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beyondthesefourwalls · 4 months

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Cowboy Resolutions

Summary: New Year’s Eve at the Hard Deck with all of your friends was a tradition, one that you loved and held close to your heart. When you and your husband decide to slip away from the crowd for a late night stroll on the beach right before midnight, you realize that neither of you had the purest of intentions when it came to wanting to get away.

Pairing: Jake Seresin x Reader (no use of y/n)

Word Count: 2.8K Warnings: Smut with a dash of fluff, including shenanigans in public. Language.

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You feel his arms wrap around you right before you hear his voice in your ear, low and husky and trying too hard to be sexy to actually be sexy.

“Hey there darlin. How about we be naughty together and save Santa a trip next year?”

You can’t help the snort you let out as you start laughing. Jake kisses your neck playfully before you turn in his arms to face him, chest pressed to his. You’re careful not to spill the drink you had just gotten. “If that’s how it works, I’m pretty sure we secured our spot on the naughty list on Christmas day a week ago, pretty boy.”

He wags his eyebrows dramatically, drawing another giggle out of you. “I think you’re right, beautiful. Several times, if I remember correctly.”

“On that note, I’m going to play pool before I vomit everywhere.”

You ignore Nat’s gag and loud proclamation; you don’t need to look at her to know that she rolled her eyes as she walked away from where the two of you had been chatting at the bar before your husband had interrupted.

“Well they say you’re supposed to bring in the year the way you want to spend it,” you tell him, and he hums thoughtfully.

“A year of amazing sex with my absolutely smokin’ wife? Screw the good list, where do I sign?”

His voice gets lower the closer he brings his face to yours, and by the last word, you can feel him speak against your lips. You grin into it when he finally kisses you. Despite the fact that every regular in the bar should be used to seeing your public displays of affection after years of it, cat calls still ring out over the sound of chatter and the jukebox. You roll your eyes while you pull away, but Jake’s shameless smirk is enough to soften your smile.

“Jealous fuckers,” he mutters, and you’ve gone through this enough to know he’s only joking. His eyebrows raise again and he lets his hand drift to slide over your butt, squeezing once through the material of your skirt. “Maybe we should really give them something to gawk out.”

You laugh at his familiar antics and shake your head. “Down, Cowboy.”

But you know that Jake's playful nature, one that not many people get to see, is one of the things you love most about him. His ability to make even the simplest moments feel special and exciting is what keeps the flame alive in your relationship, even after all this time.

“Aww, darlin. You’re no fun.”

“Careful now,” you tell him, linking your fingers through his and starting to make your way through the crowd to where your friends have gathered by the pool tables. You grin at him playfully over your shoulder, a mischievous glint in your eyes. “Or you won’t get any kisses at midnight.”

The sound of Jake’s laughter was one of your favorite sounds in the whole world, and you let it surround you as you greet the group you considered family. New Year’s Eve at the Hard Deck was something you had done the last two years, and with this third occurrence, you thought it was a solidified tradition amongst you all. It’s nice, being able to have those now. You and Jake have moved around a handful of times in your relationship, never in one spot for long, but San Diego is somewhere you’re so glad to actually call home now. It’s something you were unbelievably grateful for - that, and these people who continuously brought so much joy into your life.

As the night wears on, the bar becomes increasingly crowded and lively. The music thumps through the speakers, blending with the laughter and conversations that filled the air. It’s when Bradley unplugs the jukebox and settles in at the old, worn piano by the bar that your husband links his fingers through yours, tugging lightly. You look over at him to see him tilt his head toward the general direction of the back door. You smile lightly, knowing what he’s asking without him having to utter a word, and you nod.

As you take a break from the crowded bar and step outside into the crisp night air, Jake wraps his arm around your waist, pulling you closer.

“Take a walk with me?” he asks, and you murmur your assent. You know that the heeled boots you’re wearing won’t mix well with the sand, so using him as an anchor, you bend to take them off. You sigh in relief once your toes hit the sand, feeling cool and refreshing through the barrier of your socks.

“Lead the way,” you smile.

The moon hangs low in the sky, casting an ethereal glow over the ocean. He keeps you tucked into his side as you walk along the empty beach, the music and lights from the bar fading with every step. The chilly wind bites at your cheeks, but the warmth of the alcohol you had consumed and Jake's body keeps you cozy. If you weren’t always so in tune with his touch, you may have missed the way his hand progressively slid lower and lower on your back.

“I feel like you didn’t have the purest intentions with this walk,” you murmur. A shiver runs through you that has nothing to do with the breeze and everything to do with the sound of his low, deep laughter. It rumbles through his chest, vibrating against your side.

“Well, darlin’, you know me too well.” He leans down and presses a soft kiss to your temple. "Maybe I had a little ulterior motive," he admits, his voice laced with something. “What do you say?”

You giggle as he kisses down the side of your face, featherlight and intoxicating, and tugs lightly on your ear. “Here?”

“No,” he says, “there.”

He points, and through the darkness, you see the old lifeguard stand, unmanned this late at night, especially this far down the beach. His suggestion hangs in the air, thick with appeal and eagerness.

“Well,” you say after a brief moment of contemplation that really didn’t take long at all. You take a step away from him, your body automatically missing his warmth even as it thrummed with excitement. You shoot him a look that you know he recognizes by how his smile transforms. “I did say you should bring in the year the way you want to spend it, didn’t I?”

You take off in a run at the same moment he reaches for you, and you squeal with laughter as he chases you right to where he pointed earlier - right to where you want him now.

He presses you against the wooden structure once you both reach it, and without breaking stride, his lips are on yours. The kiss is slow and tantalizing at first, but soon enough, it deepens, and his tongue sweeps into your mouth in a familiar dance that leaves you breathless. He tastes like whiskey and the leftover mini candy canes you kept in your purse and your heart races. The sounds of the crashing waves and distant partying from the bar fade away as you sink into his embrace. You feel his other hand slide up your thigh, tracing slow circles on your skin. His touch is electric, making your body hum. Even the cool breeze nipping at your exposed skin isn’t enough to cool you down.

As he pulls back, breathing heavily, you run your fingers through his hair, enjoying the softness of it between them. His breath comes out hot against your lips as he whispers, "I love how responsive you are to me."

His mouth descends upon yours again. His hand moves higher, cupping your breast through your sweater, his fingers teasing your nipple through the fabric. Your response is instantaneous; you arch your back and groan, completely caught up in the moment. "How do you want it?" he asks, kisses trailing down your neck. You tilt your head to allow easier access to your throat.

"Jake," you moan. You clutch at him, one hand in his hair and the other wrinkling the material of his flannel shirt.

"Tell me, darlin'," he requests, commands, and you whimper as it's accompanied by a bite of your skin. "How do you want it? You want to climb up in the chair? Or you want me to take you right here against it?"

It was hard to think with the way he was touching you and the feel of his lips on yours. But you suddenly had the undeniable urge to ride him. The added bonus of being elevated off the ground like you would be, all the while being safe in your husband’s arms, sent a chill of excitement through you. “Up,” you breathe, pushing him away just slightly.

You’re both clumsy as you eagerly climb up onto the raised, wide seat. You hiss at the cold of the wood as your knees settle on either side of his thighs, but his touch distracts you immediately as he tugs your short skirt up to bunch at your waist, allowing you to sit on his lap more comfortably and without risk of stretching the material. You smirk for just a second before a groan tears from his throat when his fingers meets nothing but skin.

“You forget to put something on, baby?” he husks, and you shake your head. You don’t even try to look innocent.

“You weren’t the only one with ulterior motives, Cowboy.”

Your hands move to his belt buckle, undoing it with practiced ease. He watches you intently as you move on to the button and zip of his jeans. He's hard under your hands and god, you want him. But you know you're not the only one. Jake groans, his hips thrusting instinctively into your touch. Your eyes flash to his and you see him biting his lip as he watches you intently, his green eyes dark with desire. You feel powerful like this, seeing the hunger there.

You pull his erection from the denim keeping him confined. He's hard and thick, the head glistening with a bead of pre-cum. You can't resist running your hand over the smooth, velvety skin, stroking him gently. Jake's breath hitches, his eyes fluttering shut as you continue to stroke him. He keeps a hand steady on your back, ensuring your balance, but lets the other reach down between your legs. His touch brushes against your own as he goes, stroking through the liquid heat he finds. You moan softly as his fingers find their way inside you, matching the rhythm of your hand on him. His thumb swipes across your sensitive clit, sending a jolt of need through you. You gasp, your other hand pulling at the back of his head, drawing him closer.

"Jake, please," you beg, arching into his touch. He pulls his hand away from you just long enough to position himself at your entrance. He drags his cock through your wetness, coating himself. He's hard and ready, and you can't wait any longer. "Please."

He doesn't need any further encouragement as he slowly enters you, stretching you open in the best way. You cry out in pleasure, your head falling back as you feel him deep inside you.

"God, you feel so good," he whispers, his breath ghosting over your skin. Like you want to prove to him that you can be even better, you lift yourself off of him slowly, sinking back down as he moans. "That's my girl."

His muscles tense under your touch, urging you on, and you oblige without hesitation. His hands keep a firm grip on your waist as you set a steady rhythm. Your thighs burn deliciously from the exertion, but you don’t mind, leaning forward to capture his lips. It's a frenzied tangle of tongues and teeth, while his hips buck upward into yours. The feel of him inside you is exhilarating, driving you closer and closer to the edge.

Your hands twine in his hair, pulling his head back just enough so you can look into his eyes. They're lust-filled and dark, mirroring the emotions swirling within you.

"Harder," you pant.

"Fuck, baby," he growls as he speeds up his pace. He thrusts into you harder, each hit sending ripples of pleasure through you. Your heart pounds against your ribcage as you press closer to him. He hits that spot inside of you that only he can reach and the stars that dot your vision aren't from the sky above you.

"Yes, oh, fuck. Jake!" He finds it again and your muscles clench. "I'm going to come," you gasp, and Jake's answering groan lets you know that he's close, too.

"Come for me, darlin'," he chants, his voice low and raspy, commanding you to give in to the feeling.

His words send you over the edge, and your scream of his name is cut off with his mouth surging to meet yours - you had nearly forgotten that you were outside. Your orgasm ripples through you, your body trembling under the waves of pleasure. You feel him give one, two, three more thrusts before he’s falling over, too. His cum is hot as it fills you and you can’t help but moan into his kiss at the sensation - there was nothing quite like it.

He pulls back once breathing becomes an issue. You're both panting and breathless. He takes your face in his hands, the roughness of his fingertips a long-formed comfort. You just stare for a few moments, letting your heart rates settle.

"Hell of a way to end the year," he finally murmurs, voice filled with warm affection.

You can't pass up the opportunity he's given you considering the current circumstances, raising an eyebrow playfully. "With your cum inside of me?"

He huffs out a laugh, but you feel his cock twitch inside of you nonetheless. “The best way to do it.”

You hum in response and grab his wrist, twisting it to get a look at his watch. 11:52.

"If we hurry we can probably make it back to the Hard Deck in time for midnight," you tell him, though you're in no rush to move. Jake shrugs a shoulder, and it's enough to tell you that he isn't, either. You smile at him softly, leaning forward for another kiss. After another minute or two, you gently disentangle yourself from each other. Jake tucks himself back into his pants as you pull your skirt down. The raised wooden structure is really not comfortable for either of you now that you weren't completely caught up in your lust. He climbs down from the chair first and keeps a protective hand on you as you make your way down after him.

Instead of moving to walk back to the bar, though, you settle together in the sand. Your back is to his chest and his arms are wrapped firmly around you. His chin is tucked into your shoulder and you watch the waves gently lapping in the ocean as you sit in a peaceful, comforting silence.

“Any resolutions this year?” he eventually asks. You feel his breath against your neck and goosebumps erupt over your skin. You hope you never stop reacting to him this way.

“Hmmm. None yet. You?”

“Already did it,” he says nonchalantly. Your eyebrows furrow and your twist your neck to look at him.

“What?”

His smirk grows and his green eyes twinkle with mischief. “Guarantee myself on the naughty list for Santa next year, obviously.”

You smack his arm right as the fireworks start going off, and his laughter is masked by the sound. There are bursts of every color you could imagine appearing in the sky, and you let yourself get distracted by the display until your husband nudges you gently.

When your eyes meet his this time, the look on his face is softer. It’s a look he only ever has for you, full of love and adoration, and despite how long you’ve been together, you feel butterflies erupt in your tummy as it washes over you. He tilts your chin up with a gentle hand. It’s the sweetest kiss you had exchanged all night, nothing more than a light brush of his lips against yours. Your nose brushes against his as, for a moment, you just breathe the other in.

“Happy New Year, darlin’,” Jake finally whispers, and his words taste sweet against your lips.

“Happy New Year, Jake.”

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Notes: Happy (almost) New Year everyone! Finishing off the trifecta of holiday fics with The Blonde One™️ just felt right. Thanks for reading! Likes/comments/reblogs are the kindest.

Special thanks to @roosterforme and @mak-32 for all of their help as always, and for Mak for making the dreamiest banners.

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laurey257 · 9 months

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Good Omens fanfic recs that ease the pain. (All complete, canon-compliant)

I am an avid reader and I’ve been combing the floods of new (awesome) things hitting Archive and similar to find what best eases the pain of That Episode. Here’s the best canon-compliant and complete ones that give some soothing to the angst of our angel and demon parting:

**This was a hard decision but I am excluding works in progress since they need time to mature—all these are complete /compliant and can be invested in without fear.**

Jesus, Etc.

This one had me howling. Crowley runs into a frantic Aziraphale with Jesus at a Barbenheimer premiere who he is frantically keeping busy to prevent the Second Coming. A battle of the wills with pop songs in the Bentley, Taylor Swift, Kenergy, sushi, a nativity play and a magic show are the least of the insanity that comes next. (Kudos for the awesome cameo from Mrs. Sandwich.)

To the Universe

This one is a 22-chapter, complete, canon-compliant season 3 full arc that can take the edge off for everyone who is internally screaming that we have years to wait to see all this resolve. Really can’t say enough about this one. It tied up every loose end. Certain parts reminded me of Pratchett and the ending had me on the edge of my chair and cheering out loud. (bonus extra in a hilarious treatment of Jesus in Tadfield that has him turning himself into a teen named Dave.) This could have been season 3 in another timeline.

Separate Ways

A sweet, short little one where Aziraphale has Muriel checking up on a devastated Crowley from the bookshop, and they finally at least talk. No resolution, but it felt so nice to read.

The Second Coming

One-shot (but around 7000 words in chapter format) that is canon-compliant. Aziraphale “awakens” in the elevator (think ox ribs but sexually) and yeets himself back to earth to roger Crowley six ways from Sunday. Smutty, so don’t read this one aloud to your parents. (naked apology dance reference in here made my eyes fall out.)

Heaven is not fit to house a love

A sweet little one with a *small* deviation from canon (that seemed ok because they have a good point.) Crowley had never told Aziraphale about the way the angels managed his trial OR about what he saw in the Heavenly files with Muriel. He jams his way into the elevator (telling the Metatron to get the next one) and tells him.

Not for all my Little Words

An adorable one where Aziraphale, realizing he screwed up, chases Crowley through loudspeakers and other people’s phones through Europe using famous love quotes until he gets his attention (and some forgiveness.)

Everywhere

Oh so lovely! A longer one-shot where Azi realizes that management is not what he cracked it up to be (they tell him nothing.) So he saves Crowley instead from a Heavenly asassination attempt. (Maggie, nina and anathema help!)

A Proper Apology

One where the Angel simply calls over and over until they really talk. (Or imagine the idiots simply just used the phone.)

Cause you like me too much and I like you

A sweet little one where Aziraphale quietly resigns, has a chat with Gabriel and Beez in the bookshop, and does the apology dance.

A sweet little daydream Azi has in the elevator about apologizing to Crowley in the Ressurectionist pub before waking up and realizing oh crap he is still in Heaven.

Did I miss any other good ones? Tell me?

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just-my-latest-hyperfixation · 4 months

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Don't cha wanna dance?

Written for the @steddieholidaydrabbles, day 30/31

Prompt: New year's resolutions

Rated: T

CW: Vague boner references again

Tags: No UD AU; dancer Steve Harrington; good neighbor Eddie Munson; Flirting; Sexual tension

Notes: Continued from day 22. This is for @sourw0lfs and @wormdebut specifically, who very gently bullied talked me into writing more dancer!Steve. 🩰

Eddie has never understood new year's resolutions. He believes that, if he wanted to change something about himself, he could do it any time. Like quit smoking. Or stop biting his nails. Or be less of a goddamn push-over.

Okay, so maybe the latter is something he should really, really work on, ‘cause it's gotten him into a whole shitload of unfortunate situations lately. As if chauffeuring Max to her stupid ballet classes wasn't enough. Now he's also helping out at the dancing school’s annual Christmas recital, because he's just such a nice guy, apparently.

While he tries to arrange the lopsided folding chairs into something resembling a neat line, he struggles to remember when he agreed to this shit. For the life of him, he can't recall. His brain was probably flat-lining when Max asked him, as it tends to do around a certain very hot dance teacher and his muscles and his tights and-

“Looking good!”

He whips his head up. Steve is standing a few paces away. The tights are a pale pink today. Jesus Christ.

“You too,” Eddie blurts. Steve's eyebrow arches and shit, he wasn't talking about Eddie, was he? “I mean, thanks, I … ow, son of a-”

“Oh, shit!” Steve is next to him in an instant, freeing his hand from the maws of the folding chair. Eddie swears, sucks his throbbing thumb into his mouth. “Sorry, these things are ancient. You need an ice pack? I've got some-”

“‘m good,” Eddie says. Tries to go for suave. Fails because he's still got his own thumb up his mouth like a fucking two-year-old. “Had worse.”

Steve’s face is a mask of doubt, but he doesn’t say anything.

“Anyhow,” he smiles instead, putting the offending chair in line with the rest. “I just wanted to say thanks again. You're probably busy enough around the holidays, but Max insisted you'd be happy to help.”

“I'm not,” Eddie says. Pauses. Grabs a strand of hair to hide behind. “Busy, I mean. I am happy to help, so … don't sweat it, or whatever.”

A heartbeat passes in awkward silence.

“So, what's with the, um …” Eddie says. Watches how Steve tilts his head at him, hair swooshing with the motion. Briefly considers stuffing his thumb back in his mouth to shut himself up. “... with the y’know. The getup.”

Something flashes across Steve’s face, something dangerously akin to hurt.

“What?” he asks, doing a hesitant three-sixty. “Something wrong with it?”

Screw the thumb, Eddie thinks. He needs to find a way to fit his entire hand in there. And Steve, for what it’s worth, needs to stop twirling, or they're about to have a massive fucking problem.

“It’s fine!” he says. Maybe a bit too fast, because he thinks Steve’s mouth curls into a smug smile. “I just mean, um … you’re not … dancing today, are you?”

Is he? Oh dear God, please no. The place is gonna be swarming with proud parents and relatives, Eddie is not ready for the inevitable consequences of Steve in his pink tights on that stage. Not in the skinny jeans he had to wear today, stupid fucking moron that he is.

“Huh? No, tonight is all about the girls,” Steve says. Eddie is so busy sighing in relief and nodding that he doesn’t catch the next words.

“Sorry, what?”

“That other recital I was talking about earlier? You coming to that, too?” Steve repeats, and fuck, what other recital? Eddie really needs to work on his listening skills. If he actually listened instead of staring at the guy like a catatonic caveman every so often, he might be able to maintain a halfway intelligent conversation.

He’d also probably know why Steve is suddenly coming closer. Eddie tries to take a frantic step backwards and almost crashes into the folding chairs.

“Oh, erm …,” he stammers. “When was it again?”

Stever reaches up to run a hand through his hair, boyish and bashful.

“Um, New Year's Eve,” he says apologetically. “I totally understand if you already have plans, it's just… There's a little get-together after the show, too, with drinks and snacks, and I thought-”

“Sure, I'll be there,” Eddie says.

See, what did he say? Total push-over.

The thing is, with the way Steve’s eyes light up, he can't really find it in himself to regret it.

“Ew, what happened to your finger?” Max looks about as disgusted as she sounds. Which is probably fair, because Eddie’s thumb has turned a vibrant purple.

“These little babies did,” Eddie gestures offhandedly at the chairs they're stacking against the wall. “So be careful.”

“Were you staring at Steve again?”

“Fuck off, I wasn't.”

She pushes the hair that has come loose from its bun out of her eyes so she can give him a deadpan stare. Eddie glowers right back.

“And even if I was, what's it to you? You can be glad I keep showing up to these gigs. Today, on New Year's Eve, it's really getting-”

“What are you on about?” Her entire face scrunches up in confusion. “There's no recital on-”

“Oh no?” Eddie pulls the flier Steve gave him from his pocket and pushes it into her chest. “Then what's this?”

“That's not our school, dumbass. Check the address.”

She studies it for a second.

“Huh? What d'you…?” Eddie is already squinting at the letters again. Sure enough, the address doesn't match the one he's been driving Max to. Instead, it's somewhere downtown. “What?”

“That's the studio Steve goes to,” Max has already returned to stacking chairs. “Super fancy place. He used to be a pro, y’know? Before he tore that muscle?”

When Eddie doesn’t reply, she tugs the flier from his limp fingers, folds it neatly and puts it into his jacket pocket.

“Happy new year, doofus. Better wear bulky pants.”

All my holiday drabbles

#steddie #steve x eddie #steve harrington x eddie munson #steddie brainrot #steddie fanfic #fanfiction writer #fanfiction #fanfic #my writing #steddieholidaydrabbles #hype's holiday drabbles

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qqueenofhades · 9 months

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JSYK the OP of the Crab Day post is a self-identified conservative Christian. Can't speak to anything she may have done or said, but I do know that Crab Day wouldn't actually fix Tumblr - the site is running a 30mil *deficit,* which is different from debt. All Crab Day would do would be telling staff that their current policies get users to send them more money, which doesn't actually change anything. Corporations change only when their business strategy is losing the shareholders money.

Gotta be honest, my friend, I'm... not sure what you're trying to do here? Warn me that the original post was made by a Problematic Person (tm) and therefore that must mean it's all wrong, or.... what?

We know that Tumblr badly needs money, because they have told us that and openly admitted that the unpopular new changes were spurred by a need for increasing revenue. I logged on just now on desktop and got a suggestion that I could purchase an ad-free browsing subscription to help support the hellsite (which is the word they used, because they have very much embraced the joke). I have in fact already bought an ad-free subscription, both because I like the product Tumblr provides and want to keep using it in its current form, and because it makes my mobile experience immeasurably nicer. I am well aware that especially in this era of social media sites dropping like flies, the continued existence of a platform that is 30-million-dollars underwater (however you want to split hairs about exactly how) is not a guarantee. And we all complain about Tumblr, but we have all been here a long time (me, uh, over 10 years), we have a solid community, there's no other alternative that's really ever come up or gotten the same kind of uptake, and if it went under, we would be uh, screwed.

Tumblr is kind of a mess, it's the antithesis of every social media site, and it doesn't (for now) have the crap that makes The Artist Formerly Known As Twitter, Facebook, and Instagram so utterly unusable, or if it does, you can (mostly) turn it off. That's why we all like it and why, even if we are resolutely anti-capitalist gremlins who resist being marketed to with every fiber of our being, it doesn't change the fact that servers, staff, and all the rest cost real human-people money which the site, by their own frank admission, is struggling to raise. Even if staff does often make crappy updates, they generally at least TRY to listen to us and include a feature to make it optional or roll it back, unlike certain unnamed idiot billionaires. Their mockery of other social media sites can sometimes be a little much, but for now, Tumblr is pretty much the last place on the internet that does what it does, and I like it that way. If it went under and took my blog of 10+ years and all my friends with it, I would be incredibly sad.

That being the case, and basic financial realities being what they are, encouraging people to toss a few bucks at a TOTALLY OPTIONAL and fun gimmick that increases functionality for a product we like is actually not a bad thing. TumblrMart has crabs, checkmarks, Ea-Nasir merchandise (seriously), ad-free browsing, etc., and if our choice is voluntarily supporting the site through fun (and again, OPTIONAL) purchases versus having us all be involuntarily subject to some horrible data-scraping mechanism or forced off altogether because they couldn't keep the lights on, that is fine with me. Nobody is making anybody do or buy anything. But if you like the product Tumblr provides and want a fun material way to show your appreciation, then I don't think it's some Great Transgression to participate in that.

#temperedknight #ask #crab day

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sp0o0kylights · 1 year

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Part One: Merry Crisis

It’s also on A03 (this chapter will go up too but not for a bit bc I have stupid adult work to do)

Five days after New Years and Steve Harrington was haunting Eddie’s head.

This time at least, it was consensual.

Mostly.

“I thought you said New Year's resolutions were a total waste of time and a conformist’s mmrrph--” Gareth cuts off as a ringed hand claps (gently) over his mouth, Eddie’s glare burning a hole in the side of his best friend’s head.

“No one asked you to comment.” Eddie informs him darkly.

“He’s got you there, Eds.” Jeff teases, seated on a bin in Gareth’s garage, friends occupying the couch across from him. “It is one of your yearly rants.”

“New Years Resolutions are just a convenient way for normies to understand my quests.” Eddie sniffs, ignoring the fact that he’d been going on about this since he showed up, several hours ago.

He releases Gareth’s mouth, springing up to pace another circuit round the garage. “I refuse to repeat another year in this god-awful high school--and!”

Spinning on his heels, Eddie flings a hand in the air, the exact same way he had when he auditioned for Sherlock Holmes in Hawkin High’s performance of Hounds of Baskerville. “It is my duty as Hellfire’s DM to figure out what the hell those freshmen are wrapped up in with Harrington!”

“Rii-iiight.” Gareth remarks. “I’m sure your obsession with this has nothing to do with those, what did you call them?”

Grant covers a laugh with a cough as Gareth pretends to think before saying: “Harrington’s big ol’ puppy dog eyes?”

Eddie’s face goes red. “I told you, I’m not crushing on Steve!”

“Bro.” Grant says, expression calling out Eddie’s lie better than words ever could.

“The entire planet knows you have a crush on him, Eds.” Gareth adds, leveling his best friend with a knowing look. “Frankly I’m amazed Steve himself hasn’t figured it out.”

“Shut it!” Eddie hissed, face aflame. “This is about everything else! What he’s hiding! Why the kids--”

“--worship him.” Jeff, Grant and Gareth all finish as one, their impromptu chorus deflating Eddie like a sad balloon.

“We know.” Grant says. “You think Harrington and the kids are wrapped up in some kind of crazy conspiracy that's eating them all alive and because you have a compulsive desire to solve every mystery put in front of you, you can’t leave it alone. This is starting to become something you should really like, work on man.”

Eddie turns his glare on Grant.

“You need to drop out of that AP psychology class.” He demands with another sniff. “It’s rotting your brain.”

“Uh huh.” Grant says, voice dripping in sarcasm.

“You;’ll see.” Eddie mutters as he resumes his pacing. “You’ll all see when I finally figure it out. You’ll be all,” Eddie straightens, clutching his hands together and squeezing them against his chest, “Oh-my-gawd, Eddie, holy shit, you were so right, they were hiding a huge secret!”

“Keep dreamin’ bud.” Jeff says flatly, prompting laughs from Gareth and Grant.

Eddie takes off a shoe and throws it at him.

(Jeff swears it was worth it.)

xXx

10 days after New Years and Steve Harrington was right there.

Right.

There.

It would be easy to walk across the parking lot, strike up a conversation. Hell, the kids' presence makes it even easier, Eddie knows all he has to do is talk about them before Steve drives them home.

He just--has to do it.

"You do know the first step is actually talking to him right?" Jeff teases, leaning against the school’s doorway.

Eddie startles, flushing scarlet.

"Shut up!" He snaps, turning around to run his hand over his face.

God why was this so hard!?

He's talked to plenty of people. Hell, he's talked to Harrington before. Talking was the thing Eddie arguably did best and suddenly he just fucking…couldn't!?

"He's waving at you." Jeff observes.

Eddie whips back around to face the parking lot--to find that Harrington wasn't even facing their direction.

Jeff chuckles.

"Oh screw you!" Eddie shoves his shoulder into Jeff’s, glowering.

Jeff playfully nudges him back. "Just go talk to him man. He didn't bite at the party, and he left you that note, so he's clearly open to it."

"I know.” Eddie grumbles, moving so he could lean against the opposite side of the doorway.

“So what’s holding you back?” Jeff turns to look at him now, as Eddie tangles a finger into a few strands of his hair. “It’s not like you hesitate instead of jumping into something head first.”

Eddie hides in his hair for a moment, unsure of how he wanted to handle this question.

Jeff knew he was gay. All the Corroded Coffin guy’s knew he was gay, after the first (and last) time he tried to buy product from a supplier that wasn’t Rick.

(Eddie was smart, but he’d been young back then. Hadn’t caught on to the fact the weed he’d been sold was laced with who-knew-what.

What he did know was that when he and the boys tried it out; Grant had given a very emotional speech about love and acceptance, Jeff wouldn’t stop hugging people, Gareth ended up crying over gender issues and Eddie had admitted he was flamingly gay.

He never bought from another supplier again, even if he did technically owe the guy who’d brought him and his best friends closer together.)

Being gay wasn’t exactly the issue.

It was being gay, and having a blatant crush on Steve--the guy who the Hellfire kids loved. The guy who had surprised Eddie by being decent and downright fun.

The guy who kept insisting he and Buckley were “Platonic with a Capital P”and even with Robin climbing all over him like a lemur, he had in fact kept his hands and eyes to perfectly respectable places.

Who was practically built to appeal to Eddie, between his stupid sexy smile and the weird mystery he was wrapped up in, the same one that caused his smiles to drop the second he knew no one was paying attention.

Add in the fact he’d played D&D once before and it was like God had made Eddie’s perfect match.

Of course because Eddie’s relationship with a deity of any kind was agonistic at best, they’d made Steve not only the straightest man to ever rule a high school, but also dangled him in front of Eddie constantly.

Like a treat he could never, ever have, but will always crave.

“Oh he’s actually waving at you this time.” Jeff says, and despite the high chance of this being another joke, Eddie looks anyway.

Sure enough there was Harrington, dumb little grin on his face, waving his hand.

Eddie managed to get his brain to function long enough to wave back.

“Wow Eds, you actually waved at him. That’s a lot of progress for you.” Gareth chimes in, appearing in between his friends with a smirk.

“We’re proud of you buddy.” Grant adds, standing behind Gareth.

Eddie groans aloud. “I hate you all.” He mutters, trying to keep a smile on his face for Steve until the guy turns back to herald the children into the car.

“No you don’t.” Gareth sing-songs, to the snickers of Jeff and Grant.

And no, he doesn't--but fuck if Eddie didn’t want to wring all their necks.

xXx

January 13th, Eddie finally gets his first resolution breakthrough.

It came in the form of Sinclair’s girlfriend, oddly enough, but he wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth.

“I’m not Lucas’s girlfriend.” The redhead spat, which Eddie thought was a hell of a lot of anger for someone who he had not been formally introduced to but had flung herself into his passenger seat anyway, with a declaration that he would drive her home.

(He, of course, had been about to protest until Max reminded him with a glare that they were neighbors--which had the effect of making Steve look relieved, like Eddie was doing him some kind of massive favor.

A favor Eddie wanted.

“For totally normal non crush related reasons Gareth, god!”)

Currently Max is staring out the window as Eddie drives home, arms crossed and in a full sulk.

Eddie recognizes it in her the same way he recognizes it in himself, and knows intimately that he has a chance to be to her, what Wayne was to him.

Someone who didn’t just see the problems he had, but acted on them.

That began with a conversation.

“So not that sitting in awkward silence isn’t totally fun, but uh, why am I driving you home instead of Harrington?” Eddie asks, watching Max out of the corners of his eyes.

She doesn’t even flinch. “What, and miss the chance to ride in the drug mobile?”

He expects the snappish response but has to give Max credit--she is absolutely the most vicious of Steve’s kids.

“Ok fair,” He says, because getting angry back was what she wanted. Or at least, what Eddie wanted, back when he was in Max’s shoes. “But don’t all you kids like, worship King Steve? Thought you’d want your beloved babysitting to drive you home..”

Max’s shoulders hunch immediately, her jaw clenching. “Don’t call him that.”

“Babysitter?” Eddie questions.

“King Steve, you ass.” She bites back. “If you like him like Lucas and Dustin swear you do, then you wouldn’t be an dick.”

Quieter, she mutters, “He hates that nickname.”

“Hate to break it to you, but Steve gave himself that nickname.” Eddie says, if only to buy time while he swallows the fact that the kids have decided he and Steve aren't just cool with each other, but like each other.

Obviously not like-like, as in romantic like, because they weren't psychic, but--

'Focus, idiot! Max is still talking!'

Max rolls her eyes, huffing angrily as she finally tears her gaze away from the window. “You don’t get it.”

“I sure as shit don’t and won’t.” Eddie agrees easily, and has to look away to keep the laughter off his face at the confused look it nets him. “Not unless you want to clue me in.”

She chews over that for a moment, before apparently coming to a decision. “You’re annoying.”

“Oh come on Red, if you’re gonna insult me at least do it right. Annoying is boring.” Eddie fakes a yawn, and this time does laugh at Max’s outright offended face.

Thankfully, the antics get him exactly what he wants.

An answer.

"Steve saw the real world and decided he wanted to be a better person. To grow up and leave all the stupid high school petty shit behind." Max says, and for a moment it's almost like she's speaking to someone else.

Likely the person she really is mad at, Eddie assumes.

"Calling him King Steve just takes all that progress away, and for what? Cause you're jealous?"

She's on a roll now. Eddie remains silent, knowing Max needs to get this out.

That this rant isn't aimed at him.

"You're mad that things were easy for him? Because newsflash, they weren't. He put in the effort to be a good guy, could even," Max fakes a dramatic gasp, "--apologize!"

An idea takes shape, both of the unsurprising source of the younger teens' hurt and frustration, and why she at least defends Harrington so hard.

Eddie may not know how exactly Max fits into "The Party" (or even who all is included within it) but it's clear she's just as close to Steve as the rest.

Maybe even a touch moreso, in a way that's eclipsed by Henderson alone.

Max is still going. "Steve's a genuinely good person and he's earned the right to be acknowledged as one!"

Her eyes are wet when she finishes and Max angrily swipes at them with her sleeve.

Eddie knows better than to comment on it, but does take a moment to think her words over.

"Have you seen it too?" He decides to ask. It's the part that sticks out to him, so it becomes the thread he decides to pull.

Max blinks. "What?"

"The real world. Have you seen it too?"

"Yeah." Max admits, after a long moment of silence, chewing on her lower lip. "I did. And I wish I hadn't."

"Sucks huh?"

"You don't know half of it."

"I might not know the exact parts you saw," Eddie agrees, as he pulls up in front of his trailer. "But I have seen plenty of other nasty bits and bobs."

He puts his van in park. "Just because the monster changes shape doesn't make it any less of a danger, you know?"

Max sits with that for a moment. Eddie sits with her, his music on even if he has the volume turned down low.

Waits to see if she'll say more, or if this is all he's getting.

There’s a slight hesitation--as if for a moment, Max considers opening up--but something in her balks and she opens the door instead.

“Thanks for the ride.” She grumbles, quiet enough that he almost doesn’t hear, before slamming the door and walking fast to her trailer.

The lights are off, and the car he knows belongs to her mother isn’t in the driveway.

It’s not unusual to be home alone at this hour. Not for Hawkins kids, and especially not for trailer park kids like them, but for the first time, Eddie finds himself wondering how often she’s alone.

“Hey, Red!” He calls, as he makes his way out of the van.

She turns to look at him, and Eddie realizes he must be getting a glimpse of what every adult used to see in him. Fury and discontent, all rolling over a sadness that’s bone deep and afraid to face daylight.

“You ever wanna explain it to me, you’re welcome to come over.” He says, jerking his thumb over his shoulder at his own trailer.

“Whatever.” Max says with an eye roll, before storming to her front door.

Eddie waits for the lights to go on, before retreating back to his own house, feeling like he at least established something.

Even if it was just proof that he wasn’t going to blow up or brush her off like everyone else.

xXx

January 13th's luck didn't end there.

A few hours after Eddie made sure Steve's attack chihuahua child made it home safe, a car pulls up in front of her trailer.

Curious (and nosey as fuck) Eddie peers out the window to spot Harrington’s Beemer flick its lights off, owner crawling out and up to Max's front door with an arm full of takeout.

Steve stands there for a while, alternating between knocking and not-quite yelling, before finally putting the food down.

Eddie knows now that Steve's some kind of pseudo parent to these kids, that the intent he has towards them is a combination of brotherly and maternal.

Can't help himself from the opportunity that arises when Harrington moves to peek into one of Max's trailer windows, though.

"Damn Harrington," Eddie calls out, after quietly slipping onto his front porch. "Didn't know you were the kinda creep to stare into teenage girl's windows."

Steve spins, startled, and nearly goes down on the gravel while doing so.

Eddie laughs--it's like watching Bambi on ice--but regrets it immediately when the younger man trots over to him.

Puts his hands up and is about to defend himself out of sheer habit.

"Is she okay?" Steve asks, trotting up the two steps so he can lower his voice.

Eddie wiggles his raised hands in a “maybe” sort of gesture before lowering them.

“She’s fine right now, but she’s definitely upset.”

Steve hums, peering worriedly at the opposing trailer, takeout food sitting innocently by Max’s door. “

“She’s been upset for a while. I just…” He trails off, running his hand through his hair. “I don’t know what to do for her, you know? She’s not as easy to figure out as the others.”

Which isn’t the least bit surprising. At least, it isn’t to Eddie.

While he can’t speak for their missing fourth member, the remaining three freshmen are the kind to wear their emotions on their sleeves, in their own ways. Mike and Dustin compete for loudest but even Lucas, the most likely to let things go, eventually explodes.

All Harrington has to do to handle any of their issues is simply see that something is wrong, and then ask about it.

The drive from the high school to the trailer park took less than fifteen minutes but in them, Eddie knew immediately that Max was far more like himself at heart. Angry at everything and everyone, using insults or humor to distract from her real problems.

Eddie now was better than he was, the eleven year old kid who’d been dumped on his Uncle, extremely wary of adults and furious at the world at large.

Like recognizes like though, even if he’s made progress.

“I think the best thing you can do is keep being there for her.” Eddie admits quietly, because this is an area he can actually provide some insight for. “That all that anger isn’t going to push you away. Just don’t be surprised if it takes her a while to understand you won’t abandon her like everybody else did.”

“Huh.” Steve says, and Eddie shouldn’t be surprised that Steve is taking him seriously. Not after the not-Christmas party, but he is.

That’s part of the mystery of Steve Harrington, after all.

The way Steve never quite reacts the way Eddie thinks he’s going to.

“If she doesn’t take the food can you let me know?” Steve asks, and he sounds so sad about it that Eddie couldn’t possibly refuse, even if he’d wanted to.

“Sure thing man.” He agrees.

Harrington watches Max’s door for a moment longer before heaving himself off the porch with a sigh

“Oh,” He says, turning around partway to his car. “ We’re gonna have a movie night next Friday night. You should come.”

‘Bing-fucking-go.’

“Well how could I say no to the King himself? Tell me the time and I’ll be there.” Eddie says, and then watches Steve’s face as he winces.

Apparently, Red was right.

Steve doesn’t rip his head off for the nickname though. Plows right on ahead, as if Eddie hadn’t called him it at all.

"We were planning on making it just the adults--or at least, not the freshmen.” He nods towards Max’s trailer.

Eddie raises an eyebrow. “Oh I’m sure they’re just delighted to be left out.”

"You’d be surprised.” Steve says with a long-suffering look. “I've been informed I need more adult friends."

Eddie can’t help but tease, though he softens his voice and grins to take the teeth out of it. "Band geek and a bunch of fourteen years olds not good enough for you?"

"You’re forgetting my ex girlfriend." Steve adds, with his own self deprecating tone.

“Well damn Harrington, guess the town freak might actually be a step up for you!” Eddie says, loving that this version of Steve is willing to banter like this.

“I dunno man, I think that nickname might be overhyped.” Steve says, and there’s that grin back on his face, the one he wore when he was stealing meaningless corporate trophies out of his father’s office. “I don’t think you’re that freaky at all.”

He dips down in a movement that takes Eddie a moment to realize is him mimicking the curtsey he had given Eddie at the Christmas party, before getting in the Beemer.

Then he’s gone, leaving Eddie trying to recover on the porch, wondering if the last part of that conversation actually happened or if he just wanted it so badly he dreamed the whole thing.

(When he looks back over to Max’s trailer, the takeout by the door is gone.)

xXx

20 days after New Years and Eddie didn’t know what he expected from a movie night at Steve’s-- but it wasn’t getting his ass kicked at beer pong.

Of course, this may have been his fault.

It started when Steve, three beers into a home recording of Animal House, made an off comment about Nancy Wheeler once putting all of Hawkin’s to shame at a party.

(“Her aim has always been insane.” He'd added, as Nancy rolled her eyes and tried to hide her pleased grin behind a hand.

Eddie had been a little surprised to see Steve hadn’t been kidding about Nancy coming--but also realized that Steve might have been serious when he’d joked about not really having a lot of friends.

In Eddie's head, a miniature bat version of himself donned a detective's hat and cape, whipping out a notepad to dutifully write down; ‘Clue one: Steve has very few friends.’

“You, Nancy Wheeler, beat out four teams of dumb jocks…at beer pong?” Eddie asked, in total disbelief.

“I did.” Nancy told him smugly. “And I could do it again.”

“Really?” Eddie had said and it hadn’t been intended as a challenge, but it was taken as one.)

Three games in, the beer having a long run out (they were actually playing “Vodka Shot Ball") and Eddie has to concur.

Nancy Wheeler was in fact, god’s gift to throwing small orange balls into cups.

“How are you doing this!?” Eddie yells, throwing his hands in the air as Nancy sinks her last shot, Robin shrieking in victory behind her.

Hand on her hip, Nancy gives him a lazy, smug smile. “I suppose,” She says, tilting her head, sounding for all the world like a cat who’s caught a canary, “--it would be my incredibly good aim.”

Robin, who previously had been paired with Steve before insisting they switch (and who is more than a little drunk), shouts; “Take that Munson!” before grabbing Nancy’s wrists, pulling her into a dance.

Laughing, Nancy goes with her, their celebration a stark contrast to the other half of the table where Steve is leaning heavily on his elbows.

"Alright. Maybe, you do have some ungodly skills." Eddie admits, putting his hands on his head. “Forgive me for doubting you, oh Queen of beer pong.”

"Oh, now you admit it?" Steve mutters playfully, head hanging low. "Couldn't have done it before I ran out of beer?"

"Hush Harrington, you enjoyed it." Eddie grins knocking a hip into his teammates

He too, is more than a touch drunk, despite having been on Nancy’s team for the prior two rounds.

Vodka-Shot Ball, as it turns out, is enough to really mess a person up if you miss enough.

"Did I?” Steve moans, before hiccupping.

(“Harrington you’re a jock, are you missing on purpose!?” Eddie had asked early in this game, when Steve’s shots had gone from fairly decent to fucking abysmal.

“He’s two shots in, Eddie.” Robin had spoken for her soulmate, as she aimed a ball at a cup. “All those concussions don’t play nice with hard alcohol. Why do you think I switched sides?”

“I’ll remember this betrayal, Rob.” Steve grumbled in response. “See if I ever do your hair for you again.”

Batective Eddie promptly scribbled; ‘Clue Two, Steve has had a lot of concussions and can no longer handle a lot of hard liquor’ down on his notepad, puffing on his little old-timey pipe. ‘Also he does hair.’)

“Now that Stubbornson over here has finally admitted defeat,” Steve says, “Can we please go lay down? We're way too drunk for another round.”

“Speak for yourself, Lightweight. I’m fine.” Eddie tells him, walking towards the door to the kitchen.

Of course life cannot tolerate him being smooth and so Eddie walks dead-on into the closed glass door rather than the open one next to it.

He staggers back and loses his balance, falling hard on his ass.

“Shit!” Someone curses.

“You okay Eddie?” Someone else asks.

“Yeah.” He moans, rubbing at his head.

Wheeler appears next to him, shooing his hands away from his face so she could examine him.

“You’re an idiot.” Nancy informs him calmly, hands expertly checking his head. Her touch is professional, but Eddie's surprised by it anyway, “But I think you’ll live.”

Eddie squints up at her. “How come you’re not drunk?” He asks, and okay, yeah, he definitely hears the slur in his voice this time.

"I only had three drinks across all three games." Nancy informs him sweetly. "None of them were vodka."

"I hate you." Eddie moans dramatically, before opting to lay down on the porch.

“No you don’t.” Nancy says confidently, and then pats his head, before getting up from her crouch. “How are you doing Steve?”

“Kill me.” Comes Harrington's voice from across the patio, sounding very pathetic.

Eddie wishes he could pet his head.

“Denied!” Robin calls out. “Don’t even joke about that dingus, you got too close last summer as it was.”

(Batective Eddie, swaying a little with a beer bottle in his paw, tries to write that down.

He somewhat succeeds.)

Nancy disappears for a moment and Eddie wills himself to sit up--or at the very least roll to where Harrington and Buckley are.

"I'm going to drive myself and Robin home.” Nancy announces as she reappears, alongside a hovering bottled water.

Gratefully, he takes it.

With a tone that’s only this side of too-sweet, she asks; “Eddie? Would you like a ride?”

He considers it.

On one hand, that means he leaves his van here. So someone else has drive him to get it back in the morning (unless Harrington drives it to him and while Eddie finds himself weirdly unopposed to that idea, he doesn’t want to impose.

…Or inflict the current sad state of his van’s interior on Steve before he knows the guy better.)

On the other hand, he’s clearly too drunk to drive, which means more time with a drunk Steve Harrington.

That’s gotta be good for figuring out clues, right?

(In his head, Batective Eddie shoots him a thumbs up from where he lays, facedown on the floor.)

"If I get into a car I’m going to hurl." He announces. “So I’m gonna pass.”

Nancy makes a very unlady like noise, and Eddie grins, finally managing to lurch up to his elbows. “Nancy Wheeler was that a snort!?” He teases gleefully, as she rolls her eyes.

“Maybe.” She says, then holds out a hand.

Eddie slaps his in it, but does his best not to pull on her. Instead he mostly uses her for balance as he works his way to his feet.

“You guys get home safe okay?” Steve says, voice uncharacteristically serious as Robin helps him up from the pool chair he'd collapsed in. “Check in when you do.”

That’s weird--Eddie half expects it to be some sort of inside joke or macho, alpha man type comment but instead both Robin and Nancy nod seriously.

“We will.” Nancy promises. “Thank you for inviting me, Steve. Nice meeting you properly, Eddie.”

She gifts him with a smile, an honest one, before guiding Robin out the door.

Who screams; “Bye losers, love you!” as she exits.

(Eddie thinks this might be another moment for Batective Eddie except he’s sort of getting a headache and kinda just wants to sleep rathe than envision his Sherlock Holmes styled bat-self.)

They follow the ladies in, Eddie beelining for the first cough he sees.

“You can sleep it off here.” Steve tells him, zombie-walking to his fridge. He pulls out a soda and chugs it as Eddie falls face first into couch cushions, taking a moment to let his stomach settle before adjusting to a better position.

"Nah I'm just gonna close my eyes for a second." Eddie mumbles. “Be fine in a ‘lil bit, promise.”

Does so, and enjoys the sweet, sweet darkness that envelops him.

He jerks awake a moment later, blinking hard in the dark. A blanket has been draped over him, and his shoes kicked off, though judging from where they landed Eddie thinks he’s done that part himself.

A glance at his wristwatch reveals it's 1 AM, and Eddie goes to scrub his eyes with his hands.

Shit, he hadn't intended to stay this long.

Harrington’s creepy Christmas shit’s all gone, replaced by walls so blank they look almost sterile.

It creates a different, quieter vibe that's almost more spooky than the Santa-themed tomb Eddie had previous seen. The large windows throw shadows across the open space, like elongated fingers. It covers parts of the room in thick darkness, giving the appearance than anything could be hiding within them.

There's blankets on the couch catty-corner to Eddie’s. They're rucked up, and the sound of running water abruptly clues Eddie in to where Steve might be.

A golden glow erupts from the kitchen, then off again, before repeating the pattern.

( Batective Eddie returns with a squeak, frantically waving a sign.

It reads ‘Steve is afraid of flickering lights, remember!?’)

The noise in the kitchen has gone eerily quiet. The bad kind, that makes the hairs on his neck stand up, and Eddie rolls off the couch and to his feet, making his way to the kitchen.

Comes around the corner to see Steve frozen halfway to the stove, his head craned upward at the ceiling lights.

Eddie knew that whatever had happened, a clear trigger for all those involved (the kids, Harrington, hell even Nancy Wheeler that one time in the library--) was electrical issues in lights.

He clears his throat, the sound coming out like more of a growl. He coughs to clear it, then sidles closer.

Steve has a stillness to his body that Eddie doesn’t clock until it’s too late, his hand already reaching out to tap the taller man’s shoulder.

"Hey, uh Steve?"

Gets the shock of his life when Steve yanks his shoulder away, spinning back and around like he's been burned.

Eddie gets a flash of wide brown eyes, glassy and wild, before a frying pan is swung at his head.

"What the hell Harrington!" Eddie yelps, falling down on his ass and scrambling backwards, pan missing his head by inches.

(Envisions in his head his Batective self throwing his notes in the air, taking flight with a startled “Fleeeee!”)

Harrington stands over him. Looks just like Wayne did that one time a car battery caught fire and exploded near the trailer.

Like he was somewhere else, and prepared to do what he had to in order to get back.

Chest heaving, Eddie put aside all thoughts of stupid bats and did what he did best.

Talked.

xXx

20 days after New Years, Steve almost takes Eddie's head off with a frying pan.

Doesn't realize he's swung it like a weapon until he hears the surprised shout, his brain too steeped in adrenaline and old fears.

Freezes, because the shout sounds like one of the kids but he doesn’t remember them being here...

"--eve?"

"What?" He asks, the ringing slowly easing as his tunnel vision does.

He'd heard the growl, saw the lights flicker…

A gentle hand presses into his bicep, and he finds himself staring into Eddie Munson’s eyes.

The guy has a sort of look on his face that says he's trying his best not to freak out, but then Steve blinks and it's gone.

Replaced with something gentle, if cautious.

"You wouldn't mind if I just," Eddie trails off as his ringed fingers slowly stroke down Steve's arm, before carefully taking hold of the pan’s handle. "--took this, aye love?"

It's the nickname that brings Steve back fully, and he loosens his grip on the pan, surrendering it to Munson.

"Thank you Steve." He says, leaning to put the pan back on the stove, far out of Steve's current reach.

Then his hands return to Steve's wrists, and he finds himself staring at them in confusion.

Not because he doesn't know what happened--he does.

It's more that he's shocked Eddie is still willing to touch him after he nearly brained him.

"There's egg on the floor." Steve says, because it's the easiest thought to have at the moment.

Easier than apologizing.

Definitely easier than explaining.

"We'll clean the egg up later." Eddie says firmly, and Steve's never heard him use that tone of voice before. Firm and unyielding, like he has all the answers.

It's the kind of voice Steve can surrender his anxiety to and he finds himself almost sinking into it.

If Munson asked him to walk over a cliff just then, he would be more than a little tempted.

"Let's go sit down, just for a few minutes." Eddie tells him, a gentle tug on his wrists and Steve finds himself breathing out, his body shivering with the release of stress.

He nods, unable to speak, and allows himself to be maneuvered out into his living room, then down on one of the loveseats.

Eddie sits next to him, his thigh a line of grounding heat pressed against Steve's leg and he focuses on it to keep himself in the present.

"You back with me?"

Steve works his throat, hyper aware of how dry it is. "Yeah." He says.

Then adds, "sorry."

"Don't apologize, man. I've done plenty of trip sitting in my day. I know a panic attack when I see one."

Steve vaguely wants to ask what the hell trip sitting is, but finds himself unconsciously leaning towards Eddie instead.

Somehow he doesn't mind, even though Steve's practically squished up against him. Not that Eddie's ever been one to care about personal space, but Steve knows there's a difference between a teasing joke and whatever this is.

Eddie's thumb begins to rub gentle, grounding circles into the meat of Steve's wrist.

It gives his eyes something to track and gratefully Steve does, so he doesn't have to look Eddie in the face.

Isn't sure he can clear the tears trying to wet his eyes in time to brush this off.

Claim it's nothing serious.

"You wanna talk about it?" Eddie asks and somehow Steve didn't account for how direct the metalhead could be.

The tears strengthen and for a moment his vision blurs with them, before he sucks in a shuddering breath and forces himself back under control.

'God Steven, toughen up.' His father's voice rings out in his head, the memory branded into Steve's very being. 'It's ridiculous how much you cry. Do you think anyone wants to put up with that?'

Steve had answered no then, tone wobbling.

"I--" He starts, "--signed an NDA."

Which is not, at all, what he meant to say, but too late now.

"The cops and I aren't exactly on speaking terms, your secrets are safe with me." Eddie says, entirely unphased.

Which ghosts a smile over Steve’s face at least, even as he finds himself totally lost.

How exactly is he supposed to explain this?

The Upside Down, the Russians, hell even the way he's become hyper vigilant?

That certain words or references act like bullets, sending him to the floor in a spiral of burning panic?

Nevermind his finely honed instinct to use anything as a weapon when startled.

Sensing his discomfort, Eddie hums quietly before making a suggestion. "How about you tell me a totally fake, very unreal story?"

Steve croaks a laugh.

"I'm a really bad story teller." He warns.

"Practice makes perfect." Eddie tells him, leaning his shoulder into the taller man's.

Grateful--and feeling more than a little pathetic--Steve finds himself seeking out the touch.

"Okay." He agrees quietly, with a jerky nod of his head. "A--completely untrue, over exaggerated story. I can do that."

So he does.

xXx

The story Steve tells in halting, fumbling bursts of words involves monsters, the supernatural, government secrets and coverups.

The latter half of which doesn't even surprise Eddie--anyone with half a brain could see the sheer number of incidents that happened one after another was a cover up for something big-- but he can't help himself from trying to detangle reality from fiction.

Monsters he gets. It's easier to pretend the bad guy is an evil creature than a real person, to distance yourself from it in such a way it feels fake.

The supernaturally gifted girl is a little harder, but if you replace superpowers with some poor kid involved in some kind of shitty, abusive government program, then he can buy it.

What Steve never explains, is what set him off.

Eddie tells him so.

"I told you I was a bad storyteller." Steve says in response, which isn’t an explanation but then, Eddie realizes he is pushing awful hard for a guy who he barely knows to bare his soul--and who, in turn, barely knows him.

Not really anyway.

Not outside of rumors and old wounds.

"Is there anything that ever helps you feel safer?"

"People." Steve says immediately. "People always help but ah, well." His smile is pained, self deprecating. "I can't exactly ask for sleepovers every night, can I?”

He shrugs. “So I just keep a few things close.'

"A few things?"

"My nailbat."

"Is the nailbat a bat…with nails in it?" Eddie hedges, desperately attempting to keep a calm, straight face because what the fuck?

But this was a no judging zone, and it wasn’t as if a bat with nails in it was the weirdest thing Eddie had ever encountered. Not since Uncle Wayne’s friends informed him they had at minimum, seventeen guns hidden in their own trailer across town.

‘Things are happening at night, kid. Bad things. Don’t go too far into the woods looking for trouble.’

"Maybe." Steve admits.

"How about instead of hugging a nail bat to sleep, if things get bad you come over. Wayne works the night shift and I have insomnia anyways."

"Really?"

Eddie can’t blame him for sounding surprised.

"Yeah man. No skin off my nose, though you will be stuck hearing my beautiful sweetheart. She's a guitar sent from heaven. "

"I can handle that." He says, a smile ghosting across his face.

Then; "Thanks Eddie."

Eddie presses his shoulder against Steve’s. "Anytime, big boy."

(Crisis over, Batective Eddie returns, swooning.

Eddie mentally squashes him under his own notes.)

#I wasnt gonna write more of this but ya'llk talked me into it #Eddie doodles batective eddie everywhere #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #steve x eddie #steve needs a hug #steddie fluff #0o0 fanfics #I guess this would be the new years special #god does that mean I should finish it with valentines day #nancy and eddie friendship supremacy

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c-ptsdrecovery · 4 months

Text

Your assignment this year

IF you choose to accept it!

is to make better New Years resolutions.

(Please note that making resolutions is NOT NECESSARY. This is only if you WANT to.)

--Non-Absolute Language: The resolution shouldn't be something you can fail easily. Use formulas like, "Attempt to go to the gym once a week, schedule permitting." Or "Try to reduce negative self-talk." Emphasize trying instead of succeeding. That way, if you screw up (because we're all human!), you don't need to just give up and feel terrible. We're aiming for improvement, not perfection.

--Remember that you will probably have to start slow and work your way up. You can even set graduated goals like going to the gym once every 2 weeks to start with, and then move to once a week by May or June.

--Don't expect something of yourself that will be stressfully hard to achieve. If you think your schedule will let you make 8 paintings over the course of a year if everything goes well, then consider making your resolution to try to make SIX paintings over the course of the year. Anything extra you can do just gives you a reason to pat yourself on the back!

--Don't pick resolutions that trigger you! If the thought of making a resolution to meet more people or to eat more salads makes your stomach hurt with anxiety or your shoulders start rising toward your ears with tension, don't do that resolution. Either avoid those topics entirely, or make your resolution gentler until it no longer triggers anxiety. We want our resolutions to be in the learning zone, not the panic zone. Maybe change "meet new people" to "Try to go out in public with your close friends more often." Or change "Eliminate sugar from your diet" to "Work on reminding yourself that there are no 'good' or 'bad' foods."

Some genres of resolutions:

Funny: Try one of every pasta shape you find. Try every new fruit you encounter.

Gentle Self-Care: Try to say something nice to yourself in the mirror every day. Try to remind yourself that the end result isn't as important as the process. Try to be easier on yourself. Try to enjoy the parts of your job that you like.

Enjoyment: Try to take at least 30 minutes every week to do something you really enjoy, like drinking a coffee and watching the sun rise. Take a long walk for fun at least once every two weeks. Pet your cat/dog more. Buy some pretty art to hang in your bedroom.

If anybody has any advice / suggestions / examples, please add them!

#new year's resolution #new year #mental health #emotional health

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amadwinter · 2 months

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A different kind of WIP Wednesday

Not a fic this time, but after a wonderful post about making bad art from @unspuncreature and a little encouragement from @lilredghost (thank you 🧡), I wanted to share something else I have in progress: my drawing abilities.

I wouldn't necessarily say I'm good. In fact, sometimes my drawings are downright bad. But considering there have been times in the last year where I haven't even been able to hold a pencil due to health issues, I'm happy to be where I am and just keep improving little by little each time.

I've never shared any of these with anyone before so I'm quite nervous, but there's no time like the present.

Many photos from my sketchbooks ahead!

So, for starters, I've been drawing sporadically since I was about 11 (about 18 years). I've never seriously made a habit out of it, and I've never attempted any formal instruction or classes. One day, I'll post images from my sketchbooks from over the years, because yes, I have kept all of them for posterity's sake

Last year, 2023, I made a New Years Resolution to draw something every day.

I actually made a decent go of it and drew more than I have in years.

But then I suddenly had some health problems pop up that made my goal impossible. I struggled to hold a pencil and even write a sentence legibly. I won't go into details here, but after a few months and going through occupational therapy, I was able to write and draw again(My other symptoms, however, haven't been resolved).

I did some drawing here and there, but nothing consistent. And it felt like some of the progress I made earlier in the year had vanished. I was utterly demotivated, and could only see the bad in everything I drew.

In December, I finally decided: screw it. If I'm going to draw badly, I'll just draw badly. And its done wonders for my confidence.

But for every drawing I'm proud of, there are far more that all I can do is laugh at because of how terrible they are.

And each time I draw something I'm not happy with, I take it as an excuse to practice more, practice often, and practice everything.

I don't really have a system or a plan in place. I start out with a warmup of stick figures based on soccer, figure skating, or something similar, and then it's whatever I feel like. Sometimes it's figure sketches, sometimes it's working on hair, sometimes it's just whatever the hell I feel like.

But above all, I'm having fun doing it. Even when it doesn't turn out like I want to, even when it's not perfect, I enjoy just putting pencil to paper with zero expectations beyond doing my best and enjoying the process.

#wip wednesday #from my sketchbook #no i haven't been working on coloring or shading yet #one thing at a time #one day at a time

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thegreatestsandwich · 1 year

Note

Hey can you do a imagine with Morpheus where the reader is a normal person that is the reincarnation of Dream wife that was murder by Roderick Burgess and Dream find her? The rest is to you

Something fluff and romantic

A Blossom in Spring (Dream of Endless x Reencarnation!Reader)

(This man, I'm telling you guys, he got something that just ughh)

Pairing: Morpheus x Reencarnation!Reader

Word count: 2.3k

Summary: He lost you once and now he had you back, he won't let you go easily.

A/N: I hope you like it! Sorry it took so long!

Coments, Reblogs and Asks are happily received!

Masterlist

How many times can someone be lost in a city they had lived there their whole life?

The answer it’s just infinite.

But to be honest it could be helpful if you actually tried to stay focus on how you lived your life, but the reality is that you have the attention span of a goldfish. Your thoughts just seem to drift from one thing to another, you could be described as a golden retriever, your mind was brilliant, beautiful and creative thoughts happened there, sadly you just shift from new idea to new idea. Thankfully you were a baker, so that helped you. Sadly, you were a baker, so every burn was a consequence of that.

Life was just too beautiful to simply stay focus on one thing at a time.

You sipped your green juice, the same juice you decided you hated the moment you made it, but one of your New Year’s resolutions was to drink this sickening stuff every morning wherever you went to work. Stupid healthy life.

After two right turns, one left one, into a small dangerous alley, twenty-seven steps and almost running straight into a wall, you finally arrived at your bakery unharmed. Well, a pair of arms wrapped around your waist to keep you from crossing -running- the street into your death.

Your head turned to look at your savior or saviors. And you were definitely staring.

His face was the definition of perfection. It was like a Greek sculptor decided to just create what a dream come true was like. Saying that his face was just perfect was to insult him.

So every single synonym of perfection began running wildly into your mind.

Flawless? Check.

Superbness? Check.

Exquisite? Check.

Magnific? Check.

He was perfect, simply perfect, totally symmetrical. He was just wow.

So you said screw it and without any logical thinking, you reached up and grabbed his cheek, turning his face to every possible angle.

Yep. God decided to be good and create him.

Again. Wow.

“Are you alright?” The voice next to him asked, your eyes forcefully leave him to focus and the other person. And let’s just say, your reaction was the same.

“Are you real?” You asked instead, touching the women face the same way you touched him. You tried to shake off his arms but he didn’t budge, it kind of blush at that. “I’m sorry but like, why are your faces the definition of the crème de la crème?”

The women laughed, her hair bounced at the motion. “Thanks! Good genetics I supposed, don’t you think so little brother?” Your eyes turned to the men who refuse to let you go.

Your eyes wandered to their clothes, both where dressed in all black, it was really weird as it was the beginning of autumn, wasn’t people supposed to wear brown colors or something like that? The man reclusively let you go and took a step next to his sister.

“Something wrong?” The woman asked you curiously as she watched you practically devour her brother with your eyes.

“Nope!” You smiled, softly swaying side to side. “Thanks for saving me for a shameful death but I’m late for work, well I’m the owner but I have to be strict with me because I’m the only employer at the moment, but yeah if I don’t apply these kinds of rules to myself well, disaster. So I should go but if you see me walking straight to the arms of death you are more than welcome to save me. That goes specially to you handsome.” You began crossing the street, several people grunted at you when you pushed past them. You slightly turned and saw them still there watching you. “I’m single!”

Nailed it.

Death kept smiling as she watched her brother’s eyes kept on you. “So you were right little brother, she’s still the same as before.”

“Not a word sister.” Morpheus said as he turned and began walking away, not waiting for her to catch up.

“You know I have to go her way right?” She tried to kept the situation serious but it was impossible as her little brother halted his steps and turned to her. “I have a few stops the other way around but if you want you can retorn to your realm.”

Morpheus began walking back to her, his eyes hardening as he stood in front of her. “As I said sister, not a word.” His head nodded to the direction, silently motioning her to continue her way, he would follow.

Death linked their arms and began walking once again. “I’m happy you got her back Dream” She whispered, quietly hugging a little tighter his arm.

He only hummed in response. “I’m as well.”

Sometimes you hated Wednesday.

It was the slowest day of your week, the store mostly stayed alone, a few customers here and there but mostly you just sat behind the rows and rows of delicious pastries you made last night.

You sighed for the sixth time in the last fifteen minutes.

The sound of the door opening made you happily stand up, you breathed in relief when you saw Irene and her boyfriend-not-boyfriend enter your store. She smiled at you the moment her eyes made contact with yours.

“Hi seaweed.” You happily greeted her. “Hi Mickey.”

“Hey, little cupcake, what’s up?” She greeted you. Mickey nodded at you, letting himself being drag quickly to the little cabinet, looking at all your desserts. “Did you saved me the lemon pie I’ve been craving for weeks?” Her short hair moving alongside her excitement steps.

You pouted for a moment, trying to appear sad.

Key word. “Appear”

“You know I did.” Irene squealed in delight. “Let me just go get it.”

You quickly made your way to the back.

It wasn’t even a full minute when you heard Irene screamed, you quickly ran back to the front and the scene was just absurd.

Irene was screaming, hitting the handsome guy and beautiful girl with her pink bag.

“The fudge?” You whisperer alerted the two new arrivals. “I went away for five seconds and there’s a crime scene at my store.” You amusedly said. “That’s a felony, you actually committed murder on my store.”

“It’s not what it looks like.” The woman from before tried to defend herself against the fury of your friend. She was losing. Her brother stared at you. If he wasn’t a murderer you would felt flattered.

“Is he really dead or just passed out?” You wondered out loud. There was no telling what was going on. “You should stop hitting them Irene.”

“You know these people?!” Irene stopped for a second, looking at you in skepticism. “You know there murderers?!”

You shrugged, still looking at Mickey’s body. “Well, know, know them…not really, I just collide with them this morning, it actually makes sense that they are murderers, they are just absurdly good looking to be good people.”

“We are not murderers.” The woman offendedly said, moving away from Irene’s fury, “He was supposed to be alone for a few seconds.”

“We do not mean any harm to you.” The guy finally spoke, still looking at you. Irene noticed that and stood in front of your form, murdering him with her glare.

“Shut up, murderer.” Irene slightly turned to look at you. “Call the police, I’m not letting them get away.”

“On it!” You quickly grabbed your phone. “Hi! There’s been a murder on my store…Yes, the two murderers are here with me and my friend…Yes…Well, they are really hot…No, well that’s a really ambiguous question to ask…If you give me a minute I can ask them, yeah…Yeah.”

“Please hang up.” The guy slowly made his way to you, graciously moving around Irene, who gasp in offense when he ignored her. “Let us talk.” He pleaded gently.

You placed your index finger on his mouth.

“Shh, I’m reporting your murder with the police, hang on…” He grabbed your phone and destroyed it. “Hey! That’s a really not expensive phone…And you just destroyed it with your hand. Hot and strong? Awesome, are you an illegal alien…wait you are?”

“Jesus Christ, (Y/N).” Irene grabbed your arm, quickly separating you from the guy, still wary of the girl. “You cannot ask someone if they are an alien, that’s offensive. Plus, the last thing you need is to get involved with an illegal alien.”

“Irene! They are right there!”

“They are murderers, honey.”

“We still don’t know if they murder Mickey?”

Irene had never questioned your intentions, after she left her abusive boyfriend, spend several months trying to get back at her feet with no money, no place to live and no one willing to hire someone without experience, she knew she was to turn into the life of a criminal. But then you came, you offered her a place to stay and help her get a job. Irene knew in that moment she would do anything in her power to not let you go the path she went through. So when these two beautiful people came into the store and the woman touched Mickey, causing him to just tumbled into the ground unmoving. She knew they were up to on good.

“Fine, fine!” Irene stressed out, she turned to the other two who kept watching them. “I’m closing my eyes, so does her.” She pointed at you. “The moment we open them, you are not going to be here and same with Mickey’s body. Got it?” She close her eyes, her hand placed against your eyes. “I’m counting!”

Both of you felt them disappear.

You opened your eyes when Irene took of her hand of your face and you were correct they were gone alongside with Mickey’s body.

Irene forced you to close early and both of you went to your place. For some reason, you didn’t understand why you were so tired.

You were confused as in why you were in a basement.

Remember.

Everything was hazy and you couldn’t focus.

Remember.

You felt yourself being drag into something.

Remember.

Your body felt the coldness of another body, but it wasn’t uncomfortable, you tried to cuddle into the body, you felt it hum.

Remember me.

You woke abruptly, perhaps it was the nightmare you just had or perhaps it’s the set of two eyes watching you from the darkness.

“It is rude to stare at someone in the middle of the night.” Your hands began playing with the bed sheets. “At least come and sit on the bed.”

Your jaw went slack when you saw the man of earlier walking closer to you. Yeah, total insanity right here. You wrapped the bed sheet around your form as the guy silently sat on the edge of the bed. The moonlight illuminating his face, making it more dreamy.

You arched a brow at him, trying to understand why was he here.

“So…what are you doing here?” You asked him. “Wait, am I still in my dream? This definitely doesn’t look like that basement from earlier.”

The man looked at you un surprise, silently mumbling ‘basement?’

“You remember?” He asked you, his voice warm and smooth. “You remember me?”

You pouted, your eyes shutting with force trying to remember your dream. “Not really, I mean there was a basement and a naked man that looked awfully like you, have that dream for a few nights now.”

The man took your hand and kissed it softly. “I have truly missed you, my wife.”

“Wife? Wait, hang on, that’s like a thousand million steps ahead buddy.” You tried to take back your hand but he didn’t let you. “At least tell me your name, because I’m calling you Steve Rogers, like Captain America.”

“My name isn’t Steve,” He let go of your hand. “Dream of Endless.”

“Dream of Endless, that’s really a dramatic and kind of cool name to be honest.” You nodded along your words. “Tell me, Dream of Endless, why are you doing in my room, besides watching me creepily?”

He smiled, his eyes shining even more brightly. “You were having a nightmare, I came to ease your fears.”

“Nightmare? Are you like the king of nightmares of something?” You looked at him, he had such a powerful presence that for some reason it made you breathless just looking at him. It was as if the air around him revolved around the energy and strength of the universe. Something you wanted to keep to yourself.

He felt your gaze and turned a bit so you could look better. So you could take his aura more.

“Yes, I am.” He whisperer. “You know it, you just need to remember.”

To be honest, you lost yourself for a bit, not really paying attention to what he was saying. “You are so beautiful, like you are that limited edition of something that it’s so difficult to find it feels it doesn’t exist…Are you French? Because you are really dreamy.”

He laughed. “I have missed how you always say everything that comes to your mind.”

“You know,” You said. “You might be a vampire if you are not French, and you seemed to belong to a dream, and your name is literally Dream, are you really real? Is that dream really real?”

“Yes.” He answered honestly. “I’m sorry this feels too much information.”

You shrugged. “Heard worse things, believed me, being friends with Irene makes you experience some crazy things in life.” You paused for a second. “I tell you what, Mr. Dream of Something Something, Let’s talk a bit more at breakfast, yeah? I’m kinda tired right now.”

Dream smiled softly, his hand brushing away some strands of hair from your face. “I’ll see you when you wake up, my wife.”

“Can’t wait.” You smiled back.

#dream of endless x you #dream of the endless x reader #dream x reader #dream of the endless #dream x you #dream of endless imagine #morpheus x reader #morpheus x you #morpheus imagine #the sandman #the sandman imagine #the sandman x reader #the sandman x you

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geminijade · 4 months

Text

Calamity, Catastrophe and Calliope Chapter Three:

A/N: 🚨 age gap, power imbalance relationship. Bucky is 35 and Reader is early 20s, parental angst, descriptions of sex and body parts. I think that it's. My new year resolution is to finish unfinished fics (try saying that ten times fast, lol. 😉) 🚨 As always any mistakes are mine and MINORS DNI 🛑 Hearts, likes, comments and reblogs are very appreciated. Happy Reading! 📚

She's the President's daughter, for God's sake.

What the hell is wrong with you? Control your dick and focus on the job and not fucking her at the first opportunity. I silently berate myself as I follow Y/N down the long hallway that leads to her parents sitting room in the main residence. I can't stop thinking wildly inappropriate thoughts. I can still taste her on my tongue. I can still see her perfect pussy. She walks ahead of me in skintight jeans and a loose bohemian top that is falling off of one of her shoulders. Her every movement is tempting me with her willing body. I can't wait to discover the hidden treasures of her incredible body.

Protecting Y/N every night has put my love life on the back burner. I can't remember the last time I stepped into Seven, the underground club where men like me can find willing participants to satisfy their needs. Tomorrow night will be the first time that I've had off in 6 months, and I've never needed it more.

Things with Y/N have gotten out of control. I need to unleash all of this pent up frustration with someone who won't cost me my career and my sanity.

I take a deep breath. I can practically feel her coming on my fingers. But the thought doesn't settle me as much as I thought it would, because all I can see is Y/N bent over and breathless, skin turning pink and begging for my cock like she was moments ago.

I'm royally screwed, I let go of the breath that I was holding. We're greeted by another secret service agent as we approach her parents sitting room. He nods in my direction before focusing his attention on Y/N.

"Good evening, Ms. L/N. They're expecting you." A practiced smile slips on Y/N's face. "Thank you."

I move around her and open the door for her, I sense her tension as she steps over the threshold. Making sure that she's inside, I grasp the door handle, meeting the President's eyes as I start to close the door.

"I'll be right outside if you need me, sir."

He lifts his hand to stop me. "I'd like it if you stayed, Barnes. This conversation is pertinent to you as well." I stop in my tracks. This can't be good.

I give him a hesitant nod and resume my normal position behind Y/N. From my vantage point, I can feel her discomfort. She's clenching her fists, and her foot is tapping out of nervousness.

Sitting nearby, Y/N's mother is staring at her with a hard look on her face. The only thing that they have in common is their eye color.

"Oh, for goodness sake, Y/N, stop slouching.

Y/N immediately straightens up in her chair. "Sorry, Mother." I cringe at her apology. I'll never understand her parents as long as I live. Their political ambitions have always been the main priority, I get the sense that they don't care about their daughter. They constantly critique her so I'm not surprised that she acts like she does.

"What are you wearing? Honestly, Y/N, it's like you thrive on being an embarrassment to your father and I."

I bite my tongue, fighting the urge to defend her. Y/N's mother is much much more than the First Lady. She's bold and demanding, she wields her power and title as an intimidation tactic. That doesn't work on me. I'll protect Y/N at all costs, but I'm not afraid of the FLOTUS. I'm not her lackey who she can boss around.

"Give it a rest." The President focuses his attention on his daughter for the first time since she's stepped foot into the room. I wait for his gaze to soften, but it doesn't. They remain as cold and vacant as the day we first met. "Your mother and I have some very important news to share with the both of you." Y/N slides to the end of the chair. "What news?"

"I've just spoken with the President of Georgetown University. I called in some favors, and I've gotten them to fast track your admissions into their pre law program."

She abruptly stands up. "What? You can't do that! I'm not leaving NYU!"

"Sit. Down. Now." The President grits out.

Y/N hesitates for a second, then slowly sits back down in her chair. "Please don't do this to me. I'm begging you. I start my internship at the Metropolitan this spring. I cannot pass up the opportunity. I'm the youngest art history major who's ever earned that internship."

He lets out a mirthless chuckle. "You didn't earn it. They gave it to you because of who your parents are. Besides, you've wasted enough time messing around in New York. You're twenty years old Y/N. Now is the time to start getting serious. I think that we're all in agreement that a reputable law degree is more influential than a degree in water colors."

I see her knuckles turn white. "Art is a reputable degree. I've been working towards my goal for almost two years."

Her father narrows his eyes. Y/N visibly shrinks into her chair.

"This isn't up for discussion. The arrangements have already been put in place. You're mother and I have secured you a very nice apartment in downtown D.C. at Skyline Towers."

I nearly choke on his words. Skyline Tower is my apartment building and he knows that. I make my face expressionless, making eye contact as he finishes speaking.

"Agent Barnes current address is in that building. We'll feel much better knowing that he's nearby in case you need him."

"I'm not a child. I don't need anyone babysitting me."

"Whether you like it or not, Y/N, you are the first daughter. We will not tolerate disobedience or your ungrateful behavior. You are my daughter and you will act accordingly." The President's tone leaves no room for disagreement.

Y/N stands and bolts from the room, tears streaming down her face. I was uncomfortable before but now my anger is bubbling under my cool demeanor at seeing her upset. I start to follow behind her but when the President speaks, you listen.

"A word, Barnes." He turns to his wife. "Will you excuse us?" She stands and straightens her slacks, lifting her chin up in an attempt to appear aristocratic. "Fine, but remember, we're supposed to have dinner with the Paulsons in an hour."

"Yes, I remember. This shouldn't take very long." She nods and strides out of the room. I watch as the President walks over to the antique bar across the room and pours himself a hearty drink.

"How are you and Y/N getting along?" I keep my voice neutral. "Things are going fine, sir." The side of his mouth lifts in what I think is his attempt at smiling. "You don't have to sugarcoat anything for me, son. I know exactly what my daughter is like, she's a firecracker. I'm quite sure that she keeps you and Clarence on your toes."

"Between the two of us, we manage just fine sir." He nods his head at me as he pours himself another drink from a crystal decanter. "You've both been doing a remarkable job of keeping her antics out of the press. Especially you, having to deal with her nighttime activities. Don't get me wrong, Clarence is a fine agent, but he has a soft spot for Y/N. He acts very fatherly towards her." I watch as he takes a drink of his expensive bourbon, studying me hard before carrying on. "You, however have your fingers on the pulse of this city. You're young. Thirty five, correct?"

"Yes, sir."

"Whether you're aware of it or not, that's the main reason why I insisted on you being assigned to my daughter. Your youth gives you a leg up over the other agents. You know what people her age are thinking, which gives you the ability to be one step ahead of her without her being aware. That's the main reason why we secured her an apartment in your building."

He stops to take another drink.

"As you're well aware of, this is a critical time for me. All eyes are on me and by extension my family. I simply cannot afford the risk of my approval rating." He gives me a pointed stare. "I trust that you understand the implications?"

I sure do. You want me to be on call 24/7. "Yes, Mr. President."

"Very good." He downs the rest of his drink and motions with his hand to dismiss me. "That's all. Tell Marcus outside that Mrs. L/N and I will be ready shortly."

"Yes, sir." I leave after relaying the President's message, I start walking towards Y/N's room. Agitation drives me forward. I can't believe that they're moving her into my building.

I round the final corner, I'm met with a heart wrenching sound. Y/N's crying. Even from outside of her room, I can't deny it.

Shit.

I can't deal with this now. Crying never solves anything. She should be angry instead. I can relate to anger. I can teach her to harness it, to control it in ways that would bring pleasure instead of pain. Suddenly, the thought of her nude body bound and gagged flashes before my eyes. I can visualize the thin strips of leather holding her wrists above her head as I suck on her full, perky tits. I can see her skin turning that delectable shade of pink.

I try to ignore my arousal and resume my normal stance beside her door. I focus hard on the faded red carpet underneath me, anything for a distraction when all that I really want to do is break down her door and pick up where we left off.

I've been hired to protect her, not comfort her or fuck her. It's not my job or my style to be nurturing or compassionate to her, but I am. Punishing her or turning her into my personal little play thing and hopefully turning her into a well behaved First Daughter isn't my job either, but that's precisely what I'm itching to do. Every fiber of my being yearns for it.

The longer that I stand here listening to her sob, the harder it is for me to ignore my desires. I turn to face the door and I raise my hand to knock. At the last second, I hesitate.

What is it about Y/N L/N that makes me care so fucking much? Before I make a colossal mistake, I lower my arm back to my side. Her breathing is broken and jagged and my stomach rolls.

I return to my designated location next to the door, feeling like the scum of the earth.

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