie says, running his other hand down Steve’s back and finally noting how little body warmth seeps through his jacket. 

“Been out here a while,” Steve mumbles. “Told you I should’ve worn something heavier.” 

“Shit, uh–” Eddie ignores Steve’s annoyed little sigh when he’s forced to pull away so that Eddie can shimmy out of his battle jacket and hold it out for him. “Here. Might help.” 

Slowly, Steve lifts his hand to take the jacket, glancing up at Eddie and raising his eyebrows. “You wanna talk about recreating history…” 

For a long moment, Eddie stares, uncomprehending, until Steve’s eyes flick out towards the lake and then back towards the vest. 

“Oh, shit,” Eddie hisses. “Wait, no, I wasn’t trying to–” 

“Relax,” Steve cuts in, smirking as he shrugs the vest over his own jacket and then steps back into Eddie’s space. “I’m teasing.” 

Eddie tries to frown at Steve, but he can’t maintain it as Steve slips his arms under his leather jacket and around his waist and pecks him on the cheek. 

“You making fun of my chivalry, Harrington?” Eddie grumbles, slinging his arms back around Steve’s shoulders. 

“Little bit,” Steve answers, before resting his chin on Eddie’s shoulder and relaxing against him so heavily that Eddie has to readjust his center of gravity. 

They stand there on the shore for a bit longer, swaying together in the comfort of what they’ve both been missing, until Eddie’s fingers begin to get cold. The late October chill is starting to bite, and Eddie can feel the cool breeze coming in off the lake. 

“So…” Eddie says quietly, pulling reluctantly back from Steve; he knows they’ll need to go back to their cars soon, but he can’t leave without addressing one last thing. “If we’re really doing this... And– and we are?” 

Steve nods. “Yeah. I want– I really want to try again.” 

“Okay.” Eddie nods, unable to help the nearly reflexive little smile that quirks up at that. “Then I’m gonna do my best to be better and pay more attention, but I need you to tell me when you want something. When you need something.” He reaches up and cups Steve’s jaw, cold skin on cold skin, swiping his thumbs across Steve’s cheeks. “I know you’re not used to doing that with people, but I need you to. I want to give you what you want, but I can’t unless you tell me. Okay?” 

Slowly, Steve nods. “I’ll try,” he says, a little hoarse. 

Still smiling, Eddie leans in for a kiss, and Steve meets him halfway. 

It doesn’t last long; it’s dark, and they’re both cold and tired, and Steve is the first to pull away, heaving another put-upon sigh. 

“Okay, let’s go home,” he says, grabbing Eddie by the hand and leading him back towards where they’d parked. 

Eddie spends a moment furiously working the statement over in his head, trying to figure out what “home” means—Eddie’s place? Steve’s place? Each to their respective houses?—but he’s saved from having to ask when Steve glances back over his shoulder at him. 

“You go first, I’ll follow,” he says, and Eddie relaxes. 

Home it is. 

Though it genuinely hadn’t been his intent at the start of the evening, they do both end up in Eddie’s bed. Steve steals a set of Eddie’s pajamas and claims the same side of the mattress that he always has, and they both drift off curled into one another’s space. 

It’s the best Eddie’s slept in weeks.

Part 10

-

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[hungharrington]

something about teasing steve in public to the point where he's just flustered and so whiny and can barely keep a conversation... aaah

MMMM ANON U ARE SPEAKING MY LANGUAGE 

it won’t even be your fault in the beginning, he’s just a little more keyed up than usual - a steamy dream of your lips stretched around his cock that felt a little too real, had him squirming in his sleep— and worse is, he slept later than usual because of it so he hadn’t even been able to get out of his system before heading to work :( so yeah, his hormones might be flowing a little easier today but steve is fine! he’s fairly confident that the boring lull of his solo shift is precisely the boner killer he needs. 

except, of course, you decide to visit him— because you’re so nice to your boyfriend! and somehow, it’s like you manage to look actually mouth-watering today, like steve does a double take when the chime of the door goes off, head looking up twice and it’s like a visceral reaction, a pulse of heat that runs through his body. steve out right groans a little bit, covers his face with his hands for a moment and then runs them through his hair. you’re frowning a bit because what kind of welcome is that? and steve’s like “no no! not like that!” but fuck, wait those shorts you’re wearing are quite short— showing off your thighs sinfully and steve actually can’t control how he eyes you up and down unashamedly, tongue darting out to wet his lips — you clock the horny in him in a second

“my my, what’s got you in a such a mood today?” you ask, an elbow meeting the front counter as you lean on it, but you might as well be purring the words to steve- the way you just read him in an instant does not help all of the morning’s unforgotten feelings from crawling back into his body— steve groans aloud again when he feels his dick twitch in interest in his pants. 

“don’t,” he warns, jabbing a finger in your direction as his other hand as subtlety as he can readjusts his pants, “i was already nearly late to work because of you!” that makes you frown a bit in confusion, moving to round the counter to properly greet him since it’s so quiet in store- you plunk down a bag containing some lunch of him that you’d brought with you. steve arms are waiting and twine around your waist as your sling over his shoulders and round his neck, a sweet embrace with his back to the door. you smirk up at him just a bit, “late because of me? and how did i manage that all the way from my own home?” 

steve glances at the front door, dutiful in checking there’s no one coming, but even so his voice drops a bit quieter when he says, “you… i had a dream about you.” his face manages to get a little warmer, given away by the colour in his cheeks, and if you weren’t clued in before you definitely are now. steve’s funny about dreams, even though you assure him you’re quite flattered he searches for you even in his subconscious— but he always admits them a bit shyly, like you might react badly.

“a dream?” you echo, slithering your hands from around his neck down his chest purposefully — and steve shivers at the motion. before he gets a moment to tell you knock it off, you’re speaking first, hands travelling to trace over his tummy, “what sorta dream?” you ask, even though you know. steve glares at you because he knows it too. he glances out the front window again and speaks in a hushed voice when he turns back, “y’know,” he says, face somehow growing redder. “like a… a sexy dream,” 

and that makes you laugh a little bit, because how can he be so good at dirty talk in bed and still call it ‘a sexy dream’ like a 13 year old? you’ll never know. all you do know is that you’ve decided mischief is what you’re after today, hands slipping under his polo to scratch lightly along his v line — and it’s enough to make steve’s breath stutter. “what are you—?” he asks, his hands around your waist beginning to move, like he might seize your torturous hands. “what happened in the dream?” you ask instead, cutting him off. you pair your question with a hand that runs down his front, not at all subtle with the way you brush against his cock. it shoots a thrill through you to feel he’s already half hard in his pants- your hand ends up atop his thigh, fingers rubbing the sensitive inner part of it as you ask him again, before he can catch up, “what got you so worked up, stevie?” steve’s eyes scrunch closed, whether from the memory of the dream or your inching higher hand— the other stays on his tummy, thumbing light circles on his happy trail. 

“you-“ he starts, cutting himself off with another little shiver. one hand leaves your waist like he’s going to grab your own but you’re already trailing further up, beginning just lightly palming him through his jeans - and his hand just hovers instead, clenching into a fist. his gaze has moved to watch your hand work him intently “fuck, wait,” he says, breath a little heavier than before. “you— you were,” he’s scarlet in the face by this point, words getting a little weaker. you properly rub him, curling your fingers around what you can feel and giving it a good squeeze and steve audibly swears, some pathetic noise escaping his throat before he can stop it. 

“you gotta stop,” he manages to exhale through a jagged breath, even though his hands stay exactly as they are, flexing through his pent up hormones. “it’s— someone could…” he trails off breathily as you dip your thumb beneath his waist line as you give another delicious rub along his cock, enough that another strangled pitiful noise comes from steve’s mouth, along with a whisper of your name. you can’t tell if it’s lucky for him or not that nobody has come into the store in the time you’ve been toying with him. you pout exaggeratingly, “but you didn’t even tell me what happened in the dream?” 

you choose that exact moment to retract your hands, pulling back just a bit and standing on your tiptoes to press a kiss to his scorching cheek. steve’s blinking, confused by the whiplash of suddenly having so much touch turn to none but you’re already rounding the corner— “you’ll have to tell me later, i guess! enjoy lunch, baby” and he’s like stammering, turning in time as you approach the door and barely get out his own goodbye before you’re gone, the bell chiming as you go. steve huffs, taking one glance at his pants and resigning himself to spending the next hour pressed against the counter and not moving at all. “little minx,” he curses, tugging his collar away from his neck to try cool off even just a bit. he swears that is the longest shift he’s ever worked - but can’t even be too mad about what you did, considering you were well & truly waiting for him when he came home, ready to bring his dream to life 

[homelanderbutbig]

An Angel Waiting For Him (G/T Homelander x Reader)

1946 words. Pure fluff. Homelander is 8 feet tall. Reader is non-descriptive. Beginnings of a relationship.

When you first learned about Homelander's weakness to head scratches.

Homelander's been inviting you up to his penthouse more often lately. He's never really had friends before, let alone someone he can trust like you, so you figure he appreciates the company. As Homelander prefers to keep a tight schedule, your near daily visits happen at a regular time. It's become an enjoyable ritual of sorts, getting to see him and talk about your days together.

Truth be told, Homelander isn't sure what to make of you. You are so nice to him, but he's skeptical if he should let you get this close. The only humans he's been attached to are horrible people that he can't bring himself to kill… outside of Madelyn. Even though he loved her like a mother, she not only lied to him but she had been afraid of him throughout their whole relationship. Their entire bond was built on fraud… but he can never remove her entirely from his thoughts. He misses the way she provided him comfort, the way she let him lay his head on her lap… even if it was all just a lie.

During your afternoon break, you decide to spend some quiet time away from your co-workers in Homelander's penthouse. Although he isn't inside, he has given you permission to go there whenever you want. Walking into the tranquil silence of the penthouse, you make your way to the living room to lounge on his oversized couch. You tuck yourself into the corner of the couch, with your back on the armrest for the perfect view to watch the clouds pass by the window.

Just as you begin to feel at ease, you hear Homelander storming into the penthouse. His footsteps are louder than normal, a telltale sign that someone has pissed him off. He plunks himself on the couch next to you, with such a hefty thud that you are shocked his landing didn't catapult you across the room. Tilting his head back, he lets out an exasperated huff as he massages the bridge of his nose.

"Rough day?" you ask, sighing as you sit upright. Whatever uneventful break you intended to have is clearly not going to happen now.

"I can't believe I have to work with such idiots," Homelander grumbles, dropping his hand heavily into his lap. "These fuckers have no idea what I do for them, and yet they think they can treat me like I'm not the one in charge of my team."

"That must be difficult, feeling so used," you say, attempting to console him.

"Yes! Thank you!" he shouts as he raises his hands into the air, perhaps a bit more enthusiastically than he intended. "It's like nobody here understands how much I sacrifice for them. I'm just here to say my lines and make them money. I'm a real fucking person! I'm still the captain of The Seven, not them!"

After ending his rant, he looks down at you expectantly, like he is waiting for you to stroke his ego some more. It's what you've come to anticipate from Homelander, the one sure-fire way to bring him out of a sour mood. However, today you came up here for some peace and quiet. Possibly, you think a different tactic can help him unwind too.

"I'm sorry Homelander. I know how frustrating it can be to be treated like that," you say, looking up at him while you scoot a bit closer to place your hand on his thigh. "If there's anything I can do to help, let me know, alright?"

Homelander gawks at you, blindsided by your abrupt changing of the routine. You were supposed to tell him how great he is and how everyone else is wrong, so he could go about his merry way. Instead, your words are bringing up memories of Madelyn, and a thought pops into his head. One that he is uncertain that you would let him do with you.

With a wave of nervousness overcoming him, Homelander averts his eyes from you while clenching his fists and tensing the muscles in his jaw. He's terrible at hiding his feelings; you know there's something tumbling around that big head of his.

"You look like you want to say something else," you remark, giving his leg a gentle pat. "You know you can tell me anything, I won't judge."

"I, um…" he mutters, eye darting frantically before he closes them, trying to steady himself with a deep breath. "I… want to try something… if you, uh… if you'll let me."

"Sure, go ahead," you respond, nodding your head. You aren't quite sure what Homelander is asking for, but your curiosity is piqued.

"O-okay…" he stutters, keeping his eyes planted on the floor. "Just… please… please don't move."

Just as you wonder if you've made a mistake, you watch as Homelander shifts his body lengthwise across the couch to lie on his back. Slowly, he lowers his head into your lap. You're taken aback by the sheer size and weight of his head, which is so large it's practically overflowing on your thighs. It almost feels like you have a big fat cat lying on you, if not for the incredible anxiety you feel emanating from him. He looks like he's scared out of his mind, completely regretting this decision and just wanting to get up and leave. And yet, at the same time he is still like a statue, waiting for you to make the first move.

Trying to comprehend what he wants, you absent-mindedly start petting Homelander's hair, as if your brain is on auto-pilot and it believes the giant head in your lap really is just a fluffy cat. Lo and behold, you begin to understand what he was asking for as his stress evaporates from your delicate touches, his eyes fluttering shut as he sinks further into your lap. He lets go of a breath he didn't even realize he was holding, and further nuzzles himself into your hand.

From your first moment alone with him, you've learned how affected he is from simple touches. How he practically bulldozed you when he tried to lean his full body weight into your hands, like he was chasing after something he had missed his entire life. It was something that bewildered you; you've only ever heard Homelander speak of this perfect childhood and family he had, why would he crave affection so heavily?

When you start running your nails along his undercut, you are surprised to hear Homelander start keening, albeit very inaudibly. He's clearly enjoying your attention, but it's obvious to you he's fighting to stay quiet. Unexpectedly, one particular scratch along his scalp causes him to loudly whimper from the pleasure. He immediately freezes, and stares at you with the widest eyes you've ever seen. 

"I-I'm sorry…" he stutters, tears forming as he attempts to hide his face in your chest. "I'm sorry… I'm sorry… I'm s-sorry," he continues to repeat, eyes squeezed shut like he is terrified that he will be punished. Madelyn forbade him to make such pathetic noises on her lap, and she would only allow these 'sessions' when he obeyed her every word. He expects you will be the same.

"Hey, it's okay Homelander," you reassure him, still petting his hair. You hate seeing him so upset, especially when he hasn't done anything wrong. "That just felt good, right?"

Sheepishly, he nods as he turns slightly to peak at you with one timid eye, as if his entire existence is hanging in the balance of your next words.

"You don't have to apologize for enjoying that," you soothe him, using your thumb to wipe away his tears. "I'm happy that you're happy."

Homelander can't believe what he is hearing. Nobody has ever truly cared about his welfare before, and wanted him to just be content. Even Madelyn was only playing with his emotions to use him for her own personal gain. She never really cared, she just wanted to control him. It almost makes him feel stupid, placing Madelyn on such a high pedestal when there was an angel waiting for him this entire time.

He practically purrs as you resume scratching his scalp as you were before, except without this cloud of dread that was hanging over him. The fear Madelyn instilled in him to hide his satisfaction has miraculously dissipated, purely because of you. You, and your enchanted fingers, somehow adept at locating all of the sweet spots that he can't help but mewl at. Homelander nearly becomes overwhelmed by you, gripping at the couch's wooden frame so strongly you swear you can hear it splintering. There is something amazing about having a godlike superhuman giant whimpering in your lap, exclusively from the affection you give him.

Eventually, your fingers start to tire from the force you used in your scratches. As you go back to lightly petting his hair, Homelander opens his eyes to see you looking down at him with such care. The way you smile so sweetly at him is intoxicating, unlike how anyone has ever looked at him before. You are special. He wonders if you even realize that you are so far above the rest of the mudpeople.

Homelander rubs his head lightly into your chest, still keeping his vision focused on you. Compared to how frustrated he appeared when he first sat down, he now looks so serene, totally calmed by your tenderness. As you observe him, you begin to wonder something.

"Say, Homelander…" you start. He gives a light hum, noting that you have his attention. "How did you know I was up here by myself?"

"I could hear your heartbeat," he explains simply, still nudging at your chest. "It's the only one I listen for… It's… it's nice."

You aren't sure how to take that. Nobody has ever complimented you on the sound of your heart before. In a weird way, you are grateful that at least someone at Vought is keeping an eye out for you.

"When you were mad earlier… did you come up here just to see me?" you question, hoping to break through his real intentions of meeting you alone outside of your regular ritual.

Even though Homelander doesn't answer you, the ashamed way he avoids your gaze is enough for you to figure out his response. Somehow, you've become more than a friend to him; you're someone he wants to help him feel better, someone he trusts to take his hurt away. It's so sweet you can't stop yourself from smiling.

"Thank you," you say, caressing his cheek. When Homelander shoots you a confused look, you gently laugh.

"For trusting me, you goof," you grin, leaning down a bit nearer to his speechless face. "I'm happy that you're comfortable with me to talk about stuff that bothers you. I know how hard it can be to feel so alone."

"And if you want me to help you relax like this again," you remark, as you boop his nose with your finger. "I don't mind. I'm just glad to help."

Confounded by your genuine kindness, Homelander can feel himself start to cry again. He wishes he could hug you right now, but his whole body feels like it's been cemented in place, unwilling to move from this blissful position. All he can muster is to bury his face into your warm chest, relishing the comforting sounds of your pulse. Not even Madelyn's lap felt this welcoming, it's like your entire being is perfection.

"You're welcome Homelander," you tell him, bending down a bit further to give his head an awkward hug. "As long as you let me, I'll be there for you."

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Unsolicited 25

Warnings: bad self-thought/talk, bullying, insults, low self-esteem, money problems, oral/noncon, coercion, cum, some untagged sexual and dark elements.

Wouldn’t mind some feedback! Lloyd was driving me nuts so I had to do it. Thank you in advance 💜

Masterlist

You bring Lloyd a second cup of coffee with his breakfast. A plate of crispy bacon, scrambled eggs, and toast. As you step back, he sucks his teeth and lifts the mug with a subtle shake of his head.

"I like my eggs sunny side up," he sneers.

"You didn't say," you reply flatly.

"You didn't ask!" He grabs the plate and flings it so it flies like a frisbee, the food falling all around. It smashes against the wall and you hold back a sigh. "Do it right."

You swallow and withhold a retort. Something that might make you sound like a mother scolding her child; there are starving children in the world. You push your tongue against your palette as you calm yourself.

"Yes, daddy," you go and gather up the larger pieces of glass before retreating to the kitchen. You return with a broom and sweep up the food into the dust pan. He doesn't say a word but you feel him watching you.

You start again. Several more strips of bacon sizzling as you time dropping the eggs in the pan just right. More toast, buttered and cut down the middle. You set it out on a new plate and take it out to him.

"Salt and pepper?" You offer, barely keeping a trite lilt out of your tone.

He waves you away with his hand. You step back as he plucks up a piece of bacon with his fingers and bites into it. Again, you're startled by his naked lip, he looks like an entirely different person even if he is back to the same old attitude.

You turn on your heel and stride to the door. He clears his throat and gulps loudly from his mug.

"Wait a minute, kitty cat," he calls you back, "need more coffee."

He plunks the cup down and you push your shoulders back rigidly. You spin, walking tersely across the room, the tall heels hammering against the floorboards. You take his cup as his eyes twinkle at you and he stabs the yolk with his fork.

You make yourself stay calm. It's difficult. He knows what he's doing. So do you. Needling at you. Punishing you.

You go back into the kitchen and pour another cup. It takes every ounce of your strength not to spit in it. You bring it to him with the same sickly smile. As you set it down, he smacks his lips and sits back.

"You ever heard of beer goggles?" He asks as you lean back on your heel, pausing before you can flee for the excuse of tidying up.

"Sure."

"Yeah, trust me, you're about fifty percent hotter when I'm drunk," he snickers.

"Thank you," you say dryly, "is that it? Can I get you anything else? A bib? Or maybe a sippy cup? Keep you from spilling–"

"Watch your mouth," he warns as he points the butter knife at you.

You close your mouth and nod. You stare at him and he sighs. He looks at his plate and plays with his food, dragging the tines over the cooked whites.

"Actually, I could use one more thing. Best thing, it will keep your mouth busy."

You narrow your eyes and raise your shoulders. What?

He looks down his body as he sits back and smiles at his crotch. He wiggles his hips and purrs, lifting his chin as he turns his smirk back on you.

"You know how I like it, babe," he taunts and your nostrils flare. Babe. You hate that word. It reminds you of…before. "It's the one thing you do right. Hmm? Your coffee? Too strong. Your eggs? Too runny. But that mouth, just right." He snorts as his dumb joke, "so let's play, Goldicocks."

You can barely keep from smacking him. You curl your fingers then stretch them back out. He notices, grinning larger as his eyes fall to your hand.

"I fucking dare you," he snarls.

You inhale and shake your fingers out. You won't let him get to you. You move closer and touch the edge of the table, about to get to your knees and get it over with.

"Maybe if the old husband had a couple every night, he wouldn't be hanging around late at the office. Or maybe, that's how it happened? A couple too many–"

You swing your arm back and slap him full force, the noise echoing in the air. Your palm stings as you gasp and pull your hand away. What did you just do?

His fork clinks on the plate as he leans back, raising his fingertips to his rosy cheek. His lip twitches as his blue eyes follow you, crisp and cold. He lowers his hands and pushes himself up with the wooden armrests, the chair scraping loudly.

"You're a stupid fucking bimbo, you know that?" He says as he comes closer. You take a step back but he catches you by the throat, "you fucking are. You still care about that deadbeat and we both know he never gave a fuck about you."

"You don't either," you hiss.

He squeezes and glares at you, his throat tightening visibly, "I fucking don't but I never pretended I did, did I?"

"No," you choke out.

"Correct," he says sharply, "so take your feelings out of this," he leans in so his jose brushes yours, "and suck me off."

He lets you go, his hands falling to the front of the pink robe he still wears. You blow out between your lips and grab the belt, you rip it open roughly.

"And you're assuming I give a fuck about you," you spit defiantly.

His tongue peeks out of his mouth as you blindly feel along his stomach, your gaze stuck to his. His muscles clench as you tickle down his pelvis and take his bobbing dick in your hand, swiping around his tip so he twitches. A low growl rolls from his throat.

You stroke him and take a step back. You don't look away as you get to your knees. You work him, long and slow pumps as you hover your lips before his swollen head. You will not let him win.

You open your mouth around him and take his tip firmly between your lips. He watches you, chest rising and falling, unable to tear his eyes from you. You flick your tongue around and he grunts, grabbing your shoulder gruffly.

You slide down his length, pushing your tongue against him until you reach the back of your throat. You bring your hands up to grip his hips and force him past your reflex. The tendons in his neck throb and he lets out a groan.

You brush your hand down the line of his pelvis and cup his balls, squeezing them as you take him completely. You hum and pull back, letting him out as only his tip rests against your lower lip. You swirl your tongue around him once more, still holding him rapt with your burning gaze.

"Oh, daddy," you part and let his dick stand on its own, "I'll be what you want. A set of holes." You pout stupidly, raising your voice an octave. You kiss his tip and sigh mockingly, "I'm your omindless little slut."

His lip curls as a battle rages in his bold irises. He growls and catches the back of your head, forcing you to take him again. You open and swallow him down smoothly.

That's all you need to do is stop thinking. Stop feeling. He'll get bored soon.

[pedrito-friskito]

If you’re still taking requests, could I please have "You look adorable when you smile" with the resident grump, Mr Javier Peña 💖

nonnie how did you know that javier peña is the way to my heart?

my head is stuck on the ranch these days, and this was a fun little prequel to what’s already been published 💕 hope you enjoy! (no angst or smut, just fluffy goodness!)

sleepover saturday

meet-cute

(word count 3k)

He’s had a long fucking day.

Scratch that, Javier is having a long fucking week. Month. Year. Lifetime, whatever. There aren’t enough cartons of cigarettes or enough litres of whiskey that could take the edge off how he’s feeling. And today? Oh, today the hours had just ticked by, five minutes feeling like thirty, his watch moving so slowly that he was convinced far too early on in the day that the battery was dead and needed replacing. But no, the hands kept ticking away at a glacial pace, taunting him.

So yes, as soon as he’d finished his day on the ranch, he’d gotten into his truck, still dressed in his work clothes, and took off for the nearest bar. Not like they’re few and far between in Laredo; he could have walked if he was feeling athletic, or even ridden a horse — most bars within reasonable distance of the ranch have a stable out back.

But he didn’t have the patience to fight one of the mares into a saddle, so into his truck he went, dust kicking up in the rearview as the ranch disappeared behind him.

Javier has been home a few weeks now. The ranch has been officially his for exactly seven days, and he is bone tired. There is dirt in places there shouldn’t be, he’s half-convinced he pulled a muscle in his back, and his head throbs something fierce with every step. The state of him doesn’t stop him from plunking himself on a barstool, ordering three fingers of whiskey and shoving his head in his hands.

He’s not sure he’s cut out for this.

Sure, he was raised for it. Chucho was always adamant that Javi pull his weight, and he did. Or, tried. There were certain things his father knew never to trust him with, turning him towards easier tasks, things Chucho could do with his eyes closed. Javi can remember being offended, at first, his teenage brain filled with hormones that whispered rage quickly — why wouldn’t his dad just trust him? — but then as time wore on, as his attentions were diverted, pulled in the direction of pretty girls and far-off countries, the idea of a badge in his hand and a gun on his hip, he cared less and less. 

Eventually, Chucho stopped asking him to do anything, and then Javier was off to college, to becoming an agent, running headlong into Colombia before he really realized what he was getting himself into.

And then somehow, here he was, back in Laredo, right where he started.

Not enough whiskey in the world. His whole body aches for a cigarette, but he swore to his folks he’d quit.

He’s halfway through his second drink when the door opens, the tinkling of bells above it signalling a new customer. Out of habit, he’d perched himself within sight of the exit, and his gaze lifts as you step through the door. High boots, short dress, hair piled high on your head. You’re beautiful, a grin on your lips that has him inhaling deeply, inflating his chest as you bee-line for the bar, a gaggle of other girls staggering into the bar behind you. Judging from the Bride-To-Be sash on one of your companions, Javi assumes it to be a bachelorette party, and he chuckles into his glass as you approach the bar, much more sure-footed than the rest of your friends.

Javier stays quiet as you rattle off an order to the bartender, an odd mix of cocktails and beers, finished with a tonic water with lemon. When the bartender turns away, you lean heavily onto the bar top, and Javier doesn’t miss the way you seem to deflate a little as you wait for your drinks. You start to glance around the bar, eyes flicking this way and that, until they land on Javi, who realizes he’s just been caught staring at you.

“Hi,” you say, a grin lifting the corner of your mouth.

“Hi,” he mumbles back, lifting his glass for a sip. “Bachelorette?”

“Is it that obvious?” you laugh, tossing your head back. “Would you believe this is our fourth bar of the night?”

“Looking at you,” Javi drawls, letting his eyes drop quickly before they flick back to your face. Your own narrow at him, “no. Looking at your friends over there,” he juts his chin towards the women in question, “definitely.”

“And why’s that?”

“You’re upright, for starters.”

You scoff out another little laugh, mouthing your thanks to the bartender when he delivers the tonic and lemon first. You take a big gulp, breathing out a sigh as you wait for the rest of the drinks. “Yeah, well, someone’s gotta make sure they all get home to their husbands and boyfriends and fiancés.” Something in your tone makes him curious, and he can’t help his question.

“And who are you going home to?”

“My cat,” you say, laughing again, “and the attic bedroom of my aunt’s house.”

“Sounds cozy.”

You eye him sidelong, hand curled around your glass. “Are you from around here?”

“Born and bred,” he replies, noting the lift to your lips. “You?”

“Not exactly,” you return, taking another sip. Your face has fallen, brows pinched together as you stare down into the glass. “It’s a long story.”

“One requiring a much stronger drink than that?” Javier asks, and instantly regrets it at the way your lips turn down into a frown, the line in your forehead growing deeper. “I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“No, no,” you say quickly, expression going artificially bright, “it’s all right. It’s just…been a long day.” You glance over your shoulder as your giggling group of friends. “A really long day.”

Javi lifts his glass towards yours. “I’ll drink to that.”

Your smile has returned as you tap your glass to his, and Javi sips slow, savouring the burn down his throat. “I’m Javier, by the way,” he says, and sticks his hand out. “Javier Peña.”

You give your own name in return, taking his hand. Soft, is his first thought, the warmth of your palm against his making him jolt. You’re still shaking when the bartender turns back with a tray full of your ordered drinks. Behind you, Javier can hear your cohorts screeching your name.

“I better take these over there,” you say, your voice turning sheepish, reluctantly letting go of his hand. He doesn’t miss the hesitation, and it makes his chest puff out a little. He just nods as you slide your own drink onto the tray, thanking the bartender and sliding another few bills across the bar as you try and lift the tray as carefully as possible. “Maybe I’ll see you later?” you say, and Javi just nods some more.

He watches you walk away, and wonders if the swing in your hips is deliberate. His mouth goes dry, and he sucks back more of his whiskey.

Another few hours pass, and Javier is decidedly sober, too worn out to order another drink and suddenly desperate for his bed. He thanks the bartender and closes his tab, waves goodnight, and heads for the door. He has to pass your table as he goes — he’s surprised you’re all still here; the bar is relatively dead — and with a stutter in his chest he realizes you are nowhere to be found. There are a few harmless catcalls thrown his way by your friends as he pushes open the door and heads for his truck.

“You leaving without saying goodbye?” your voice calls, and he spins on his heel to see you leaned against the bricks, cigarette dangling between your fingers. “I think this is the only bar in Laredo that doesn’t let you smoke inside.”

He walks towards you, heart thumping with every step. “Possibly the only bar in the whole state.”

You give him one of those smiles again as he leans against the wall beside you. “Possibly.” You fish your pack from your purse, extend it towards him. “You want one?”

Javi eyes the pack, one filtered end poking out of the wrapper. “I shouldn’t,” he says after a beat, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “Tryna quit.”

You laugh, taking a drag, tapping the ash and blowing the smoke in the opposite direction of you two. “Aren’t we all.”

“Promised my folks,” he tells you, staring down at his boots. “I’m taking over the family ranch for my dad and well…it’s a…”

“Long story?” you finish, dropping the cigarette to the pavement, stubbing it out with your heel. “One requiring a strong drink?”

Despite himself, Javier smiles, broadly, the kind that tugs at his cheeks until they almost hurt. “Exactly.”

“Wow,” you murmur, and there’s something in your tone that makes his head lift, cheeks heating when he sees the way you’re almost scrutinizing him.

“What?”

“Nothing,” you say with a shake of your head, pinching your lower lip between you fingers. “You just…you look adorable when you smile. You should do it more often.”

Before you can get another word out, your group bursts front the bar, your name slurred by multiple women, all of them beckoning you to follow. You sigh, pushing off the wall, and go to take a step before you pause, fishing a pen from your purse and grabbing his wrist.

“Use this,” you say, scribbling on his palm, a string of numbers that make Javi’s heart crawl up his throat, “if the spirit moves you. Or if you feel like telling long stories over strong drinks.” You smile, and for a moment, Javi wonders if the ground is about to open up and swallow him whole. Or if he’s about to wake up in a cold sweat in his bed, that this is all just a dream. That you are just a dream. “Goodnight, Javier.”

“Goodnight.”

Nope, not a dream.

+

He doesn’t call.

As soon as he gets home from the bar, he’s scribbling your phone number onto a scrap of paper, taping it to the cabinet beside the phone with your name, underlining the word CALL three times, so hard the ink bleeds through the paper. His head is spinning, admittedly tipsy from the whiskey, but more on you. He’s intrigued, he’s curious, he’s pulled in like a magnet facing north.

He wants to see you again.

It sparks something in his chest akin to forest fire, and damn it all, if that doesn’t scare him to death. Yes, there have been women since he came back from Colombia; he’s lonely, not celibate. But you…he can’t put his finger on it. Something about the way you laughed, the smile on your face, the way he wanted to spill his guts to you right there at the bar before you got pulled away, how he wanted to do it again outside when you were whisked away once more.

Monday morning, he taps the piece of paper bearing your number on his way out to start his day, making a mental note to call you once he’s done. He’d managed to talk himself in and out of it at least ten times over the weekend, but Monday felt right. A new week, fresh start.

Except, he’d been lazy Saturday and lazier Sunday, skipping more than half the daily chores, which leaves him playing catchup most of the morning, well into the afternoon, only starting Monday’s tasks as the sun starts to dip in the sky. By the time he hauls his ass through the door, it is late, the sky black and the clock on the stove reading quarter to twelve. 

He talks himself out of calling you then easily; it’s late, you are probably asleep. He doesn’t want to wake you.

By Wednesday, he’s caught up on his daily chores, and is through the door by six. A reasonable time to call. But a tiny voice in his head says NO, and he takes a long shower instead.

Thursday seems promising, but when he picks up the receiver, the damn thing starts ringing before he’s even had a chance to dial, and suddenly Steve Murphy’s voice is on the other end, barking at him. “Javi! We still on for dinner tomorrow?”

He fucking forgot.

“Uh, yeah!” Javi chirps, trying not to sound as caught off guard as he feels. “Yeah, yeah, what time you think you guys’ll be here?”

“Six okay?”

“Yeah,” he says again, the word already feeling stiff on his tongue. “Yeah, six is great.”

“Good,” Steve replies. “Livvy’s excited to see her Uncle Javi.”

He forces a chuckle. “I’m sure she is.”

Steve pauses, and then, “You fuckin’ forgot, didn’t you?”

“Oh, shut up, Murphy,” he throws back. “See you tomorrow.”

Steve starts cackling. “Goodnight, Peña.”

The next day, he cuts his day short, in honour of his guests. He’s gotta cook a damn meal, for chrissakes, which means a trip into town for groceries other than whiskey and that instant mac and cheese garbage he’s been living off of. It’s easy, and tastes surprisingly good with a glass of Jack Daniels.

He’s not quite sure what leads him to wander into the bakery. It’s on the main drag, a few blocks down from the grocery store, and he managed to park his truck a few shops down. Something about the bright red awning draws him closer, his curiosity getting the better of him, and when he sees the array of sugary goodness in the window, his stomach rumbles something fierce, and before he can think twice, he’s pulling the door open, bells tickling above.

Javier goes absolutely stock-still when he sees you behind the counter.

The inside is just as bright as the out, candy stripes on the walls, illuminated display cases filled with all sorts of treats. One of those old-fashioned cash registers, brassy and imposing. You’re busy with another customer, handing the older woman a box tied with a bright red bow. You’re laughing as she says something, thanking her as she hands you money, grinning when you hand her back the change.

“Have a good night, Mary,” you say as the woman takes her box and turns. “Tell Paul I said he has to share that cake!”

The bell above the door rings again as the woman leaves, and then you and Javi are the only two standing there. There’s no way you haven’t realized that he—

“You never called.” Your voice is clear, unwavering, and you spread your hands wide on the countertop before leaning down and pushing your chin into your hand, nailing him to the spot with your stare. Javi stares at his boots.

“I know,” he starts, reaching up and rubbing the back of his neck. “I know, I was gonna, I just…” He pauses, inhales deeply and lifts his head. “I don’t have an excuse, I’m sorry.”

You balk slightly, brows raising as you straighten, stepping a little closer until there’s only the counter separating the two of you. “Wow, how honest of you.” The corner of your mouth quirks, but it’s not remotely close to the smiles you’d offered at the bar that night. Your shoulder lifts. “It’s okay, you know, if you didn’t want to call. I won’t get upset or something.”

“No,” he says far too quickly. “No, cariño, believe me, I wanted to. I really wanted to, and I have been meaning to. This is just…” He pulls at his collar, shoving his hand through his hair. Fuck, it’s hot in here. Or is it just him? “Would you have dinner with me?” he breathes out the question, the words a rush. “Saturday?”

You almost flinch, your eyes widening. Javi tenses, waits for the rejection he believes is coming. Why would you agree? He never called, even after meeting you in that bar had felt like the first good thing in a long time, and then he just shows up here, clearly where you work, out of the blue, bewildered as all hell, and asks—

“Yes.”

Javi can’t stop the smile that breaks across his face, and you give him one to match. His heart is racing. He steps closer to the counter. “I should have called.”

You nod, agreeing. “You really should have.”

“I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“It’s my aunt’s place,” you explain, toying with the string of your apron. “My cousin moved to Florida for school, and she really needed the help, so here I am.” You lift a finger, pointing it in the air. “And no, that’s not the long story requiring alcohol.”

Javier chuckles, crossing his arms over his chest. “Then I look forward to hearing the actual story.”

“As you should,” you say, your expression turning almost triumphant. “You should bring a notebook; I might just quiz you after.”

He laughs again. “I’m sorry I didn’t call.”

You lean forward on the counter, the space between you growing even smaller. “Play your cards right on Saturday, and I might just forgive you.” You glance around, eyes darting towards the door before your voice drops. “Though, there’s one thing I think we need to do before then.”

“What’s that?”

Without another word, you reach out, curling your fingers in the collar of his shirt and dragging him down to your level. You kiss him soft, lips meeting so gently Javi can feel himself melting into you already. Your mouth tastes like powdered sugar.

His cheeks are on fire when he pulls back, immediately licking the taste of you off his lips, half a mind to kiss you again. You’re beaming, thumb tucked between your teeth, and Javi almost stumbles back a step. “I should…” He rubs the back of his neck, gesturing towards the door. “I’m gonna—”

“Okay,” you say, the word tinged with laugher. “So, Saturday?”

“Saturday,” he agrees. “I’ll pick you up at seven?”

“Seven is good.”

“Okay.”

“Okay,” you echo, another little grin on your face. “Goodbye, Javier.”

“Bye.”

He’s halfway to his truck when he realizes he didn’t get a fucking dessert, or your address. He abandons the idea of the former as he clambers back into his truck and starts the engine; he’s sure Connie will bring something, perfect guest she is.

As for the latter, well, it’s a perfect excuse to call you.

[luveline]

ok so i’ve been thinking about a line in one of your steve zombie au drabbles where steve says something along the lines of “you only stop taking to me when you’re mad” . Maybe we could get a fic where they get in a fight and that happens? i love your writing so much 🫶🏼

thank you for your request ♥ steve zombie!au ♥ I am not good at writing fights so I did them making up! fem!reader 1.2k

The silence is icy cool. You look up at your bedroom ceiling and its small yellow line of water damage and blink. You haven't cried since your argument, though you've felt like you could a couple of times. 

It's the longest gap of quiet you've had with each other in a long time. Not counting when you're asleep, you and Steve talk a lot, and when you're sleeping you're touching, so it doesn't feel like you aren't talking. 

Now you're both straight in bed, on your backs, hands close but not touching. Not talking.

The window is open, springtime air infiltrating the room. It smells like the wet mulch of sycamore leaves, chilling your skin uncomfortably. You cover your chest with your arms. 

"You want me to close the window?" Steve whispers. 

Your words feel like mush in the back of your throat. You worry you'll cry if you speak. 

Fuck, you hate fighting with Steve. It's a great thing to communicate with one another, and you're good at it — you'd spent a long time learning to get along. Love makes it easier to forgive infractions, but fights still happen. 

It's the possible consequences of a fight that freeze you up. 

Steve says your name softly. "Come on, don't give me the silent treatment." 

"I'm sorry," you say genuinely, your voice all stuck together like you've swallowed a big lump of taffy, "I don't mean to." 

"I know. I'll close it, okay? It's…" He stands up. "Cold." He sighs. 

You're still mad. You're upset by some of the things he'd said. Underneath that is a searing, unquenchable thought. What if he dies tomorrow and you wasted tonight being mad? What if he gets bit? Shot? Has an aneurysm? You want to stop being mad but anger doesn't work like that. You can't will it away. 

Steve closes the window. The frame plunks. You turn your head to watch him climb back into bed, and, buoyed by your looking, Steve slides in on his side and meets you head on. He smells like hand soap and the low hum of a day's worth of sweat. It isn't the worst smell in the world —you're used to far worse— and you kind of like it. You tilt your head toward his and breathe in sync. 

"I was wrong when I said you were being selfish," he says quietly. "When you explained it to me, I got it. But I really would be happier if you tried to keep the room clean."

"I'm sorry," you say again. 

You try not to fall back into the defensiveness you'd felt earlier. You'd taken your insecurity in yourself and projected it on your relationship.

Steve waits. 

"I didn't realise you were cleaning up after me so much." 

He puts his hand on your hip, a warm handprint seeping into your skin. "I don't really mind cleaning up after you," he says sheepishly. 

He shouldn't have to, though.

You're being honest, you hadn't noticed that he was keeping things in certain places, organising your stuff, turning your tiny room into a clean, safe space for the both of you. But when he'd tried to tell you, you'd gotten defensive, and he's quick to frustration, and tada, your first fight in the loved up months had occurred. 

You don't know what to say. You don't really want to talk, your body focused almost completely on the shape of his palm where it presses into you. 

"Just talk to me," Steve says. 

"I don't know what to say." 

"Say anything," he encourages, his hand travelling under your t-shirt to squeeze at the naked skin under your chest. 

"I don't want to fight again." 

"Then we won't." Steve bursts forward and kisses you. Despite its sudden nature it's a soft thing, close-mouthed. He pecks you twice and breathes a sigh against your lips. His hair brushes over your cheek so lightly it tickles. 

"I shouldn't have said you were selfish. I'm sorry, baby." 

He'd actually called you a selfish asshole, which had hurt a shocking amount. Name-calling isn't really a thing you guys do anymore, and it had surprised you, but… 

"I think I deserved it for brushing you off. For not noticing how much you do in here," you murmur. 

"We've haven't talked about it before, I don't blame you for not taking it seriously." His hand moves to the small of your back. He pulls you in, and only after he's closed the gap between you does he ask, "Can we stop fighting?" 

"You're not still mad?" you ask. 

"Not really. Are you?" 

You wrap your arms around him. "Maybe a little," you admit. "I don't think it's your fault, though. I don't know." 

"Be mad if you want. Have space if you need it, even if it's gonna drive me crazy, but please don't stop talking to me." 

His voice sounds uncharacteristically small. 

It might be silly, but any anger you'd been holding onto dissipates just like that. You tuck your face into the nook over his shoulder, fingers splayed over his back. You kiss his neck gently. 

"Stevie," you mumble. "Sorry. I'm not mad, okay? Are– are you?" 

"I just told you I'm not." 

"I know, but sometimes I think you'll tell me what I want to hear." 

Not to be full of yourself, but you know Steve loves you. It makes a lot of things easier, most things in fact, but it makes understanding how he's feeling in moments like this harder. You both want to sweep it under the rug and be sweet on one another again, but avoiding the issue will only make it bigger. 

"What do you want to hear?" he asks lightly. 

"Steve." You laugh, rubbing the tip of your nose against the neckline of his shirt. It pulls. 

"I'm not mad. I think all the mad kind of went away after I called you an asshole. Which I'm sorry for." 

"You've called me worse." 

"I'm sorry for that, too." 

You drop your head back on the pillow to get a good look at him, locking your gaze onto his. His eyes look very dark in the dim light of the room. The sun is setting quickly. Soon, it'll be night time. 

"So we're both sorry," you say, twisting a piece of his hair around your finger. "And I'm not gonna stop talking to you. You couldn't make me. You could break up with me and I'd still follow you around asking stupid questions." 

He tries not to smile. A laugh bubbles between his lips, and it's like the sun comes out right there in your tiny dorm room in Michigan. 

"Shit, I love you," he says. 

You push his chin up to kiss the underside of his jaw. "I love you too." 

[mafiasliege]

The Proposal, Part 1

(hey guys! So I randomly had this idea of the JamesonAvery proposal so I thought to share it here. This is my first time writing a fic btw. Let me know how you feel about it. Also, it's in 2 or maybe 3 parts.)

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

Present Day

Jameson Hawthorne never gets nervous.

Almost all the time.

Almost.

"What did you do now?" Nash said, walking the line between his usual drawl and slight accusation. Apparently, he was the first one to have gotten Jameson's 911 and come to the tree house.

"What makes you think I did anything?" Jameson replied, but he knew why Nash would say so.

"We know you, and right now you look like you haven't slept in days." Xander said as he climbed in from the window. His brothers knew him too well. Even from behind him, Nash could immediately tell something was going on. Xander too.

"That's because I haven't." It was true. He was too excited in the plane back from Paris to sleep. And scared. The world was changing.

"Did sun rise from the west today?" Grayson said. His carefully calculated mask fell, he seemed too puzzled by Jameson's expression and continued, "you look... nervous." Jameson didn't bother replying. Everyone was here now.

He was going to tell them. Now. It seemed simpler in his mind.

Clearly not.

"Before you say anything, Jamie, this time, whatever you're about to tell us is not something that's going to stay in the tree ho-" Xander came to a halt abruptly when Jameson plunked down a ring box on the wooden table. Simplest way of getting it done was to rip the bandaid.

Either Jameson's brother were too shocked or they'd died standing.

"Is-Is that what I think it is?" Grayson was not-yelling by the difference of a hair. Jameson just nodded.

"Oh my god. Oh my GOD!" Xander tackled Jameson. Soon Nash and Grayson joined. The tackle hugs never got old. And something told Jameson that some things would never change.

Like his brothers.

They'll be here forever.

"You haven't even seen the ring!" Jameson said as Grayson pulled him up. He opened the deep green velvet box. Inside was a beautiful oval-shaped Emerald- a shade of green so captivating, as though it was daring you to try to look away. They couldn't.

It looks like Jamie's eyes, Grayson thought suddenly. Something told him Avery would think so too, afterall she'd probably spent ages looking at his eyes.

"It's gorgeous, Jameson" Nash said. "But you know I have to ask, do you think you're ready to get married? You're 22."

"Who said anything about getting married? Avery and I could stay engaged till we're ready."

He shot back, and realised too late what Nash had meant to ask.

Are you sure she's the one?

But Nash was smiling. They all were, actually. He'd said it so easily. So easily, it was like breathing. That's how certain be was about Avery. Nash had gotten his answer.

"Jamie…" Xander was looking at the ring. The inside of the ring. "It's engraved-"

"I know."

Nash and Grayson moved to Xander's side to see the ring.

SMG • AKG

"Where'd you get the ring?"

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

The day before

It was 9 pm. Nine in the cold, cold night of Paris. Jameson had waited seven months for this. Seven months of secretly tracking one small ring- a ring more valuable to his beloved heiress more than almost anything. It was a miracle that he'd been able to hid all of it from Avery. Tracking and finding the ring was hard enough, let alone getting the owner to sell it to him. What if they didn't. Luckily, it had ended up in an auction house.

First it went to Layla's pawn shop in Connecticut, then to a buyer in Washington, whose wife sold the ring during their clearly shitty honeymoon in Italy. From there it moved all across Spain, Scotland and finally, an exclusive auction house in France.

He could still remember their conversation during their second vacation to Tahiti all those months ago, sitting near his heiress on Te Pari, a cliff jumping spot.

She'd told him about what she read in one of her mom's letters, about an emerald ring her mom gave her on her 15th birthday. With their initials engraved. Apparently Toby had given it to Sarah as a gift when Avery was just a baby. He'd asked her to give it to Avery when she was old enough.

Of course, when she was old enough, her mother was dying of a rare disease, one that required very expensive treatment. So, poor 15-year-old Avery had to sell the ring in a pawn shop.

He remembered feeling like someone had stabbed him in the heart with a dagger. Avery could practically bathe in emeralds now, she even owned diamond and emerald mines. But she'd never get that ring back.

That's what she thought.

"Mr. Hawthorne" a very French voice snapped Jameson or of his thoughts.

"Mr. Laurent" Jamie shook the middle-aged, suit-clad Frenchman's hand. He handed Jameson a green velvet box, and Jameson handed him a balck envelope with a cheque.

"I'm surprised you came all the way here to get the ring. We could have brought it to you" Mr Laurent said. But then Avery would've known. He'd told her he was taking her plane to Scotland to check in on the upkeep of Vantage- his paternal family's castle that he'd won. Jamie checked the inside of the ring.

SMG • AKG

Yes. Yes yes YES.

"Worry not. I'm just glad to have it."

And he was. So much, he could only imagine how happy Avery would be.

Now the hard parts.

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

Present day

Grayson was the first one to break the silence after Jameson finished telling his story.

"When are you going to do it?"

"The day she came here,"

Jameson shot his brother the most Jameson Winchester Hawthorne smile.

"Tomorrow"

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

(Part 2 will come up soon. Hope you enjoyed it! Thanks!! :))

[thornsnvultures]

cw: self-indulgent fluff, injection medication, taking unspecified medication, unspecified chronic illness, needles, chronic pain, Eddie being a wonderful soft supportive bf, 632 wc

"You're amazing."

The plunk of your used injector hitting the bottom of the plastic container you store them in to be disposed of safely is a satisfying sound. It means you're done. The 15 seconds of torture between taking off the cap and finally pulling the needle from your thigh is over.

"How am I amazing?" You store the container away, back in its place where it can be easily ignored until the next dose is due. Eddie pulls you into his lap and wraps his arms around your waist. The kitchen chair is old and creaky and can barely support one full grown adult let alone two. But that's what you get for ten bucks at an estate sale.

Your leg is sore around the injection site, throbbing dully as the medicine pumps through your bloodstream. Eddie's thick fingers massage the area, rubbing gently along the outside of your thigh, occasionally brushing under the edge of your sleep shorts.

"I don't know how you do that all the time. I'm such a wimp with needles. And I hate seeing you in pain like this."

It does hurt. You try not to show it for just that reason but sometimes you can't hold back a pained "fuck!" that bubbles past your lips. It makes you and Eddie cringe but you're more accustomed to it than he is.

"What did they have to knock you out with a baseball bat when you got your tattoos?"

"No," he drops his head and chuckles into your arm, still massaging your leg. It doesn't hurt much anymore but it feels so good you're not about to tell him to stop. "I was so baked. Wasn't thinking about the needle at all. The one on my chest was the hardest. I almost blacked out twice."

"You're so cool."

"I know, right?"

Eddie squeezes you with the arm around your tummy and presses a kiss to your arm, your shoulder, your cheek. He stops massaging your leg to cup your cheek and pull you towards him so he can reach your lips. You melt into his touch, his lips, and scaly kiss him back.

"Come lay down with me?"

Eddie strokes your cheek and narrows his eyes.

"Not until you take something for the pain. C'mon," he pats your butt and you stand, dutifully taking the pain relief meds he gives you with a big glass of water.

"Jeez you're turning into my mom. No! You're turning into Steve."

Eddie gasps and grabs his chest like he's been shot. "How dare you! You will pay for those words, my dear."

You stick your tongue out at him only to squeal in surprise a second later when Eddie grabs your waist and tickles you. He spins you around, trapping you with your back against your chest, and you fold as he assaults your sides. His ringed fingers dig into your ribs as tears spring from your eyes and you beg for mercy.

"I give, I give! You're nothing like Steve. Please!"

"That's what I thought," Eddie chuckles by your ear. He doesn't let you go. He holds on tight to you and waddles you back to your bedroom so you can lay down and rest.

Once you're tucked in, Eddie presses a kiss to your forehead and pulls you into his chest.

"You're so brave, so amazing for taking care of yourself, baby. I know it's hard, I know it hurts, but I'm here for you. I'm here."

You nod your head against Eddie's chest, breathing in his scent through his well worn band tee. His hand finds your thigh again, rubbing in soothing circles. The pain is still there but all you can feel, all you can think of in this moment is Eddie. And it feels amazing.

[use-your-telescope]

When Everything's Made to be Broken - Chapter 4: I'm Not Sure if Anybody Understands

Summary: The Avengers try to learn more about their newest team member.

Author's Notes: Reminder - this is a continuation of the same song from the last chapter. ❤️

If you enjoy, please reblog!! I'm a lil' blog (less than 100 followers, haha) and reblogs really help me out <3 Also, feel free to send me a message or comment if you want to be added to the tag list.

Next chapter should be coming November 5th.

Content Warnings: Some alcohol mentions. Angst if you squint?

Word Count: 6,762

Read on AO3 | When Everything's Made to be Broken Masterlist

Song: Some Nights - fun.

Well, some nights, I wish that this all would end 'Cause I could use some friends for a change And some nights, I'm scared you'll forget me again Some nights, I always win (I always win) But I still wake up, I still see your ghost Oh Lord, I'm still not sure what I stand for, oh What do I stand for? What do I stand for? Most nights, I don't know

“Hi, we’re Your Friendly Neighborhood Bar Band, and we’re here to play some music tonight.”

With the golden warmth of stage lights washing over her, Theo grinned at the cheers that came from Jack’s introduction and started plunking out the opening notes of their first song.

She started playing with the group shortly after accepting her position as an attending at New York Presbyterian, having been introduced by a colleague whose brother happened to be their drummer. That was a few years before; since then, the group had grown to add a couple other members and expanded their repertoire to cover almost anything and everything. For Theo, it was as much an opportunity to keep herself learning and practicing new instruments as anything else. Music was one of the few things in the world that brought her any sort of solace, as it was something her parents both placed a great value in, so any excuse to create music was welcome. 

Theo didn’t run the show - they all rotated out who fronted certain songs, and she was not needed to provide on-stage banter - but she did switch instruments most often, as she was the only one who had taken the initiative to learn all of the one-off instruments for the times when a song had a saxophone or a trumpet and it just didn’t sound right without that specific instrument. 

It was the last show she would play before news broke of the newest addition to the Avengers. Knowing full-well that meant she would need to step back from pre-planned appearances  or shows, she did her best to soak up each and every moment of the evening in hopes of tucking it away for a rainy day in the future. The stupid jokes that Jack told the crowd, Kelsie moving around so much that she inevitably crashed into Theo mid-song, the drunk guy in the audience who shouted at them to play Wonderwall, the scent of stale beer and sweat under half-lit fluorescents… 

Well, she soaked up everything except for the crowd of famous faces in the back. 

The Avengers lurked near the bar, each member’s posture stiff and uncomfortable as they watched the crowd drunkenly dancing and singing along to every word. For spies and assassins, they weren’t exactly great at blending in. If anything, they stuck out like a sore thumb.

She should have known they’d find their way there.

After pulling the stunt at the Avengers’ briefing, it was only a matter of time before they sought Theo out for some observation of their own. Catching the entire team off-guard was incredibly satisfying and certainly got under their skin… Which was exactly the point. If they thought she was predictable and stable, they’d trust her and want her to stay. And with the individual and collective egos in that room, she needed to knock them all down a peg or two. Pulling the rug out from under the entire team was an effective reminder that they weren’t as prepared as they thought they were.

And boy, did they need that reminder.

She’d seen the videos of their attempts at taking on shadow beasts, and if her initial suspicions were correct about the source of the pests, the Avengers certainly had no idea what they were in for… 

Screaming cheers from the audience snapped Theo out of her wandering thoughts. She pushed the irritation about presence from her mind; the Avengers already took up too much of her headspace. She didn’t need to let them ruin the night. 

No, she had a show to play and she’d be damned if she didn’t make the most of it.

She shook her head, bringing her attention back to Jack as he worked the crowd.

“Theo Amaris on the… well shit, she plays pretty much everything at one point or another. Piano, guitar, vocals, violin, cello, sax, trumpet— not only can she play pretty much every instrument and make it look easy, but she’s got two fucking Grammy nominations for it.”

At the announcement, Theo’s cheeks burned. 

The nominations weren’t for writing music - a friend of a friend was working at a recording studio and they needed someone to come in and help with recording a bunch of parts for a major recording musician. Theo was a broke med student in the middle of her residency at the time and well, the gig paid well. All she had to do was show up, play the instruments, sign an NDA, and she got more than her fair share of pay. Of course, now that the album was out and her name was in the song credits the NDA no longer applied, but at the time she wondered if the paycheck was more to keep quiet about it and less about recording the music.

The album ended up getting two grammy nominations - album of the year and country album of the year. 

“I didn’t write the songs, so I don’t know if it’s fair to say the nominations are mine… I was recruited to play a few instrumental parts, and I did it because I was a broke med student who needed money!” Theo interjected, earning a laugh and cheers from the crowd. “I didn’t even know who the recordings were for until a week before the album came out.”

“Theo what, like it’s hard? Amaris here, making us all look bad as she casually racks up Grammy nominations while in motherfucking med school. Actually, hey look, our next song is from that album!” Jack replied, earning a louder round of screams from the crowd. 

Anyone who had been to a show of theirs probably knew what was coming, since Jack liked to point it out every single time they played - but tonight, Theo found herself wishing he hadn’t revealed that detail… After all, she had a bunch of superheroes watching who would definitely ask questions about that endeavor, and she wasn’t overly excited about any unnecessary interaction.

“Yeah, yeah… okay, let’s get this over with.” Theo forced herself to laugh, but shook her head. “This is Everything has Changed.”

Of the songs she helped record, Everything has Changed was one of her favorites; she always thought her sister would have loved the song. It was light and sweet and romantic, and Rae was always a romantic at heart.  

God, what she’d give to see her sister again.

“All I knew this morning when I woke / is I know something now / know something now I didn’t before / and all I’ve seen since eighteen hours ago / is green eyes and freckles and your smile / in the back of my mind making me feel like / I just wanna know you better…” 

From the back of the crowd, a pair of green eyes caught hers, and she couldn’t help but smile.

If there was anyone she wanted to know better, it was the intrepid Asgardian sorcerer who had long shed the reputation of wanting to conquer Earth and replaced it with equal parts charm, mystery, and wit sharper than the daggers he fought with. The sole interaction she’d had with him only increased her curiosity: Loki was one of the few, if not the only Avenger who didn’t express reservations about her before they were aware she was in the briefing, and he seemed almost amused at the way she pulled the wool over the others’ eyes.

If the way he studied her, obscured in shadows from the back of the crowd, was any indication, maybe he wanted to know her better too.

So this is it? I sold my soul for this?  Washed my hands of that for this?  I miss my mom and dad for this? No, when I see stars, when I see –  When I see stars, that's all they are When I hear songs,  They sound like a swan - so come on…

Midgardian sports were utterly dull.

Loki would never interact with such activities if he had the choice. Midgardian sports were slow, overwhelmingly attended by drunken old men who could be outsmarted by a child, and required little skill to compete. The fact that the activity brought pleasure to anyone was confounding; what was even more confounding was that Theo willingly participated in such activities - as it turned out, she played the sport which Midgardians could not even agree on a name for: soccer, also known as football in locations which actually applied logic to the naming of their athletic endeavors.

Of course, the moment Maximoff discovered this morsel of information about the newest recruit, she insisted that the Avengers attend Theo’s next match and cheer her on.

…Which meant that when she and Thor badgered Loki into joining, Loki spent the entire journey to the event pondering ways he might slip away without anyone being the wiser. Yet, the blinding grin and exuberant babbling of his brother as they arrived at the match diminished Loki’s resolve. Clearly the older Odinson was thrilled that the younger brother ventured out to attend, and he did not have the heart to ruin that enthusiasm. Maximoff, meanwhile, was absolutely buzzing over the opportunity to hopefully bond with Theo, chattering constantly about how nice it was going to be to have another female around the tower and all the things they would do together.

Even with hats and sunglasses to obscure the more defining features of their appearances, having their visages plastered on televisions and across the internet meant it was nearly impossible to go anywhere without recognition. Sure enough, they barely found a place in the stands for the group to sit when the hushed comments and glances started. Less than thrilled about the eyes on him, Loki kept his attention fixed on the field and remained quiet in hopes of not drawing any additional attention.

In theory, the Midgardians had moved on from New York. Thor insisted on sharing what actually caused the invasion as a way to prove Loki was not a threat, even though it left Loki feeling rather embarrassed that his weakness was put on display. The Midgardians, it seemed, were more forgiving than Loki anticipated. He was not ridiculed for being so feeble-minded that someone could control him. Even so, he would be foolish to believe they had entirely forgotten about what took place or what Loki was capable of. Whether or not they would admit it, they likely still regarded him as a threat.

He tried to shake the thought by focusing on the scene in front of him.

Down on the field, the two teams were preparing for the match. Spotting the reason for their attendance was easy - between the silver braid swishing as she dove in front of a net and the different color uniform from everyone around her, she stood out like a sore thumb. Even with the padded jersey, shin guards, and protective gloves to add bulk, it was clear her height was disproportionate to her frame. 

“Starting goalie for Duke all four years, captain her senior year.” Romanoff leaned into the group as she shared the information. “Multiple offers to go pro, but she turned them down to go to med school.”

“Is Duke good?” Maximoff asked.

“Consistently one of the top ranked college women’s soccer programs.” Parker answered, “one of MJ’s friends was scouted to play there.”

“What’s the band on her arm?”

“Captain band,” Romanoff replied, “means she’s leading the group when on the field.”

As the team wrapped up a drill, one of the other players approached Theo. After listening to whatever the other player had to say, Theo glanced over at the stands. The moment she noticed the Avengers was obvious by the scowl and the dramatic eye-roll that crossed her face. 

“Brother,” Thor nudged Loki with his elbow, “I’ve never seen a Midgardian who could scowl quite like you, but it seems you may have competition.” 

Loki turned to find Thor smirking at him, to which he responded by arching an eyebrow at him.

Fortunately, Thor was unable to find any additional opportunities to drag Loki into the mix of conversation, as shortly thereafter the players were brought on the field and the match began.

Though the Avengers were attending a soccer match, Loki found himself less focused on the sport and more interested in using the event as a character study. 

If the team was an army, Theo was its commander. She constantly called out instructions and warnings, all the while strategizing and directing her team members as though they were her troops. This was a drastic departure from the almost chaotic, mischievous woman that crashed the team’s briefing. If this was what she was like when placed in a high-pressure situation, perhaps Fury was wise to seek out her involvement. 

It was fascinating to watch her work. Loki found himself ignoring the action at the opposite end of the field in favor of trying to detect what Theo saw that influenced her commands. She moved with laser-sharp precision to prevent any scoring opportunities, all the while continuing her command of the troops.

Perhaps there was more to this particular sport than Loki realized, as it wasn’t long before he found himself actually enjoying the spectacle. It certainly helped that the other team provided a formidable challenge, with neither team scoring during the match or in overtime. 

Somehow, that was not the end. Apparently, the final tie-breaker was a “penalty kick shootout.” While the teams prepared themselves for the challenge, Shuri explained the process to those who were unfamiliar (which included Loki, though he would not admit it).

Each team alternated attempts at scoring. Theo’s team scored on their first shot. The opposing team aimed for the lower left corner, but Theo was too fast - she dove to the ground with arms outstretched, catching the ball before it could enter the net. The second penalty kick from Theo’s team was also a success, this time directed to the opposite side of the net.

When the opposing team took their second shot, Loki studied Theo as she prepared to defend against the other team. She crouched low, hands up and ready to catch the ball at a moment’s notice. Her attention was not on the ball, but just beyond; when the other player approached the ball, she watched their body for clues about where they aimed. 

Top right corner was the target, but they overshot and the ball went out of bounds.

“So if Theo’s team scores and the other team misses one more time, Theo’s team wins.” Shuri whispered as if she had a particularly exciting and scandalous rumor to share, though nothing about what she divulged was private information and it was far from salacious.

The swish of the soccer ball hitting the back of the net confirmed a third goal for Theo’s team.

“No pressure on Theo,” Barnes remarked, “She’s about to decide the championship.”

Right - Maximoff had mentioned something about a league championship among the five hundred other remarks about the Silver Shadow, but Loki hadn’t really been listening.

According to Parker, it was an incredible kick. The ball curved as it flew through the air, heading for the top left corner of the net. The spiderling claimed it was a shot that most professional goalies wouldn’t have been able to stop. There was no way Theo could stop it.

A flash of neon purple careened towards the top left corner, getting enough air to punch the ball out of the way before diving to the ground. 

Not even a moment after she stopped the shot, raucous cheering erupted from the stands. Maximoff and Shuri squealed, jumping up and down. Parker, Barnes, Belova, Wilson, and Thor openly wore their surprise on their faces, arms spread wide as they whooped and hollered. Romanoff and Rogers were not as open in their surprise, but they still leapt to their feet with excitement; then again, even Loki was on his feet cheering. 

Pushing herself up to her knees, Theo whipped around, confusion rampant across her face as she checked whether the ball made it into the net. When no ball was found, she turned back to the field, eyes wide and mouth hanging open as she located the ball’s final resting place - about a quarter of the way down the field, next to the sideline.

Theo sprung to her feet, joining in on the celebration as she realized that she had, in fact, stopped the shot. Her teammates surrounded her, everyone cheering as they jumped on top of each other and embraced. 

Once the adrenaline of the match wore off, Loki grew anxious to return to the tower. The others, however, insisted on staying long enough to congratulate Theo, as they felt it would help her feel more welcome. 

Theo, however, seemed perfectly content to avoid the Avengers. Not far from where they sat was another group who she must have recognized, because she ran over to them and greeted them with hugs, conversing with them for far too long to be considered idle chatter. Most of her posse seemed to be close to her age, though one small child and one petite, elderly woman were among the group. It was the elderly woman who pointed towards the Avengers and made some remark; they were just far enough away that Loki did not hear what she said, though the smirk that accompanied it set him on edge.

When the others departed and no one else served to distract her, Theo finally approached the Avengers. The excitement from speaking to the other group had been replaced with open apprehension as she drew near, perhaps feeling as uncertain about the interaction as Loki felt about the Avengers’ presence.

“Um… hey,” Theo chewed the inside of her cheek as she offered a half-wave to the group.

“Hey Theo - Congratulations!” Maximoff beamed, “You were great out there!” 

“Thanks. I didn’t realize you were coming to the game…” Theo’s gaze flitted around the group. “You know I start on Monday, right?“

“Yeah, but we thought it would be nice to come cheer you on,” Romanoff said, “Though your reaction when you first spotted us was something else…”

“My what?” Theo furrowed her brow, glancing around the group.

“The eye roll and scowl that rivaled Loki’s…” Thor said, arching an eyebrow at Theo, who appeared utterly baffled, only for realization to dawn on her face moments later. 

“Oh - shit, that wasn’t you,” Theo let out a quick, nervous laugh, shaking her head. “Allie, one of my teammates - her ex-boyfriend was here and she saw him. He’s been trying to get back together with her, but she can do way better. That had nothing to do with you.”

When she was met with a collective look of suspicion, she laughed a second time, a lilting sound that floated through the air. “You really think I’m going to lie with the God of Lies right here?”

Though he hid it well, the moniker made Loki cringe; it was one of many that reminded the world of his past, insidious and ever-looming over him like a storm cloud. 

Everyone stared at Loki, waiting for his assessment.

“I do not believe she is lying,” he concluded, “though I must agree that it was quite a dramatic response. I almost wish to meet whoever the expression was directed towards, as they must have truly annoyed you to garner such a reaction.”

At that, Theo snorted. “No, no you don’t want to meet him. He’s a waste of space.” She paused, shifting the duffel bag she carried around to her opposite side. “Well… thanks for coming. I’ll see you Monday? Unless you just randomly show up at something else… But I’m pretty sure I don’t have anything else you can crash, unless you showed up at my job… Which I wouldn’t recommend, because that usually involves someone getting hurt.”

“We are pretty good at that,” Wilson replied, winking at her. “But we’ll hold off for now.”

She laughed, bidding them good night before disappearing into the dark.

For someone who had no desire to become an Avenger, she seemed rather amiable. Perhaps that was her nature, or maybe there was something else at play.

The question of what that might be plagued Loki the entire way home.

Well, that is it, guys, that is all  Five minutes in, and I'm bored again Ten years of this, I'm not sure  If anybody understands This one is not for the folks at home, Sorry to leave, Mom, I had to go Who the fuck wants to die alone  All dried up in the desert sun?

The night of the newest Avenger’s introduction to the public, the whole team assembled for Stark’s party. 

At this point, it was practically a routine. New members would be announced, the whole team would woo the press so they would get ideal coverage, and then they’d settle into training the new members and sending them out on missions.

These parties were nothing difficult. Centuries of being a prince on Asgard equipped Loki with the decorum and etiquette to charm his way through formal social gatherings. Unlike Thor, who won his acclaim through battle, Loki did not have the helm of a warrior to win him praise; instead, he earned recognition through skilled diplomacy and knowing how to work a room. It was nowhere near his favorite way to spend an evening, but there were worse ways to pass the time.

Besides, his ability to navigate these events was a significant reason his reputation had improved among the Midgardians. After saying the right things and charming the right people, New York seemed to be a distant memory for them. In some ways, Loki envied their ability to forget the incident so easily. 

The circumstances around the event still haunted him, though he’d never outright admit it. 

Nevertheless, once he made his rounds and played the part of charming Asgardian Prince for the press, Loki preferred to situate himself near the bar. It offered an easy view of the room, provided easy access to beverages, and kept him far enough from the dancing that when Maximoff and Barnes inevitably had too much to drink and wanted him to join them on the dance floor, he could easily evade them. Midgardian liquor didn’t do much to intoxicate Loki, but he found that he did have a taste for cocktails he could sip throughout the evening. The other bonus of having a beverage in hand was that it made him appear more approachable. 

Given his history, anything that made him look less threatening was a benefit.

Theo was easy to spot, silver hair tumbling down her back in loose curls. She wore a black jumpsuit with no back and a long keyhole across the front that highlighted her chest. It was a smart choice - she knew she would be on display and dressed to kill. The jumpsuit balanced power with just enough skin to provide sex appeal, yet provided enough coverage that no one would clutch their pearls at the sight of her. 

From his preferred spot near the bar, Loki observed Theo’s interactions with the important guests of the party. She stuck close to Stark’s side, smiling and nodding as they went from guest to guest. She carried herself with grace; shoulders back and chest out as though she were a dancer, gracefully flowing from group to group throughout the evening. However, it seemed as if she hardly spoke a word. Stark looked perfectly at home with a beautiful woman on each side - opposite Theo, Potts seemed like a natural as she caught up with party guests, laughing and chatting without reservation.

Occasionally, Theo would scan the room and lock eyes with Loki - when they did, Loki would smirk and raise an eyebrow at her, while Theo would widen her eyes in what appeared to be a silent plea for saving her from the small talk. 

“So, what do you think of the new girl?”

Loki turned to find Romanoff next to him, leaning up against the bar as she stole a sip from his drink. 

“That was mine.” Loki commented, ignoring her initial statement. A perfect red lipstick print now adorned his glass.

The Black Widow pursed her lips for a moment, glancing up as she seemed to swirl the beverage in her mouth. “An old fashioned - did you order it because you’re old?” Belova teased, appearing next to the Black Widow, who pushed his drink back to him. 

Loki rolled his eyes, though a begrudging smile flickered across his lips.

“What do you think of her?” Romanoff’s gaze returned to the party, taking in the scene. Potts had stepped away, leaving Stark and Theo to continue their tour of guests. 

“She seems… tolerable.” Loki remarked with a small shrug.

“High praise from you,” Romanoff said, still watching the Silver Shadow. 

“I heard she’s already giving Stark a hard time.” Belova leaned in, smirking as she glanced between her peers.

“Stark would certainly benefit from developing a bit of humility,” Loki mused, avoiding the lipstick mark as he took a drink.

Romanoff snickered, while Belova let out a snort of laughter.

“She made you laugh.” Romanoff casually mentioned, studying Loki for a reaction.

Loki simply cocked an eyebrow at her, waiting for her to state whatever her point was.

“She made you laugh, you say she’s tolerable, and you’re over here watching her instead of making your usual rounds. I’d say you’re interested in her,” Romanoff concluded with a smirk.

“Are you not curious about her?” Loki inquired.

“Oh, I’m curious - ” Romanoff snickered, “I’m curious about how someone managed to attract your attention so quickly. Normally you take a while to warm up to people.”

“You’ve not spoken to her yet?” It was a surprising piece of information: Romanoff normally made a point to meet new team members right away.

“No, I haven’t had a chance to.” Romanoff shrugged. “But based on your response to her, I’m clearing time on my calendar and making a point to talk to her.”

“I would have guessed based on her attire that you helped her select her outfit.” Loki contemplated. “It looks very… Romanoff-esque.”

“No - I asked Wanda and she didn’t help either. That was all the new girl. Which reminds me, I want to ask her where she got that jumpsuit. It’s cute.”  Romanoff commented, tapping her chin.

Stark stepped away as Theo engaged in a conversation with a pair of journalists. Despite her polite smiles and nods, it only took a moment for her eyes to start roving the crowd as she chatted, subtly searching around for an out. 

“You gonna go rescue Rapunzel?” Belova teased, noticing the way Theo’s eyes landed on Loki. 

“I thought the Widows were desperate for an opportunity to talk to her.” Loki said, turning around to flag the bartender for a refill.

“Nah, go rescue the princess. After all, you’re a prince.” Romanoff pushed off from the bar, standing up. “If you bring her a drink, I’m sure she’d love it.”

“You say that like I’ve never spoken to a woman before.”

“You’ve picked up plenty of women, and men,” Romanoff clarified, “but given you’ll actually need to talk to her and not just seduce her, I figured you could use a tip or two.” She winked, sauntering into the crowd with sister in tow before Loki could reply.

Damn those women.

As the bartender approached, Loki hesitated - what would she even want to drink? Normally he’d consider wine or champagne, but she didn’t seem like she’d want any of the standard options. 

They had similar styles and personalities; perhaps it was a safe choice to order the same drink as he enjoyed for the evening. 

With the extra beverage in hand, he made his way across the room to Theo.

“… I’m very grateful for the opportunity and the kindness the team has already shown me-” Theo politely answered one of the journalists as Loki arrived. “- Oh! Hey Loki.” She perked up, offering him a warm smile and a slight nod, which he returned. 

Loki turned to the journalists and greeted them, flashing his most charming smile and honeyed pleasantries. They blushed, having warmed up to him over the course of his tenure as an Avenger. As much as he didn’t enjoy the show, he was a stunning performer.

Returning his attention to the newest Avenger, he offered the second beverage to Theo. “With all the speaking you’ve had to engage in this evening, I thought you might appreciate something to drink.”

A grateful smile crossed her face as she accepted the drink. She gave it a sniff and a sip, her smile expanding to a grin as she realized what was in the glass. “Old-Fashioned?”

Loki nodded, impressed that she knew what it was. “Given we seem to have similar taste in apparel, I thought we might also have a similar taste in beverages.”

Theo chuckled, taking another sip. “You’re not wrong.”

Confusion regarding the comment was obvious, based on the narrowed eyes and arched brows that both journalists wore. They glanced between the two Avengers, as if waiting for elaboration.

“When I first met Loki, we unintentionally wore matching outfits,” Theo quickly explained, “right down to the identical shoes.”

“Well, it seems you managed to figure out your outfits so you wouldn’t have the same issue tonight!” One of the journalists replied, eliciting a small, forced smile from Theo. While Loki didn’t find the comment amusing, he also forced a smile to play along.

“Theo, there is someone I would like you to meet.” Loki spoke up, sending a quick wink to the newest Avenger. Turning back to the journalists, he flashed his most dazzling smile. “Would it be alright if I borrowed the guest of honor for a little while? I promise to return her.”

“Of course!” The journalists grinned, falling for the silver tongue’s charm. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Dr. Amaris. We look forward to seeing what you accomplish!”

“Thank you, pleasure to meet you as well.” Theo bowed her head with another small smile that didn’t quite meet her eyes. The forced smile could have been deemed her trademark expression of the evening. Perhaps she was not keen to be trapped in a room full of strangers.

Loki took her free hand and began to weave through the crowd. Glancing to the side, he slipped through a doorway and down a hall before ducking through another door to a private balcony, pulling Theo behind him the entire time. 

When they arrived, Theo glanced around at the empty balcony and back at Loki, raising an eyebrow in silent question.

“You appeared as though you wanted a reprieve from idle chatter,” Loki explained, dropping her hand. “This is where I escape to when I’ve had more than my fill of Stark’s parties.”

“Ooh, a secret hiding spot!” A grin curled over Theo’s lips, and for the first time all night he saw her eyes light up. “Thanks for the out - this shit was exactly the opposite of how I want to spend my time.”

“Would it surprise you to learn that most of us would rather spend our time anywhere but these insipid gatherings?” Loki said, turning to look out across the city. “I suspect Stark and my oaf of a brother are the only two who truly enjoy these… Events.”

“So why do you do it, then?” The question was asked earnestly, if her expression was anything to go by. “Can’t you just say no?”

“I suppose it would depend…” Loki paused to sip his beverage. “I have sat out my fair share of these gatherings, though they have also been… Beneficial… For my reputation. Generally speaking, I attend these functions so I minimize the incessant blundering and badgering Thor inevitably would subject me to should I refuse.”

“Didn’t peg you as someone who could be bossed around by your brother.” 

There was a hint of teasing in Theo’s comment, but Loki still bristled at her words. “My brother hardly bosses me around, mortal. I simply understand that tolerating these functions serves me well, even if they are not the manner in which I care to pass time.”

Theo snickered, but let the subject fall to the side in favor of amiable silence.

“I’ve been curious to ask - how was it that you came into your magic?”

Crossing her arms, Theo leaned against the balcony rail. “It’s a long story.”

“We’ve all the time in the world.” Loki mirrored her posture, catching her eyes with a sly smile. “I am certainly curious.”

“It involves another realm and a case of mistaken identity.” Theo answered, perhaps a bit too quickly. “You can use your imagination.”

“What realm?” Loki pressed, finding himself rather amused by the way Theo seemed to dodge each of his questions. “It is difficult to imagine unless I have a sense of where it takes place.”

A sigh and rolled eyes were Theo’s initial response. “On a scale from one to ten of topics I’d like to discuss, I’d rather deepthroat a chainsaw than talk about where I came from.” The sarcasm in her comment was amusing, yet it was obvious the subject was uncomfortable.

Loki, sensing that it wouldn’t be a good idea to push the topic, turned to look out across the skyline. “So… not a pleasant location. Duly noted.”

“It’s a story for another time.” Theo flashed a surprisingly haunted, yet grateful smile. She turned back to gaze at the city, keeping her eyes on the skyline in the distance as she continued. “So, Loki, prince of Asgard, god of mischief and trickery… Give me the scoop. Is Sleipnir real?”

Loki nearly fell over laughing from the surprise change of subjects. Of all the questions he’d been asked, Sleipnir was typically a subject most were too afraid to ask of, much less within an initial conversation.

She certainly seemed fearless.

When he finally regained his composure, he turned to find Theo beaming with a quiet pride. 

“Hardly - It was a tale spread for a bet that perhaps was too tantalizing for Midgardians, as they’ve clearly not forgotten it.” A grin curled across his lips, letting a chuckle escape. “However, there are other tales. As a child, I knew just enough to be dangerous…” Loki started, launching into a series of tales from his youth of the tricks he pulled on his brother and the trouble he caused. A sparkle came to his eye as he began to weave imagery of a tiny, doe-eyed and raven-haired Loki causing all kinds of chaos in Asgard. 

He only paused when the pair both laughed so hard that they had to stop and gather themselves, both wiping tears from their eyes.

My heart is breaking for my sister And the con that she called "love" But then I look into my nephew's eyes Man, you wouldn't believe The most amazing things That can come from Some terrible nights

Letting someone else talk was a desperately needed reprieve.

It wasn’t that Theo was out of her element; on the contrary, she was more than comfortable with rubbing elbows with the high and mighty. She’d done this hundreds, no, thousands of times before. Granted, it was a long time ago and in an entirely different place, when everything she understood about the world was almost opposite to how it stood now; regardless, she wasn’t out of practice.

Still, she hadn’t anticipated that her first day as a member of the Avengers would play out quite the way it did. Tony Stark’s ego wasn’t a surprise - he had a head so big it could be seen from another solar system. He was, at least, nice enough to take her around and introduce her to people instead of throwing her straight to the wolves. A Norse god with the personality of a golden retriever talking her ear off as he gave her a tour of the building she’d be living and working in? That was a bit of a surprise. She thought Thor would be more hot-headed and less… cheerful. The eyes of the other Avengers constantly watching her was to be expected - after all, she knew the reputation that preceded her. 

But now, she stood on the balcony of a skyscraper taking in the New York skyline. A different Norse god stood next to her, spinning tales that would sound stranger than fiction if it weren’t for what she’d already seen and what she’d already lived through. 

Loki was harder to read. In the briefing, he seemed amused by Theo. When he was among the group who crashed her show, he regarded her with a certain sharpness that seemed wary, yet intrigued. At her soccer game it seemed like he regarded her with skepticism, not to mention that he looked less than thrilled to be there. 

When Thor barged into the room where Loki was reading on Theo’s tour, she thought Loki was going to stab him until he realized she was present… Perhaps he wasn’t always as charming and witty as she expected. Theo struggled to believe that Loki, the prickly, aloof god, was actually related to Thor, the literal sunshine puppy god, much less that they were brothers. 

Then again, maybe Loki wasn’t so angsty after all. After all, the god of brooding was next to her, a twinkle in his eyes and a grin dangling from his lips as he regaled her with tales of mischief and tomfoolery. Even if some of the tales seemed a bit far-fetched to her, the laughter they coaxed from her was something almost unfamiliar; it had been years since she laughed that hard.

“You know, I have to confess: Thor may be onto something.” Theo had barely gotten her laughter under control before she spoke up.

“Is that so?” Loki’s face sobered as he studied her, waiting for what she would say next.

Theo glanced over at Loki, giving him a nod. “Thor wouldn’t stop extolling your virtues throughout my whole tour. He insisted I get to know you. Any idea why?”

Loki snorted, imagining the thought of Thor harassing their newest team member. “You exaggerate, I’m sure. Still, he can be… overzealous at times.”

“He seemed to think we’d be great friends.” 

Loki’s skepticism was on full display as he studied her, trying to see if she was lying.

“Well, you’re out here with me after rescuing me from small-talk hell, you brought me one of my favorite drinks based on a gut instinct, clearly we have a similar style, and we both wield magic…” Theo pointed out, holding up her drink as if to make a point. “So maybe it’s not as overzealous as you think.” 

“Touché,” Loki agreed, though it was strangely reluctant. “I… used to ruffle people’s feathers.” His voice got quieter and lost some of its bravado. “Thor worried I would never find friends due to past transgressions, or grow accustomed to life on Midgard. While that may no longer be the case, I suspect he still worries; it is likely why he still drags me out with him.” 

Of the answers Theo was expecting, that… wasn’t it. Maybe some clever quip about Thor wanting to set his brother up with someone so he’d stop giving Thor shit about dating a mortal, or something funny. This seemed… almost a little too personal.

Time for a change in subject.

“Tell me another story - What was the best prank you’ve played on Tony Stark?”

That was all it took for Loki to perk up and launch into another elaborate story that led to side-splitting laughter.

Perhaps the golden retriever god was onto something - maybe they would be good friends.

Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all.

The other night, you wouldn't believe The dream I just had about you and me I'd called you up, but we both agreed It's for the best you didn't listen It's for the best we keep our distance, oh For the best, you didn't listen It's for the best we keep our distance, oh

[2baabbies]

haiii bae, its kai. hardest decision of my life u've put me through here /j

for the image reqs, 4 with hyune, sfw, maybe on ur way home from a date, and suddenly it starts raining... dancing around or kissing in the rain and just having fun :3 (they/them pronouns please pretty)

lol I know, I’m sooo mean 😉 here’s some hyune requested by kaiiii

🖤 cloudburst (hyunjin x reader) 🖤

Words: 880

Flufffff

gn!reader

Request guidelines here!

!!ATTENTION!!

Reposting this fic to other platforms, including as a translation, is expressly prohibited. Do not copy, alter, or claim this fic as your own. Absolutely no permission is given to anyone to post my works, even with credit, and this fic should only appear on Ao3 or Tumblr under my accounts. Reposting is not only plagiarism, but a direct violation of my wishes as the original writer and owner. Please respect writers and don’t steal!

Likes, reblogs, asks and comments are very welcome and appreciated <3

~~~

Your eyelids flutter as the music in the car fades into static. It returns to normal, but still occasionally crackles as you drive home. Your head lulls to the side to look at Hyunjin, in the driver’s seat, humming along to the song. He steers with one hand and the other is linked with yours on the center console. You had started the day together with a cozy breakfast date and are now heading back home. You yawn, and Hyunjin glances at you with a soft smile.

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

“We’re almost home.”

“Mhm.”

Your attention is drawn to the windshield as something plunks hard against the glass. A moment later, another fat drop of rain falls. They soon begin to fall in succession, thudding on the roof and blurring your view. Hyunjin sighs and activates the wipers.

“What’s wrong?”

“I was really hoping we would beat it.”

“It’s only rain, Hyune.”

“It’s pouring,” He whines, “Plus it makes everything so gloomy.”

You laugh and give his hand a reassuring squeeze. When you arrive on your street he pulls up so your side is closest to the curb. You take the opportunity to detach your hand from his when he shifts the car into park. He sighs again, gazing with longing through the bleary window at your shared home.

“Should we wait it out?”

You shake your head.

“Baby, it’s just rain”

Hyunjin slumps dramatically in his seat, pouting at you as you smile sympathetically.

“It’s cold, and wet. I don’t want to get wet.”

You peer out the windshield at the bright sun breaking through the clouds. It was only a sunshower, and would pass soon enough.

“It’s not too bad.”

You share a look as he huffs and crosses his arms. You roll your eyes playfully and unbuckle your seatbelt.

“Stay here, I’ll be right back.”

“What? You can’t abandon me!”

You step out of the car without hesitation and the rain immediately cascades over you. You lean in the open door to reply and let the rain drench you as Hyunjin reaches out to you weakly.

“Calm down, I’m going to get you an umbrella.”

“Noo…”

You laugh and step away as he lets his hand drop into the passenger seat. You leave the door open as you have a stretch. The sun warms you despite the heavy downpour and you take a moment to enjoy it. The radio sings out of the open door while you do a small spin and bask under the rain.

“You look like you’re having fun!” Hyunjin calls out.

“It feels nice!”

You wander out to the quiet street, mindful of traffic as you splash through the quickly forming puddles. You do another spin and when you turn hear the driver’s door being slammed shut. You grin as Hyunjin jogs over to you, swiping his long hair out of his face as he closes the distance. You decide to splash him with water as he catches up.

“Hey!”

You laugh and turn to run, then yelp when he grabs you from behind and swings you off your feet.

“Come here, trouble.”

“Hyunjin!”

He guides you back to the sidewalk as you teasingly ask:

“I thought you didn’t want to get wet?”

“You made it look fun.”

“Did I?”

You loop your arms over his shoulders and tilt your head as he pulls you in. Music is still playing from the idling car. You are both silent for a moment, studying each other’s expressions and listening to the popular love song pouring out from the speakers. He smiles and bumps his forehead against yours as rain continues to pour over you both. You giggle and let him rock you as you melt in his arms.

“I like this song,” He murmurs.

“Me too.”

You shut your eyes and hum as he reaches up to swipe away wet hairs clinging to your face. He pets your cheek with his thumb and leads you into a slow dance. You rest your head on his shoulder and sigh happily as he sways you in his arms.

“Love?”

“Hm?”

Hyunjin gently cups the nape of your neck as you lift your head. His gaze is tender as you open your eyes and smile at him. This smile only widens when he begins moving in, and presses a gentle kiss to your lips. You stay like this, sharing kisses in the rain, until you naturally separate. He holds your cheek and gives you an eye-crinkling smile before he speaks.

“Let’s go inside, hm? I don’t want you to get sick.”

“Okay…”

He leads you to the house as he begins searching his pockets for his keys.

“Hyune, the car?”

“Oh, right!”

You laugh as he runs away, then scrambles to turn off the car and grab his keys through the passenger’s door. You wait for him to close and lock the car while fondly shaking your head. He unlocks the front door to your home and ushers you inside as he pecks the side of your head.

“y/n?”

“Yeah,” You reply as you shuck off your soaked shoes.

When you straighten up Hyunjin is still standing in the open doorway, sunny rain pouring behind him.

“You make everything brighter, you know that? I love you.”

“I love you too, Hyunjin.”

[candybowbeansies]

Worlds Apart

warnings/notes: in which the keys of a deceased loved one's cherished vintage toy piano sends you to a different time and place. this is inspired by Star Sky by Two Steps from Hell, but i keep it vague-ish for your imagination. <3 reader is gn, kind of knows how to play piano but hasn't in years, sads with a pinch of salt, and Nai clicks with you its like you're soulmates(read: you are, and he has an uncanny sense of it so slight plant courtship) 🥺 while your experiences in it may not be exactly the same, he knows loss dreadfully well 😭 hints of depression and reader has a broken arm, but worry not, its all on the mend!

~

It's been a journey and a half.

Many years after the death of someone you held dear, you refound their beloved vintage toy piano. You remember dusting it off, your fingers barely hovering over the keys. You closed your eyes, tapping a key.

Plink.

It was in desperate need of tuning.

Plunk.

With the limited keys and only one hand to play, you made do; performing something that sounded at least remotely similar to your favorite verse.

But when you finished and opened your eyes, you saw yourself in a very unfamiliar place. It was dark, dusty, the air was dry, and you vividly remember only a few rays of sunlight sparingly peeking into the room. You remember how hot it was, how the old chair beneath you creaked in protest as you turned to get up.

You remember the cloaked figure in the dark doorway, your eyes catching critical icy blue hues that almost seemed to glow, analyzing you.

Glow, yes. Beneath the cloak, that figure was glowing.

Everything that followed was a blur. In just under a week, you found yourself whisked away to a Great City called July. The cloaked figure-Millions Knives, you'd learned-was a man of few words, his actions being the loudest. When you found him after several days cooping yourself up in your room, you had first followed a melancholy melody, the mutely resounding keys tugging familiarly at your heartstrings.

Outside the large overarching doorway, you stood and listened. You understood.

Sadness, the feeling of loss, the numbness that only time could provide, along with the heavy shackles of something far greater. In all honesty, no words could describe it in detail. No words were needed, because you understood.

You spent each night after that one as his sole audience, his performance beckoning you to get to know him, welcoming you to share with him who you were.

It wasn't until one night, the room's silence bid you the courage to enter, shimmying through the cracked open large doors, mindful of your cast.

The lights flicker on upon your entry, and you are greeted by a massive room; empty, save for the giant statues of winged gaunt creatures lining the walls, each of their expressions unique, frozen in horror and agony-a feeling you recognize all too well-an organ of monstrous proportions on the opposite side of the room.

Lonely.

Your fingers twitched with the desire to play it, your heart thudding against your ribcage as you cautiously move forward.

You reach out your hand, fingers tracing over well-maintained keys. Bravely, you press them once, the sound reverberating through the grand room and through your very soul. The feeling felt electrifying; the sound it made just begging you to play.

You swing your leg around to sit on the long bench-one made for two, you might have realized, if you weren’t aching so much to play the keys in front of you.

You could only do so much with one arm broken, but every fiber of your being screamed you needed this.

So you began to play that song, which held so many memories that had turned bitter through the years, yet had stayed so sickeningly sweet. Your unbroken arm moves, fingers dancing over the keys, creating a familiar melody of the haunting reminder of lost joy, of lovely memories turned bitter, the torment of losing all precious to you, the anger that comes with helplessness, the isolation and the rejection…the hollowing void that follows, called bitter acceptance.

You concentrate heavily, fingers dancing over the stretch of elaborate keys on your side of the grand instrument. You almost don't notice the experimentally added rhythm as you finish the first verse-almost, until you begin the chorus, stopping abruptly when you turn to see his much larger hand.

Scared, you slowly look up; his captivating icy blues seemingly boring through your soul. In them, you recognize genuine curiosity. You can't help but stare at him for several moments. His eyes eventually break from yours as he looks down.

The low pitch rings deeply as he presses the keys once. His hand rises, hovering as his fingers travel to the next ones, again, then again, playing that experimental rhythm that melts away your fear.

You smile a small smile, moving your only hand to start from the beginning. His piercing icy blues curiously analyze the keys as he settles next to you, and it takes him only a few moments to fill in the emptiness.

Just like this, the organ speaks for the both of you-a wordless, melancholic melody that while originating from worlds apart, shared strikingly similar meaning.

Just like this, he had finally begun getting to know you, just as you were getting to know him.