#will put on ao3 later once it is awake hours

[miasmaghoul]

Take Your Licks

Rating: E

Pairing: Swiss/Rain

Word Count: ~3.4k

Contains: stoned ghouls, Rain's hardcore oral fixation, lots of tongue kissin', oral, first time rimming, Rain being a pillow princess and Swiss being just fine with that

Summary: Swiss has something new in mind, and Rain isn't sure how to feel about it. He figures it out quick.

A little somethin' for our beloved @endopyre, whose ghoul designs give me heart eyes. Happy birth(yester)day Endo, I hope you like it!

On a chilly fall night, there's nowhere Rain would rather be than right here.

Kicked back on the couch with a belly full of Mountain's spiced cider, his head resting on Swiss's lap while wind rattles the ancient windows and the tv drones on. Everyone else has gone to bed, it's long past midnight, but Rain doesn't feel inclined to retire quite yet. Not while Swiss is massaging his scalp with one hand and feeding him the end of a joint with the other.

They'll get there eventually, though - he can feel Swiss's bulge slowly growing against the back of his neck. Rain chuckles as best he can with the press of Swiss's fingers against his lips, and the other ghoul shoots him a comfortably stoned grin.

"Feelin' good, starfish?" Rain hums through his exhale, offering his own dopey smile as Swiss chases his smoke, biting the air.

"Not as good as you, apparently," Rain teases, the slightest bit slurred. The seated ghoul raises an eyebrow and Rain turns his head, nuzzling his cheek against Swiss's zipper with a pointed look. Swiss snorts, gives a rude roll of his hips, and Rain purrs.

"Listen to you," Swiss coos, ruffling Rain's hair and dropping the burnt end of the joint into his empty water glass. "So noisy over my cock and I haven't even given it to you yet." Rain replies with a nip to the fabric of his fly and Swiss gives him a wink. "When did you become such a slut, huh?"

Rain chitters low in his throat, a pleased sound. His own semi twitches against the seam of his sweatpants, but the dark fabric hides the movement.

"'s that a complaint?" He drags his tongue over the place Swiss's shaft sits, saliva darkening the denim, and Swiss tilts his head.

"Nah," he says, dragging callused fingers along the pointed shell of Rain's ear. "Just surprised it happened so quick."

Honestly, so is Rain. It's only been about six weeks since his summoning, but he's certainly made the rounds.

Aether had been his first, an accidental thing borne of extreme need; a reaction to a full moon that had risen a mere six nights after his arrival on Earth. It had worked him into a frenzy, body and mind stuck at fever pitch, and Aether had been the first one at his door. An encounter filled with overwhelm, fear and a lack of control Rain truly couldn't wrap his head around.

He'd barely had a chance to explore this new body on his own, let alone with someone else while in the throes of the moon's influence. Aether had been as kind and gentle as he could, but Rain couldn't help his panicked reactions. He'd spent hours in Aether's arms once the gnawing need in his guts had dissipated, sobbing into his chest and shaking like a leaf while the other ghoul soothed him.

Something about it, though, had been intoxicating. Once the mental stress had settled, a new ache had flooded his body. Something deep and insistent, focused between his thighs, and the next morning he'd woken Aether up demanding they do it all over again.

He's given everyone a test drive since then, so to speak. They all have their plusses and minuses, their pros and cons.

Save for Swiss.

There's something to be said for every part of Swiss.

The shine of his golden eyes. The strong, angular cut of his jaw and the scratchy salt-and-pepper of his short beard. The breadth of his back and shoulders. The muscular but soft plane of his chest and stomach, all dusted in a delightful layer of very grabbable hair. The sheer size of his hands, of his fingers, and the expert way they move. The curve of his ass, the thickness of his thighs. The way his fat cock hangs between them, the way it flushes so dark when it gets hard.

All of Swiss is immaculate, really. But as far as Rain is concerned, nothing beats his mouth.

(Seriously, it's ranked number one in his little black notebook. The one that lives in his nightstand, right alongside the lube and a handful of vanilla flavored condoms. They're Dew's favorite.)

Rain stares at it while he laves at rough denim, at the plushness of Swiss's lower lip and the way his mouth curls up at the corner. It's open just enough that Rain catches glimpses of fang every few breaths. (Those are nice too, wonderful when dragged over his pulse point and sunk into the meat of his thighs.) Swiss's tongue pokes between them every now and again while Rain laps at his rapidly thickening length, and every time Rain spies that flash of pink his rhythm falters.

Swiss, ever observant, doesn't miss it.

Rain's eyes track every bit of the way Swiss drags his tongue along his bottom lip, entranced by the shine it leaves behind. It's like he's moving in slow motion, dragging it out, but maybe that's just the weed. Impossible to say. Either way, Rain's own tongue has gone useless in his mouth, lolling out the side of his mouth. He's drooling onto Swiss's crotch, but neither of them seem to care.

"You're staring," Swiss murmurs, gently flicking Rain's ear. "'s my tongue really that interesting?"

He knows the answer, but a reminder never hurts.

"Uh huh," he gurgles, pulling back his own tongue and unsubtly palming himself through his sweats. Swiss doesn't miss that either, and Rain shivers a bit at the way his lids go visibly heavier. "Since I know what it can do."

Swiss grins with all his teeth, his eyes flash with mischief, and Rain's stomach does an anticipatory flip.

"Speaking of," Swiss rumbles, relaxing back into the couch, "there's a certain tongue-related activity I've had in mind for you for a while now." A large hand comes to rest on his stomach and Rain groans when it slips beneath his t-shirt, warm against his skin. "You up for somethin' new, tadpole?"

Rain's head feels delightfully hollow. He isn't sure he's heard half of Swiss's words, the pressure behind his eyes stealing his focus, but the drag of rough fingertips along his waistband helps to ground him. His eyes follow Swiss's tongue once again, currently swiping over his fangs.

"Mmm," he hums with a nod, "sure, but can we do something I want first?"

"What would that be?"

"Gimme that fuckin' tongue," Rain demands, reaching up to grab the other ghoul by the back of the neck. Swiss's smile widens, and he doesn't fight when Rain drags him into a lazy, filthy kiss.

He refuses to let Swiss's tongue leave his mouth - licking at it, sucking it, giving it sharp little nips that tinge the kiss with copper. Distantly, Rain feels himself being moved, lifted, but he really can't be bothered to open his eyes and see what's happening. He's far too busy trying to eat Swiss alive.

"Easy," Swiss pants, voice thick, "let a guy breathe, we don't all have gills."

Rain chirps, burying his face in Swiss's throat instead. The spell of his tongue seems to be breakable by lack of sight and contact, and Rain comes back to himself enough to realize he's being carried. His arms slung over broad shoulders, long legs around narrow hips, Swiss strides down the hall towards his room. Rain feels his cheeks heat. He must have been really out of it to let someone carry him this far without realizing it.

"Let me down," he mumbles, lips rasping against Swiss's stubble. "I can walk, you don't -"

Swiss shushes him, kisses his horn.

"Nah," he sounds so pleased, "you're indulgin' me, I can let you play princess tonight."

Swiss's hands squeeze his ass and Rain's cock throbs, trapped between their stomachs. He gives his hips a wriggle, chasing stimulation, and Swiss gives one of his cheeks a slap instead.

"Stay still," he says, firm. A tone Rain rarely hears, but goes straight to his balls every time. He repeats his little grind anyway, and his reward is Swiss grunting and getting a solid grip on his slender waist. "Rain," he rumbles, and Rain's head swims, "patience. I don't want to trip and fall on top of you."

"m sorry," Rain mumbles, not sorry at all, "can't help it. You feel so nice." He rocks again and Swiss sighs.

"Look at me, Rain."

It's an order, and Rain thinks they won't get very far tonight if Swiss keeps sounding so authoritative. It's doing funny things to places he's still learning about, and he can feel where his dick has started to get his pants wet. Still, though, he meets Swiss's piercing gaze. The sparkle there betrays his calm demeanor. He opens his mouth and Rain immediately zeroes in again.

"Stay."

So much fang.

"Still."

So much tongue.

Rain's jaw drops and Swiss catches him in a wet, nasty kiss that serves to switch Rain's brain right off. All that matters is Swiss invading his mouth, the warmth of it sensual in the best way. He tastes like weed, like cider, like whisky and black pepper, and Rain has the sudden desire to taste nothing else ever again. Nothing but Swiss.

He doesn't come back to himself so easily this time, not even when Swiss pulls away for air. The other ghouls makes sure their tongues stay in contact always, and something in Rain's chest burns with it. But soon enough their lips meet again and Rain loses it all again, content to float in a space not quite anywhere. The breaks start to get longer, but Rain only notices in the most cursory way.

He doesn't come back in any meaningful way until Swiss's mouth disappears from his for minutes, and as the cobwebs filling his skull begin to fall away several things become apparent.

One, he's on a bed. Whose bed? Swiss's probably. It smells more like him. Either way, not important.

Two, he's naked as the day he was summoned. On his back, blinking at a dimly lit ceiling. He moves his legs only to realize they're folded, his feet planted on the mattress an his thighs spread. He can't get them to close, something's in the way. Which brings him to,

Three, there is something warm and wet and the juncture of his hip and thigh. Sucking pressure, it makes his bones vibrate. There are whiny, feminine sounds bouncing off the walls. Are they coming from him? Rain shakes his head in an effort to return to his body, managing at length to lift his head. It still takes a moment for him to focus enough to make out Swiss's prone form.

He's between Rain's newly marked thighs, shoulders pinning them open while he mouths at a twitching muscle in Rain's groin. There are bites all over - his chest, his thighs, his hips - in a dozen shades of purple, and he doesn't remember getting a single one. Fuck, how out of it was he? The thought makes his cock throb so hard he grunts, and Rain watches the blurt of pre it spits join a not-small puddle on his belly.

"So whaddaya say, sweetheart," Swiss sounds like he's far away, but the words feel familiar. Like this isn't the first time he's heard them. "You ready for somethin' new?"

"Yeah," Rain rasps, and his own voice surprises him. "Show me." It feels like he's been talking for a while, his throat feels sore, but he can't recall. What has he agreed to? Swiss purrs, low and lustful, and Rain thinks it may be the best sound he's ever heard.

"Good boy," he murmurs, licking his lips. That fucking tongue again. Rain blinks away the encroaching haze, forces himself to at least try to pay attention. Swiss shifts enough to get those large fingers on his thighs, patting them. "Gonna open you up now, okay?"

Rain blinks, nods without really meaning to, and Swiss gives him another wink. Before he knows what's happening those hands are at the backs of his knees, and Rain gasps when his legs are pushed apart and up towards his chest. It shocks something in him, and snippets of conversation come with it.

"You want to what?"

"Lick you out," Swiss's phantom voice echoes through his memory. "Get the tongue you're so obsessed with on you and make you sing real sweet."

Rain wonders if his stomach swooped like this the first time they had that exchange. The memory perks him up enough to catch his breath, caged by his own legs and Swiss's strong arms. Swiss gazes at him past the flushed, slick length of his cock, bobbing rigid over the flat plane of his stomach, and Rain flinches when he feels warm air ghost over his very exposed hole.

"You're so pink here," Swiss coos, "Pink and wet. All for me? I think it is." He shimmies down the bed - if Rain were able to focus on anything, he wouldn't have missed Swiss grinding into the mattress along the way - placing a wet kiss on each of Rain's balls along the way. Each one has him gasping, but the more he remembers about the things he's forgotten tonight, the clearer his head gets.

"You're gonna lick me...there?"

"Only if you want me to," Swiss had said with a shrug. Casual. "Think you'll really like it."

"Does it go...like..." Rain had made a middle school gesture, one finger stuck through a ring of two others. "In...inside?"

The sudden flash of a fox-like grin has Rain's eyelids fluttering, even just as a memory.

"Only if you ask very nicely."

The press of warm lips against his taint snaps him back to the present.

"S-Swiss," Rain hisses, grabbing on instinct for his wagging cock, achy and purpled. "W-wait, wait -"

The words are little more than a whisper, and Rain is somehow completely unprepared for the hot slide of that tongue over his slick, twitching hole.

Rain gasps, loud and shocked, as Swiss licks up to his balls and back again, pausing to circle that tight pucker. The feel of it is singular, electric jolts up his spine and deep in his pelvis. Every slow, wicked pass of that rough tongue rips utterly involuntary sounds from his throat. Quicker than he can make sense of, the hesitance and reluctance simmering at the back of his mind evaporate.

"Fuck."

It's good.

"Oh, fuck."

It's...it's so good.

He's being so loud all of a sudden. He knows it, his own yelps and whines echo around him, broken up only by the filthy sound of Swiss licking at him with what can only be called perverse reverence. Their eyes remain locked through it all, hazy cerulean with sparkling gold. Swiss looks amused, the corners of his eyes crinkles and his lips curved. Maybe more smug than amused, but Rain doesn't really care right now.

"Like it?" Swiss asks, his voice low and dark.

"Uh huh," Rain nods, breathless. He moves his leg and - oh, when had he started holding them? Had Swiss asked? "Keep going, please keep - oh."

It's faster now, just a little, but rougher too. Swiss punctuates his licks with full, messy kisses right on his hole. Every one has Rain's cock kicking and pouring pre, his skin slick and shiny with it. He can't look at it any longer, has to let his head thump back against the mattress so he can loose the deeply pained groan caught between his lungs.

"Knew you would," Swiss breathes, dragging careful fingertips along quivering thighs. He brushes soft knuckles over Rain's tight sack, and it draws all of Rain's attention back to the righteous ache between his legs.

"Fuck, touch me," he spits between grit teeth, drowning in the way Swiss worships him. His cock pulses in time with his racing heart, sways in the air. "Please, please touch it Swiss, please - fuck!"

Rain's tight pleas melt into high, hurt cries when Swiss does just what he asked. Wraps a large hand around Rain's straining shaft, grips it at the bottom and gives it a nice shake.

Swiss gives him a single stroke, a firm lick, and Rain's eyes roll back in his skull.

"Oh fuck," he gasps, "oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck -"

He's chanting it, a pained mantra pouring from between kiss swollen lips as though he can't believe any of this. He's sweaty at his hairline, and the more Swiss works him the more he shakes. He laps away like a thirsty dog, milking pre and slick and pleasure from him with each swipe. He twists his wrist just so, rubs his thumb over the frenulum, and Rain's whole being goes tense.

"Oh fuck," he squeaks, tight and almost panicky. He knows Swiss can feel the way he gets harder between his fingers, his abdomen going taut and his back bowing off the bed.

Swiss nudges at his pucker, twists his wrist, and it spells Rain's end.

He cums with a stuttering, breathy groan, spilling hot and heavy over his own chest and belly, coating his marked skin with stripes of pearly white. Swiss tugs him through the whole thing, milks him with short strokes and soft licks.

Rain barely feels any of it, at least at first. His mind has gone to soup, liquidized and useless, lost to pleasure and overwhelm. He doesn't feel it until he really feels it, sudden overstimulation that has hip dropping his shaking legs and grabbing for Swiss's horns, his hair, anything.

Swiss pulls back on his own, though. Releases Rain's slowly softening cock and presses soothing kisses to his thigh. Swiss smiles up at him, deceptively sweet.

"So, whaddaya think?"

Rain wants to tell him several things. Wants to say how good it was, but how overwhelming. So much pleasure being derived from an act he had never considered until maybe twenty minutes ago. One he had nearly panicked over when realization hit. He still has no idea how much time he lost when he was hypnotized by Swiss's tongue.

He wants to, but then Swiss licks his lips. He licks his lips and Rain notices that he's wet from nose to chin. It's a sight he's only been privy to on the few occasions they've shared Dew; Swiss always insists on burying as much of his face in the little ghoul's cunt as he can, until he's drenched and sated.

To see the same look on his face, the same wetness, just from licking him...it's enough to have Rain's body buzzing all over again.

"Again," he slurs, tucking his hands behind his thighs and folding himself. Exposing himself. "Do...do that again."

Swiss gives him a cheshire grin, nods, and for some reason Rain's fried brain has trouble processing why Swiss is hovering higher instead of slipping back down. Why he's moving to run that impossibly perfect tongue over his still-twitching abdomen. He doesn't quite manage to put it together, though.

So imagine his surprise when Swiss ducks between his cheeks, spits Rain's own mess onto his already slippery hole and dives in for seconds.

"Swiss," he chokes out, once his own stunned shout fades from his ears, "I - I want -" Rain's chest heaves, the attention being paid to his most sensitive spot hurtling him straight back into the realm of overstimulation. "Need...need - fuck!"

Swiss stares up at him, gaze heavy with pleasure, and Rain's soft cock gives a valiant twitch. He swallows hard, clenches around nothing, and forces the words to come.

"Stick it in," he demands, breathy. "Gimme your tongue. Put it - Lucifer - push it in and...and fuck me with it."

The last words are breathless and whiny, and Swiss huffs out a laugh. It blows cool against his heated rim, and Swiss pulls back just enough for Rain to catch sight of his tongue.

"Whatever you want, baby."

Rain's tired eyes go wide as he watches Swiss's tongue bifurcate and extend, the other ghoul dropping the slightest hint of his glamour. Goosebumps rocket up all over his trembling body, that flexible appendage slips inside his winking hole, and Rain keens.

It's going to be a long night.

[randomshyperson]

Best (Girl)Friends - Wanda Maximoff x Rogers!Reader

Summary: Wanda sympathizes with your willpower. 70 years on ice is a long time to wait for an intimate touch. And being the good friend that she is, Wanda offers you some help.

Warnings: (+18), some vague plot, smut with virginity loss, Rogers!Reader following all Wanda’s wishes, power bottom!Wanda, kissing, friends to lovers, mutual pining, explicit consent but Wanda being a tease and a bit possessive. | Words: 4.893k

A/-N-> I’m pretty sure this was a request, but I couldn’t find it anywhere. 

General Masterlist | AO3 | Wattpad |

-&-

Shield acted as if they won the lottery.

In a way, it felt like that. Two Rogers siblings found on the same day would probably yield some promotions within the teams responsible, and a nice image bonus with the US government. 

But while Captain America was found in a negative temperature on the other side of the planet, his sister destroyed an entire building with her sudden appearance inside a blue explosion a few hours later.

In your defense, you had no idea what was about to happen. 

One minute, you were inside a Howard Stark-designed marine suit at the bottom of the ocean. But in Shield's defense, you were disobeying the orders of your director, that is, Margaret Carter on the phone, who five minutes earlier insisted that she would not risk losing another Rogers and that reaching the cube was not worth the risk to your safety, but you still put on the prototype underwater suit and dived in search of the item, which, to you, was the key to finding your brother.

You were right, in a way. Touching the cube with the determined idea that you would like to see Steve again really worked. The problem was how it happened. 

The explosion was all around you, and you saw nothing but the beam of blue light that forced you to close your eyes. One moment you were deep in the sea, and the next you were in the middle of one of the Shield Secret Bases, a thousand of bricks flying around with the force of the explosion.

Your presence in the secret room of Project PEGASUS caused Shield to be on high alert, and a dozen rifles to be pointed in your face.

But it was all cleared up in no time and ended with your figure handcuffed on the seat of a government Jet on its way to New York.

Unlike Steve, you were awake. And not the least bit in the mood to follow Nick Fury's theatrical demands.

"That's to avoid shock, Miss Rogers-"

"Absolutely not, Nicholas." You cut him off impatiently, your hands-free since Shield had clarified exactly who you were. "The first thing I'm saying to my brother won't be a lie."

Nick sighed. "I understand it's a delicate situation, Miss, but Captain Rogers has been frozen for too long. An innocent fantasy is meant to lessen the shock of the truth."

You skirted Nick without caring about the speech. "There's no way to lighten news like this one. We're both in the future, for Chris’s sake! That it's absurd enough. No more lies, and let me see my brother for once. You have no idea how long I've been waiting for that." 

Fury didn't have the heart to insist, not only because he had another supersoldier getting him out of the way, but because of the emotion in your voice. He waved in dismissal to any soldier more curious about your determined walk, and no one interfered as you made your way to the room where they placed your brother.

Shield had begun to create a scenario around him that made you chuckle in irony. You dismissed the agent posing as a nurse with a look, and Nick allowed you to be alone in the room, and without wasting any time, you made your way to the bed.

Steve looked the same as he did the day he disappeared, and you felt a sob break in your throat. Maybe the sound woke him up.

He opened confused eyes at you, and unlike him, you had aged a lot since the last time he had seen you when you were still a child. 

"Hey, Stevie." Your greeting came hoarsely, laden with emotion. Steve took a moment to recognize you.

"Y/N?" He asked, tense and startled. You could almost see the gears of his brain working, the way he tried to recognize his surroundings as well. "God, how long have I...?"

"Longer than you can imagine, big brother. Much longer." You replied before hugging him tightly. 

This must have been the last entirely friendly interaction you had with your brother, a reunion bittersweet for its peculiarities that was unable to conciliate years of differences between the two of you. Nor did the ice erase your hurt over Steve sending you away from the war when your parents passed away, or make you forget the years of training and working for Shield in search of him once you were back in Brooklyn. Nor did it change Steve's view of how he wanted to protect and keep out of trouble - which included superhero work - his younger sister who he had vowed to take care of.

But it was indeed an undeniable amusement to the rest of the team that the personalities of the Rogers siblings were so blatantly different, and it caused some apprehension every time Steve had to witness you leaving the tower in some sports car borrowed from Tony Stark while dressed in leather jackets borrowed from Natasha Romanoff.

The apex that you were entirely corrupted for all that he expected from a proper 1950s girl came in the addition of a certain angry witch to the team a while later.

Of course, the close age - if one ignores the years between the time jump and your arrival - you and Wanda had made your friendship an inevitability. But this doesn't mean that witnessing your clear crush on the new Avenger wasn't giving your older brother a headache.

Natasha thinks he deserved some credit. Considering he was a white man from the 1950s who was frozen before appearing in a new century, Steve was pretty open-minded. She was pretty sure this was due to the closet years of keeping a secret crush on his best friend, but she wouldn't be mean enough to torment Steve with that. 

And besides this, you were also getting used to the new century. And with the possibility of being able to have feelings for Wanda in an open and free way, so different from the world you lived in before.

The witch, on the other hand, had the greatest of fun tormenting you as much as she could while she waited for you to be ready.

And these teases came at every opportunity Wanda could take, from summer days at the tower pool where she had an excuse to wear bikinis around you and make a complete mess of you with the "friendly cuddling" which is how she came to justify the fact that your room was hers now and that there was nothing more platonical than sleeping cuddled up to your best friend.

With each passing moment, you grew comfortable and certain in your own feelings, parallel to which you became more confident in your powers and Wanda began to feel that the tables were turning on her every time a tickle war ended with you using your super-strength to pin her to the bed or you could effortlessly carry her away from a training session or conflict.

It didn't take long for the situation to become unbearable - Wanda was sure she would combust in the next cuddling session if she felt your body against hers again without that leading to what she really wanted, so now she had to take drastic action.

Communication was always the key to everything.

"Have you ever had sex?"

Your cell phone fell hard on your face. Wanda giggled at the mirror reflection: she was on her back brushing her hair and stealing glances at your figure lying on the bed, still learning to use the current technology but definitely loving the whole thing.

Snorting in embarrassment, you pushed the electronic device down onto the mattress and massaged your sore face. "I'm beginning to think you enjoy seeing me like this."

"What do you mean?" She asks innocently, turning her attention to the ring drawer. 

"Disconcerted."

Wanda chuckles mischievously, running her fingers through the options and trying to decide between the items as you stare at the ceiling. "I know you're like 100 years old, but won’t you tell me that it never happened? Not even when you became a hottie super soldier?"

You grunted in shame, covering your face with your arm. Wanda giggled again, this time putting on one of the silver rings. You were too far away to notice how her fingers were slightly trembling, giving away how she was equally affected by the conversation. But unlike you, Wanda knew how to keep it cool very well.

"Wandaaa." You grumbled, and she almost dropped the subject when you added. "No."

"No, what?"

With a sigh, you removed your arm from in front of your face but didn't risk looking at her. "Back then...I just, I didn't have the courage I guess. You know, girls were supposed to be virgins to marry, in theory. And well, I wasn't going to marry anyone because I was too busy working. And when I got into the army, the vast majority of the guys I knew started looking at me with contempt and indignation, and then came the serum I just...didn't know how to handle the attention."

Wanda spun the stool she was sitting on toward you, listening closely to your words. 

You sighed shyly. "I mean I had opportunities, but I just didn't feel comfortable following them. I wanted... to be with someone who liked me. Not the super serum, you know? Most people were only talking to me because of it. They hoped to gain some kind of benefit from meeting the American Soldier. I don't know, maybe it's just me trying not to sound so... cowardly."

Wanda stood up with a sigh, and you swallowed dryly, keeping your gaze on the ceiling until her face appear in your field of vision.

"Detka, you are literally the bravest person I know." Reminded the witch, bringing a small smile to you. "And there's nothing wrong with not being ready, or waiting for the right person. Sex is intimate, it makes sense that you want it to happen with someone you like and who likes you back."

"Thank you for being understanding." You muttered, swallowing dryly when instead of returning to her previous activities, Wanda sat down on the bed next to you. With a sigh and shifting your gaze to the ceiling again, you ventured, "Have you?"

Wanda's teasing giggle brought a deep color to your face. "Have I what?"

Snorting, you retorted, "Come on, you're the one who brought this up."

Wanda pinched you gently on the belly, smiling at your complaint. “A few times, actually.'"

It made no sense at all to feel jealous of a time you didn't even know her, and that you were somehow in the past, but still, a bitter burn filled your stomach. Wanda, the telepath that she was, seemed to know exactly what you were thinking, and without caring whether it would make your heart stop or not, approached you to use your torso as her personal pillow. With two legs on which side of your hips, she stared down at you.

"But it was nothing outstanding." She began, using her fingertips to wander all the exposed skin of your neck and shoulders through your pajamas and having the best time in the world in watching every single hair of you shiver. "I kept making the same mistake in settling down for mediocre sex. No real feelings, no passion, much less love. Always end up frustrated and having to finish the job alone."

You frowned in confusion. "Alone...?" But it only took one look from Wanda for you to understand what she meant and choke, your face pink again. The younger girl giggled, leaning her elbow on you to rest her chin on her own hand and take a closer look. 

"Eyes on me, baby." She asked, hoping you would overcome your own shyness to do so. When you follow her request, Wanda was ready to risk everything. "You know I love you, don't you?"

You sighed, nodding. "I love you too, Wanda." Your confession was huskier than hers, and she had to ignore the sincerity of what that really meant in order to stay focused on that afternoon's goal. "Kind of the essential thing on the best friend package, isn't it?"

Wanda chuckled, rolling her eyes. 

Of course, you would make a joke to lessen the intensity of the moment, if she was nervous in all her confident glory, she could have sympathy for you, who was literally having to deal with your long-time crush practicing lying over you.

"Friends help each other, don't they? Especially best friends." She retorted, and you frowned in confusion.

"Yeah, I guess… why, did something happen?" Before your confusion could turn to worry entirely and you could finish the movement of getting up, Wanda pressed her hands on your shoulders and pushed you back on the mattress.  "Hey." You chuckled puzzledly, but the laughter died into an affected sigh when Wanda simply shifted in your lap completely, in a very non-platonic way.  "Right, whatever makes you comfortable." You mutter, very aware of the heat radiating from the girl's body on top of you, who just chuckled mischievously at your shyness.

"Relax, dorogoya." Wanda reasserted in a low, dangerously seductive voice. Her hands were on your shoulders still, rubbing your loose pajamas and somehow pushing them down to the limits, exposing as much skin as Wanda could manage. "We don't have to do anything you don't want to...but I also need you to tell me exactly what you wanna do and how ready for me you are."

Your throat went dry, and Wanda's dilated pupils were not helping the words to form. She bit her lip, seeming to have the best time with your clumsiness.

"I-I... god, Wanda..." You gasped and she leaned in completely until her breath was hitting your cheek.

"How about a kiss? Don't tell me you never got one?" She mocked and you had to chuckle dryly.

"You can be quite an ass, Maximoff." You murmured with your eyes closed, risking moving your hands to her thighs around your hips, the action making you both hold your breaths for a second. "I've kissed before."

"Hmm, I see." She hits back, deviating from the original path and letting her mouth tease your jaw, feeling your hands squeeze her thighs gently with every kiss across your skin. What Wanda wouldn't do to see you lose control...

"I like kissing." You confess hoarsely, mostly because she’s making you so nervous that the words are simply spilling. You kept your eyes closed and your neck stretched to give her more room to don’t stop. Aware of your words, Wanda hums again as she keeps depositing chaste kisses on your collarbone. "I like...kissing girls."

It should be a heartfelt confession, one that Wanda theoretically knew about but that you've never put into words before. But suddenly, Wanda bit down on you, hard enough for you to grunt in pain, opening your eyes. She grabs your cheeks with one hand, a hot fury in her eyes that makes you shudder.

"Rule number one, don't talk about other girls when you have one on top of you."

You open your mouth like a fish, babbling nonsense for enough time for Wanda to make a motion of leaving. But that makes you react. "I didn't mean to upset you!" You try quickly, hands moving on an instinct to hold her by the waist on top of you. Wanda has to bite her lips hard to keep from letting out a much more submissive sound than she would like when you just squeeze her firmly to keep her there. "Wanda, please forgive me! I-you caught me off guard, alright? I’m nervous… We’re friends and suddenly… you’re so close and I’m talking nonsense! Please, just… tell me what you want to hear.”

She huffs impatiently, crossing her arms and turning her face away as you sigh in defeat. Wanda wants to be annoyed, but you're so lovely when you lean your face into her, trying to ease her anger with chaste kisses on her cheeks and neck until you manage to get from her a stubborn smile. She has no choice but to uncross her arms to slide her hands up your shoulders, wrapping herself around your body again. 

She feels you smile and relax completely, the kisses getting firmer on her neck until they tickle and elicit a husky giggle from her. Still, Wanda settles a hand in your hair, and the slight tug to bring your faces close together again draws a deep sigh from you.

"I don't want to hear about other girls, detka. This is your last warning." She says seriously with eyes glowing red for a moment. Wanda had hoped to have a direct effect, but to her surprise, a teasing smirk began to form on your lips.

"Wow, you're totally jealous." You accused and she grimaced, trying to pull away once more. But that only made you burst out into a teasing giggle, while your strong arms wrapped around her torso, bringing her back to you effortlessly while keeping her locked into you. Wanda was clearly aware of how shaky her legs were with the motion, and trying to walk away again would only result in her falling to the ground. "Wanda, darling, the girls I kissed must be a hundred years old by now."

Reluctantly and with a rosy tinge in her cheeks, she mutters, "Honestly, I was hoping to be your first."  Her confession makes you rise your eyebrows in surprise, only to smile fondly next. Your hands moved again, caressing her back in an attempt to relax her as well. 

"Hey, look at me." You call out gently, waiting for the girl's stubbornness to subside with the help of your caresses. Wanda has a stronger color on her face when she finally raises her eyes to you again. "I didn't imagine this was anything of relevance to you. But I haven't lied before, I've never been with someone intimately. If you still want to, you can be my first... everything else."

She twitches her nose softly. "You’re making it sound like it’s a favor for me. I only want to... if you do too." She retorts with a certain determination in her gaze, and though you feel your cheeks burn with the ultimatum, you nod foolishly before breaking the distance.

It catches Wanda by surprise, the sudden kiss, and you're despairing when she doesn't respond immediately, pulling away at the same speed you approached. "Sorry." You say mortified and breathless, your lips tingling. "I like you, Wan. I really do. I just thought you should know before..."

She places a finger over yours, shushing your nervous anticipation. Her free hand goes to your cheek and Wanda pulls you close again, her eyes darkening in a way that makes you shiver entirely.

"Like I said before, just relax, baby. Stop overthinking." She whispers before she firms her mouth over yours. It's a sensual, intense kiss unlike any you've ever received. Wanda seems determined to drive you to complete insanity. She kisses you unhurried, waiting for permission to slide her tongue into yours, and giving you no room to breathe properly, head spinning with those new yet so familiar needy feelings. She kisses and kisses you until you're restless beneath her, your body burning and your hands curious testing limits that she doesn’t impose, only encourages you to break. Her taste and smell intoxicate your every sense, the feel of her body molded to yours, teasing your reactions and almost making you lose control of your strength. The tight squeeze you give her when she sucks your tongue earns a whimper from her that sticks and echoes in your mind, making you dizzy with lust. When she finally breaks the kiss to breathe, her lips are swollen like yours, and her pupils are so dilated that there is no green left in them. Your face burns for the matching fire you find in her gaze.

You are unable to find any words to describe this moment, so you only stare at her, blushing over the smirk that starts to form on her lips once she catches the adoring look you’re giving her.

Licking your lips to try to gain some focus, you dare to ask: “Was it…good?” You would have added “Did you like” or “Was I enough” if Wanda didn't break into a giggle that shut you entirely, your cheeks burning. Before the shame could surface, she grabbed your cheeks again. “You’re too cute, darling.” She says, kissing you again more quickly than before. Her hands move to yours then, intertwining your fingers together to drag them on her thighs, down, and then back up, this time under her skirt. Your heart stopped, and Wanda turned her dark eyes back to yours, her voice so low you wouldn't have heard it if you weren't so close. “Don’t be shy, see for yourself how much I like kissing you.” She whispers darkly.

When she kisses you again, her hands guide you under her skirt until you're in her front. The mere contact of your fingers with the wet spot on her panties makes you groan and break the kiss, needing a moment to just take a breath and calm your nerves. Wanda doesn't wait long, releasing your hands to move hers to your shoulders, needing firm support now that you're so close to where she needs it so badly. She gasps in surprise when your hand gives a quick tug that rips her panties off at once, a wave of new wetness running down her thighs in the same second.

You don't say anything about it, just turns your face to kiss her again, the same way she did before, and somehow even dirtier and more sexual, drawing gasps with every flick of your tongue against hers.

Because Wanda's your best friend, she wants to taunt you - tease you about being better at this than you let on, but all the words fall away at once when your fingers fill her in one go. All Wanda can do is moan, choking on the kiss as she feels you slide into her with such ease. 

"Fuck, detka." She moans with her eyes tightly closed, just as she pulls away to breathe. Your response is to just continue your movements, in and out of her without haste, feeling every mention of her warm walls squeezing your fingers. Wanda is burning on top of you and the sound of her drenched pleasure echoes low. You hum contentedly, nipping at her neck as she can no longer match the kiss, so close to her own climax. Your hand adjusts, increasing its reach, and when your thumb gives her clit the attention it needs, Wanda lets out an affected squeal. "W-wanna cum, baby. Please!"

You bite back a smile, surprised and impressed by the question hidden in the statement. You adjust to face her and wait for Wanda to feel the change to look at you too. The dark, lust-filled pupils leave you breathless.

"You can cum, sweetheart, you don't even have to ask." You assure her softly, never stopping your movements inside her. "I'm here to please you." You whisper, and it's enough for Wanda to break into an affected moan, hips thrusting helplessly against your hand until she arches her back and lets out the longest, dirtiest moan you've ever heard. 

Her eyes flutter shut as she rides her high on your soaked hand, until she finally opens scarlet pupils for you, a long groan leaving her lips as the last sensations of the best orgasm she ever had fade away.

Wanda turns her full attention to you in the next second, stealing quick but intense kisses until a husky giggle leaves her lips and tickles yours.

"You're too good at this for your own good." She prompts, and the compliment takes a heartfelt giggle from you. You try to relax under her gaze but Wanda's dilated eyes have a different twinkle as she holds your cheeks more firmly. "I think I want to keep you all to myself. Without sharing with anybody else. What do you say, baby?"

You swallow dry, suddenly quite vulnerable "H-hm, like... dating?" You retort in a weak tone of voice because you need to confirm and well the idea that someone as unbelievably awesome as Wanda Maximoff is actually asking for exclusivity with you seems too freaking surreal not to confirm. As many times as necessary.

Wanda giggles mischievously, settling herself on top of your fingers that never left her and sighing as she feels you even deeper than before. "Yeah, just like that." She moans, and you're not sure if she's answering your question or guiding you through the motions, but you get the impression that the answer goes both ways. 

It's not like you will contradict your new girlfriend any further.

Before Wanda could indulge in the sensation again, however, she stopped you with a gentle grip on your wrist. Raising curious eyes to the breathless flushed girl on top of you, your first reaction was to check if you had done something wrong, and by god, hurt her. But Wanda bit back a smile, her other hand going down to your belt.

"We're overdressed, honey." She whispered against your lips, red sparkles playing with the edge of your shirts, teasing them upward. " Strip."

Moaning low against her mouth, Wanda almost didn't let you pull away. In record time, your clothes were off and so were hers, between stolen panting kisses you fell to the mattress again, curious hands urging together.

Wanda pinned you beneath her with no effort despite your super strength, and feeling her naked against your skin drove you to the brink of insanity. She swallowed each moan with her mouth, appreciating the increasingly needy sounds as she fit against your hips, and began to move hers.

Soon, the friction became unbearably arousing and you had to clutch at the sheet, and the headboard. A hot, tight knot at the tip of your stomach left you breathless, every movement of Wanda's hips into yours, the perfect fit between your cunts was enough to make you choke. 

You practically meowed when she got the rhythm right. "O-oh god Wanda! T-there's something... fuck, I can't-"

"I know baby, just let go for me." She panted, her hands clenching the sheet on either side of your head, her hips frantic against yours. "Fuck, you feel amazing" She moans a confession, smiling satisfied at your expression of pure bliss beneath her.

Suddenly the knot bursts, and you're blinded by the pleasure of your first orgasm for a full moment. The headboard snaps in your left hand and Wanda cums in a loud, animalistic moan, spilling herself down on you before collapsing heavily onto your torso, your panting breaths mingling like your juices.

You try to recover together from the intensity of the climax, your hand finding her back on instinct to stroke her as Wanda nestles closer against you, an exhausted, satisfied smile on her lips.

She barely had a chance to lift her face to kiss you when the bedroom door suddenly opened.

"Kid, is everything all right in here I heard something breaking-'" 

You nearly knocked Wanda off the bed in an attempt to cover the two of you with the comforter - and the mattress lost a few springs in the process.

The two Avengers who'd entered the room covered their faces with their hands, but unlike your brother, Natasha was holding back her laughter.

"I'm sorry. We... I... you-"

"Come on Captain, we're leaving." Natasha cut Steve off with a pat on the shoulder, leading the way backward. "Sorry girls, lock the door next time. And well, use protection!" She burst out laughing, ignoring the embarrassed grumbles from you and Wanda, and closing the door.

With the safety of a locked door, you hid your face in your pillow.

"Great, the best day of my life might be ruined because my brother is going to have a stroke."  You grumbled, getting a hearty laugh from the other.

Wanda adjusted herself, stroking your hair until you looked at her again. "Best day of your life, huh? I'm flattered." She teases, smiling at the red that appears on your cheeks.

"As if you weren't cocky enough." You retort in the same tone, adjusting to hold her by the waist and pull her to you, getting on top now. Wanda sighs softly, even warmer with the addition of the blanket now, she finds it kind of hard to concentrate, much more talk. "Thank you, Wands."

Your line surprises her. "For what?"

"For being my first time." You clarify with a shrug, though your gaze was intense. "I've always wanted it to be with someone special, someone I like and trust. And there's no one I love more than you."

Wanda kisses you because she doesn't want to be the type to cry during sex, and she's pretty sure she would. You don't mind, she transmits the feeling through action and well, there are other things you're dying to do other than talk.

There will be time for confessions later.

[wynnyfryd]

Trailer park Steve AU part 61

part 1 | part 60 | ao3

cw: mentions of canonical minor character death

Chapter 14

It's twilight by the time they make their way to Rick's place — gnat clouds swarming, sun dipped low, Lover's Lake an inky smudge beyond the blur of passing pines. Steve’s not totally sure how they got here, this dusty service road that's more pothole than pavement; one minute he's bitching about doomed love and double VHS, the next he’s taking the scenic route to a drug den.

There were some important moments in between, he’s pretty sure.

He’s also pretty sure he blacked out somewhere around the moment the morning news reported that an-unidentified-Hawkins-student-who-very-well-could-be-Eddie-Munson was found dead in his fucking trailer.

Kinda difficult to resurface from that one.

Feels like his soul’s got swimmer’s ear.

Even hours later — after Dustin and Max burst into Family Video talking a mile a minute about how Eddie was alive and they needed to use the phones; after Ernie stupidly gave a reporter Steve’s name, swearing up and down on the TV that his neighbor Steve Harrington was an upstanding young man who would never do something like this; after they spent an agonizingly long afternoon lying low and taking backroads to avoid the cops because the cops probably suspect Steve of murder now, oh god—

“It’s this next right up ahead,” Max says from the back seat. There's a map spread over the bench between her and Dustin, and Steve blinks himself awake; gives her a nod in the rearview.

Beside her, Dustin’s munching on Twizzlers he stole from the store — window down, easy slouch, just way too chipper for the situation at hand. "So Steve," he says conversationally, "now that you're a fugitive, does that mean—?"

Steve cuts Robin a pleading look.

Robin reaches back and smacks the little twerp upside the head.

"Ow!" Dustin whines.

"Shut up, please," Robin smiles.

Max makes a sound like she's trying not to laugh and checks the map again. "Right here," she says, pointing. "After that weird tree stump."

They turn onto another road that could be generously described as paved, once, several decades ago, and eventually, the winding path lets out onto a slightly nicer street. Aging but cared for, Holland Road is a crowded row of little lake houses, trailers and shacks with manicured shrubs and chipped fence paint, weeds growing through the sidewalks beneath pristine American flags. Steve pulls into the driveway of #2121.

It looks abandoned. Dark inside and out, a truck parked on the curb that's likely been there for a while, its tires sagging in a mulch of old wet leaves. There’s an autumn wreath on the front door.

“You sure this is the place?” he asks as they climb out of the car.

Max sasses him for questioning her navigation skills, Dustin unsuccessfully tries to land a revenge slap on Robin — a move that earns him a retaliation wedgie and a wrestling match he was never gonna win — and Steve pops the trunk and feels a hundred years old. Feels every bit the exhausted dad trying to keep the family road trip together as he grabs his nail bat and slings his duffel over his shoulder.

"You planning to spend the night?" Dustin teases from Robin's armpit, still bent double where she's got him in a headlock.

"No, just-" he drops the bag at their feet with a grunt, “doesn’t hurt to be prepared.”

Dustin’s eyes bug out. “Is that a can of goddamn bear mace?”

“Keep your voice down!” Steve hisses.

“You keep your voice down!”

"Should I just go ahead and choke him out?" Robin offers.

Steve considers it for a second: knock 'em all out, stuff 'em back inside the car. Go do this shit quietly by himself.

He rolls his eyes and puts his hands on his hips.

"You're no fun," she pouts, but she lets Dustin go.

Dustin grabs flashlights and walkies out of the bag, passes them around the circle. They take a moment to steel themselves — huddled together in the dark, shoulders tense, the creepy house looming ahead. Sharp shadows stretch toward them. Croaking sounds creeping from the edges of the lake.

Robin puts her flashlight under her chin like she's about to tell a scary story. "Alright, kiddos," she says in a deep, ominous voice. "Let's go rescue Steve's ex."

Stunned silence in the sudden vacuum her words create. Steve lets out a tired sigh. Dustin’s jaw is on the curb.

“His WHAT?” Dustin shouts.

Oh, my god. “He’s not my ex."

Robin rolls her eyes and says ‘sure’ under her breath, and Max turns to Dustin, laughing. “You didn’t know they were a thing?”

“We’re not—” Steve tries again.

“What were you trying to get them back together for then?”

She seems genuinely curious. Dustin seems three seconds from spontaneous combustion. “What was I WHAT?!” he yelps, limbs everywhere. Reminds Steve of Eddie so bad it hurts.

“Okay,” Steve interrupts, clapping them both on the shoulder; drops his voice to a harsh whisper. “In case you two forgot, we’re here to rescue Eddie.”

“Who you’re dating.”

Dustin’s voice is small, disconnected, his gaze far away. Like he’s shellshocked.

“Jesus Christ.” Steve pinches the bridge of his nose. “I— Yes. No. It’s complicated.”

Max snorts at his answer, Dustin makes a series of faces like he's gonna need seven years to process, and Robin interrupts his crisis by waving her flashlight like a traffic guard, walking backward up the hill as she directs them toward the house.

“Why don’t we just go find him first?” she suggests, making a rainbow with her hands, flinging light through the grimy windows. “And then Stevie here can answer alllll your big gay questions.”

Steve glares at Robin. Dustin glares at him, narrowed eyes for a full ten seconds like 'yeah, you fucking better,' and then he takes off up the driveway hollering Eddie's name.

—

part 62

tag list in separate reblogs under '#trailer park steve au taglist' if you'd like to filter that content. if you want to be added please comment and let me know (must be over 21; please either verify in the comment or have your age visible on your blog)

[florenceafternoon]

━。゜✿ jily fic recommendations ✿ ゜。━

Because I will never get tired of them, here are some more fic recs. These fics are set in the wizarding world but aren’t necessarily canon complaints.

For reference, anything in italics is an extract from the summaries on ao3.

Never Quite Awake by @sunshinemarauder 

“Endings are nothing unfamiliar to Lily Evans; she’s seen the ends of sisterhood, friendship, and innocence, all from miles away. But this is an end unlike any other. An end that was never supposed to happen.”

If to love someone once is to break their heart, to love them twice is to break yours.

Lily falls for James in her seventh year. But the couple are sent onto two diverging paths when a life-shattering altercation halts their burgeoning relationship. Five years later, she's a curse breaker and he is a soldier.

When they meet again, it feels like coming home.

All the angst that comes with a jily second chance romance that takes place during wartime. A fake dating subplot, cursebreaker!Lily, pining!James. What more could you want. France (country) - a relevant tag

Through The Rain by @bookeatingbean

James and Lily's first kiss, and the story behind it. There's some fluff, some character study, and some good old-fashioned angst.

If you're looking for a character study that shows how they grew up through their school years. This fic shows you that Lily was not a perfect person and James was a bully for the sake of it but he grew to understand that the world does not revolve around him and strives to do better. Or Lily is stubborn and James is the definition of a ride-or-die

It's been a long time by writtenbyfreckles (on ao3)

It's been ten years since Lily left Hogwarts. She's returned to England to work as a Healer on the "ward of the wacky", only to find home isn't as safe as she thought it was. An attack leaves her locked in a ward with her patients, a bunch of Death Eaters and an Auror she hasn't seen for a long time.

I need more cannon divergence Auror!James and Healer!Lily

The Guide To Becoming A Better Man For Lily Evans by @padfootswhiskers

prompt: I decided to walk outside shirtless (accidentally) but I forgot it's winter and why're you screaming at me like that? And oh gosh, you're very pretty.

lingering days, short-lived nights by letthebookbegin (on ao3)

The summer before seventh year, James is desperately trying to think of anything but Lily, who's burrowed her way into his mind and looks quite comfortable there.

The summer before seventh year, Lily is craving a distraction. Avoiding her sister, she picks an ice cream shop for shelter.

At the end of a long summer day, their paths cross - and the rest, as they say, is history.

Ties That Bind by @charmsandtealeaves

Lily Evans grew up with old wives tales about soul mates, but she'd never put much stock in the idea. Not until after she learned about the world of magic and the fact that soul bonds were a thing that actually existed. Which makes these strange new feelings and experiences that much more difficult to manage.

So I read this a while ago but stupidly forgot to bookmark it and then I spent nearly an hour trying to find it again. Needless to say, I ADORE this fic and you should all go read it. Like, right now. Then come back here to talk to me about it.

Lily Evans Doesn't Believe In I Love You's also by @/ charmsandtealeaves

“Did you hear Lily Evans doesn’t believe in I love you's?”

It wasn’t exactly a secret. But no one knew why, until she decided to share a bottle of fire whiskey in the astronomy tower with James Potter.

Same Lily, same

Meet Me At The River also by @/ charmsandtealeaves

A chance encounter with a misplaced owl leads to a correspondence between pen pals. Lily confides in her mysterious Flea and finds herself falling along the way.

I can't remember if I've recommended this one already, but even if I have I'll rec it again because I love it so much!!

Your Friend, James by @thelighthousestale

It is the summer before their 7th year, and Lily and James spend the entire holiday writing letters to each other as their relationship slowly changes from friends to something more.

Just the ending of this one is everything. James and Sirius are never beating the codependent allegations

Castling by @missgryffin

When they were still very young, Remus Lupin’s dad married Lily Evans’ mum. It changes everything.

Lily and Remus are like the little brother who got bullied and then found friends except he invited them over for the first time and they all act weird because they're mildly terrified of his older sister. Friends to lovers jily is only rivaled by academic rivals jily.

Just the Two of Us by @arianatwycross

Head Students James and Lily face a perilous twist when a malicious potion surfaces in hate mail directed at Lily. Dumbledore orders a week-long quarantine in the Head Students' suite. With unspoken crushes lingering, the duo navigates close quarters, leading to unexpected revelations, lingering looks and forehead kisses.

silence and patience, pining in anticipation by @kay-elle-cee

Lily’s been hung up on James for years; a tipsy conversation might be the push she needs to do something about it.

DRESS IS A JILY SONG FOREVER AND ALWAYS

The Devil in the Cloak Room by @chiechie97

Getting your heart broken when you’re 17 seems to alter your brain chemistry more than you would think. Which is the precise reason why Lily has no intention of reconnecting with the friends she lost at the end of school.

And besides, she has no chance of knowing anyone at the masked Halloween party her friend drags her to. Especially not the guy in the devil mask. Right?

Usually I rec complete works but this one is so good I had to include it

Deception and other ways to find love by @annasghosts

“I’ll be your fake girlfriend, Potter.” And this is how Lily Evans embarks on the adventure of (fake) dating her former Hogwarts nemesis (and crush, but ssssh, it’s a secret). Will she be able to keep her cool? Will he?

Class of '78 by @emeralddoeadeer

Class of 1978 Five Year Reunion - July 29th, 1983

Now is the time to look upon our shared experience, our similarities must unite us rather than letting our differences divide us. Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry invites the Graduating Class of 1978 to return to the castle for a weekend of reconnecting, reminiscing and recreation. We hope the passage of time has been kind to you all and look forward to welcoming you soon.

Professor Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster, Order of Merlin First Class, Grand Sorc, DWiz, X.J sorc, S of Mag Q

It's been five years since graduation, and while many things have changed, some things never will.

James Potter Won't Go Quietly by la_plus_heureuse (on ao3)

Lily Evans remembers plenty about James Potter from Hogwarts. But an assignment from Mojo Magazine to profile the Quidditch star turned activist makes her realize what she remembered was all wrong.

canon divergence staring quidditch player James and journalist Lily

On A Scale of One to Ten (requires an ao3 account) by @petalsinwoodvale

Lily starts falling for an insecure, yet charming auror named James who is recovering from injury in her ward. No one else on staff will sit and talk to him, mostly due to septic skin covering most of his upper torso. Lily, however, finds him charming and funny. Naturally, when James' injuries start healing, he grows more and more handsome. The other healers suddenly take interest in James, romantically ...

foxy by lizpaige (on ao3)

Lily joins the boys at the shrieking shack on a particularly difficult moon in her new animagus form.

Lily & Remus friendship is so special to me

[lazybutsmexy]

Heart-stopping

Alejandro Vargas x f!reader

Warnings: tiny bit of angst, mention of violence, description of injuries, otherwise pure fluff, pregnancy announcement, crack?

Summary: Only Alejandro can kill Alejandro. You may easily give him a heart attack, though.

On AO3

A/N: Sorry, this is not my triumphant comeback. I had to get this out of my system so I can continue my work. I hope to be able to write more soon though!

~•~•~•~•~•~

Only Alejandro can kill Alejandro.

The proverb was often repeated among his peers and subordinates with a mix of awe and reverence, and by his rivals and enemies with spiteful resignation.

You, however, repeated it as a mantra - or a prayer? - in your head whenever his chest rose and fell with every breath. Just like you had for a week now.

Just an hour earlier, the nurse had come with orders from the doctor to pull him off the meds keeping him asleep, and you anxiously wrung your hands together, waiting for any signal of your beloved Alejandro awakening.

When he finally shifted and gave signals of waking up, you released a shaky breath you weren't even aware of holding. His name fell from your lips in a whisper, and his eyes flew open as if a spell had been broken at the sound.

As soon as his eyes found yours, his lips flickered a smile, revealing the dimples that created ripples on his cheeks like the ocean.

"Buenos días, mi amor," he breathed out, his voice rugged and raspy from a combination of sleep and a dry throat.

"Es medianoche, pendejo," you offered him a wide grin, carefully approaching him and cupping his face, pressing your lips to his with the urgency that it warranted.

After the longest week of your life, your lover was finally awake.

A few seconds later, you pulled away and inwardly celebrated the little dispeased noise he made when trying to chase your lips. You offered him a glass of water instead, and he accepted it silently, taking slow sips until his parched throat didn't resemble a desert anymore.

Once he was satisfied, you took the glass back and cupped his face, your fingers stroking the growing stubble and brushing against the bandage covering his head.

"Are you hurting anywhere?" Your voice was quiet as you studied him carefully, looking for any hint of pain.

"I feel pretty numb all over," he groaned, nuzzling your hand like a sleepy cat, "I'm mostly confused as to why I'm here."

Your brows furrowed as you remembered the doctor had warned you about amnesia, and took you a few moments to finally gather your words.

"We were under heavy fire from the cartel while crossing the bridge," your hand slowly moved from his face to his chest, feeling the bandages under the hospital gown, "they got you between your chest plates, and the impact made you lose your balance."

You paused to take in a deep breath, trying to keep the tears at bay while you relived those memories. He watched you closely, his smile slowly falling at the signs of your distress.

"Oviedo jumped after you into the river, but you hit your head at the bottom real hard," you watched as his brows tightened and his fingers enveloped your wrist and his thumb traced your pulse, a silent apology of sorts. But Alejandro rarely ever apologized - or did anything else - silently.

"Lo siento mucho, mi amor," he offered, his heart breaking a little at the sight of the unshed tears pooling in your eyes, "I've made you worry for me again, didn't I?"

A sharp snort left you as you used your free hand to wipe the tears away. "I was worried sick, Alejo, and everyone else too," you briefly thought of Rudy, now in charge of the Vaqueros for the time being, and them too, who often texted you and called you for updates. "You were put in a coma for a week because your brain swelled up."

His eyes widened at the information, his fingers tightening around your wrist slightly. "Verga... That does sound pretty bad..."

You took a deep breathe in to compose yourself, and nodded as you leaned down to press your forehead to his bandaged head, enjoying the gentle warmth sipping from beneath them. "Doctor said you'll be out of commission for a while, until he's sure there's no lasting damage."

Alejandro suppressed a groan and a complaint at the news. He was a soldier commited to his cause, but he was also a realistic man. If he was in no shape to guide his men, he wouldn't dare put them in unnecessary danger. The quickest way to return to his duties would be to heal.

Only Alejandro can kill Alejandro.

The toughest man in the army.

Still, very much a man that can be brought down by bullets one day.

"What about you, mi amor?" He questioned you as he tenerly brushed your cheek with his fingers, eager to focus on something else. He noted the bags under your eyes, and let his eyes wander over your form. "Are you hurt anywhere?"

You kept in silence for a few seconds as you stared into his eyes, but moved to bury your face in his neck instead, immediately raising all the alarms in his mind. "... I'll be out of commission for a while, too."

His hand moved from your cheek to the back of your head, slowly stroking your scalp, "what happened, mi vida? Did they get you too?"

You enjoyed his touch with a secret smile in your lips. Even after all he endured, he cared so much about your well-being that it made your heart swell. It also made you feel just a tiny bit bad about what -or rather the way - you were going to tell him. But you wanted revenge for all those sleepless nights spent worried sick over him "...you did."

Alejandro blinked once before forcing your head off his shoulder so he could look straight at your face. His eyes searched yours in a raising panic as he registered your words.

He had no memory of the incident itself. Had you been close to him when he was shot? Had he hit you in the confusion after getting hit himself? He would never live it down. Even taking into account that in both your careers injuries were common place, he would never forgive himself if he had been the direct cause of any injury on you.

The warning bell from the machine registering his palpitations went off, signaling a worringly increase in his heartbeat, causing you to shake yourself from your trance to look at it.

Oh.

Oops.

"Alejo, tranquilo," you offered him an apologetic smile, laying your hand flat on his chest and rubbing it, "I'm sorry, I was just joking - kinda."

He blinked at you in confusion, his brows furrowing deeply as he looked at you as if you were insane.

"Esos chistes no son graciosos, amor," he scolded you, and you leaned in to kiss him sorry, but he pulled away with a petulant pout, "casi me da un infarto. I didn't know you were the kind of woman to make that kind of jokes."

You chuckled softly and pulled away, reaching into a paper envelope you had left earlier on the bedside table "Bueno, pero si me diste, Alejo," you smirked at him playfully, handing him the square picture, "you got me good."

He glared at you for a little longer before taking the picture, examining it. It had your name on one of the upper corners, and a circle zeroing on a tiny protuberance. "Y esto?"

"The reason I'll be out of commission, mi amor," you smiled at him warmly, "or should I call you papi? I mean, you should start getting used to it."

Alejandro's eyes shot up to meet yours again, this time wide as plates as your words sunk in. "...when did you...?"

"Doctor confirmed it two days ago," you stroked his cheek, watching him closely for any reaction. You hadn't actively talked about forming a family before, other than in a hypothetical future. So, you were still quite unsure whether or not he would take the news in stride or not.

You were rewarded with a wide grin that nearly parted his face in two, and his free hand moving to your body, tenderly landing on your belly. You reciprocrated with your own grin, your eyes flooding with fresh tears, this time out of pure happiness.

"Voy a ser papá?," he wanted to confirm, and you didn't wait to nod your head eagerly, leaning closer to him again until you were in range of a thousand of small kisses he spread over your face before pulling you in for a long kiss.

Only to be interrupted by the machine again, its alarm announcing his rising heartbeat and causing you to inch back from the kiss in a giggle.

"Alejo, tranquilo!"

~•~•~•~•~•~

BONUS:

"Soy tan feliz, mi amor," he mumbled in your temple, his lips brushing your skin. After the doctor had finally seen him after waking up, he spent a whole half a second trying to convince you to join him on the bed. He pulled you closer to him, enjoying your warmth and your closeness.

"I'm so elated," you hummed into his chest, before letting out a soft sigh, "I'm just not looking forward to your mamá berating us for getting pregnant before marriage."

"... Ay, pinche verga, cierto." He whispered in horror, the machine beeping loudly again at the thought of his very catholic mother reacting to the news.

"Alejo, cálmate!"

[spacebarbarianweird]

Hi!! I eat up ur comfort fics so how about a tav! That’s so overwhelmed mentally they have a lot of trouble sleeping and how the companions (of ur choosing or just one) would help/react to finding them awake crying at like 3am. I’ve been having so much trouble sleeping and it would mean a lot🫶🫶

Oh, that hits home! My insomnia is the worst! And the darkness always comes in the quitest hours of the night. Hope, you don't mind an OC fic with Tiriel the Barbarian as Tav. If it's not to your liking send me another request, I will gladly write another one (or doing your class/race)

Insomnia

Summary: Astarion isn't the only who has traumatic past.

Pairing: Astarion x OC (Tiriel)

Tags: fluff, hurt/comfort, post-game, named Tav, established relationship, f!tav

Thanks @themadlufor beta-reading!

Read on AO3

Masterlist

Headcanons

"Fairy girl!" the chieftain bellows. "Come here, little bitch!"

Tiriel tries to hide. She isn't Tiriel yet —she is only twelve, and she doesn't have a name yet. Only slurs and nicknames - Pixie, Fairy, Rabbit. All possible insults toward someone who is only half a human as if it were her fault her mother didn't keep her legs shut when a handsome young elf passed by their village.

The nameless girl is smaller in size than her siblings - the Chieftain's children. Mother has five with him - three older than "Fairy Girl" and two younger. The youngest ones don't understand why one of their sisters has pointy ears and can see in the dark but the others happily "put the elven bastard in line."

"Didn't you hear, Pixie girl?" The stepfather is getting angrier.

No. Don't approach him. You know what he is going to do!

An older brother, sixteen and almost adult, grabs the half-elven girl's collar and drags him to the chieftain. The brother is as cruel as his father and will never forgive his mother's infidelity.

"We should have fed you to the wolves once you were born, Pixie"

I have a name you fucking bastard, my name is Tiriel!

No, not now. Three years. Three years more of misery, humiliation, beatings - but it will end. It will end with fire in the girl's veins, the primal gift of Rage. With blood and violence when the chieftain choked on his own blood. With running away through the cold autumn woods and merciless mountain winds. With tears of desperation when the girl realizes she is on her own lost, and tired.

It will end with a party of adventurers led by an old Tiefling telling the "Pixie girl" that she needs a name, not a slur. Asking her to lead them through the wildernes. Allowing her to be part of their team, a reckless Barbarian who kills first and asks later.

Tiriel, she will tell them. My name is Tiriel.

But the grasp of the nightmare doesn't relent to her. Pain. Cry. Half of her ear is covered in blood. A burst of laughter. An angry dwarf-healer takes the girl to her hut to stitch the ear back.

Tiriel opens her eyes.

She can't understand where she is. She is in a dark tent, under a thick blanket. It's so thick it's difficult to breathe.

No, it's not only the blanket wrapped around her.

She gently touches Astarion's curls. The vampire sleeps covering her body like a weighted blanket. His head is on her chest, hands wrapped around her. He doesn't breathe, his heart doesn't beat.

He is in an elven trance.

Tiriel hopes he is seeing something good.

They've been together for two years, traveling further and further and further North. Sooner or later they will have to turn back, probably heading South-east, but for now they are simply moving, following their mutual wanderlust.

The nightmare was so real Tiriel almost feels like she re-lived those events. But human ancestry prevents half-elves from the experience of reverie.

She needs to go out, to the sunlight - the northern days are so short Tiriel craves at least some of it.

But with Astarion sleeping on her it's impossible. Well, at least he doesn't need much time.

She tries to go back to sleep but can't. Tiriel is tired from the insanity of the last day - she hasn’t slept well because they couldn't find shelter and had to flee into the underground tunnels. They were followed by at least three different groups of enemies that forced them into fighting.

Tiriel needs to sleep.

But she can't.

The events of the past wrap around her mind. Her miserable childhood, her terrible mother, her awful siblings. Only the old dwarf, a retired adventuress, was kind to her.

She feels a wave of tears approaching. Tiriel chokes on them and at that moment Astarion's hands hug her tighter.

He is very well aware of his surroundings when he trances.

Tiriel brushes her finger along his ear forcing his body to stir.

"I thought you slept longer than me," he mutters, slowly returning to reality.

Tiriel hugs him tighter, caressing his back’s scars. Gods, she loves it when he is like that!

Conscious and aware of his surroundings but absolutely unable to make coherent movements and dominate the situation.

"Can't sleep."

"Considering what we've been through it's rather alarming", he wakes up and leans on his elbows and Tiriel shivers, feeling the cold air between their bodies.

And then he notices.

"You've been crying, haven't you?"

Tiriel's mind interprets it as a signal and she bursts into tears. But who is crying? Tiriel the Barbarian or that nameless girl she once was?

Astarion sits up and tugs Tiriel into him, cradling her in his arms. She notices the utter panic in his crimson eyes changing to something else, something she can't yet identify.

"Hush, love, whatever it was, it's in the past - or we can kill it"

"It's just... I don't know..." Tiriel finds her voice. "It was so real. Now I know how it feels when you are tortured in your reverie. Do you think that can happen to me, too?"

"I have never heard of half-elves being able to meditate. It's something only Tel'Quessira can do. Even the ones with human blood, but who still pass as elves, have difficulties with that. What was it?"

"My bastard stepfather, my bitch mother, and my cut ear"

Astarion presses his lips to her forehead. Then he kisses her cheeks and fingers - there is no lust or desire in it, he kisses her like a parent would kiss a sick child, trying to soothe their pain.

It really does make her feel better.

She sighs. "I really need to sleep. But I can't."

"Then don't. Why torture yourself?"

"Because it will be a long night once the sun sets."

"Not an answer, Tiriel."

Tiriel smiles. Astarion doesn't have any pet names for her - sometimes calls her "love" or "heart" but mostly it's just Tiriel. And her name dances on the tip of his tongue, ringing like a prayer, like a spell.

He brushes his fingers along her ear lobes, then swipes along her facial scar and kisses her neck. She feels his fangs but he doesn't try to bite.

Astarion rarely feeds from her - usually when nightmares grip him or there isn't enough food for him.

"Astarion."

"Hm?"

"You can bite me if you want."

"Who am I to say no to such a generous offer. Although, are you sure?"

"Yes, the blood loss will make me dizzy. And I will be hungry once wake up."

"Absolutely not a problem my dear, there is plenty of prey in the woods."

Astarion helps her to lie back on the bedroll and kneels beside her. She notices the predatory spark in his eyes.

The fangs pierce her skin and Tiriel feels like drowning in the cold water. Her eyesight gets blurry, and a gentle numb feeling spreads through her body.

As he releases her, the darkness takes her. There are no nightmares, no memories - only peace.

***

Astarion leaves the tent and breathes the cold autumn air. Night calls upon him and so is the hunt. Well, Tiriel will be hungry like a starved wolf once she wakes up. And she will also crave something sweet.

Sometimes she is brave and fierce and sometimes she is like a little girl asking for candy after a rough day.

Tiriel never had a good childhood. It still drives Astarion mad - he was an adult when all that abuse happened to him. And there are probably still people alive who decide it's a good idea to beat a child, cut her ears, starve her as if she were at fault for existing.

Tiriel could have grown up bitter and evil, and she had the right to be like that; instead, she became the kindest and bravest person he has ever met.

Brave enough to let him close. So kind to find good things in him. She is clumsy, rude, and loud but delicate at the same time. There is some ghostly elegance in Tiriel, a gift from her elven ancestors. Mixed with the stubbornness and fire that are innate to humans.

Well, maybe, they should go look for her home village together and beat some asses. Tiriel will definitely feel better about it. He still remembers how she kicked Cazador's dead body once they were all ready to leave the dungeons.

 Her kindness is paired with violence, and that's another thing he loves..

"Sleep well, love," he whispers. "I will be back before you wake up."

--

Tag list

@tugoslovenka @marcynomercy @wintersire @vixstarria @not-so-lost-after-all @ashiro20 @theearthsfinalconfession @herstxrgirl @starlight-ipomoea @micropoe10 @astarion-imagine-archive @veillsar @elora-the-slutty-songstress @fayeriess @lumienyx @tallymonster @caitlincat-95 @tragedybunny @valeprati @lynnlovesthestars @marina-and-the-memes @waking-electric @ayselluna @connorsui @asterordinary @darkarchangel96 @locallegume @brainfullofhotsauce @coffeeanddonutscafe @my-queen-rhaenyra-targaryen

[blackoutspoetry]

Posted this in December on ao3 but thought I might share it here too...

REVERIE

Word count: 3.2k

Summary:

"You're beautiful, Simon. If anyone dares tell you otherwise, I'll put a bullet through their fucking skull." Simon scoffs, reaching for one of Johnny's hands and giving it an affectionate squeeze. "You really know your way to a man's heart, Johnny." "Aye, so you admit, there is a heart in there somewhere?" – John and Simon try their best to navigate their relationship through Simon's past trauma, the progress is slow, but they're getting there.

Johnny found out about Simon's nightmares one night on a mission. They were left overnight with no evacuation possible until morning to huddle together in an old abandoned farmhouse until sunrise.

Being in a compromised position, Johnny suggested they take turns being on watch in case they managed to get any unwanted company during the night.

Simon offered to be on watch the entire night to let him get enough rest, but there was no way Johnny would agree to that. Not only to let Simon rest up, but also for the simple fact that not getting enough sleep could compromise him in the event they are faced with an unfriendly face at the window.

Simon took the first watch and dutifully woke Johnny for his turn two hours later before he found himself a corner to rest in.

Johnny could tell he was nervous about actually trying to sleep, so he decided he would give the man his space and keep the questions to himself.

He broke that agreement the moment he heard the other man crying, muffled pleading into the quiet night.

"Ghost?" He'd called out, a bit nervous.

His hand reached for the knife at his side, in case someone had gotten to him. But when he rounded the corner, he found the man alone, huddling in the corner with his head tucked between his knees.

"Ghost?"

No response. Then softer.

"Simon?"

That seemed to break through to him and he looked up, startled.

Johnny could almost swear he saw tears in the man's eyes.

"You alright, LT?"

"I'm fine."

Johnny knew that was a lie, but he didn't want to push anything, so he let it go, figured if Ghost wanted him to know, he would've told him.

Maybe Johnny did mean more to Ghost than he initially realised, because not long after, on one of their tired nights awake after everyone else had long gone to bed, Ghost told him about Roba. The nightmares, why he never shows his face.

That's when Johnny first saw Simon, under the mask, under his persona. He saw the man that underwent years of trauma to become a ghost of what he once was.

Johnny had been fond of the lieutenant for a while now, but seeing the real Simon Riley under the hard exterior made him fall harder than he expected.

He began to see parts of Simon in Ghost. In the way he took his tea, the joy in his voice when he told one of those awful jokes.

Johnny loved him, he realised one day Ghost had a scare about a bullet that had nearly hit him, how he fussed over making sure Johnny was alright.

It took far quicker for them to finally kiss than Johnny thought it would. Just one late night, a bottle of Bourbon and a whispered admission later, Simon kissed him hard and rough.

Touch starved.

They didn't make it another day before they had a second kiss, or a third, or a fourth, for that matter.

The dam wall had broken and there was no way to contain months of feelings, mutual feelings, banter that was overstepping the line of flirting.

There was one rule that they'd established early on. A very clear line in the sand that would never be crossed.

No sex. No unwarranted touching. And they were taking everything at Ghost's pace…

Simon's pace.

Johnny had no problem with that, more than willing to let Simon be comfortable around him and find love without being pressured. Johnny's also relieved that their agreement spares him the awkward conversation about Johnny wanting to save himself for marriage.

So it works. They keep it wholesome and they enjoy each other's company and affection at their own pace.

Johnny's favourite time of day was the evening, those rare occasions he could slip into Ghost's room without suspicion and they could lie together, talking for hours, holding hands under the blankets.

One night, as Johnny watches Simon switch his uniform for a nondescript white t-shirt, he gets an idea that makes his face flush in an instant.

He's already sitting in the bed when the other man walks over to it, leaning over to give Johnny a kiss to his forehead.

"I want to ask you something, you can say no, but I just want to try."

"What is it?"

"I want to see you," Johnny says simply, hand hesitating over Ghost's shirt. "If it's alright with you?"

The other man looks like he's genuinely weighing out the options.

"Fine, but our trousers stay on, MacTavish," Ghost warns and Johnny gives him a confident nod and a smile.

"Aye, I'm in no rush. You forget, LT. I try not to stray too far from my virtue."

And that was true. There may have been examples of better, more virtuous men, but Johnny took pride in trying to keep to his faith, despite everything. It grounds him when they're under fire, gives him something to hold on to when he genuinely fears he might lose his life out there. It gives him something to hope for in the terrible scenario that he finds his lover dead, that they'll be reunited after death.

He spends most nights praying that they'll have enough time together. On his more optimistic, yearning days, he prays for a marriage. He wants more than just Ghost. He wants Simon in his arms, next to him every morning, kissing his temple on those nights he's shaking with nightmares from a past life.

He really is in no rush with Simon. There's much more to loving him than what's in his pants. He really wants Simon to understand that. He hopes after all he's been through, Johnny will be able to show him he deserves to be loved without the necessity of sex.

Ghost lets Johnny tug the shirt over his head and discard it on the floor next to the bed.

He sits back against the headboard and Johnny moves closer to sit between his knees, making sure to let Ghost know he's in control.

What Johnny finds beneath the fabric is no surprise, but he sucks in a sharp breath anyway.

"May I touch you?" He says before he's actually thought about it. Ghost gives him a bit of a dramatic eye roll but nods anyway.

From his position, leaning over Ghost with a soft, sympathetic smile on his lips, he ran a tender hand over the man's exposed collarbones, tracing his thumb gently over the skin in a way that dripped with the softest of affections.

It was a new thing, really. This level of intimacy between them, the times they're allowed to be gentle and meticulous with each other. Outside of the cover of night, Johnny and Simon's relationship was a fleeting thing that burned like fire. Untamed needing that manifested in desperate kisses, when the gunfire was muted and they pulled themselves into a corner to hold each other. Just to remind the other that they're still here, still breathing.

In those moments, its borderline painful when Simon tugs him closer by his heavy gear to kiss him like his life depended on it, only to release him moments later to find the others and act as though they did not know each other much more intimately than they let on.

This was none of that.

Johnny steadied his hand over the beating of Simon's heart, feeling the man still beneath his touch, like he's waiting for the other shoe to drop and something terrible to happen. But it doesn't.

Johnny would be lying if he said it didn't break his heart, though.

Simon's body knew no gentle touch. That much was evident with the amount of violence carved into him.

Jagged knife edges, bullet wounds, shrapnel.

Johnny grimly wondered if there was a pain left that he had not endured.

And here he is, with his body exposed to a man that could very nearly give him another to add to the ensemble on his chest.

Cautiously, as to not startle him, Johnny leaned forward and nosed against the soft dip of Ghost's neck, moving to trail soft kisses against the column of his throat.

He feels Simon's heart race under his palm, warm and steady in building hysteria. Soap smiles into his warm skin.

"Your skin is so soft."

He feels the heart rate rise again, heat flushing the man's neck against Johnny's mouth.

"I moisturise, fucking flawless isn't it?" Simon says simply, so deadpan that Johnny can't tell if he's trying to make light of the array of scars covering his body or genuinely happy with his skincare routine.

Either way, it makes Johnny smile.

"Aye. Not even a blemish."

Both men chuckle a little at that.

Johnny places his hands on Simon's shoulders, too afraid to put them elsewhere, and nuzzles his face into the side of his neck.

He takes in the sweet scent radiating from his skin and smiles a bit at the nostalgia it gives him.

He chuckles a little, shakes his head in half disbelief and just places an affectionate kiss to his neck.

"Simon Riley, stone cold killer, the Ghost himself, am I mistaken or do I detect a hint of baby oil?"

Johnny can barely keep the grin out of his voice as Simon's face goes a shade or two redder.

"I can't confirm anything, sergeant. M'fraid that's classified information."

Johnny hums into a kiss. Its slow and deliberate. He can almost feel the other man smiling against him.

This was so unusually soft for them, its new territory. But he likes it.

He takes his time now, in the silence, the absence of danger around them.

Johnny prefers this to an adrenaline high kiss after a gunfight any day, even if opportunities like this are rare.

He likes taking his time figuring out what Simon likes, being gentle with him.

This was progress, though. Simon's never been comfortable enough to take his shirt off.

Simon flinches slightly when Johnny drags a hand down his chest, stopping a considerable distance above the waistband of his trousers, but it still gets a reaction out of him.

Simon's hand shoots out to grab him by the wrist, eyes wide with something that looked a lot like fear.

Johnny retracted his hands in an instant, offering him a soft apology.

"It's just me, you're alright."

Simon's breathing eases and Johnny gives him a moment to compose himself. He's not Roba. He's not that son of a bitch who Simon was unfortunate enough to call a father, either.

Johnny knows what happened. There's no way the ominous line my father used to taunt me with snakes as a kid" didn't have a far more sinister meaning behind it. He knows Simon was a cheap commodity when he was with Roba, for anyone to use when they needed to blow off steam.

He's gathered as much from the muttered words in his sleep, the pamphlet on living with childhood sexual trauma Johnny'd accidently found, collecting dust in his desk drawer. He doesn't ask questions about why the man insists on showering twice a day and never feeling quite clean.

He wants to give back what those two stole from him.

Control.

"Too low?"

A grunt of acknowledgement. A yes.

"Okay, its your call, LT. We can stop or you can put my hands where you want them."

For a moment, Simon genuinely weighed out the options before slowly reaching for Johnny's hands and placing his open palms on his chest. Warm. Wanted.

Johnny's eyes never strayed from Simon's, the searing eye contact burning a warm glow in his stomach.

He needs to stop before he loses himself to the heat of the moment.

But oh–

Simon presses Johnny's hands onto his chest and Johnny squeezes his pectoral muscles lightly, cautious but gentle.

A small, stuttered sigh escaped Simon beneath him.

"Is this alright?"

A barely perceptible nod. Like a delicately balanced art, where he was on the edge of tipping over into uncertainty, but he trusted Johnny enough to let him do this.

He's almost afraid to touch him, to move his hands from that one position, but he traces the skin tentatively, mapping out every one of the man's acquired scars in safe reach.

Just to say, 'I see your imperfections, I love them, I love you'.

I love you…

It seems like the easiest thing in the world to say, but it gets caught in his throat.

He punctuates the unsaid affection with a kiss to the space between his eyebrows, feeling Simon furrow his brow in thought.

Johnny feels the scar tissue of a knife wound under his palm but it doesn't bother him in the slightest.

He's hyper aware of how stuttered Simon's breathing has become, as though Johnny's beginning to unwind the coil of tension keeping him rigid and silent.

It offers Johnny a boldness he doesn't expect.

Watching Simon's face intently, Johnny brushed a thumb carefully over the other man's nipple. His expression remained mostly the same, except for a swallowed whimper that gets caught in his throat.

It's a beautiful sight really, seeing him so vulnerable but trusting enough to let this happen. Johnny tries to memorize the image of him, bare skin under his hands, mouth tipped open ever so slightly, uneven breaths, racing heartbeat.

There's a stray lock of hair fallen out of place and covering his forehead that Johnny brushed back into position.

"Still alright?"

"Affirmative."

Johnny feels need creep closer at the sound, staining his senses red with a different kind of heat he doesn't want to indulge himself in.

Not now. Not with Simon still seeing his abusers burned into his eyelids. It wouldn't be right.

And he wants to marry the man first. He wants to do it right, treat him right. Love him the way he deserves.

Simon is a marvel, a beautifully dangerous man, scars and all.

He's startled when he feels warm hands fiddle with the hem of his shirt and he looks up to find urgent brown eyes.

"May I?"

Johnny nods, trying not to look too eager. He helps Simon in removing his shirt. Heat rushes to his cheeks as the man gives him a once over.

He'd lie if he said he wasn't more than a little intimidated by Simon's gaze. His eyes were just as intense without the mask as they were when he was wearing it.

It's Simon that makes the first move, pulling Johnny down to kiss him, pushing their chests together. Skin against skin, at long last.

"Hands where I can see them, Johnny," Ghost warns against his mouth and Johnny immediately moves his hands to steady himself against the headboard behind Simon instead.

Simon's calloused fingers brush up from his hip, counting his ribs with his thumbs, mapping him. Taking stock of each scar on his body, now seeming inconsequential in comparison to Simon's scars.

He'd be a liar if he said he didn't feel vulnerable like this.

He's watched those very hands, now digging into his skin with gentle, pliant heat, kill men without mercy. He's seen the violence that could come from him just as much as he knows the affection.

He wonders who the last person was that Simon touched with so much tenderness. Selfishly, he sort of hopes he's the first.

Simon pulls him in for another kiss, a more heated, desperate one than the first.

Johnny's just glad he's feeling comfortable enough to initiate things.

It's a long way from where they started, where even the subtlest of affection would set him on edge.

Johnny savours the warmth of his hands against his waist, keeping him in place. He dutifully keeps his hands on the headrest until Simon clumsily reaches for them and rests them tentatively in the dips of his hips.

He's hesitant and his hands shake far too much for him to be completely sure of himself.

But Johnny knows how hard this is. This wasn't Ghost, this was Simon. The man he tried to bury over years of indifference, coldness.

Ghost has never trusted anyone else with Simon and Johnny feels honoured to know him behind that mask.

He's not an unfeeling killing machine. He's just a man.

His train of thought is broken when Simon speaks.

"You need someone better than me, Johnny. You deserve someone pretty."

Simon's gaze is fixated on Johnny's exposed skin, comparing it to the state of his own with more than a little pain in his eyes.

Just thinking about the self loathing in that statement makes his blood boil. Simon didn't lose his innocence to a man who couldn't control himself or get used as a means of pleasure against his will to call himself undesirable or unworthy.

Johnny cups a hand to Simon's jaw, stroking his thumb along three day old stubble.

"You're beautiful, Simon. If anyone dares tell you otherwise, I'll put a bullet through their fucking skull."

Simon scoffs, reaching for one of Johnny's hands and giving it an affectionate squeeze. "You really know your way to a man's heart, Johnny."

"Aye, so you admit, there is a heart in there somewhere?"

"Fuck off."

But it's far too affectionate for him to mean it.

They decide to call it a night soon after that, before things get too serious.

Johnny meets urgent brown eyes and offers the man one last, chaste kiss before he turns to his side of the bed.

"Suppose we should be getting to bed, don't wanna push you too far in one night," Johnny says as he retrieves Simon's shirt from the floor. He slips back into his own.

Johnny says it in part for himself and the rapidly approaching arousal he wants to keep at an arm's distance. He needs to think of something else before he gets himself too worked up.

The last thing he wants to do is make Simon uncomfortable. Heaven forbid he has more need for that pamphlet in the desk drawer. He doesn't want to trigger anything from his past.

Johnny can't bear the thought of hurting Ghost. It makes him physically sick.

Wordlessly, they settle into bed and Johnny turns to face the other man.

They're tired. They both are.

When the silence has settled just enough to lay heavy, a thoughtful little smile finds Johnny's lips. He finds the strength to say the words.

"Love you, Si."

Simon says nothing but intertwines their fingers under the blanket and raises their clasped hands to his mouth for a kiss to Johnny's knuckle.

Johnny lies there a while, awake, in quiet reverie.

In rare moments like these, the banter dies away and unmasks what lies beneath it. The raw emotion, the history and the heartbreak. They say it, all the things they can't express during the day.

The honesty catches them sober and still overtakes them.

He savours the moment, because he knows all the walls they broke down tonight will be back in the morning and this will all feel like a fever dream.

While he still has this, has them, Johnny loops an arm around Simon's waist and pulls him against his chest, holding the man protectively against him.

"I promise as long as I'm here, LT, I'll never let anyone lay a hand on you again."

It's enough honesty for one night.

Tomorrow, everything will go back to normal.

[ailithnight]

A King In Arkham

Henceforth, you will need an AO3 account to read this there.

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Danny was having a very confusing week.

It started with being kidnapped from his room in Arkham by a human tank that called himself Red X. Red X took him to a "safehouse" which was actually a repurposed warehouse. Then fed him the first non-hospital meal he'd had had in months.

Danny is a bit ashamed to admit he moaned at the first bite of a burger from the local fast food franchise. He'd all but forgotten how good food could be. Despite the mask, Danny got the impression that X was giving him a look at the sound. What kind of look, Danny wasn't sure.

Confusion or amusement would make sense. Danny could certainly imagine himself confused or amused if he heard someone moan into their Nasty Meal. But for some reason, some instinct told him that the emotion behind the look was closer to anger with an undercurrent of sorrow. Which Danny just couldn't wrap his head around. What about him appreciating a good burger could make X angry and/or sad?

Then again, maybe Danny shouldn't bother trying to wrap his head around Red X's behavior at all. The whole experience with him made no sense. He kidnaps Danny, apparently as a favor for someone who wasn't Vlad. Feeds his victim and puts him in bed. (Its too soft, too warm, Danny can't sleep in it. X gives him another one of those weird looks when he finds Danny splayed out, not quite dozing on the cool concrete floor.)

And the next day just, drops Danny off in some random woman's office at the Gotham Gazette's headquarters. Leaving him there at the ass crack of dawn like his job was done, instead of meeting with anyone to hand Danny off to whoever he'd been kindnapped for. Nothing about his interactions with Red X made any sense.

But of course, that was just the start of the week.

The woman who came in to find Danny in her office then proceeded to, well, scream first, which was an entirely justified reaction to finding an Arkham patient in you office the day after a break out. But then, instead of turning him over to the authorities, she gave him a bottle of water and proceeded to spend the next several hours 'interviewing' him. It was afternnon before she finally called security to have Danny returned to Arkham. If he hadn't still been so used to skipped meals from his time Before, he's sure his body would have been protesting the extended interview loudly.

Once the police picked him up, they interrogated him for another few hours about how he escaped. Danny was nothing but honest, though of course they didn't believe him. No one did these days. But that's okay. Eventually they were able to pull the Arkham security tapes to corroborate Danny's story. Once the saw it for themselves, they finally relented and called a transport truck to take Danny home.

Of course, then the Arkham guards had to spend an hour reprimanding him for the 'escape attempt'. He tells them earnestly that he had nothing to do with his own kidnapping. No one believes that of course. It seems they think that Danny's previous good behavior was a manipulation tactic.

They tell him no one will be falling for that again. That's fine. They tell him he's lost privileges for a month. That's fine too. Tell him he's lucky they don't move him to the max security wing. Danny doesn't think he'd mind if they did.

Finally, finally, they let him go back to his room around 7:30. It's a couple hours yet until lights out, but Danny doesn't care. He almost collapses into the thin mattress. It is by no objective means comfortable. But it is familiar. And Danny finds comfort in that. He falls asleep easily.

Some hours later, after lights out, Danny jolts awake from a... dream? It wasn't quite a good dream, but it wasn't quite The Nightmare either. It's already slipping out of his mind, but he has the vague sense it involved X and burgers and a chill creeping in his throat.

It must couldn't have been an entirely pleasant dream. For one, Danny doesn't get good dreams anymore. For another, he opens his eyes to a familiar black void hovering above him, the pit in his stomach deepening with her lingering touch.

As much as her presence makes his sins weigh heavier on his soul, Danny can't help but give Spectra a small smile. That... startles her, he thinks. In an instant, the cool hand leaching warmth and resonating with that hollow ache inside him is gone. He misses it.

The next morning, Danny has a new therapist, again. Seeing this one is a punch in the gut. There aren't really a bunch of similarities. Just blue-green eyes and long red hair. But just those 2 is enough to hurt. To remember that Jazz will never get to be here, sitting in that chair, talking to her patients, making Arkham a better place like she'd wanted ever since she heard Harley Quinn's story. Jazz will never get to chase her dreams and it's all his fault.

Danny tries, he really does and even mostly succeeds, to not get lost in his own head while they go through the normal routine. It's always the same question. Except... this time it deviates. Dr. Sparrow doesn't press at the self harm issue like all the others. She presses her lips, clearly dissatisfied with Danny's answer, but she lets it slide.

"Would you like to talk about the break out, Danny?" For the first time in 3 long months, Danny has heard a new question. Of course it's that one, but still, it's new. Danny can't decide whether or not he likes it. He shrugs.

"It happened. I got kidnapped." Dr. Sparrow is looking at him weird. She doesn't look unhappy or doubtful. In fact, she almost looks understanding, like she believes him. She looks too much like Jazz. It hurts. Danny looks away.

"You understand why it is difficult to believe you were an unwilling victim, don't you, Danny?" He shrugs. "Not only are very few people privy to the information that you are a patient here, but security footage also doesn't show you putting up any kind of a fight against your supposed kidnapper." She even sounds like Jazz, presenting her logical arguments.

"I... I don't know what you want me to say." She sighs.

"I just want to understand. I can't help you if you don't talk to me, Danny." I can't help you if you don't talk to me, Little Brother. Danny can't help the full body flinch. Anger, misplaced aggression surges under his skin. It feels like ice in his veins.

"Understand what! Everyone I love is dead because of me! Because I tried to take one shortcut and couldn't handle the consequences! And this! This is the better outcome! This time I won't hurt any more people." The reminder of what his grief causes makes the anger evaporate, leaving behind that familiar hollowness. "That's all that matters. As long as I don't get anyone else killed... Vlad is the only one who could hurt me in any way that matters. S'long as I don't end up with him, I don't care."

Danny is pretty sure he knows what J- Dr. Sparrow is going to say about that. He doesn't want to hear it. He can't stand to hear it. So he lets his mind slip away. When he tunes back in, the guard is there to escort him back to 26B. He glances at Dr. Sparrow. Her grim frown and worried eyes are too familiar. It makes the hollowness shudder, a spark of oh so dangerous care catching inside.. He wants to... he needs to...

"I'm sorry, Dr. Sparrow. For shutting down." Her eyes widen, concern vanishing into shock. "You remind me of my sister. She wanted to be a psychologist here too." With that, he turns around and lets the guard lead him back to his room.

The rest of the day is mostly a haze to Danny. He's peripherally aware of someone bringing around lunch, then later dinner. Danny briefly picks at the food, but he doesn't think he's hungry.

The third day starts with them telling him Dr. Sparrow cancelled there therapy session. She won't be seeing him anymore.

That's good.

She doesn't need to waste her valuable care on him. She's better off treating someone who could actually get better. Someone who can do more than just not cause trouble. Someone worthy of a life outside of Arkham.

It'll take them at least a day or 2 to assign him a new doctor. Danny expects the rest of the day to be a blur in his room. But some time after lunch, a guard comes and escorts him to a section of the hospital Danny has never been before. The visitation wing. There, waiting in a small privacy room, is the Head Doctor, the Cheif of Security, and a stranger in a trench coat who for some reason makes Danny's skin crawl with a desire to get very far away very fast.

The Cheif of Security looks at Trench Vibes, clearly disgruntled. "Is this really necessary?"

Trench Vibes responds in a heavy British accent. "Official Justice League Dark business, mate." Danny's surprise is almost enough for him to actually feel it. "Word has it, kid's got ghosts. I'm just hear to check up on that." Head Doctpr sputters a moment.

"Surely you don't mean to imply the ghost's could actually exist? Ghosts are not real, sir." Trench Vibes snorts.

"Sure. Next you'll tell me that magic ain't real either." Head Doctor opens his mouth to rebut, but then a golden light swirls around Trench Vibes' fingertips and that seems to make the Doctor rethink a few things. "Now, if you'll give me a few minutes with the kid, then I'll be out of your hair." He waits for the Doctor, Chief, and guard to all leave the room before he even looks at Danny. "I really hope I don't have to be the one to tell you your a little bit dead, kid."

"Danny."

"John Constantine."

Welp, no reason to lie here. ". . . I know I'm half ghost."

"Good. Well, not good that you're half dead, but good that you know. That would not be a fun conversation. Not that this one is much better. You're being haunted?"

"Not much anymore. It's okay." Trench Vibes, John Constantine, just gives Danny a disbelieving look. "Honest Mr. Constantine. I think they're getting bored since I won't fight them anymore."

"Anymore?"

"I'm from Amity Park. Ghost fights were a pretty regular thing there."

"I'm sorry, what? You're telling me there's a town under seige by ghosts and we didn't know about it?"

"You didn't... know? I mean, it's probably fine now. The ghosts mostly came to give me grief. Plus, I'm sure Vlad has dismantled my parent's portal by now."

"Portal?"

"To the Ghost Zone."

"Your parents had a portal to the Infinite Realms!?"

"Is that what you call the swirling green place?" Mr. Constantine sighs. He reaches a hand into his coat, but comes up empty. Whatever he was reaching for must have been confiscated before he could bring it into the hospital.

"So let me get this straight. Your parents opened a portal to the... Ghost Zone. No doubt flooded your whole town with enough ambient ecto to allow powerful physical manifestations. You somehow ended up half dead. Ghost start appearing. They fight you, you fight back, and now that you've left this Amity Park, those ghosts followed you here to continue haunting you."

"Pretty much."

"Why did you stop fighting back?"

". . . We aren't in Amity anymore. They can't hurt anyone."

"They've been hurting you." Trench Vibes has a scathing deadpan. If Danny could muster any feeling, he might be ashamed. Of course, as it were the closest thing he's experiencing to feeling right now is that prickling sensation that he should not be anywhere near Mr. Constantine.

"They can't hurt anyone that matters." Mr. Constantine abruptly stands.

"Nope. Nope, nope, nope. I am not equipped for this. I am reporting back to the Bat and then I guess I'm going to Illinois to figure out what the hell happened and why Dark didn't know about it." Mr. Constantine vanishes in a flash of light. A few seconds later, the guard comes and takes Danny back to his room.

At some point during day 4, Walker visits. Again, the surprise is almost strong enough to break through the cold hollow feeling in his chest. Almost. Walker had only visited once, the day they sent him here, to gloat over seeing the Halfa Punk finally imprisoned for his crimes.

The warden glances around his empty room, then settles for staring at Danny. Time passes, lunch and dinner a blur where Danny, for the 4th day in a row, barely eats a third of each meal. Walker is stares at him the whole time. It's kind of creepy and Danny almost wants to snap at him. Almost. Instead he lies on. his cot and traces cracks in his ceiling like he's looking at constellations. Finally, just after lights out, Walker does more than stare. He speaks.

"Effective immediately, your previous sentencing has been overturned and all other charges are dropped. You are no longer Wanted, punk. Keep your nose clean. I never want to see you in my prison again." Danny spends most of the night thinking about Walker's change of heart and not being wanted as a ghost anymore.

The fifth day is mostly normal. Spectra shows back up. Danny doesn't make the mistake of smiling at her or acknowledging her at all really. He doesn't want to scare her off again. He missed her. She seems upset. She practically gouges his heart out with the ferocity with which she plunges her clawed hand into his chest to feast. She's not in the slightest gentle with how she drags more and more misery from him, through him. Danny doesn't mind the ache. He's just happy, to whatever empty extent he can be happy, that someone is reaping some meager benefit from his still beating heart.

Day 6 passes much the same with Spectra hovering over him the whole day.

Finally, day 7. The final day to finish out the most disorienting week of Danny's short life. The grand finale of confusion starts with Danny back in the visitation wing. Spectra stays with him right up until they walk into that same little room from 3 days ago, where Danny sees Mr. Kincaid, the social worker he met once when he arrived in Gotham, and a man in a fancy business suit. Mr. Business stands up and smiles, looking for all the world like Danny had made his day by walking in the room.

"Hello Danny, my name is Bruce Wayne."

[steddiealltheway]

Part Seven of Not-So-Secret Secret Admirer!!!!!!! Part One. Part Six. AO3 Link.

Eddie wallows in silence for a while before deciding he needs to do something to distract himself. He gets out his notebook and starts scribbling things down for an upcoming campaign that he hasn't been able to hash out in a hot minute. 

The villain in this campaign needs to be truly evil. Maybe disguised as one of the players... Erica would love to deceive everyone. The character could have a secret identity and pretend to be close with all the members and slowly start to care for them, but ultimately, they would betray the group. 

Eddie stares at his notes and realizes what he’s done. “Shit,” Eddie says and tosses the notebook away further down his mattress. He puts his head in his hands and lays back to stare at his ceiling.  

In less than twelve hours, Steve will be going on a date with the fake E.R. - enough time for Eddie to crash the date. Also, enough time for Eddie to consider it, talk himself out of it, consider it again, and once again talk himself out of it. 

“How would I even go about it? ‘Hi, Steve, I’m E.R.. Yes, like the hospital because I didn’t think it through. And the girl here is someone that Robin set you up with because we’ve actually been scheming this whole time- fuck,” Eddie groans then sits up and grabs his notebook. 

He flips a few pages and grabs his pencil. 

Operation Crash E.R. aka Steve’s Hopes and Dreams 

Part one: Crash the date 

Part two: Make everything up on the spot and worry about the consequences later 

Eddie nods for a few seconds, satisfied with the plan before tearing the page out of his notebook and quickly ripping it up. He would scream and blast music if Wayne wasn’t sleeping. For now, he’ll have to settle for wallowing in silence again. 

Maybe crashing the date is a horrible idea. Not only would it be unfair to Steve, but it would also risk publicly outing Eddie and consequently Steve. Enzo’s is not exactly a “friends grabbing a bite to eat” type of place. Especially with Eddie’s tainted reputation. Seeing Steve Harrington with The Freak at Family Video is different than being spotted having a romantic candlelit dinner with him. 

As much as it pains him to admit it, life is not a fairytale, and crashing the date is an unrealistic option even for Eddie. Unless he somehow catches Steve and crashes the date before it even happens, but then that means Eddie is forced to talk to him and explain everything... 

So, the only option is to let Steve have dinner with an insanely beautiful girl and hope that it goes horribly. And if it doesn’t... he will wait for them to break up in the long run or maybe this will finally force Eddie to get over his feelings for Steve. 

Eddie settles back in his bed and lets the hopelessness wash over him. But at least he has a plan now. Eddie chuckles humorlessly as he thinks about E.R.. “Eternal... rage.... no. Eternal... regret! Everlasting regret, the new E.R..” He closes his eyes and lets himself wallow. Maybe the hours will pass quickly. 

-:-:-:-:-:-

The hours do not pass quickly, and no matter how hard Eddie tries to sleep away the day his racing thoughts keep him up. It almost feels like a miracle when Wayne knocks on his door to alert him that he’s awake. Now he can create some great new songs for Corroded Coffin. 

Except that doesn’t happen, but somehow the hours pass, and Wayne is knocking on his door again - time for Eddie’s dinner and Wayne’s lunch. 

They eat in comfortable silence as Wayne reads the newspaper and Eddie stares at the clock. The date is soon. Steve is probably getting his hair all fixed up in the mirror at the moment using whatever magic it is that makes it perfect. Dustin had once told him about some type of hairspray, but Eddie still doesn’t entirely believe only hairspray is responsible for that beauty... 

Eddie puts his head in his hands. Never in his life did he think that he would be thinking so intensely about Steve Harrington’s hair. 

Wayne pats his back as he puts his plate in the sink and then starts packing the leftovers for his dinner. “I take it you ain’t crashing that date.” 

“No,” Eddie admits, and Wayne just nods in response. 

A silence settles between them before Wayne says, “I’m going in early and working a bit longer than usual, but if you need anything, call me.” 

Eddie smiles at his uncle and nods before heading back to his room and crashing into his bed. It’s early, but he’s emotionally exhausted. And with his mind made up and the date steadily approaching, Eddie feels alright closing his eyes and drifting off. Tomorrow will be a new and hopefully better day. 

-:-:-:-:-:-

Eddie wakes up with a groan as he takes in the knocking sound on his trailer door. “What time...” he glances over to his clock. Who is trying to get to him at nine in the morning? 

Eddie gets out of bed feeling slightly delirious and not well rested at all as he makes his way to the door. The knocking is still persistent until he opens the door and finds Steve on the other side. Eddie glances outside and asks, “Why is it dark out?” 

Steve squints at him. “Because it’s nighttime? Were you sleeping?” 

“Yeah,” Eddie says and takes a moment to think, “Am I dreaming?” 

Steve slightly smiles and huffs a laugh, “No, but could I come inside?” 

“Whatever you say dream Steve,” Eddie mock salutes him and lets him come inside. “You look nice,” Eddie comments as Steve passes by him. He smells nice too, but when does he not? He’s not sure why he’s all dressed up though when... 

The date. Suddenly Eddie feels wide awake as he glances at his watch. It’s a little after nine and apparently night time which means... Steve should still be on the date. Yet, he’s here... 

“Date not go well or something?” Eddie can’t help but ask with a little hope. Steve shrugs and puts his hands on his hips, then he nervously runs a hand through his hair still staring at Eddie. “Steve?” 

“Hmm? Oh, the date... it went fine? It’s just...” Steve trails off and looks around. Eddie really wishes he was fully awake for whatever is about to come next. “She isn’t my secret admirer.” 

Eddie panics and tries to brush it off as easily as he can, “Sorry, man, maybe the real one is shy or something. Or maybe Emerald was just... I don’t know, but I’m sure you’ll find them eventually,”  

“I already found them,” Steve says. 

Eddie freezes then he shakes his head. “No, really, I don’t think you know-” 

“Eddie,” Steve cuts him off and moves into his space, “I know that it’s you.” 

It’s like any excuse or intelligent thought leaves Eddie’s brain as he says, “Huh?” 

Steve walks past him to the fridge and points out a sticky note. “This note to your uncle, it’s in E.R.’s handwriting. The E stands for Eddie,” Steve digs through his wallet and pulls out another note, “The note you left for me is in the same handwriting, and it’s signed the same as E.R..” Steve then points towards Eddie’s bedroom. “You have a stack of my notes in there with the rose, I saw it while I was changing.” 

“I was just... keeping those for...E.R..” 

“Eddie,” Steve says and slowly approaches him. “I know it’s you. Come on. I asked Emerald what her favorite place was and what makes her happy, and she said it was the mall before it burned down. She didn’t know of a single gift you gave me, so don’t try to say it was her.” 

“I’m not but maybe it’s someone else,” Eddie says with his arms wide. He desperately needs Steve to drop this. He needs to find some way to excuse all of this... 

“I want you to be E.R.!” Steve loudly confesses. 

Eddie feels like a bucket of cold water has just been dumped over him. “What?” 

“I don’t care if you are them. Hell, I don’t care if you aren’t them. I just... I really like you. And I wouldn’t have gone on that date if I didn’t think it would be you there,” Steve says entirely seriously and stares at Eddie anxiously with his hands on his hips. 

It’s like all the air has been sucked out of the room, and Eddie knows that he needs to come clean about the plan. “Steve, you should know-” 

A loud knock interrupts Eddie. He gives Steve a look then they both look toward the door. “Open up, dingus! Come on, you have a date to crash! Operation E.R. aka Eddie Robin is officially coming to a close!” 

This cannot be happening. 

“What does she mean...” Steve asks quietly as Eddie remains frozen in place.  

Robin continues yelling, “If you were serious about not liking Steve then fine! I give up! We got what we wanted! He finally stopped complaining about being hopeless in love! That’s why you kept this up for so long, isn’t it? Just to shut him up for once? Because we both know that’s not-” 

It’s like Eddie finally found his ability to move his feet as he runs to the door and yanks it open. “Robin, now is not the time-” 

“No! Right now is the time. And you’re lucky one of the kids didn’t say it sooner when they found out about the plan! Everyone knows that you-” 

“Everyone knows?” Steve finally speaks up. Eddie sees the exact moment that Robin realizes Steve is there. 

“Steve, wait, it’s not-” 

Eddie can’t even turn around. The hurt is already so thick in his voice that Eddie feels a stinging in the back of his eyes. 

“So, this was all some plan to trick me into falling for some imaginary person, and then you’d just pass it off to some random chick you thought I would instantly fall for? And the kids were in on it, too?” Steve lets out a painful humorless laugh. “Of course. Of course. Why would I think someone would randomly fall for me? Oh, sorry, is that too much complaining for you guys?” 

“Steve, we can explain-” Robin starts, eyes wide in horror. 

Steve cuts her off. “Not now, Robin. Just...” There’s a metallic sort of noise as something is set down on a counter. “Give me some space,” Steve says as he brushes by Eddie and rushes out of the trailer. Eddie only sees him pinching his nose before he’s turning away, trying to ignore the telltale sign that Steve is trying not to cry.  

He hears Steve pull out of the driveway and speed off, but he doesn’t pay much attention to it as his eyes catch on a silver glint on the counter. Eddie walks over and grabs the ring and stares at it. 

What has he done?

Part Eight

Don't kill me my lovely tag list:

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@thehumblefigtree @eddiemunsonswife @otterology @precursorandthedragon @th1gh-s @ironydude

[gigglesandfreckles-hp]

basic maths

Euphemia Potter once endured the Cruciatus curse for a staggering five minutes without uttering so much as a whimper. Rumour has it that when the Death Eaters finally relented, she stood tall, flashed them a smile, and put her hair in a ponytail before disapparating, as if she could have done it all along. (The two Death Eaters responsible were found dead two days later, allegedly having both fallen off of a roof. James asked about the circumstances surrounding that exactly one time before deciding it was better not to know some things about his mothers extracurricular activities.) “James!” The familiar rhythm of Euphemia’s knock echoes through his bedroom door, the distinct sound of her meticulously manicured nails successfully ruining James’s sleep (and most likely soon-to-be his life, if past experience proves anything). “If you’re naked, put some clothes on. I need to speak with you.” “Mum,” he grumbles, fumbling for his glasses on the bedside table. His fingers miss their mark, sending the spectacles tumbling to the floor. Instead, he retrieves his wand, momentarily contemplating the consequences of hexing his mother through the door—would it be the Ministry or Euphemia who proved more formidable? “James! I’m opening the door in five seconds. You better not be wanking to one of Sirius’s magazines.”  In that moment, James concludes that while Euphemia may indeed be the more daunting adversary, the potential repercussions might just be worth the risk. The door swings open, and Euphemia breezes into the room. Even without his glasses, James can sense her presence—her regal demeanour, the jingle of her extravagant jewellery, the soft rustle of her robes against the rug. She’s either been awake for hours or slept in the ridiculously ensemble. Neither of those options is entirely far-fetched from who James knows his mother to be. “You know,” she begins, and he barely manages to move his legs before she settles on his bed where they were before, “when your father and I first got married—” James doesn’t manage to suppress his groan. It’s too bloody early for this. “—he insisted on staying in London and it was almost a breaking point. I told him, ‘Flea. You can’t raise a family in the rain.’ I almost left him, James.” “No, you bloody didn’t,” he mutters. His mother has many talents: campaigning, duelling, and creating drama where it is absolutely not necessary. James’s glasses hit him sharply in the face and he knows without looking that she’s summoned them silently. He also knows the force with which they hit his cheek was absolutely intentional. keep reading on ao3

[standfucker]

Thoughtful

Happy Valentines, @jadedrrose! I got the pleasure of writing your gift for the @onepiece-blorboexchange​. I hope you like it!

(Sorry it’s a bit over the word count, I have trouble being concise and did my very best! Also sorry I’m a whole hour past the deadline! OTL)

Characters: Ace

Reader: cis fem

Word Count: 5,749

CW: mostly fluff, Explicit N.SFW content, light jealousy, rough sex, marking, sub reader

Summary: Ace had plans for you this Valentine’s Day.

Ao3 Link

You woke up feeling oddly crowded and hot. The reason became rapidly apparent once you shifted and found you had no space to move: Ace had crawled into your hammock at some point while you slept. It wasn’t the first time he had done so, despite not being allowed in the women's quarters. Half-covering your body with an arm around your side, he was currently awake, watching you with nothing short of adoration even though you probably looked a mess.

“Ace?” you mumbled.

“Shh.” He put a finger to his lips, glancing at the other hammocks in the room where the nurses slept.

You lowered your voice to a whisper. “You’re gonna get in trouble again.”

“Worth it, for this,” he whispered back, then pressed a kiss to your lips.

You smiled when he broke away. “I gotta say, it’s not a bad way to wake up.”

“That’s the general idea. I want today to be extra special,” Ace rested his forehead against yours. “Even today, we won’t have much time alone.”

Living with a fleet of over one thousand people meant that time alone with Ace was hard to come by. Valentine's day was no exception. It didn’t take much for the crew to find reasons to celebrate–every holiday was a chance to throw a party, keeping morale high. Still, with the ratio of men to women being almost nonexistent, it meant that there were very few couples among the crew. Given that, you didn’t expect Valentine's Day to be celebrated as well.

Having joined a little less than a year ago, this would be your first one with the crew. And to your surprise, the fleet had docked by a beach the night before with every intention to cut loose today.

Ace reached into his pocket and withdrew a folded piece of paper, offering it to you.

“What’s this?” you asked, accepting it gingerly.

“It’s the first clue,” Ace said cryptically. “I set up a little game.”

You blinked in surprise, then smiled, your curiosity piqued. “I like games.”

“I know,” Ace grinned, “I–”

“Portdgas D. Ace!” Tate’s shrill rebuke made Ace freeze.

“Oops. Gotta go,” Ace said, hastily exiting the hammock. “See you soon!”

“Ace, get the hell out!”

Ace slid out the door right as Tate’s sandal smacked against it.

You gave Tate an apologetic look. "Sorry..."

"You didn't do anything wrong," she grumbled.

It was nice that Tate didn’t expect you to ‘keep him in check.’ Everyone knew Ace better than that. Not a single crewmate would have put such an impossible task on you, not even Pops himself. When he had first heard that you two started dating, he laughed and wished you luck. Not in a health-and-blessings way, but in a ‘have fun with that’ way.

You unfolded the paper, revealing a line written in his handwriting: ‘Beneath where we first talked.’

That had to mean the Mess Room. You freshened up quickly, eager to see what he had planned, and headed there straight away.

The first time you ever talked to Ace was shortly after you had joined the Whitebeard Pirates. You had stood awkwardly in the Mess Room during lunch, holding your tray nervously, not knowing where to sit among the hundreds of strangers at the tables. Ace had waved you down to come sit next to him, and you ended up talking for hours. He had a way of making you feel at ease with his boyish charm and endless energy.  You two stayed put long after everyone else had left, ignoring your duties in order to keep conversing. Both of you had gotten yelled at for it later.

Ignoring weird looks from other crewmates, you got on your knees and peered under the chair you had sat in that day. A pulse of giddy excitement went through you to see another piece of paper taped to the bottom. This one was folded over itself like a pouch, with something small inside. You pulled it out to find a little wrapped square of chocolate.

No way, you thought, heart swelling in your chest. Ace did this?

You unwrapped the chocolate, popping it into your mouth before reading the clue. It was only two words: ‘First fight.’

That made you frown, unsure of its meaning. You and Ace rarely fought, and when you did, you were always able to talk it out once tensions had cooled. Thinking for a bit, you wondered if he meant ‘fight’ as in sparring–while you couldn’t remember any of your past arguments in detail, the first time you sparred with Ace was particularly memorable.

At the end of the fight, you had Ace pinned to the foremast with a hand around his neck, your arm coal-black with haki. Vista was mentoring you on its usage, and your control was still imperfect. Ace took advantage of that, distracting you with a coy smirk and a "Not gonna lie. This is kind of hot."

Caught off guard and terribly flustered, your control over your haki waned for a just moment. Ace took the chance, dissolving into flames and reforming behind you, wrenching your wrists behind your back and shoving you into the foremast. He leaned in to whisper into your ear. "But I like this better."

Your cheeks warmed at the memory, but sure enough, the next piece of paper was taped to the foremast. This one had a piece of chocolate inside, as well.

The clues were all like that, references to times spent with Ace that led you around the ship. Crewmates hurried around you as you searched, setting up for the day with chairs and blankets and nets for volleyball.

One clue in particular was more poetic than the others, making you smile: ‘With the stars as our witness!’

The crow’s nest, where you had first confessed your feelings for each other. He had kissed you that night, underneath the blanket of stars.

You climbed into the crow’s nest to find Ace waiting there, twirling another piece of paper between his fingers and beaming once he saw you.

“You made it! Good, I wasn’t sure if some of those hints were too vague…” he said.

You crossed the short distance, sat right in his lap, threw your arms around his neck, and kissed him. Ace immediately relaxed into the kiss, reciprocating softly. You were aware of a faint sizzling noise, but didn't realize what it was until the smell of something burning hit your nose–the paper Ace was holding had caught fire in his excitement.

“Oops,” Ace muttered against your mouth, “I’ll just tell you that one.” You giggled as he ran his hands down your back, grabbing your ass and pulling you closer.

The two of you kissed for a long while, not unlike the very first time, caught up in the momentary privacy. You cupped his face once you finally broke apart.

“Ace, this is the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me,” you said.

“Really? That’s a shame. Sure makes it easier for me to impress you, though,” he joked.

You giggled, looking out over the beach. Crewmates were already starting to enjoy themselves, playing in the surf or sand. “Maybe we can just stay here for a while.”

“We could…” Ace kissed you again. “But there’s no shade up here, and the rest of the clues are on the beach.”

“On the beach?” You pulled away to look at him questioningly. “Did you set this up overnight?”

“I didn’t stay up late, don’t worry. And it’s nothing close to the tide. There aren’t chocolates in those ones, though. I figured they would melt.”

“Just how many clues are left?”

“Not many. You’re halfway done. At the pace you’re going, you’ll probably finish before noon.” Ace looked sheepish. “I thought it would last a bit longer, to be honest.”

“That’s okay!” you said quickly. “I love that you did this for me! It’s been fun. And if you want it to last longer, I can take a break and find the rest of the clues later.”

“Sure, we have all day.” Ace looked out over the beach, squinting at something. “The tide’s out right now. Want to go look at some critters?”

You followed his gaze to the tide pools at the far end of the beach. Both of you shared a love of animals in common. “Yeah, let’s do it!”

Once you descended to the beach, Ace not-so-subtly insisted you coat each other in sunscreen (“Marco says it’s important!”) and you had to tell him to rein it in when he started getting a little too bold with his hands, reminding him that you were surrounded by the family. Maybe he had no shame, but you still got flustered when crewmates teased you over his sometimes-relentless PDA. He also made eyes at you while you spread the sunscreen on his chest, making your cheeks bloom hot despite having been together for months.

“Cut that out,” you muttered, giggling when he started waggling his eyebrows.

The intertidal zone was brimming with life, the curtain of the ocean temporarily lifted to reveal a brief window into the world below the surface. Ace was stepping delicately for once, careful not to disturb anything while mindful to keep in the shallows where the water wouldn’t go past his boots. He pointed out animals in the deeper sections, and you would herd them to swim closer to his feet so he could get a better look.

Colorful anemones and urchins bloomed like underwater flowers, interspersed with barnacles and sea stars clinging to the rocks in a constellation. You watched a crab scuttle away from where you had accidentally disturbed it, hiding from you in the seagrass.

“Hey, check it out!” Ace called. You turned around to see that he had stuck a pair of sea stars over his chest like a bra. “I’m a mermaid~!”

Covering your mouth did little to stifle your laughter, his big, dumb grin almost funnier to you than the act itself. He was just so proud of himself–he always was after making you laugh.

Ace cocked his hip, checking himself out. “Damn, I could give those girls on Fish-Man Island a run for their money.”

“Yes, yes, you’re a very sexy mermaid,” you laughed, stepping over him and reaching for the sea stars, “now put those poor things back.”

Ace turned away from you, covering his chest and squealing girlishly. “No! Don’t strip me!”

“Ace,” you reprimanded, trying again to peel the sea stars off, but he squirmed and pushed you away. You scrabbled to get at them, Ace half-heartedly fighting back, play-wrestling until you were both giggling.

“My virginal body!”

“Ace!” As cute as he was, you didn’t like to remove animals from the water if they weren’t going to be eaten later.

“Fine,” Ace conceded, finally standing still and puffing out his chest for you. “I know you want to see me shirtless.”

“You can’t use that against me because you’re always shirtless.”

“You’re welcome.”

You rolled your eyes, gently prying the first sea star from Ace’s body. Though they had not latched on tight, Ace was not done messing with you, because as you peeled one off, he let out a loud, excessive moan, drawing a few heads.

“Stop!” you hissed, gritting your teeth to keep from laughing again–it would only encourage him.

“Okay, okay. Sorry.”

Ace only said it so you would let your guard down. You really should have known better. He moaned again when you removed the second star, and not expecting it, you were unable to suppress your laugh that time.

“Put them back where you found them,” you said once you composed yourself, handing him the slow-moving invertebrates.

‘It was right here, don’t worry.” Ace crouched down to return the sea stars to the water, bringing him close to your feet. He looked surprised when he stood back up. “Where are your shoes?”

“I’m down to one good pair, and I didn’t feel like getting them wet. It’s fine, I’m watching my step.”

“There could still be venomous animals around here,” he said, playfulness overwritten with concern. “You could also cut your feet on the rocks.”

“I told you I’m being careful. Besides, we got Marco. He could fix it.”

Ace’s face fell a bit at the mention of the phoenix man, an uncharacteristic frown pulling down the corners of his lips at the thought of Marco touching you.

“What?” you said, though you immediately knew what he was thinking about. “Are you still upset by the hip thing?”

A few months ago, a fierce battle with enemy pirates left you with a deep gash low on your hip, beneath your underwear. Marco had to touch the area to heal it, of course. He was nothing but professional, as always when in ‘work mode,’ but Ace had been bothered by the sight regardless.

Ace grinned sheepishly, fully aware of his own shortcomings. “I can’t help it.” He grabbed your hips and pulled you close, practically grinding his crotch into you. One of his hands shamelessly slid below the hem of your pants and underwear, hot fingers tracing the rough scar on your hip. “I should be the only one to touch you.”

You gasped, then quickly regained composure. “Boy…” It was a low warning, one that made him smirk.

“You always react so strongly.”

“Ace–full disclosure,” you started, glancing around at nearby crewmates, “I’m a little blown away by what you’ve done for me today, and at this point… Let’s just say I would be extremely cross with you if you started something you can’t finish.”

Ace’s chuckle was deep in his chest, sending a pleasant shiver down your spine and not helping at all. “And you haven’t even found all the clues yet,” he said smugly.

Your heartbeat had picked up. Even after almost a year, and the new relationship energy wore off, he never failed to make your heart race. You pulled his hand out of your pants, occupying his fingers instead with your own, threading them together with his. He squeezed your hand in response.

“You’re making me more and more curious,” you said. “I want to go find them now.”

“Nooo, do it later.”

His protest was also curious, making you try to figure out why he wanted to postpone the game. Then you recalled an earlier clue.

“Ah, is it maybe… You want me to find the last clue while the stars are out?” you searched his face, knowing you were right when a light blush formed on his cheeks. “You know, Ace, you’re surprisingly romantic.”

His hand still on your hip squeezed, and the smirk returned to his face before he leaned in close to your ear to whisper. “You wouldn’t say that if you knew the kind of thoughts I had about you.”

Your breath caught in your throat, and you started to feel a little warm in places you’d rather not feel in public. “Ace…”

He pulled back, letting go of your hip but still holding your hand. “Right, right. Don’t start what I can’t finish. Sorry…”

Ace seemed genuinely apologetic, so you took a breath to calm yourself and shook your head. Finding time and space to be intimate felt impossible at times, and only made your craving for each other worse. Sometimes–most times–that meant it was really easy to get riled up, which only led to frustration. But damn if you didn’t want to indulge, especially after all he had done for you.

The tide coming in forced the two of you to return to the sandy part of the beach. Ace was watching a few of the volleyball games that had been going on as you got closer.

“Looks like Marco and Vista are playing volleyball…” he said. There was a playful spark in his eyes when they met yours.

You knew what he was thinking. “You wanna play a game using haki again.”

“You know me so well,” he grinned. “Can’t do it without my number one partner, though–you in?”

“Of course! Just remember–you have to transfer haki to the ball right as you hit it, or it’ll explode from the force.”

“I won’t explode the ball this time!”

You giggled. “I know. I believe in you, babe.”

Ace beamed, a little bounce in his step at the pet name.

Marco and Vista eagerly accepted your challenge–up until then, their games had been normal, even dreary. The game between the four of you was intense and exhilarating, each haki-infused strike of the ball sounding almost like a gunshot. Marco and Vista had a significant height advantage over you and Ace, but the two of you made up for it with sheer grit, spiking the ball back with equally savage blows. You were both competitive types, another trait you shared in common. It may have even been enough to win the game, had Ace not suddenly fallen asleep on the spot.

“Aaand he’s out,” Marco commented, lobbing the ball lightly at Ace’s head, “I guess we win by default, yoi.”

The ball bouncing off Ace’s head did not wake him. It didn’t even knock him over.

“I guess so,” you said between pants, a little more out-of-breath than the endlessly-rejuvenated devil fruit user. “I could use a break, anyway.”

You lugged Ace over your back in a fireman’s carry, seeking out a shady spot to sit. Finding an untaken pool chair beneath the shade of an umbrella, you reclined there, pulling Ace so he was laying back against your chest. Safe with your thousands of brothers dotting the beach around you, cool in the shade, and cozy with your lover snoozing against you, it seemed the perfect chance to nap. You barely had the thought before your eyelids grew heavy and you drifted off.

You thought you woke up before Ace, as he was still laying on you, but when you shook him to wake him, he looked up at you with full alertness.

“Sleep good?” he asked.

“Ugh… Too good. How long was I out?” you said, groggy. It was not your intention to sleep that deeply.

“Not sure. You looked real comfy, though. I didn’t want to wake you.”

You shielded your eyes and looked indirectly at the sun. It was low in its arc, starting to descend. A few hours, then.

“Why don’t we get something to eat–”

“Yes,” Ace agreed before you finished.

“–and then I can find the rest of the clues.” You gently pinched his cheek in retaliation for cutting you off, but he only smiled.

“Sounds like a plan.”

After you both had eaten, Ace told you the next hint, which led you further away from the beach. The next clue was taped high up on a palm tree, forcing you to climb a bit to reach it. Ace knew you could manage it fine, though you still wondered why he placed it up there. However, when you glanced down at him and saw his eyes settled on your ass, the intention became clear.

“You really have no shame,” you said once you hopped down, though your tone was only amused.

“Not my fault,” Ace said, then gave your rear a sudden, firm smack that made you yelp in surprise. “It’s so thick. What else is a guy to do?”

You grabbed the hanging cord of his hat above the skull emblem, pulling his head down so he was looking you in the eye. “I swear to god, Ace, I will slap your ass back and I will use armament haki if I have to.”

“Kinky,” he grinned, unfazed.

Given that there weren’t any crewmates currently around, you let it slide, unfolding the clue. It pointed you toward the opposite end of the beach. The next few clues had you walking all over, you and Ace holding hands as you went. With a gentle breeze piercing the warm air, it was leisurely and relaxing. The sun was setting by the time you ended up standing over a sandy part of the beach, where two sticks were crossed over each other in an ‘X.’

Digging in the sand was your favorite way of finding a clue so far, and when you unearthed the small, copper treasure chest, you were certain this was the final one. You glanced back at Ace in amazement, not having expected a gift. You thought the day was the gift.

Ace was clearly nervous as he watched, which only fueled your curiosity, and you didn’t wait another moment, unlatching the chest and lifting the lid.

Sitting on a white felt backing was a bead necklace, similar to Aces’ in size and shape, except the beads were painted a brilliant cobalt blue, the color instantly triggering a memory of diving in the open ocean.

When you didn’t say anything after a moment, Ace spoke up, sounding as nervous as he looked. “I… I thought we could match… I hope you don’t think it’s cheesy–”

“I love it,” you blurted out. The reason for your pause was awe, at first. Then you had to take a second to collect yourself, getting emotional from the thought behind the gift. “Ace, it’s perfect.”

Tension left Ace’s shoulders, and then he lit up like the fire child he was, seeming to glow with joy, his jubilant grin challenging the beauty of the sunset behind him.

You held the open chest out to him. “Put it on me?”

“Yeah!”

Ace lifted the necklace from the box, focusing very hard so as not to light either on fire in his eagerness, and you bowed your head to let him hang the beads around your neck. His fingers trailed along your collar, making you shiver.

“How’s it look?” you asked, heart pounding.

“You’d look beautiful in a burlap sack,” he said sincerely, “but–damn, babe. It looks even better than I thought it would.”

“I love it,” you said again, reaching to cup his face. Ace automatically leaned into the touch. “I love you.”  You pulled him in for a kiss, and he responded by dropping the empty chest to wrap his hands around your lower back, pulling you against him.

Ace broke away for a second to say “I love you too–” but you silenced him with your mouth, because obviously–he didn’t need to say it after all of today. He got the idea, melting back into the kiss, teeth closing on your bottom lip gently to make your breath hitch.

Feeling yourself getting heated and knowing you could do nothing to sate it right there, you reluctantly pulled away after only a minute. Ace seemed to understand that, too, not pursuing your lips for another kiss but just pressing his forehead to yours in quiet affection.

“There’s one last clue,” he murmured. “It was under the necklace.”

“Really? Another?” you said, surprised.

“Just for fun.” Ace released you to pick up the chest he had dropped, peeling off the clue taped to the inside and offering it to you. Right before you could take it, he jerked his hand away. “One last thing–you can’t look at it right away. You have to give me sixty seconds to hide.”

“To hide?”

Ace’s grin promised mischief, setting the paper into your hand. “The last clue leads to me.”

“Oh?”

“You’ll see! Close your eyes and start counting.”

Normally you’d give him a suspicious look, but at this point you would have gone along with almost anything he proposed. “Alright…”

You covered your eyes and started mentally counting, hearing Ace giggle and take off. He was gone by the time you reached sixty, and you started heading back toward the more occupied part of the beach. A raging bonfire had been built over the last hour, almost as big as Whitebeard himself, crewmates drinking and laughing and roasting marshmallows around it. You kept your distance for now, walking where the waves skimmed over the shore and tickled your bare feet, admiring the reflection of the stars in the water.

Right as you unfolded the clue, a beach ball whizzed by, smacking into your hands and knocking the paper from your grip. The clue fluttered away before you could grab it, landing on the sand just in time for a wave to roll over it.

“Sorry!” someone called as you scrambled to get the paper before it was washed away. You managed to retrieve it in time, but the ink on the paper had bled so badly it was completely illegible. You sighed heavily before plucking the beach ball and tossing it back.

At a loss without any hints and with little choice, you started searching on your best guesses, scouring the beach for where Ace could be. After a fruitless half-hour, you couldn’t help but wonder if something had happened. What if he was hiding by the water and fell asleep? If he fell into the water while hiding, no one would spot him in time. The thought was a bit paranoid, but it ate at you until you decided to ask for help, finding Marco standing a ways away from the bonfire.

"Hey, Marco!"

"Hey, yourself," Marco said, cheerful expression faltering at the sight of the worry in your face. "Is everything okay, yoi?"

"It's Ace. We’re playing hide-and-seek, but I can't find him anywhere," you said. "I know it sounds dumb, but I can't help worrying that he fell into the water or something."

"Hmm…" Marco narrowed his eyes, scanning the beach. He smiled. "You sure he just doesn't have a clever hiding spot?"

"I hope that's all it is, but I can't figure it out! Can you help me?"

"Sure. I know how to draw him out." Marco beckoned you closer.

"How?"

"Like this, yoi." Marco slung his arm around the back of your neck, pulling you in close. Far too close, his face–and lips–only inches from yours.

"Marco?!" You pulled back, immediately uneasy, but were held in place by his firm hold.

"Relax. Look…" Marco released you, tilting his head in the direction of the bonfire.

The bonfire flickered, then something within it solidified, forming the shape of a person. Ace stepped out of it a moment later, kicking up sand as he stomped over to where you were.

Of course–it was obvious in hindsight. Relief flooded through you, though it was slightly offset by Ace’s glare. It was entirely directed at Marco, however, and Ace stepped right between the two of you, one arm held out protectively as he faced the blond. Even though you trusted Marco with your life, the sight of Ace’s back was still comforting.

“Oi, pineapple head,” Ace said thickly, “what was that supposed to be?”

“Chill. I was just getting your attention,” Marco replied smoothly, unbothered.

“There are better ways to do that. Ones that don't involve making her uncomfortable.”

At that, Marco paused, a flash of guilt crossing his face. “You're right, you're right.” He looked past Ace at you, rubbing the back of his neck. “Sorry, Y/n.”

“Apology accepted, don’t do it again, etcetera,” you said, waving it off. “Next time, use your words.”

Ace wasn’t as easily assuaged, standing rigid and fixing Marco with a dirty look. You took his wrist, guiding him away before he worked himself up any further.

“Come on, Ace. It’s fine,” you reassured. Ace let you lead him for a minute, then suddenly twisted his wrist out of your grip and grabbed yours instead, starting to pull you in the other direction.

“Ace?” you questioned, but he didn’t respond, walking briskly until you had reached one of the changing rooms that dotted along where the sand turned to packed dirt. Ace dragged you inside, shut the door, melted the metal lock in place, and promptly pushed you against the wall.

You gasped at the force he used, his grip tight around your arms. He followed with his body, pressing his entire torso against yours, pinning you in place with his hips. A pulse of excitement had run through you as soon as he melted the lock, and you were already breathing heavier from the dark intent radiating off of him.

Ace dipped his head to kiss you, claiming your lips more roughly than usual. You accepted the advance enthusiastically, parting your lips when his tongue traced along them, letting him explore the shape of your mouth as if he had never done so before.

“Didn’t like that,” Ace pulled away to mutter before kissing you again.

“I–kind of–figured,” you said between kisses, pushing him back so you could speak properly. “You know I’m not interested.”

“I know.” He dove right back in, this time kissing along your jaw. “It’s not you I’m worried about.”

You saw an opportunity suddenly, a chance to push him a little. He couldn’t see your conspiratory smile, but he heard the devilishness in your voice when you said, “Well… Maybe you should be.”

Ace paused.

“On second thought, he’s kind of attractive, in an older-man sort of way.”

You felt Ace’s lips curl into a smirk against your jaw. He knew the game, knew what you were seeking. His body started emanating heat to an unnatural degree, an odd side-effect of his devil fruit whenever he got really excited, and his burning hands slid down your arms to your wrists. He lifted them above your head, practically slamming them to the wall.

“Don’t test me,” Ace growled in your ear, deep timbre going straight between your legs. He grinded his crotch into yours, the prominent bulge showing that he did not mind being ‘tested’ as much as he said, and your gasp turned into a little moan.

“But, Ace,” you panted, “I mean, forty years old–think of the experience.”

His grip around your wrists tightened almost painfully. “You know, Y/n, I wasn’t going to leave any marks,” he said, lips skimming down your neck, “but now, I’m going to make sure the whole damn fleet knows who you belong to.”

Ace sank his teeth into where your neck met your shoulder, making you cry out and buck your hips into his, whimpering when he started sucking on the spot. He started another mark higher up, and then another, like he was ensuring no collar would be enough to hide his work. His tongue and teeth made your knees weak, heat pulsing at the apex of your thighs from the assault and from his needy rutting. After the teasing throughout the day, it took little for you to grow wet, and when Ace shoved his hand down your pants to cup your cunt, he felt it, groaning and thrusting into you harder.

“Ace,” you whined. “Please.”

No matter how far you had pushed him, he could never say no to you. Ace released your wrists to hastily remove his pants, and you did the same with yours, the both of you far past eager to feel each other . He didn’t even bother with your shirt, grabbing your ass and lifting you up to push you harshly against the wall, hips flush with yours. It always made your heart skip at how effortless it was for him. Even if he didn’t look as buff as some of the frankly ridiculous crewmates you lived with, Ace’s strength was no joke.

“Please,” you whimpered again when he rutted the length of his rigid cock along your slit.

“Just a little more. Beg for it again,” he commanded.

“Please, Ace! I need you! God, I’ve been wanting this all day–”

You didn’t need to say any more, Ace lining himself up and sheathing himself in one thrust that stole the breath from the both of you. His next one had you both moaning shortly, his head falling to your shoulder as he started a brisk, firm pace. There was no gentleness behind the unrelenting snap of his hips, giving you exactly what you had asked for with your taunting.

As a haki-wielding warrior of the Whitebeard Pirates, it was difficult to make you feel weak in any way. Ace did a fantastic job of it, fingers digging into your ass hard enough to bruise, growling as he drove into you mercilessly, your back scraping against the wall with each thrust. You gripped his shoulders tightly, unable to suppress your noises from the rough treatment.

“Fuck, Y/n. You feel so fucking good,” he groaned, “can’t believe I bother holding back around the crew. I ought to just take you whenever I please–wherever I please.”

You moaned, pressure building deep inside you. “Ace!”

“I bet you’d like that, huh?” He adjusted you slightly, angling himself to target your g-spot, making your toes curl and your head thump back against the wall. “After all, Y/n… You’re mine.” He punctuated his words with a particularly hard thrust. “Aren’t you?”

You tried to form a response, but found even simple words struggling to form, the drag of his cock and the spiking of the mounting pressure within you both overwhelming.

“Can’t even talk, huh?” Ace smirked. “You think anyone else can fuck you this good?”

All you could do was moan as you rolled your hips to meet his, one hand falling to rub your clit desperately. Sensing you were close, Ace pulled you away from the wall to bounce you directly on his length, your weight dragging you down so he was tapping deep.

It only took a few more thrusts before you were coming hard, spasming around his length with a sharp cry as pleasure overwrote your senses. Ace nearly whimpered from the sensation, muffling his noise by biting your shoulder again, unintentionally enhancing the effect as he fucked you through your orgasm. He kept even going after it had subsided, tipping from euphoric into overstimulating, making you twitch and keen helplessly.

Finally taking mercy on you, Ace slowed to a stop, resting you back against the wall but not pulling out.

“Oh, fuck,” you managed to breathe out, trembling all over. “Oh, Ace… D-Did you cum?”

“Nah,” Ace said, leaning in to kiss you, hot and passionate. “Gonna make you cum at least one more time first. Don’t know when we’ll get another chance like this, and all.”

You fingered the beads of your necklace, a smile stretching your lips. “My thoughtful man,” you crooned, making him grin and kiss you again. “In that case, don’t keep me waiting.”

Ace would never have dreamed of such a thing.

[throatofdelusionincarnate]

Honeybee

Horror! Sans x Reader Oneshot

Here’s a little self indulgent crap from me to you because I cannot get my mind off of Horror Sans lately :)

Might be posted to AO3 later under the same username throatofdelusionincarnate

Word Count - 2,478

—

The soft grumble of thunder draws you from your sleep. You turn, glancing at the clock on the bedside table and blink a few times. Six thirty. On a Saturday. You rub your eyes and sigh. Soft rain patters against the window of your apartment and beside you Sans slumbers on.

You watch his large chest rise and fall for a moment. When you first got together, you thought it was a choice he consciously made. Something to make him seem more human. Though, after months together, you had realized it was just something he did. Perhaps it serves a purpose, pumping magic through his body as yours does blood. Or maybe it’s just a subconscious habit that he’s picked up. Either way, his large breaths comfort you.

Gently, you place a hand on his skull, just directly under the large wound that decorates the top of his head, and stroke his cheek with your thumb.

You won’t be able to go back to sleep, not with the growing thunderstorm outside. Still, there’s no reason to wake him up. You know how difficult it is for him to sleep, and you’d prefer that he gets the rest he needs. You can entertain yourself for a couple of hours.

You lean forward and place a chaste kiss on his brow bone. He stirs for a moment, then returns to his rest, a stifled snore escaping. A small laugh leaves you and after one final peck on his nasal cavity you swing your legs over the bed.

The apartment is cold, per usual, and goosebumps climb up your legs before spreading to your arms, then tips of your fingers. You shuffle towards the closet, each step feeling like ice beneath your feet.

You disappear inside the small walk-in, shutting the door before turning on the light. The sudden brightness causes you to squint, and for a moment you only stand there, adjusting to the feeling of being awake.

Once you can finally see, you rummage through your clothing for pants and some socks. You slip on a pair of very loved sweatpants, tying them at the waist so they don’t fall down. Then, you perform your best balancing act as you put on your socks. Regrettably, you roll the sweatpants over them, hiding the bacon decal and the phrase “make today sizzle!”

After your legs and feet are successfully bundled up, you turn to Sans’s stash of clothing and grab out a comically large grey sweatshirt with red lettering that says “BAD TO THE BONE” on it. You slip it over your pj shirt, allowing the hem to hang just above your knees. You swim through the sleeves for a moment before your hands emerge and you can push the cuffs to sit at your wrist.

You shut off the closet light then stumble out of the dark bedroom as Sans continues to softly snore.

The world is quiet save for the interspersed roll of thunder. So long as you’re up, you might as well make some breakfast. By the time you finish Sans will most likely be awake. His rest comes in short bursts.

If you remember correctly he crawled into bed at two last night. Four hours is longer than he normally sleeps, but the rain does tend to make him more tired than usual.

You pull your phone out of your pocket and click on the music app and press shuffle. A soft song radiates from the speaker and you leave the phone propped up on the counter to play as you cook.

Slowly, you collect your ingredients, settling for pancakes and bacon. You hum along to the song, whisking pancake mix together with milk, extra vanilla, and a dash of orange juice.

The rain grows heavier outside, pounding against the kitchen window. The occasional streak of lighting brightens the room before thunder overtakes it.

You pry open the package of bacon and set a few slices in the pan, watching them curl and sizzle against the heat.

Thunder booms and you jump as a large set of arms are folded around your waist.

“m’ sorry. didn't mean to scare you.” You settle into the grip, looking up to see Sans standing over you.

A small laugh spills from you. “The thunder startled me, though I still can’t get over how quiet you walk.” He leans his head down and you press a quick kiss to his teeth. “Did I wake you?”

He straightens back up and shakes his head. “nah, storm got loud. slept for too long anyways.”

Gently, the two of you begin to sway. He rests his skull on top of your head. You pull an arm free to grab a fork then flip the bacon over to let the other side darken. “Ah yes, because five hours is such a crazy amount of time to sleep.”

Sans just hums in response. The two of you will probably end up on the couch today, so you’re almost certain that Sans will get another couple hours of sleep. You might sneak in a little nap yourself. The rain is definitely making you drowsy despite just having woken up.

“Chocolate chips in your pancakes?” You ask, pulling out the bacon and setting it on a paper towel-lined plate.

“you know me so well,” he rumbles above you.

“I should hope so,” you grab a small measuring cup and dip it into the batter, then pour it onto the pan to cool. “We’ve been dating for almost a year now. I’d be a poor partner if I didn’t know how you liked your pancakes,” You pour more batter into the pan.

“You’re gonna have to let me go if you want chocolate chips.”

“or we could awkwardly shuffle over to the cabinet together.” Sans offers.

You roll your eyes and tap on his arm, “C’mon big guy, let go.”

A small gasp escapes you as you're lifted off your feet. Sans cradles you, a large grin on his face. “hmm… don’t think I will.”

You squirm a bit in his grasp, giving him a playful glare. “Sans the pancakes are going to burn.”

“i like mine a little crispy anyways.” He says.

“Well i don't!”

He shrugs, red eyes tracing over your features. “i ‘spose i can be persuaded… if ya got something good to offer in exchange for your freedom.”

“How about a not-charred breakfast?” You answer.

“tempting, but i might need a bit more. inflation is crazy right now.”

You sputter under his gaze. “You’re unbelievable!”

Though despite your protests, you stretch upwards, pressing your lips to his teeth. Sans returns the gesture, melting into you before pulling away. “There, now can I flip the pancakes?”

“m’ afraid you forgot tax.”

“Oh my god,” you deadpan. “How do you stay open with these business practices?” This time, you reach your hands up and pull his skull to you. Your nose presses against his cheek and you nuzzle him.

“what can i say,” Sans beams, red eye blown out and a light blush on his face. “my customers are very loyal.”

Finally he sets you down, though one hand still holds yours. “No accounting for taste,” you say, giving his fingers a quick squeeze before letting go.

Sans lingers, turning to lean against the counter as you grab chocolate chips. You scurry back to the pan and open up the bag before sprinkling the chocolate all over the pancakes. Then, you grab a spatula and flip them.

The tops are a very dark brown, verging on black. “These are yours,” you declare, nudging Sans with your hip.

He shrugs, “m’ not picky.”

You smile, “Yea I know. You’re my big cuddly garbage disposal.”

“who else is gonna eat the tomatoes off your burgs?” Sans’s hand sneaks forward, slipping into the bag of chocolate chips. He pulls out a small handful and tosses them into his mouth.

Playfully, you swat at him. “We’re not gonna have enough for the pancakes if you eat all of them.”

He ignores you, and grabs a single chip out. Sans makes eye contact with you, and you silently return it, daring him to. He does. With a self-satisfied grin he pops it into his mouth.

“You little shit!” You exclaim, snatching the bag up and setting it on the opposite side of you, away from his reach.

“awhhh c’mon hun,” he attempts to reach over you but you place your full weight against him to keep him back. You know he can easily move you if he wants to, but this is just play. Plus, he enjoys letting you win. “it’s just a few chocolate chips, i ain’t hurtin’ anyone.”

“I would like some in my pancakes,” you huff. “Once I’m done with them you can have as many as you wang.” You let up on the pressure and grab the spatula, putting the two slightly burnt pancakes on a plate. Gently, you push it into Sans’s hands. “Go butter these, hm?”

He sighs, “making me do manual labor this early in the morning? butter be grateful you’re cute.”

You snort, “Awh, you’re making me melt.”

“heh, good one. this is why you’re my butter half.”

Sans moves past you, plate in hand. As he crosses, you can see a skeletal hand try to reach into the bag. You gasp, and slam your hand down on the opening just before Sans can steal anymore chocolate.

“my genius plan, thwarted.”

“Butter luck next time,” you grin, hand still over the bag.

He chuckles, “you might’ve won for now, but I’m gonna get that chocolate eventually.”

He walks to the table, stopping quickly to grab a knife from the silverware drawer, then sets to work on doctoring up his pancakes.

With him gone you whip up a couple more batches, saving a generous handful of chocolate chips for Sans. The lull of rain and music settles you after your playful banter and you find yourself lightly humming along as you gather various accouterments for your meal.

You set the plate of pancakes in front of Sans and he gets to work on buttering those while you travel back and forth from the kitchen. You bring out the bacon, whip cream, syrup, and then two glasses with a couple juice options.

Finally, you settle in your seat across from Sans. He offers you the plate of pancakes first, knowing that you’ll take whatever you want and then he can have the rest.

You take two of the six and stack them on your plate before handing it back to Sans. Then you grab a couple of slices of bacon before sliding that over too. He eyes food and grabs the syrup, dousing his plate with it.

“Oh!” You exclaim, standing up. He lifts his gaze curiously as you dart back into the kitchen, grabbing the remaining chocolate chips. You set the bag in front of him. “For you!”

Sans smiles, pouring out a couple, “thanks hun.” He reaches across the table and gingerly arranges them in a small smiley on your pancakes.

You grin down at the happy looking face, “I hate to destroy such a cute gesture.”

“here lemme help,” Sans plucks one of the eyes off and eats it.

“Hey!” You protest playfully, reaching over to nab one of his chocolate chips. “There. We’re even.”

“‘spose we are,” He beams. “eat your food before it gets cold.”

You don’t have to be told twice. The two of you tuck into breakfast, a comfortable silence overtaking the room as you both enjoy the meal before you.

The constant rumble of thunder keeps you company as you finish up. Sans stands first, having finished his large plate of food, and grabs the serving dishes to take them to the sink. You stay behind, a bit slower at eating, and finish your food. Once done, you stand and bring your dirty dishes to the kitchen.

“you can just leave ‘em in the sink.’ He offers.

You nod, setting the dishes in the sink, then reach around to grab the washcloth. Gently, you nudge him to the side so you can wet the fabric down. You squeeze out any excess water and move back out of Sans’s way.

Quickly, you start the music back up and begin to wipe down the counters. A smooth voice comes out of the speakers as “Honeybee” by The Steam Powered Giraffes begins to play.

As you clean off the counters, removing any specks of flour and grease, you sing along. Behind you, Sans also begins to hum. You smile to yourself, enjoying the rasp of his deep baritone.

Everything is a peaceful, perfectly curated mix of noises that comforts you.

The sink shuts off and the clatter of dishes stops. Large arms squeeze your waist then spin you around to face them.

You look up at Sans, washcloth still in hand, and arch a brow. He removes the cloth from your grasp and replaces it with his hand, his smooth bony fingers enveloping yours.

His other hand stays at your waist and the two of you begin to sway. You get the hint and place your free hand on his chest, not quite tall enough to comfortably reach his shoulder.

Sans’s wide eye doesn’t leave you, and his usual expression melts into something akin to fondness.

“You didn’t have to smile at me, your grin’s the sweetest that I’ve ever seen. But you did. Yes, you did.” You sing softly as the two of you hold each other.

He brings your hand up to his teeth, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. You practically become a puddle. Your head rests on his chest, cheek pressing firmly into his shirt. His smell envelops you. It’s chalky and tinged with blood, but you don’t mind.

The two of you had made peace with his gory past long ago. Survival isn’t pretty, but in the face of starvation one does what must be done. Now, all you can do is keep him full and offer comfort and affection when he has a difficult day.

“you didn’t have to offer your hand. ‘cause since i’ve kissed it, i’m at your command. but you did.”

The world around you seems to disappear, and you cling to him, savoring the rumble that reverberates through his soul when he sings.

“set me free, my honeybee.”

As the storm rages outside, you and Sans remain. You know that neither of your lives have been perfect. His, less so than most. But in this moment, you’re grateful for everything that brought you together. You’re grateful for burnt pancakes and stolen chocolate chips; for thunderstorms and way too early mornings. You’re grateful that you get to call Sans yours.

Hello goodbye, I’m rather crazy, and I never thought I was crazy.

But what do I know?

I let myself go.

[lucy-sky]

Loving You Easy (Shane Walsh x f!Reader)

Scandalous Sunday prompt - being caught

My last story for @bernthirst-events​‘s Bernthirst Palooza, woohooo! I did it :DD

Sometimes a little bit of music can bring miracles into your life. Even in the middle of a zombie apocalypse.

Warnings: flirting and sort of mutual pining; ALMOST smut

A/N: this is a request from my dear friend @skvatnavle​ - I’m not sure if that’s exactly what you expected, but that’s what I came up with :) Hope it’s fine and you enjoy it.

Words: 1709; AO3 link if you prefer reading there.

When you noticed this little thing during another supply run, you could hardly believe your eyes, even though there was nothing extraordinary about it. Just a little MP3-player with small earbuds. As you pick it up from the dirty floor, you were wondering how it ended up here. Maybe some of the customers dropped it as they escaped the store, panic stricken, someone kicked it and it stayed there behind the counter until you found it. Or maybe the device used to belong to the cashier, and they listened to it during the dull night shift hours when there wasn’t much work to do. This thing had a history you’d never learn, but you couldn’t have left it there. So you put it into your pocket before answering Shane’s voice calling for you.

Later at night, lying on your bed, you put on the earbuds and press the play button on the little device. The screen lightens up, but only to show you the low battery sign before going dark again. You sigh. What did you expect? This thing was covered in dust, it’s been lying there for… Months? And of course there are no new batteries among your supplies at the moment. You got up and checked the drawers in your room, also with no success. Shit. Oh, wait a second. What if Shane got some during today’s run? Asking won’t hurt, right?

Walking out into the corridor, you glance at the door of his room, relieved to to notice the light pouring from the chink at the doorstep. So you tap gently on the door, before gingerly opening it and looking inside.

“Hey, Walsh,” you ask quietly. “You awake?”

“Hey,” he yawns, putting aside the book he was reading. “What’s up, darlin’?”

There were times you used to hate him calling you “darlin’” or “princess” or “sweetheart”, but at some point you got used to these nicknames, as well as you got used to him. He can be an asshole sometimes, but he has never hurt you in any way possible, plus the smug bastard is pretty attractive, you have to admit. You know the reality you live in is not the best place for flirting. You also know the man had history with Lori, and probably with Andrea as well, but somehow it doesn’t repulse you. You all are only human after all, trying to survive in your own ways.

“I was just wondering, did you grab any batteries today?”

“I think so, yeah,” Shane gives you a curious look. “What’s that?”

“Could I uh… Borrow a couple? My flashlight is dying, so…”

“Right. Okay, sure,” he sits down, reaching for his backpack, fishes a set of batteries out of it. “There ya go.”

“Thanks, Walsh,” you smile. “I owe you for those.”

“‘S okay. You keep trippin’ on stuff in the daylight, I don’t want you to break your neck in the dark,” he chuckles.

“Oh fuck you, Walsh,” you huff.

“Good night to you too, sweetheart!”

You don’t know exactly why you lied to him about that flashlight. Somehow the MP3-player didn’t seem like an… important enough reason. Walsh would definitely make even more fun of you if he knew what you really need those batteries for.

The next day you’re in charge of washing the dishes after the dinner. The farmhouse is empty - everyone went out to do their chores. A perfect opportunity to turn on the music.

Once you switch the player on, you instantly realize how much you’ve missed it. Not some song or band in particular - just music. Any music in general.

♫ “No makeup on and shining so bright

My old sweatshirt never fit so right

Dancing around to the radio

Humming the words that you don't know” ♫

Zac Brown sings this cheesy love song in your ears, and if you close your eyes, it’s somehow so easy to imagine that none of this has happened. No walkers, no deaths, no goddamn end of the world - it was just a really long nightmare, and now you’re in your kitchen again, humming to familiar tunes from the radio. 

Smiling to yourself, you start working, swaying to the music and singing to yourself as you’re done with another bowl. Too lost in the music, you almost drop the plates you’re holding as your back bumps into someone. Swiftly turning around, you meet familiar brown eyes and a cheeky smirk.

“Shane, what the fuck? You scared the shit out of me!” you groan, pushing him in the chest.

“So that’s why you needed those batteries, huh?” he raises his eyebrows, clearly amused. “I knew it’s not the goddamn flashlight!”

“Yeah, so what?” your cheeks start to burn, but you refuse to admit your embarrassment. “I deserve a little something that makes me feel happy and alive, and I’m not gonna apologize for that!”

“Whoa, easy, darlin’,” Shane chuckles, raising his hands in a surrender gesture. “Didn’t say you should apologize for anything, did I? I actually really enjoyed seeing you dancing like that.”

“Oh, so you enjoyed it, yeah?” you smirk back at him. “Well, you know what? It’s not some kind of a show for you, Walsh. C’mon. Join me.”

With this you take one of the earbuds off and hand it to him.

“Hate to disappoint you, sweetheart, but I-I’m not really a good dancer.”

“I don’t give a shit. You already saw me being silly, now it’s your turn.”

“Alright,” he nods, stepping closer and putting the earbud on. You press play and Zac Brown’s voice continues singing his song.

♫ “You make loving you easy

You make loving you all I wanna do

Every little smile and every little touch

Reminds me how just how much it all makes

Loving you easy” ♫

“Come on, man, relax. Feel the rhythm!” you encourage playfully, grabbing his hand. “It’s easy, right?”

You both move a bit awkwardly at first, but then the magic happens. Shane’s free hand finds your waist, pulling you closer as you sway to the music together. There’s something so intimate about sharing a pair of earbuds and dancing around the kitchen like that, something way too romantic for this whole setting, this new reality. Romantic, but also the closer he gets the more your cheeks flush, and your heart beats a little faster when your eyes meet.

“See, you’re not that bad,” you say, trying to play it cool, to not give away how flustered you really are.

“Yeah, you think?” his voice is a little raspy, it somehow gives you shivers. “You know what, sweetheart?”

“What?” you breathe out as his thumb gently reaches your chin, tilting your face up.

“You still owe me for those batteries, remember?”

“I remember you said it’s fine.”

“Changed my mind, I guess,” he chuckles softly and leans in. The touch of his lips is unexpectedly tender at first, but as you open up to him, the kiss becomes deeper, way more heated and passionate. You let out a quiet moan as his tongue slips past your parted lips, shamelessly exploring your mouth. You respond with equal eagerness, your hand reaching the back of his neck as you gently nip on his lower lip. It’s been so long since the last time you had a make-out session like that, it was somewhere in previous life, and now you can’t get enough. Neither of you can. 

The earbuds already fell out of your ears, your sighs and barely heard moans the only music left. Shane keeps gently pushing you until your butt hits the cabinet next to the sink, and he urges you to sit on it. His lips are already trailing down the curve of your neck, warm breath tickling your skin, while his hand squeezes your bare thigh - you mentally thank the summer heat that made you wear a light dress today. But when his fingers find a way under the skirt of the said dress, it suddenly hits you.

“Shane… Shane! W-wait…” you whisper frantically, pushing him away. He pulls back frowning, dark eyes examining your face.

“I uh… Don’t think it’s a good idea. Someone can walk in,” you tell him in a shaky voice, heart still racing.

“Nah, c’mon, sweetheart… No one’s around,” he leans in again, pressing a kiss against the side of your neck, then right under your ear. “I know you want that as much as I do…” 

You shiver as his fingers reach your underwear, pressing against your already shamelessly wet center.

“I can feel it.”

Your eyes flutter shut as he carefully strokes you through the fabric of your underwear, his lips back on your neck - shit, he’s gonna give you a hickey if he keeps going like that… But damn, it feels too good. So you surrender. You let those curious digits get under the crotch of your panties, dip between your folds, find a little throbbing bud there. Your toes curl in pleasure when he touches you where you need it the most, your head spinning. In the heat of a moment you blindly reach between his legs, palming him through his jeans, causing him to groan into the crook of your neck.

“Hey, y/n!”

You’re quick to push Shane away the moment you hear Beth’s voice.

“You need any help with those di-” she stumbles, surprised to see someone else with you in the room.

“No, um… Shane’s already helping me,” you reply, quickly grabbing the nearest pyramid of plates and shoving it in the man’s hands. “Thank you, Beth.”

“Oh… Okay,” she gives you a slightly awkward smile, “See you later than.”

“Uh-huh,” you nod, smiling back. 

As she leaves, you finally glance at Shane, and his baffled expression makes you snort a laugh.

“Oh, you find it funny, do ya?” He tries to sound angry, but his voice cracks with laughter as well.

“I told you it's a bad idea,” you shrug innocently. “Guess you’re helping me finish the dishes now, Walsh.”

“Yes, ma’am. But hey, you still owe me though.”

“Okay,” you grab him by the shirt and pull him into another passionate kiss.

“Come get the rest in my room tonight,” you smirk as you pull back.

“Got it, darlin’,” he grins, licking his lips.

Thank you for reading!

additional tag: @munsonownsmyass​

[writer-in-theory]

Aftershocks — steddie.

Summary: After the Russian interrogation takes a greater toll on Steve than expected, he tries to hide the seizures from Eddie. Everything is fine until the Upside Down comes back. Prompt: A2 - “I am not a role model” Pairing: Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson Rating: Teen Word Count: 3.6k Content Warnings: Descriptions of seizures, Mild language Also Read On AO3: Here A/N: Am I back with another completely self-indulgent fic where I put my own problems on a comfort character? Maybe. Regardless, this is another fill for @harringroveson-bingo ! A huge huge thanks to @serenity-lattes because once again, this wouldn't have gotten done without them. Between headcanoning, encouring me to write it, helping to write a bit of it, and beta-ing? Yeah, basically a co-writer over here. Also a huge thanks to @lcvingprentjss for encouraging this to be written and beta-ing, and as always, for putting up with the incessant screaming while this was a work in progress. Anyway, I hope y'all enjoy!

The first time it happened, Steve wasn’t sure what to think.

Five nights after the battle at Starcourt, when the bruises were beginning to fade and the cuts were scabbed over, Steve woke up in the middle of the night. It felt like his body was fighting an invisible enemy—his limbs moving against his own accord and his back arching then relaxing in such a stilted way he struggled to catch his breath. It only lasted a few seconds, not even half a minute, but Steve was sure it had been hours. 

He didn’t get back to sleep that night, preferring instead to sit awake on the couch with a book in his lap he’d never read. He sat guard against whatever it was that made his body move that way, keeping every light in the living room on to warn against some Upside Down force that was capable of taking over him the way it had taken over Will and Billy. 

The next morning when Robin slipped into the Beemer and asked why he looked so tired, Steve almost told her. The words got caught though, sticking to the roof of his mouth like caramel as he fought to let her in. Everyone always thought there was something wrong with his head because of failing school so badly, why prove them right?

So even when it happened again a week and a half later, then again two weeks after that, Steve didn’t say a word. He got better at managing it—learning to sleep with several pillows around him so he stopped smacking his arm against the wall so harshly it bruised, always disappearing to his own room when the Party, Nancy, Jon, and Robin would sleep piled up in the living room lest they all get scared by it. Even when Eddie would come over to help them both get some sleep, Steve would disappear into the bathroom when he could feel the warning signs, dragging as many pillows and blankets as he could out of the closet without waking up the other man.

Steve did what he always did: he managed on his own. 

There didn’t seem to be any one obvious trigger. Sometimes he woke up in the middle of one, other times, a sound would hit the right pitch for just enough time to send him straight to the ground. Though, the ones that terrified him the most, came out of nowhere, with little warning. 

It had been one of those that almost spoiled his secret for him, during one of his and Robin’s shifts at the Family Video. It had been a good day, for all intents and purposes. Tuesdays were never particularly busy, but there was a big enough rush when the high school let out that kept them both from total boredom. 

Except as Steve leaned against the main counter, he could feel a pressure building in the back of his head. It was an odd tugging sensation, one that gave him a sense of what stars must feel like when they curl in on themselves and become a black hole. Almost immediately his heart rate picked up, eyes scanning for a good enough escape. Running out the front door would be too obvious, and would inherently produce a handful of worried phone calls after Robin told all of their friends, and worse, his boyfriend. The only other spot for any sort of privacy was the backroom where they took their breaks, consisting of only an old table and a barely functioning TV. There was no padding there, nothing to protect himself from whatever his body did while he lost control, but it was his only option if he didn’t want Robin to find out.

“I’m taking a break,” Steve choked out, wincing at the way his voice shook involuntarily. 

“What? Hey, dingus, I don’t know if you forgot but you took your break twe—Fine! You owe me!” Robin shouted after him, not sounding particularly angry but annoyed enough that Steve was sure he’d hear it later.

It was the closest call he’d had in a while. Nearly the second Steve turned the lock on the door, his knees were crumpling under the weight of him. He had just enough sense to grab haphazardly at the edge of the table, slowing his fall just enough so he wouldn’t hit his head again. 

There were varying degrees of these episodes. Sometimes Steve wouldn’t fully jerk around oddly but would lose time without much warning. Others, he’d clench up and jerk so badly his joints would ache for days afterward, sometimes straining his muscles like he’d gotten injured playing sports. This was one of those other times, as nearly every muscle locked up painfully the second he hit the ground. Steve was never sure how long they lasted, but by the time he could pick himself up and swipe the tears off of his face, Robin was making a joke about how only Steve Harrington could get lost in the backroom.

Eventually, Steve began to figure out how to handle it. He knew that when the lights on the TV began flashing too much to close his eyes tight and knew all of the excuses for the bruises and scrapes that would work on the others. And though Steve knew he’d never quite be as okay as he was before the Russians, he found a system that worked well enough. It wasn’t perfect—there were still moments in time when it grew tough to hide how much he was hurting, how scared he was when a string of episodes happened too close to one another. These were the moments that threatened to destroy all the work he’d put in to seem okay because with one look Robin seemed to see right through him on those days. 

She knew something was wrong. After everything they’d gone through together, after all of the painful days post-Starcourt they’d spent reassuring each other that they were fine, that no one was coming after them, it was impossible for her to not see the fear lingering in his eyes. Robin always asked him, sometimes with a look far more effective than any words could have been, but Steve would shrug it off, distracting her with another joke or topic change. 

It worked on Eddie too. He hated making him worry, especially after Eddie had spent so much time helping him recover from the “mall fire” Steve had been caught in. After so many late nights Eddie spent holding onto Steve, promising that whatever it was that had happened in the mall was over, Eddie recognized the signs of hurt. Steve was struggling again, his hair more unkempt and those dark circles reappearing under his eyes as he feared sleep again, scared to wake up without control again. He hated it, hated that even after surviving everything it still wasn’t over for him, but he would hate bringing Eddie into this even more than he already had. Eddie got to be free from the Upside Down and all of its horrors, and like hell would Steve ever be the one to ruin that for him.

Except, sometimes there really never was a choice, it seemed. Because months later, when Steve had begun to get into a rhythm with his episodes, everything turned on its head. Suddenly he was getting a phone call in the middle of the night from Wayne Munson, saying that there was a dead body in the trailer and Eddie was missing, that the cops thought he did it no matter how many times Wayne said that their Eddie couldn’t have.

How many times would they defeat the Upside Down only to have it return again? They keep sacrificing everything, only for it to come back even stronger a year later. There was nothing worse than seeing that haunted look on Eddie’s face: the one Steve was sure he’d given once, when he was sure the demodogs would have taken him out in the tunnels what felt like decades ago. But there was no real time to explain everything, only giving bits and pieces of the years they’d spent at war with this thing so Eddie would know what they were facing. 

Steve supposed, after everything, it only made sense for the Upside Down to take this from him too, this secret he’d kept carefully wrapped up now exposed for his friends to see.

It happened after he’d been pulled through the bottom of Lover’s Lake into the Upside Down. After struggling for breath in the water, and then having to fight his way out of the hold of dozens of weird demobats with sharp claws and even sharper teeth, Steve wasn’t surprised when he felt that familiar tugging at the base of his skull.

“Oh, shit,” he hissed after spitting out the gluey blood from one of the bats. 

The second Steve was on the ground, the others’ attention was pulled away from the strange world around them to focus on him. The convulsing wasn’t as bad as it had been in the past, though Steve could feel his muscles locked up so tightly he was sure something would tear if his body moved wrong. What made this one the worst, though, was that he had three of the most important people in his life standing over him now.

“Steve?” Nancy asked, face contorting into pure concern.

Robin laughed at first, even nudging his hip a little with the tip of her shoe. “C’mon, dingus, very funny. Rabies doesn’t even do that until 24 hours aft—Shit, Steve, Steve are you okay?” The amusement quickly morphed into panic as Steve didn’t get back up off the ground. “What’s happening?”

“He’s seizing,” Nancy spoke up, instantly taking the lead once she recognized what was happening. “Quick, we have to get him on his side so he doesn’t hurt himself.”

Steve could feel hands on him, Nancy’s smaller ones pushing his legs while Eddie’s moved his torso into the right position, holding onto him as tightly as he dared to keep his body from moving back to the supine position. 

“Stevie, baby, it’s gonna be okay,” Eddie choked out, not even bothering to hide the tears building and falling from his eyes. The past few days had been like his own personal preview of Hell, but this? Seeing the love of his life suffering without being able to do anything but hold onto him? Eddie was sure nothing else could ever be as terrible. “You’re gonna be okay.”

Eddie repeated it for the full episode, using his free hand to brush through Steve’s hair as his body began to relax under Eddie’s hands. “What was that, baby?” Eddie dared to ask after Steve had time to catch his breath, instinctively turning further on his side to hide his face from Eddie. 

It wasn’t that he was ashamed, but the idea of Eddie, Robin, and Nancy having to see him like that made his chest hurt worse than the lack of oxygen. It made him hiccup, his chest stuttering harshly as he fought off the tears he so badly wanted to let out.

“No, ‘s fine. I’m fine,” Steve answered as he began to force his breathing into something that resembled normal, sitting up and pointedly staring at the ground between him and Eddie. “It’s just a thing that happens sometimes, it’s not a big deal.”

“Not a big deal? What the hell, Harrington!” It was Robin who lashed out first, standing a few steps away from where the other three were huddled together on the ground. Her hands were pulling on her hair harshly, tears streaking down her face, and the kind of fear that Steve hadn’t seen since they were being interrogated in the mall basement was written clearly in her eyes. “That is the opposite of not a big deal. You collapsed. I thought you were dying.”

Steve picked at the cuff of one of his pant legs, mourning the way he’d have to ditch his favorite pair of jeans when all of this was over. It was better than seeing the distress on all of his friends' faces, seeing everything he’d fought so hard to avoid.

“How long has this been happening, Steve?” Nancy asked, her voice gentle like she was scared anything more than a whisper would spook him. Steve shrugged, working his jaw as if he might eventually answer even when he had no intention to. “You could’ve told us. We could’ve helped.”

“Didn’t want you to,” Steve murmured, suddenly shaking his head and climbing to his feet. He brushed off the three pairs of worried hands that immediately reached for him, taking a large step back so they couldn’t stop him. “Don’t. Let’s just get moving, okay? We have to find a way outta here.”

“Stevie, we have to ta—” Eddie began, and Steve would hate himself for it later but he couldn’t help but turn on him, cheeks burning with all of the frustration, fear, and humiliation he was feeling after making his friends witness that.

“Just drop it, Eddie. I’m not talking about it, not when we have better things to do,” Steve snapped, picking a direction and immediately starting off toward the horizon, not bothering to check if anyone else was following.

No one said anything for a long time. It wasn’t until Robin and Nancy walked ahead of them in the weird forest that Eddie spoke again. They were walking so close that Eddie’s shoulder brushed Steve’s, still exposed to the chill despite the vest that Eddie had wrapped him up in moments before. It wasn’t the first time Steve had worn something of Eddie’s, but it was the first time Eddie ever let anyone but himself touch his battle vest. 

Steve didn’t have the brain power to consider the implications of that.

“Are you really okay?” Eddie asked when it was just the two of them, watching where he was walking but stealing glances at Steve every second he could like if he didn’t then Steve would collapse again.

“I’d be better if everyone stopped asking me that,” Steve huffed, looking up at the red-tinged sky like it might hold the answers he was looking for. The annoyance felt odd on his tongue, barbed and misfitting as he lobbed it harshly at Eddie. The man was just worried, Steve knew that, but already he could see how everyone was treating him differently. Eddie, as close as possible, like he could catch Steve if he collapsed again, and Nancy, who glanced back at him every so often to make sure he was still upright. Even Robin, not once making fun of him since it happened despite having had plenty of opportunities to do so.

“Stevie,” Eddie pressed, finally stopping completely so he could focus his attention on Steve. “We’re worried, that’s it.”

“I know, I know that,” Steve groaned, “I just...”

“What?”

“I don’t know, okay? I don’t know,” Steve let out, running a hand roughly through his hair. “If there’s something wrong with me, if everyone knows I could do that at any second...You don’t get it, Eds, you can’t.”

“Try me, big boy,” Eddie continued, no judgment in his eyes at all, “Before today, I wouldn’t have believed a lot of things. But evil wizards and portal dimensions kinda changed that.” Steve knew he could trust Eddie, and knew that he had been there for him in ways no one else had before. Still, he could feel panic clawing in his throat as he tried to get the words out. 

“In all this shit...I don’t know, protecting the kids? That’s always been my job, the one thing I was good at. If I can’t be trusted to do that then...what the hell am I here for?” Steve tried to get out, pointedly not looking at Eddie as he spoke.

“Hey, hey, who said anything about not trusting you?” Eddie instantly spoke, moving around so he could stand in front of Steve. He pressed in close, making it impossible for Steve to avoid looking at him. “Stevie.”

He couldn’t help the little smile that pulled on his lips, just having Eddie this close to him. So Steve looked up, his vision swallowed up by expressive brown eyes. 

“Stevie, you’re the damn kids’ hero. They won’t stop talking about you. It was almost getting annoying how much I had to hear about how great you are. I think you’re Dustin’s role model for life,” Eddie spoke.

“I’m not a role model,” Steve answered automatically, cheeks heating up at the thought that he’d really made such a good impression on them. He wanted to be a good support source for them, to help them get through all of these awful experiences they’d all had together. If he could make Dustin’s high school life a little better, if he could be the big brother he’d always wanted to be and the one Dustin had once said he’d dreamed of for years, then everything would be worth it.

“Please, you’d think Steve ‘The Hair’ Harrington turned into the goddamn Mother Theresa,” Eddie teased, fingers brushing over the makeshift bandage wrapped around Steve’s middle. “This won’t change how anyone sees you. If anything, seeing you fight through this shit will make them look up to you more, they’ll be insufferable. We just want to help, Stevie, you shouldn’t be doing this all alone.”

And that, well.

“Whatever, Eds,” Steve scoffed, a soft smile clear on his lips as he pulled from Eddie’s grasp and started walking. “C’mon, the girls are getting ahead of us.”

“What, not even a thank you kiss?” Eddie called after him, pulling a startled laugh from Steve.

“Ask me after we’re back in the Rightside Up.”

Steve had almost forgotten about it, after.

After nearly losing Eddie—“What happened to not pulling any hero moves?”—and narrowly saving Max from Vecna, all Steve wanted to do was to sleep for about a week. The entire group gathered at his house, all feeling similarly that it would be much worse to spend this first night alone.

The first night was always the worst, after. When the shadows were still fresh, when he could still hear all the nightmarish sounds and feel the lingering fear of imminent death, the idea of being alone made Steve want to curl up and cry.

That was how he ended up on the floor of his living room piled on top of pillows and blankets while the Party and teens all spread out around the space. He ended up between Eddie and Robin, with his back pressed to Eddie’s front while one of his hands reached out to hold onto Robin’s arm in front of him like he was making sure she wouldn’t disappear in the middle of the night.

It was easy to fall asleep. It was much harder waking up.

It wasn’t a bad one by any means, as it seemed even his body was too exhausted to fully go through the motions. And yet Steve was still startled away by his body tensing, hands curled up painfully toward his chest as his legs twitched and kicked out at Eddie.

This time, though, he didn’t wake up alone. Instead, he came to on his side, with Eddie pressed up close to his back and nose pressed into Steve’s neck, whispering gentle words into his skin. Robin was holding him too, arms wrapped around him from the front and telling him that everything was going to be fine. They were quiet about it, voices barely over a whisper so they didn’t wake the entire group and prompt an explanation Steve was too tired to give.

But God, they were there. 

His heart ached in a way it hadn’t ever done before, the feeling swelling in his chest as he let himself be held by the love of his life and his best friend in the entire world. All at once, the past several months of pain rushed up on him, forcing a choked-out sob from Steve’s lips. The tears kept coming once one had been allowed, one hand curling tightly into Robin’s shirt while the other reached out to hold tightly to Eddie’s hand. So Steve cried, allowing himself to take comfort where he never had before. 

Steve wasn’t sure how long he cried, just that by the time the sounds eased into something resembling a whimper, he felt more exhausted than he had in ages. It was bone deep, running right through him like all of the tears had caused an outpouring of the last energy reserves Steve had been holding onto. Like, one hug from Eddie and Robin shocked him out of the adrenaline state he’d been living in since the first seizure.

“Thank you,” Steve whispered, voice watery with tears he didn’t have the energy to feel embarrassed about, “thank you.”

“That’s what we’re here for, dingus,” Robin answered, her own cheeks wet with tears.

“Go back to sleep, Stevie, we have you,” Eddie promised, pressing a kiss to Steve’s jaw as his hand started rubbing comforting circles into his hip. “You don’t have to deal with this alone anymore. We’re here.”

Maybe it wasn’t perfect. There would be more episodes, and more tears, and more tough conversations Steve wouldn’t always be ready for. But through it all, he’ll know he had this—people who cared about him, people who loved him.

That knowledge alone made everything feel like it would be okay again for the first time in months.

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[delopsia]

Rhett_16 is typing... | Rhett x Bob x Reader

Word Count: 2600 Cross Posted Here on AO3 Warnings & Notes: Fluff, gender-neutral reader, very brief, implied argument, a dash of angst, and like the tin implies, polygamy :D I didn't know how the fuck to end this.

It's on quiet nights like these, when the world around you has gone eerily quiet, and your phone is devoid of any new notifications, that you truly feel the effects of your heart becoming tangled up in a never-ending game of tug of war. 

One end of the rope is held by diligent hands that know their strengths. Your favorite soft-spoken bookworm who works in the Navy and yet hasn't a violent bone in his body. Bob, with his bashful grins and habit of cuddling up to your right side, content to fall asleep there, with his chin hooked over your shoulder, cheeks smooshed together. Quiet until you get him talking, and he'll lose his voice before he runs out of words to say.

The other end of the rope is held in a strong, calloused grip. Trained from years of back-breaking manual labor on a ranch he doesn't own and will never stand a chance of inheriting. A lonely cowboy who opens up to you about how he loves his family, but he feels like he's loved and appreciated much less than Perry. Rhett, who never lets you feel unsafe and likes to hug you from behind, just to press his cold nose against the back of your neck. 

Two men who look so similar but are wildly different in personality.

There's movement on your desktop; Rhett's Discord has just come online, and it's the first time you've seen him get on since three days ago. A familiar animation displays just under your group chat icon; he's typing. 

Slowly, as if it's possible you can convince yourself that you're not absolutely head over heels for him, you slip out of your bed. The computer chair isn't as comfortable as your mattress, but settling into it elicits vivid memories of the three of you bickering as you tried and failed to put it together.

In the time it takes you to settle down and open the chat, he's quit typing. What surprises you more is that he's awake at this hour; Rhett can be quite the night owl on the weekends, but on the weekdays, he's almost always in bed before eleven. It's hard to stay up late when you have a father who will fuss endlessly if you sleep past dawn.

You still remember that time Rhett fell asleep on a call.

Bob had been the first to notice it, quietly texting you so as not to disturb Rhett with the notification tone. "Looks like cowboy is dozing."

And it seems as if Rhett had a sixth sense because his eyelashes fluttered, and he quietly corrected Bob's private assumption, "'m not fuckin' asleep."

Within a few minutes, though, you and Bob were looking at a very, very asleep Rhett. Neither of you had the heart to leave him to sleep alone in the call, so you'd done the only thing one should do in such a situation. 

You took your phones to bed with you and propped them up so that you were still in the frame.

Hypothetically, waking up should have been a sweet thing. With one of you waking up before the other two and quietly waiting on their eyes to flutter open, for realization to hit them before they even knew what time it was. 

Instead, all three of you had awoken to the horrifying sound of Royal Abbott banging on Rhett's bedroom door, absolutely livid that Rhett slept a half-hour in on a Friday. Even now, you still feel like you'd been the one to commit the heinous crime of forgetting to set an alarm.

Rhett_16 is typing...

Thunder rolls just outside your bedroom, loud and violent enough to rattle the thin walls of your apartment. The last time it stormed, Bob and Rhett had been spending the weekend with you. 

It's another vivid memory, one that has never once left the back of your mind since it first happened. The power had been knocked out just after your pizza had been delivered. Two hours later than they'd promised. 

You never truly realize just how dark it can be until the power goes out during the night, and come to find out, it is very, very hard to eat pizza in the dark.

"I found candles, but I can't remember where the lighter is," you remember griping, practically falling into your chair at the table. Your solution only brought you an entirely new problem, it had seemed. 

There was a click, and suddenly, a little flame danced about Rhett's side of the table, "I have a lighter." So it seems that you would eat pizza in the flickering light of a three-wick Bath and Body Works candle. 

You still don't remember how the candle triggered a conversation about dating, and you definitely have no memory of how that jumped to the topic of sexualities. Bob has always been very open with you that he's bisexual, but Rhett...

"What about you, Rhett?" It had been you who asked the daunting question, and you still blame the tequila shots he'd fed you. 

And Rhett just shrugged, nibbling on the corner of a crust he'd stolen off Bob's plate, "I'll date whoever my heart takes an interest in, I guess." 

Rhett_16 is typing...

Lightning flickers outside, eerily silent. Anticipating the thunder is almost as bad as being caught off guard by it; nerves on end, just waiting for the hammer to come crashing down and shake the Earth below you. 

There's movement on your desktop.

"I need to see you." Pause. Then. "Both of you."

Next Wednesday afternoon, you find yourself standing in a tiny, obscure airport in Casper Wyoming, with your arms wrapped around your favorite WSO. He's rocking you back and forth in these tiny little motions, so subtle that you barely realize he's doing it. 

"Have you heard from him?" He murmurs into your ear, the tip of his nose bumping into the shell of it as he speaks. All you can do is shake your head; Rhett's been silent ever since he sent his good morning text.

What's stranger is the lack of a blue GMC Sierra sitting in the back of your apartment lot. You've grown so accustomed to seeing him sitting there waiting after you picked Bob up from the airport that seeing that empty spot in the back corner of the lot unsettles you to the core.

"I tried calling him," Bob offers quietly, "went straight to voicemail."

To prove his point, Bob taps his phone, and you don't need him to put it on speaker to hear the fleeting dial tone and robotic droning of Rhett's voicemail. There's no point in rechecking the parking lot, Rhett is a man of habit that religiously takes the same parking space, but you do it anyway. The hopeful side of you wonders if he's planning a big surprise; it dies when you don't find him. 

The last time Rhett was this quiet if your memory serves you correctly, was when he'd had that blowout fight with his father. Just like there is now, there was a deep, nagging feeling that something was wrong way before the argument even sparked.

You could see it in the stiffness of his shoulders as he walked you and Bob to the bleachers, "ready to see what a real rodeo looks like?" He'd asked. As if you hadn't all first met at a rodeo, and as if Bob hadn't had a career in bronc riding as his backup plan if things didn't work out with the Navy. 

"Ready to see you fall off," Bob teased, bumping their hips together just to get an eye roll out of Rhett. 

Rhett's almost always the one to take that rare spark of playfulness and light it into a wildfire. To keep upping the jabs and not stopping until they're on the ground wrestling and laughing like they're kids again, but for the first time, he didn't engage. The most he offered was nudging Bob's cheek with the brim of his hat, and then he was dismissing himself to go get ready.

"Somethings up with him," you found yourself saying, barely audible over the crowd.

Bob was quiet for a minute but then, slowly, nodded his head, "don't think it's nerves, either."

Rhett would place first, by some miracle, even after he landed the wrong way and dislocated his right elbow on his first ride. Whatever tension that subsided in his veins was washed away, replaced with a goofy airiness that displayed on his features so vibrantly that it was blinding. All smiles and crinkled eyes as he rounded the corner shortly after the rodeo came to a close. 

"See?" He practically crowed, "what did I tell you about being my good luck charms?" And even with his arm cradled in a sling, he tried his best to hug you both; good arm tucked around your waist while he smooshed his cheek against Bob's shoulder. 

That should have been the end of it. Whatever plagued him before his ride should have been kept at bay for at least the rest of the night. 

"Says the guy who's got his arm in a sling," to Bob's comment, Rhett lifted his head, their noses bumping together from just how close they were to each other.

And then, all of a sudden, Rhett pushed his head forward and bumped the bridges of their noses together, jostling Bob's glasses.

"Man, you smudged my glasses!"

Rhett was too busy giving you the same treatment to offer up a witty response, lowering his head to crash his nose against yours in the same playful fashion. His passive-aggressive take on nose kisses. 

"Rhett!"

That was a voice you didn't recognize at the time, but you'd later come to know as belonging to his father, Royal Abbott. It was like you had blinked, and that tension was back in his shoulders.

"Wait for me in my truck," stiff, monotone, borderline trembling.

God, you still remember how heated their argument had become; two voices bellowing across the now-empty stadium and spilling into the equally populated parking lot. And all you could do was nuzzle up to Bob's side and wait it out. 

You'd learn later that night what the argument was over. 

"Rhett, drop everything you're doing and do this, Rhett, do that," he'd grumbled into the hotel pillow, "run the whole ranch while Perry sits on his ass, and don't forget, his lazy ass gets to inherit the whole ranch, and you don't get shit, because he's older!" 

As you sit here on this couch, it's easy to wonder if that's what this is about. Another blowout argument fueled by Rhett's exhaustion and Royal's antiqued belief that the eldest deserves a free pass just because he was born a few years earlier. 

But in the past, those arguments have always brought Rhett straight to your door, just hours after the argument, shaky, seeking comfort in your arms and in the warmness of Bob's tone as he spoke to you over the phone. 

"I'm sure he's alright," Bob whispers into your scalp, and you can barely hear him over the action movie droning on the television, "he's been typing in the chat for a few minutes."

Rhett_16 is typing...

As soon as your eyes land on it, he stops again.

Rhett_16 is typing...

There's a knock at the door. 

Bob unwinds his arms from you, letting you slip down from your spot in his lap. It seems that soon, you're gonna need to turn on the heat because the room feels like ice now that you're not all wrapped up in the strong arms of Robert Floyd. The thermostat is right on your path to the door, but you can't find it in yourself to stop even for a second.

And there he is.

Albeit frazzled, there's a very real, very much intact Rhett Abbott standing on the other side of the door. How long has he been out here?

"And here I thought you'd forgotten about us," you tease, stepping aside to let him through the threshold; why are you shaking all of a sudden? 

Vaguely, you're aware of Bob getting up from the couch, can see him moving in the corner of your eye. Calloused palms come up to cradle your cheeks, strikingly cold, cutting short your off-handed observation. 

Rhett's bottom lip quivers, and are those...tears welling in his eyes?

"I hope this makes sense," and then he leans in and kisses you so sweetly, so softly that it doesn't even feel real; so close to one of your vivid daydreams that it makes your head twirl. It's brief, fleeting; just as suddenly as the kiss was there, it's gone.

There's a faint noise behind you.

Bob's gone pale in the face, eyes immediately flicking away from yours the moment they make contact. "I—" he can't get his words out, turns like he's gonna walk back into the living room, but then stops again. 

"Now hold on here," Rhett mutters, and finally, he steps past you. 

"No, I...I get it," Bob's stepping away from him, still won't look at either of you.

Rhett's quicker, and in two fists, he seizes the man by the collar, "wasn't fuckin' finished." 

And he kisses him.

So suddenly, so abruptly, that Bob's glasses jostle and fall low on his nose, but those wide baby blues still flutter shut. Even in your stupor, you're able to notice the way Bob's shoulders droop, deflating like a balloon.

Oh.

"Yeah, this..." you breathe, "this makes sense."

Falling into it, whatever this is, is easy. 

Bob kisses you like a daydream, all gentle and sweet in all the right ways, soft pecks and never-ending liplocks; Rhett kisses you like he's been searching for you his entire life, leaves you gasping each time he reels back. 

You really should be talking about it, what exactly is going on here, and how, if you can manage it as a trio, but it's hard to let each other go. It's hard to fuss when your back hits the mattress, and two giggling boys land on top of you in a tangled heap. How are you supposed to discuss serious matters when you're trying to figure out if it's really possible for three people to kiss at once? 

Maybe it's possible, but you're all smiling too hard for it to work; too many embarrassed giggles pulling lips back into big, goofy grins. 

It's not until your lips are swollen and you're so out of breath that you fear you may blackout that you find it in yourselves to stop. Even so, they still manage to end up wrapped around you, Rhett curled into your side, nose pressed into your temple, and Bob resting his head on your chest. 

"Rebecca went missing last week." 

Oh.

"Just straight up vanished, and when she didn't turn back up, I—" Rhett's rambling now, breath tickling your cheek with every word, "I can't stop thinking about what would happen if I lost either of you." 

You don't know what to say, but Bob does, "you're not gonna lose us," long eyelashes bat up at you so sweetly that you feel yourself start to melt, "we're not going anywhere."

And you don't. 

Even when Bob inevitably has to go back to Lemore, Rhett is called back by his father to tend to the mile-long list of chores, and you have to return to your job. Even when there are a thousand miles between you and on the lonely nights when you lay in bed, thinking back on your fondest memories of them. 

It's something that echoes in the back of your mind. Wraps you up in a cozy blanket that reminds you so much of your two cuddly boyfriends and their sleepy fussings for your attention. 

You're not going anywhere, and neither are they. 

[sequinsmile-x]

I love your family fics... A happy marriage, happy kids, unlike what I had. You make my days better and I spend couple of hours before going to sleep reading all your fics. Thank you so much

Hi bestie!

I haven't stopped thinking about this message since I saw it last night. I genuinely feel honoured to help in anyway, and knowing you find comfort in my fics means more than I can put into words.

I've always said that I write because it helps me. It helps get thoughts out of my head, it stops me from thinking when I really don't want to, it helps me channel my creativity in a way that feels productive. And the fact it helps other people in whatever way? That's incredible to me.

Anyway, I thought I'd write you something that is for you. A fic where they are happy and have kids and have the family we all deserve. I hope you can come back to this as often as you need to, and know it was written with you in mind.

So this is for you, and anyone else who might need it!

-x-

Daylight

March 7th. The date that had once been carved on her gravestone and one she didn’t want to be written on her little girl’s birth certificate. 

-x-

Words: 3.6k

Warnings: Pregnancy, labour/birth

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

From the moment she found out her due date, she was determined that it wasn’t going to be her child's birthday. She’d gone as far as doing her own research, comforted by the fact there was only a 5% chance she’d have her little girl on the predicted date. She was further assured by the memory of her son’s birth. Oliver was almost two weeks late and she’d been induced. Aaron always joked that if he could, their 2-year-old son would climb back up inside of her, always keen to be wherever his mother was. 

It mostly calms her nerves down, and lets her reassure herself for months that her daughter wouldn’t be exactly on time, that the day would pass as it did every year with little fanfare. 

March 7th. The date that had once been carved on her gravestone and one she didn’t want to be written on her little girl’s birth certificate. 

It felt wrong. The thought of something so happy, so full of joy as they completed their family, being on the same date as the day she died. The day her life changed forever five years ago, altered in a way she once thought she’d never get past. She didn’t want to associate her daughter, her sweet face still not something Emily could quite picture yet, with the worst day of her life. When her found family’s opinion of her was permanently shifted, when she died to save them, sent to another continent by the man she was now lucky enough to call her husband and the father of her children. 

It wasn’t going to happen, not if she could help it.

Which was why she was absolutely not in labour. 

She’d felt the first twinges in the middle of the night. The discomfort had torn her from sleep, her hand flying to her belly before she was even fully awake. She’d told herself they were Braxton Hicks contractions, something she’d been experiencing on and off for a couple of weeks. The pains had continued but were few and far between, and by the time Aaron woke up in the morning she’d half convinced herself it was nothing and just what came with being very pregnant. 

Denial, she would later realise, was a very powerful thing. 

She gets through most of the day ignoring that the pains are getting closer and the fact that Aaron keeps asking if she’s okay, clearly accepting the fact she was in labour much faster than she was. She shrugs him off, insisting she’s fine as she grips the arm of the couch whilst her stomach tenses and pain rolls over her like a wave. She gets through it, wanting nothing more than to simply make it to the end of the day, to get past midnight so her baby would be born on any other day. 

Jessica comes round to pick up the boys after dinner, something that they’d agreed she’d start to do every evening in the lead-up to the baby being born so she wouldn’t have to come over in the middle of the night if Emily went into labour. Emily hugs Jack and Oliver a little tighter than she usually does as she says goodnight to them, aware, even underneath all her stubborn refusal, that the next time she sees them Oliver will no longer be her baby, and Jack will be an older brother again. 

She’s standing in the kitchen making herself a snack when she’s stopped by another wave of pain, the spoon of peanut butter she’d had in her hand clattering to the countertop. She groans as she leans forward, her elbows on the kitchen counter as she breathes out slowly. She shifts her hips side to side, attempting to ease some of the pressure in her back. 

“Sweetheart, I really think we should go to the hospital” Aaron says, reaching out to rub firm circles on her back, something that they’d figured out had provided her relief during her labour with Oliver, “The contractions are getting closer-”

“They aren’t contractions,” she insists as she cuts him off, her denial starting to sound weak even to herself, “It’s just some back pain,” she looks up at him. She attempts to smile, blowing out a breath as the wave of pain comes to an end, the tension in her body finally lifting, “I have done this before you know,” she says, trying to lighten the mood, to convince him that everything was fine. That she wasn’t having this baby today, “I know what I’m doing.” 

Aaron watches her carefully and sighs as he shifts his hands to her hips and gently turns her to look at him. He sighs as he tucks some of her hair behind her ear, his knuckles brushing against her cheek. He knew what was wrong, what was making his usually logical wife act so out of character, what was making her deny the obvious. He knew the significance her due date held the moment the doctor had told them, the day engraved into his memory just as it once had been on a gravestone that bore her name. He’d been preparing for this eventuality since that appointment, aware that whilst it was unlikely she’d give birth on her due date it wasn’t impossible. 

She’d been defying the odds since the day he’d met her, so why would now be any different? 

“I know what day it is, Em,” he says carefully, his heart twisting in his chest as she tenses. He cups her jaw and rubs his thumb back and forth over her cheek, “I understand what you’re trying to do, but you are in labour and we need to get the two of you to the hospital, okay?” 

She clenches her teeth, misplaced irritation aimed at him flooding through her in an instant. Sometimes she hated how well he knew her, how he could read her like a book. It had been jarring when they first got together before she allowed herself to settle into the comfort of the way he loved her. She’d mistaken the way he liked to care for her as control, the small but loving actions he did to make her day easier, difficult to get used to. Cups of coffee before she’d ask for them, snacks placed in front of her before she even knew she was hungry. His embrace always willing and waiting to hug her, to provide comfort she still wasn’t very good at asking for. She shakes off the irritation, a physical movement of her head that ends with her leaning into his palm, his thumb wiping away the tear that the movement dislodges from her lashline. 

“Today can’t be her birthday,” she says, her voice raw, torn open by emotions she’d stuffed in her chest for months, the words sharp and bitter as they finally escape from where she’d held them captive. She places her hand on her stomach, her arm curling around her bump as she tries to protect her unborn daughter, “It just can’t be, Aaron. I never want to associate…”

She drifts off, her voice catching as she tries and fails to suppress a sob. He tugs her forward, looping his arms around her as best as he can with their daughter trapped between them. He shushes her, his lips against her forehead as he rubs his hand up and down her back. 

“Sweetheart, today might end up being her birthday,” he says softly, shushing her again when she holds on tighter, her fingers digging into his skin so tightly he can feel her blunt nails through his shirt, “But that means it’s the start of something new, right?” He asks, pulling back to look at her, his heart clenching at the look on her face, the unshed tears in her eyes, “It means that today wouldn’t just be sad, it would be good too. A new beginning for us.” 

She sniffs, blowing out a steady breath as she wipes her face, irritated at herself as more tears fall onto her cheeks, “I just hate that he’s in this,” she says, hiccuping through a sob as she speaks, “He tried to kill me, he almost did, and the anniversary of that might end up being the day she's born.” 

“Ian is not in this,” he says firmly but calmly, cupping her cheek to make her look up at him, her gaze having drifted to the floor at the mention of Ian’s name. She furrows her brow and scoffs and he smiles softly at her, storing away yet another moment in their lives when she managed to look intimidating even when crying, “He isn’t. It’s just you, me, the boys and our little girl.” He places his hand on her stomach, linking his fingers through hers, “We’re about to meet her, and that’s in spite of him, not because of him.” 

She blows out a breath as she nods, leaning forward and pressing her head into his shoulder, “You’re right.” 

He smiles and kisses the side of her head, “Really? I don’t think you’ve ever said that before.” 

She hums and pulls away, wiping her cheeks again, “Yeah,” she says, stamping a kiss on his lips, “Plus, my water just broke all over your shoes.” 

He pulls back and he looks between his now wet shoes and floor, the damp patch on her sweats, and the smirk on her face. He leans forward and kisses her, a fierce but quick thing against her lips, before he pulls back. 

“I’ll get you some fresh sweats and grab myself some different shoes, then we’ll go to the hospital,” he says, squeezing her hand before he lifts it to kiss her knuckles, “Let’s go have a baby.” 

She nods, her smile only fading when he’s out of the room again, her hand on her stomach as she starts to feel the beginning of another contraction, rolling through her body as it’s chased by anxiety she can’t shift. 

“Yeah,” she says, blowing out a steady breath, “Let’s go have a baby.” 

___

She grunts as she leans back against Aaron, whining as her body is barely given a chance to rest, her next contraction already building. 

“Fuck,” she exclaims, squeezing Aaron’s hands tightly, “This sucks. This is so much worse than I remember,” she huffs out a breath, “Why didn’t I remember how much this sucks?”

“It’s nature’s way of tricking us into having more than one child,” her doctor says from the end of the bed, looking up at Emily from between her legs, her hand comfortingly on her knee, “Just another couple of pushes and your daughter will be here, Emily.” 

Emily whimpers, a sound she would later deny entirely, and rests her head on her husband’s shoulder to look up at him. He’d climbed into the bed behind her hours ago, taking the same position he had when she gave birth to Oliver, her support both physically and emotionally as she brought their child into the world. She looks at their joint hands and sees the time on his watch. 

11.35 pm 

“Maybe she can wait 25 minutes,” she says, looking at her doctor, “It’s just another 25 minutes.” 

The doctor exchanges a quick look with Aaron. He’d pulled her aside when they arrived, giving her a very abridged version of what was happening, why his wife was so hesitant to give birth today. He knows Emily wouldn’t thank him for it if she knew, but he wanted to keep her and their little girl safe, even if it meant enduring her wrath at a later date. 

“Emily,” the doctor says, her smile so kind it makes Emily ache, “give me your hand.”

She nods, unclasping one of her hands from Aarons and reaching out to her doctor, letting her guide her until her fingers touch the top of her baby’s head, tears springing to her eyes as she chokes out a sob.

“She’s got so much hair,” she breathes out, her voice shaking almost as much as she was. 

“And she’s almost here,” the doctor says, “We don’t have 25 minutes.” 

Emily nods and leans back against Aaron, reaching for his hand again, her body starting to take over, pushing despite the fact she really doesn’t want to. She falls back against her husband again as she takes a moment to breathe in between pushes, aware that with every passing second, she gets closer to having her little girl in her arms.

“It’s all your fault you know,” she says, squeezing his hands tightly, “She gets it from you.” 

He chuckles softly, his lips against the side of her head, “She gets what from me, sweetheart?”

She groans as the next contraction starts, “Being punctual.”  

Her words turn into a scream as she pushes for a final time, her body sagging into Aaron’s as the piercing cry of a baby fills the room. Emily breathes out and it catches in her chest as her daughter is held up for her to see and she reaches her shaking hands to hold her.

“Congratulations,” the doctor says, her words, and everything other than Aaron and the baby in her arms, fading away as Emily looks at her daughter's face for the first time. 

“Hi sweet girl,” she says, tears spilling down her cheeks as she holds the still-screaming baby against her chest, “Look at you,” she looks up at Aaron and isn’t surprised to see he’s crying too, “Look at her.”

“She’s beautiful,” he says, kissing his wife, “I love you so much,” he murmurs against her lips before he looks at the baby, now slightly calmer as she settles against Emily, “Hi princess,” he says, his eyes taking in every feature of her face, committing it to memory because he knew how much of a thief time was, how quickly she’d change right in front of him, “You look just like Mommy.” 

Emily chuckles, “Sorry about the nose, baby,” she says, rubbing her hand up and down her daughter’s back, shifting to press her lips against her forehead. She looks up at her husband, “What time is it?” 

Aaron looks at his watch and then back at his wife, blowing out a slow breath before he answers, “It’s 11.50, sweetheart.” 

She chokes out a noise somewhere between a laugh and a sob, shaking her head as she looks back down at her daughter. 

“That’s okay,” she says, her voice still shaking, overwhelmed with hormones and emotions she can’t find the name for. Suddenly everything she’d spent months worrying about didn’t seem to matter. She doesn’t feel sad, or disappointed, two things that seem impossible as she looks at her newborn’s face, but instead she feels happy, overwhelming joy she never thought she’d get to feel at this time five years ago, “That’s more than okay,” she strokes a finger up and down her daughter’s cheek, “Happy birthday, sweet girl.”

___

Emily smiles as she rests her head on Aaron’s shoulder, looking down at the baby girl in his arms. They were snuggled together in her hospital bed, both of them exhausted but happy as they stared at the latest addition to their family. 

“Jess said she’s on the way,” Aaron says softly, looking at his wife. She was beautiful in her exhaustion, ethereal almost with her hair in the braids he’d done for her after she’d showered, “Apparently the boys are very excited to meet their sister.” 

She hums as she reaches out to touch the baby’s head, stroking over the thick dark hair that was impossibly soft, “We need to think of a name,” she says as she continues to stroke her hair, “None of the ones we thought of seem right.” 

They’d gone back and forth for months, arguing over girl's names ever since they’d found out they were having a daughter. Nothing seemed like it fit their little girl, especially now they were looking at her. The baby starts to fuss and Aaron immediately hands her to Emily, smiling at the sight of his girls together. 

“I have a suggestion,” he says as Emily settles the baby into her arms, her smile soft as she looks up at him.

“Yeah? What is it?” She asks rocking the baby as she calms down, content to be in her mother’s arms. 

“Alba,” he replies, reaching out and adjusting the blanket around the baby, “It means dawn, or sunrise,” his smile turns shy as she stares at him, her expression unreadable to him for once, “Since she’s our family’s new beginning.”

She chuckles, the sound wet as it catches in her lungs, and she shakes her head at him, “How long have you had that in your back pocket?” 

He shrugs, “Since we found out your due date,” he says, watching as she looks back down at the baby, nerves making his heart seize, “If you don’t like it-”

“I love it,” she says, cutting him off as she looks at him, her smile wide, “It suits her. Alba Hotchner.” 

“Alba it is,” he replies, leaning forward to press a kiss to her lips, his hand cupping the back of their daughter’s head, “Hi Alba.” 

There’s a knock at the door just before it opens and Jessica’s head pops around it, “Is there a tiny baby in here?” She asks, her smile soft, “I have two very excited little boys out here.” 

Aaron stands up, “Come on in.”

As the door opens fully he grabs Oliver, hauling the toddler onto his hip as he makes a beeline for his mother. 

“Remember what we said, Ollie,” he says, walking over, his other arm around Jack’s shoulder as his eldest is more controlled in his excitement. 

“Gentle with Mama and baby sissy,” Oliver says, his thumb in his mouth as he looks at Emily, his smile wide as he rests his head on Aaron’s shoulder, “Hi Mama.”

“Hi sweet boy,” she says, making sure Alba is tucked safely in the crook of one of her arms whilst she wraps the other around Oliver once Aaron eases him onto the bed, “I missed you.” 

Oliver snuggles up into her side, a little rougher than she can take, and she hides a wince, never wanting to scare him, “Missed Mama.” 

Emily smiles at Jack who was standing next to the bed peering into the bundle in her arms. He beams at her, the same excitement in his eyes that he had when he first met Oliver a couple of years ago. There were moments when she wondered if Jack missed when life was just him Aaron, when it was quiet and he didn’t have a little brother, and now sister, splitting his parent's attention and following his every move, but then there were moments like this. When she saw the love in his eyes, the joy she’d been a part of, her role in helping Aaron fulfil his final promise to Haley something she held dear. 

“Jack, Ollie,” she says, looking between her sons, purposely ignoring the clicks of both Jess and Aaron’s camera phones as she speaks, “This is Alba.” 

“She’s so pretty,” Jack says as he looks at his sister and then back at Emily, “She looks like you, Mom.” 

Emily unwraps her arm from around Oliver and cups Jack’s cheek, pulling him in his kiss his forehead. She still wasn’t entirely used to him calling her Mom, and part of her hoped she never would be. That it would always make her feel as overjoyed as she had the first time, that random Tuesday morning when she’d shifted from Emily to Mom with little fanfare from the little boy. 

“Thanks, sweetie,” she says, “Do you want to hold her?” 

Jack opens his mouth to say yes, but is cut off by his younger brother, his voice a little too loud in the otherwise peaceful room.

“I want sissy,” he insists, his eyebrows furrowing in a way that never failed to make him look exactly like Aaron. 

“You can both hold her,” Aaron says, stepping forward to pick up Oliver and placing him in the large chair next to the bed, “Jack, you sit next to your bother.”

Jack nods enthusiastically and does as he’s told, “I remember what to do,” he says, wrapping one of his arms around his brother, “We have to be gentle, and make sure her head is supported.” 

Emily hands over Alba to Aaron, ignoring her instinct to snatch her back even though she wasn’t leaving her line of sight. 

“That’s right Jack,” Aaron says, handing Alba to Jack, making sure that she was safely in the laps of her brothers. He stays close, his hand under Jack’s elbow to provide additional support. He turns to look at his wife as he sees a flash go off, and he raises his eyebrow at her when he sees her phone in her hands pointing at them all. 

“What?” She asks, raising her eyebrow in challenge, “You can take pictures and I can’t?” 

He winks at her before he turns his attention back to his children, softly talking to the boys as they ask questions about Alba. Jessica walks over too, leaning over the back of the chair to look at her niece. Their conversation fades out as Emily looks at the picture of her husband and children on her phone. She immediately sets it as her wallpaper, wanting it as a reminder of what she has now, what she had been able to create for herself despite everything. 

Her new beginning and happy ending wrapped up all in one, the soft epilogue she knew she truly deserved. 

-x-

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