#I’ve really seen the coordination go down
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More than movie magic... 18/?
Hangster AU. Explicit (eventually). Jake is a Hollywood actor and Bradley is a stunt coordinator. Jake's about to make a few self-discoveries. So is Bradley.
ONE TWO THREE FOUR FIVE SIX SEVEN EIGHT NINE TEN ELEVEN TWELVE THIRTEEN FOURTEEN FIFTEEN SIXTEEN SEVENTEEN
Chapter 16 is pretty much the only explicit chapter (so far), so you can skip it if you like, but it's not explicit by my standards, and it's very soft/tender.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
“Well hey there…” Jake says, and now that he knows Bradley likes his Texan accent he makes no effort to temper it, but Bradley looks annoyed instead of amused or aroused and Jake hopes the annoyance isn’t directed at him. Not already.
“Hi. Can I talk to you real quick?”
“Uh, yeah, of course…”
Of course there are catcalls and Jake rolls his eyes, but his heart is beating fast, thundering in his ears, terrified that this is somehow going to be his shortest lived relationship ever. He doesn’t know what he’s projecting exactly, but Bradley’s reaching for him, lacing their fingers together and pulling him to the side, just out of the way and out of earshot from most people although he notes pretty much every eye in the room is turned their way.
“Hey. Hey calm down. We’re fine. You’re fine…”
Bradley has shifted, putting his back to the room, as if he’s protecting Jake from everyone, eyes flicking over his face and his expression is concerned. Fuck.
“Jake… you with me?”
“Yeah, sorry. Just… heard those words before and it’s generally not the start of a good conversation.”
“Sorry. Shit. I’m so sorry. I just need to tell you something, and I feel like I’m going to be apologizing a lot today. Nothing either of us did though, okay?”
“The photos?”
“Yeah. Mav’s seen them.”
“Mav?”
“Sorry. Pete. He’s on his way here because he called me from the air and he’s incapable of believing I can make my own life decisions.”
“Okay. That’s okay. I’ve met Pete before.”
“Yeah. You met professional-Pete, not parent-Pete. Different beast unfortunately. Just… if I could have kept him from meeting your mom until after we were married or something that’s how I would have played it, but, uh…”
“You’ve thought about us getting married?” Jake blurts out, surprised.
“Uh. No? Well. Not in detail exactly.”
All his feelings around Bradley second guessing his decision to be with him have just dissolved, and he knows he had no reason to doubt it, but also knows his brain isn’t a rational place sometimes. Instead he’s watching Bradley blush and look awkward and he’s definitely falling in love with him.
“I generally don’t start relationships with people I can’t imagine myself spending the rest of my life with? I’m thirty-five, I have a better idea of what I’m looking for. And I can imagine a future with you, so… here we are.”
“Oh. So why would Pete be worried about that?”
“God. This is not the place for that conversation. Just. I’ll tell you, but we have fifteen minutes before we’re meant to be on set and I need to tell you something else… He’s bringing Tom. His partner. Um.”
Jake has to admit he’s confused. Pete having a male partner doesn’t really explain why Bradley seems as worked up as he is.
“Okay. So it’s a man. You seriously don’t think I’d have a problem with that do you?” Jake asks, staring at him and gesturing between the two of them. Bradley is shaking his head though, like there’s more and Jake waits.
“Tom as in Tom Kazansky.”
“What?”
Okay then. That’s a name and a half. Jake knows who that is of course, but he never met the man, Kazansky being pretty much a recluse since his health scare a decade previous when Jake had only just started making a name for himself. Jake isn’t even sure he’d recognize the man, the photo used in any media one from over twenty years ago.
“Yeah. They’re… shit. Thought I’d have time to tell you and prepare you for how weird they are. They have… a complicated relationship. They’re both incredibly stubborn and agree that they love each other, but they also… well. Tom got cancer, so he called it all off, said Pete could find someone better, and that started a whole other fight, but it was the most ridiculous thing, arguing over who loved each other more. They’re both hopeless, but neither of them can see it.”
“Oookay…” Jake says slowly, his mind racing, because quite frankly he doesn’t care about Pete or Tom, he just wants Bradley to stop freaking out. “Bradley. They aren’t going to scare me off anymore than my family has scared you off.”
As he’d hoped that makes Bradley laugh and he can’t help his answering grin.
“I like your family.”
“Well, that’s good. God. We’ve got to get to set. Marcia is going to have my head.”
“I need to talk to her too, give her a heads up about Pete,” Bradley says, and he’s glancing over his shoulder then, eyes scanning the room and Jake reaches for his face and gets his attention before kissing him.
“Go. I’ll see you in the arena shortly. Hope you appreciate that I don’t have to do makeup today!”
… … …
He’s distracted as he watches Jake walk away, but only a little, because he needs to find Marcia and Arnold, let them know that Pete is coming, but only to visit him and not to be an ass and tread on another turf, despite that totally being Mav’s MO. He knows Mav is getting on and mutters about retiring, but whenever he’s not working Bradley has to deal with more of his bullshit than usual.
“Bradley, you haven’t eaten anything!” Aunty Kaye calls out, and he startles a little, turning toward her, because she’s not wrong, but he is going to be late to set.
“Uh, no, haven’t really had time yet. I did grab a protein bar. Thank you for that by the way,” Bradley says, and he hopes he isn’t blushing too badly.
“Hmm. That’s not proper food.”
“No, I know. I just had a phone call. My dad is coming to visit. Both of them I guess. They’ll probably be here for lunch actually. Assuming they don’t get lost…”
“Well I look forward to meeting them. Hmm. Do you know why I like you Bradley?”
“Um. I thought maybe you liked most people?” Bradley asks, suddenly feeling like he’s smack bang in the center of a minefield with no idea how he got there. And of course he can’t be rude and just run away, he’d much rather incur Marcia’s wrath than Aunty Kaye’s at the end of the day.
“Oh, I do dear. But I liked you before I’d even met you.”
“Oh.”
Now he’s confused.
“You stand up to him, you wouldn’t let him try anything risky or dangerous and he complained about it bitterly,” she says, laughing. “But you know what I thought?”
“What?”
“That that sounded like someone who would keep Jake safe and unharmed. I’m his mom, of course I want him safe. He gets into enough trouble without thinking he can do risky stunts.”
“Yeah. Of course.”
“You don’t let him railroad you into things, I admire that too.”
“Thanks?”
“Here, on his own turf, watching him do something he was born with in his blood? You trust him to know his limits. He needs that too.”
Bradley just nods, not sure if he’s even allowed to speak.
“So. I like you. However if I ever find out you’ve deliberately hurt him, either emotionally, physically or mentally I want you to know that you won’t see me coming. I will find you. Now, I can’t really threaten you with bodily harm, however I can threaten you with my disappointing looks, which my children assure me are the worst thing they’ve ever experienced. Of course, if Jake screws this up he’ll also be on the receiving end of one of such looks. However, I feel like you’re a man who doesn’t give up easily. Some days you’re going to have to dig-deep, because my baby can get in his own head and think the worst of everything and everyone, but I think if he were easy you wouldn’t be as interested as you seem to be.”
Bradley gapes like a fish, mouth opening and closing and he has no idea what to even say, where to start with everything she’s just said. All it’s highlighting is that he and Jake really need to have a proper talk. Not just about their relationship, but maybe about potential baggage that they have, because he thought maybe he was the only one. He should have known that wasn’t going to be the case.
“I’ve already told Jake that I think he’s worth it.”
“Good. Maybe he’ll believe you.”
NINETEEN
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[DO NOT FUCKING REBLOG]
Lads I’m devastated to say I think I might just eat the Metric ticket tonight bc my hand still hurts and it’s still scabbing making everything SUCK
I’m GUTTED bc I thought my tattoo would be healed enough (i expected to get saniderm but I did not - so everything has been healing traditionally and it sucks ass; it’s scabbing and since it’s on the top of my wrist I can’t move it a lot if I want to avoid cracking the scabs) but for my own safety I probably shouldn’t drive when I’m using my nondominant hand for everything
#also it’s an hour drive to the wiltern and as good a driver as I am#i am also operating 90% with my nondominant hand and let’s just say#I’ve really seen the coordination go down#i flung a pudding trying to open it#so I think for safety for myself and everyone else I won’t be driving out tonight#and then I have to drive back in the dark alone once the concert ends#personal txt#I’ve got a concert next Wednesday for In This Moment which I’m 10000 times more stoked for#like I guess metric WAS technically a last minute addition to my October show lineup#oh well#I probably should’ve known better#it’s just $50 I’m throwing out it’s fineeeeeeee😵💫🥲😫😩
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glitter & crimson
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7
It’s both exciting and terrifying to be in Chicago when they arrive Thursday afternoon. This is, unfortunately, very often as close to hometown shows as the band gets to these days. They have the night off, before the show tomorrow, when the band will find out if Steve and his friends actually show up to the gig or not. Despite not having a show, the band doesn’t get the whole day off; Paige had booked a few radio interviews before the gig to drum up attention.
He should have seen it coming when the radio host brought up the TikTok exchange. “So, be honest, have you guys coordinated with Harrington and his friends to get him to your show tomorrow?”
“Not really. Our manager sent info and Steve gave it a thumbs up, but that’s really been it? But we’ve been busy with shows almost every night, and he’s had a lot of travel games the last few days, so we’ll have to wait and see if he’s able to make it out.” Jeff takes over the answer with ease, probably having predicted the attention.
“Did you really not recognize him, Eddie?” The host goads and Eddie lets himself chuckle.
“It may sound kind of ridiculous, but the genuine answer is yeah. I haven’t seen him in, like, 6 years. And, believe it or not, we didn’t exactly run in the same crowds. We knew of one another, I think, but there were hundreds of kids in our school.” Eddie always defaults to the truth in interviews; it’s the simplest route and leaves less room for people to poke holes in the narrative if he’s just honest.
“Will you guys be going to the Blackhawks game on Saturday?”
“We’ll just have to wait and see, man,” Gareth laughs, and just as quickly as the segment started, it’s over with their own latest hit playing them out of the studio.
A Thursday night off in the city wasn’t the most exciting thing in the world, but the band collectively made a trip to the bar closest to their hotel for wings and a few drinks. One of the guys must have posted something on social media about being out because as Eddie’s walking into his hotel, he happens to check his TikTok to find a message waiting for him.
harrington94 should I take it personally that you guys went out in my town and didn’t ask for recs or anything?
eddiecc I honestly figured you’d be too busy and didn’t want to bother you.
harrington94 never too busy to show a friend around town. But I do appreciate having a down day, so thanks.
Eddie wasn’t entirely sure how to answer as he processed Steve’s message. Friends? Is that what they were? Could they even really consider one another that? He ultimately decided not to think too much of it, in favor of keeping the conversation going. Maybe the more they talked, the less awkward the next two nights would be.
eddiecc I totally get it if you want to skip the show in favor of another down day.
harrington94 no backing out on me now, Munson. I’ve finally got the cool card with the Party. We’ll be there, no doubt.
Eddie feels a little smile creep over his face and his ears feel a little warm, but before he can answer that, text bubbles pop up again. He waits to see what else Steve is going to say before he does something embarrassing.
harrington94 now feels like a safe time to confess that I haven’t really listened to much of your music, though, so don’t think I’m rude if I’m not headbanging along with the boys.
That was more like the interaction Eddie had expected from their TikTok exchange. He never expected Steve to know their music and was shocked he even knew their band name when his response had been posted on TikTok.
eddiecc I honestly cannot exactly say I’m surprised to hear this. You never exactly struck me as a headbanger, anyway.
harrington94 i feel like that’s some kind of thinly veiled insult that I’m missing, but you’re not wrong.
The text bubbles appear again, and Eddie waits for him to finish the thought rather than respond.
harrington94 why don’t you text me instead? It feels easier than paying attention to this app I don’t really know how to use.
Eddie was quick to copy the number Steve sent and shoot off a text, weirdly enjoying the exchange the two were having and not ready to call it a night just yet.
__________
A particularly ridiculous meme from Eddie had Steve snorting from his spot lounging across the sofa. The next thing he knew, a pillow was flying at his face. He was able to react quickly enough to block it with his arm, dropping the phone to his chest, before glaring at Robin. She was watching him from the recliner across the living room.
“What the fuck?” He asks, tossing the pillow back in her general direction, more gently than she’d tossed it his way.
“You’re grinning at your phone like you’re setting up a hot date. Please don’t tell me you’re talking to Heidi again.” Robin pleads dramatically, twisting her body in the chair to face him.
“I’m not grinning at my phone, shut up.” He grumbles, ignoring how hot his neck feels as he blushes. Instead, he picks his phone back up to finish the thought he’d been typing before he’d been interrupted. “I’m just texting with Eddie, that’s all.”
Robin’s eyes widened immediately, and she sprung from the recliner toward the sofa. “Give me your phone!” She demands, grunting as she fell face first into the sofa, missing Steve by an inch. He manuveres away from her without looking up from his phone, making his way down the hall to his room. “Steve, come on!”
“It’s not a big deal! We’re just talking! It’s fine!” He insists, tucking the phone into his back pocket as he turns into his bedroom.
But maybe it was a big deal? Steve couldn’t tell; this was the part he was never really good at. He had a tendency to miss signs everyone else thought were obvious, and he didn’t want to risk making things weird with Eddie if Robin thought he was missing something that wasn’t actually there. The texts with Eddie had shifted from Steve confessing his knowledge of Corroded Coffin was strictly limited to whatever the Party played in the car when he drove them places, to Eddie confessing he knew next to nothing about hockey. It seemed to level the playing field between the two of them, and at least made Steve feel more at ease about the time they’d be spending together between the concert and the game.
When Steve had asked how the tour was going so far, Eddie had shared a link to an instagram, where fans were finding something to meme from each night of the shows. To which Jeff and Gareth were making memes in response, picking on one another in a way that felt like with some of his teammates. The message that had prompted the most reaction from Steve was the last thing Eddie had sent before Robin threw the pillow; a meme of Eddie looking confused, which Jeff had edited “So he’s not Joe Jonas?” over his head.
In his room, Steve leans over to pick up his charger, but he feels his phone lift free from his pocket. “Hey!” He calls after Robin, who’s sprinting down the hallway, laughing like the menace she is.
“I just want to see what you’re talking about!” Robin says, unlocking his phone. He’s just about to catch up to her, as she slides on her socks into her bedroom, closing the door behind her, right in his face.
“You’re being a child, Robs, c’mon. Give me my phone back.” He sighs, resting his forehead against the door. He jiggles the handle, but as he’d guessed, she’d locked it behind her.
“Do you like him?” She asks through the door, and he sighs again.
“I don’t know,” He answers, honestly and exhaustedly. “I don’t even know him, you know? We weren’t friends, it’s not like I could tell you anything about him other than Tommy used to buy weed from him and he would stand on tables and yell in the cafeteria.”
There’s a long silence before Robin opens the door, meeting Steve with a little smile. She shoves the phone back into his chest and pats his hand when he takes it from her. “I think this could be good for you. That this could be good for you.”
“I’m trying not to read too hard into it.” Steve mumbles, reaching up to run his fingers through his hair nervously. He glances back down at the screen, to see what while Robin had taken the phone, Eddie had sent another text.
Eddie: How were your games? Are you doing anything special for your day off?
It makes something twist in his chest, that Eddie even cares, and he doesn’t quite know why. It must show on his face, some part of how he’s feeling, because Robin just smiles and nods. Maybe she knows how he feels, part of their weird unspoken telepathy, because she walks further into her room and pats the edge of her bed as she goes.
“Are you going to let me paint your nails for the concert?” She asks. Everything inside of Steve appreciates how she always knows when to give him space to try and figure his shit out on his own.
“Obviously.” He laughs softly, following her into the bedroom to sit on her bed and watch her move around collecting things to paint his nails.
~~~
The following day, Steve spends more time than he would like to admit picking out an outfit to wear to the concert. He can hear the Party starting to get antsy in the living room, even though they’d still be plenty early if they left right now, so he decides to just roll with the white shirt and fitted khakis he’d dressed himself in several hours ago before he started overthinking his choices. He finished the outfit off with a black zip-up fleece and black and white Nikes.
A final check of his hair had him walking out of his room and into the living room, where chaos erupted.
“It’s about time!” Dustin exclaims, practically bouncing up and down with excitement on the sofa.
“It took you that long to come out looking like that?” Mike asks, but Max just snorts and shoves his shoulder.
“Let’s just go.” Steve rolls his eyes, glancing over at Robin who jingles car keys she’s already holding, before leading the way out of the apartment.
In the car, he shoots Eddie a quick text to let him know they’re on the way. Eddie’s quick to reply, giving the message a thumbs-up reaction. Unbelievably, the Party somehow manages to get even louder than usual once they were inside, and it doesn’t take long for a security guard to find them. They’re led through the back tunnels of Wintrust Arena, and Steve gets a little nostalgic for playing hockey in college. He’s snapped out of it when a girl passes out their pass lanyards and gives each of the Party a voucher for free drinks and snacks.
“This is too much, really,” Steve protests as she hands him the voucher, but Paige insists with a kind smile.
“We get this kind of stuff from every venue and rarely get to use it to its full extent. The guys want to do this for you and your friends, just enjoy it.”
The Party loads up on treats at the nearest food station, while Steve and Robin grab beers with Paige. As she collects her drink, Paige hands Steve a palm-sized bag of earplugs. He frowns at them, which makes her laugh.
“Eddie said this isn't really your usual kind of scene, and these shows can get loud,” she taps her own ears to show she has similar earplugs in. “Should also help prevent headaches or anything else that might keep you off the ice tomorrow.”
“Please, he’s too stubborn to stay off the ice. The amount of migraines he’s played through is outrageous,” Dustin bounds back into the conversation, earning a chuckle from Robin. Steve throws his arm around the younger boy’s shoulders, pulling him just a little too close and too tight. Dustin exaggerates choking noises, flailing around and making a scene, but Steve refuses to let up.
_____
There’s more anxiety than usual thrumming through Eddie as he and Jeff make their way through the arena, to where Paige had said she’d take Steve and his friends for snacks. As they walk up on the group, however, Steve quickly pulls a younger boy with a head full of curls into a headlock. He lets the scene continue for a moment before he nudges Jeff.
“At what point fo you think we should intervene?” He asks with a smile, making Jeff chuckle. Steve, however, freezes, then shoves Dustin away. He turns to give Eddie a sheepish smile, and Eddie can’t help but raise an eyebrow.
Steve lets out a huff of a laugh, running his fingers through his hair, shrugging and tipping his head in the boy’s direction. “This is Dustin. He’s like my little brother. I’m allowed to pick on him when he’s being a shithead.” Dustin nudges his elbow into Steve’s gut, who’s quick to smack his arm in response. Before Eddie can stop himself, he’s twisting a curl around his finger and biting back a grin. He does, however, make a conscious effort to not chew on his hair. He knows he’d never hear the end of it, fawning over Steve Harrington after a whole 10 seconds.
Eddie offers a hand out to Dustin, hoping Jeff and Paige would let his little tells fly under the radar. Just this once, they seem to, as he greets the Party. “Hey man, I’m Eddie. Nice to meet you.”
“I know who you are, holy shit, man.” Dustin eventually fumbles through, shaking Eddie’s hand and grinning up at him.
Steve rattles off the introductions for each kid, like a proud mom, and Eddie greets each of them politely, but his eyes keep falling back on Steve. He catches his little smiles and the way he nudges different members of the Party, squeezes their shoulders, ruffles their hair. It’s gentle and sweet and it sends a warm feeling through Eddie’s chest. His smile softens as he watches their interactions. All too soon, Freak leans into the area they’ve gathered in and whistles.
“Shit, guys, we gotta go.” Jeff sighs, and Eddie pats his shoulder before he turns back to the group with a grin.
“Just hang with Paige and try not to get into too much trouble, we’ll get drinks after?” Eddie asks, looking at Steve, who smiles back and gives a little nod.
As Eddie runs to catch up with Jeff and Freak, he wonders exactly what he’s gotten himself into here.
____
It’s more fun than Steve expects, the concert. The excitement of watching the show from the suite quickly bores the Party, as they realize it’s the same as watching hockey games from a guest box. They eat their snacks and drink some through the openers, but during the break before Corroded Coffin, Lucas and Dustin drag Steve around to the side stage. Robin promises to stay with the others, and reminds Steve to wear the earplugs.
He’s grateful Paige had slipped them to him as they get beside the stage and he realizes just how loud the crowd is when the lights go down. From where they’re standing sidestage, he can see Eddie, Jeff, Gareth and Freak in a little huddle. They bounce around with their arms around each others backs, before yelling something Steve can’t quite make out. They’re handed their instruments by the crew. As they’re taking the stage, Eddie walks up in their direction and pokes his tongue out at them, before ripping into a guitar riff to make his entrance.
Despite himself, Steve finds his head bobbing along to the drum beat, and even sings along to the songs he recognizes. It’s hard to take his eyes off Eddie through the whole production. He’s a little ball of energy, bounding around from one end of the stage to the other, bantering with the other guys in the band and drawing the fans into his chaos during talking breaks. During a drum solo, Eddie climbs onto the front of the kit and holds his guitar up in the air over his head. Steve watches, mesmerized, as Eddie holds his gaze for a moment that feels like an eternity but is probably only a few seconds. Eddie winks at Steve, then, before he leaps back into yet another riff. It shouldn’t have had so much of an impact, but Steve finds it kind of takes his breath away.
It’s over before long, and Paige is quick to guide Steve and the boys back to the club box. He smiles as they walk behind Dustin and Lucas, gushing over how great the show was. Back in the box, Steve and Paige agree to meet across the street at Fatpour. He charms his way into using the upstairs as a private room with a signature to the manager and flashes a smile and wave to the few people downstairs who seem to have recognized him.
The band makes a loud entrance as the Party works their way through appetizers, and Eddie is quick to find his way to Steve. “You seemed to have enjoyed yourself, was it more fun than you expected?” He asks around a grin.
“I never said I wasn’t going to have a good time,” Steve defended through a smile, making Eddie laugh and Steve thinks that might be the best sound he’d heard all night, despite having just seen the concert. Eddie glances around then, locking eyes with a bartender to get their attention.
“What’s your poison?” Eddie asks in the most cliche way, wiggling his eyebrows a little, but Steve shakes his head.
“Strictly on water tonight. Gotta get up early tomorrow.” He says, and Eddie softens and nods. Once their drinks are in front of them, he holds his glass up to Steve in a mock toast.
“To making it the fuck out of Hawkins?”
“Cheers to that.” Steve laughs, clanking their glasses together and taking a sip.
“Any reason you stayed in the Midwest?” Eddie asks, before he can stop himself. “Sorry, you don’t have to… you don’t owe me an explanation.”
“Nah, it’s… a few reasons. Couldn’t go too far without them, and most of ‘em followed me here, anyway. And then the chips fell and I ended up on the Blackhawks and there’s kind of no other team I’d rather play for.” Steve explains, leaning a little closer to Eddie with a smile. “Speaking of; are you ready for the game?”
Eddie can’t help but grin back at Steve and laugh a little. “You know, I honestly have no idea what I’m getting in to here. All I remember from watching games on TV is that it’s violent.”
“Not always.” Steve defends quickly, before showing a slight mercy. “It’s cold in there, because of the ice. You’ll want to wear layers.”
“Layers. Noted.” Eddie stores the information away for tomorrow, suddenly concerned he hadn’t even thought about an outfit for the game before the conversation.
As they talk, Robin appears with a basket of cheese curds but pulls it away as Eddie reaches to take one.
“What’s your favorite movie?” She asks, and Steve laughs and shakes his head at her.
“Is this a quiz? I’m not good at tests, I flunked out of senior year.” Eddie whines before he stops to think about it. “Uh, well. The answer you’d probably expect from me is Almost Famous, but it’s actually a close second to Dead Poets Society.”
She narrows her eyes at him but slides the basket in his direction. “I can’t tell if you picked either of those because you thought it was the answer I wanted, or because they’re actually your favorite, so I have to give you curds.”
“They’re actually my favorites!” Eddie laughs around a mouthful of cheese curds.
“Dead Poets is one of Robin’s favorites, too.” Steve offers, and Robin nods.
“Steve will tell you his favorite movie is Risky Business, because he thinks Tom Cruise is hot, but it’s actually Go Figure. You know, the Disney movie about the ice skater who joins her school’s hockey—” Robin is grinning until Steve clasps a hand over her mouth.
“Robin is incredibly annoying when she wants to be,” He grumbles, and Eddie can’t help but laugh at their antics.
“Well, now you’ve got my attention. If Go Figure isn’t your favorite movie, what is?” Eddie asks.
Steve thinks for a moment. “I think Back to the Future feels like a safe answer.” He shrugs, and Eddie glances at Robin to gauge her reaction. She seems to approve, as she gives Steve a soft smile, pats his back, then stands from their table.
“I’ll leave you two alone, I suppose.” She says, leaning close to both of them. “Behave, got it? No funny business before the game.”
Steve flushes and flounders a little, his mouth opening and closing a few times before he just huffs and takes a sip from his water. While Eddie feels his whole face get hot in a blush, he can’t help but laugh a little.
“Is there funny business we could have gotten up to?” He dares to ask, and it’s worth it just to watch the way Steve blushes and bites at his lip.
“Maybe. But I guess you’ve got to wait until after tomorrow’s game to find out.”
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Wow! Thank you all so much for the overwhelming support you’ve shown this little idea I had! I might just keep this going as a series, with updates on Mondays (Tuesdays at the latest). This is also double the word count of part 1, oops, lol.
I'm going to try to tag everyone in the replies because I hit the character limit! Tumblr wouldn't take them all, so sorry to everyone I missed, I still love you and appreciate the support!
#steddie#steddie hockey au#steddie rockstar au#rockstar!eddie munson#hockey player!steve harrington#eddie munson#steve harrington#robin buckley#dustin henderson#corroded coffin#stranger things#starkidmunson writes#glitter & crimson
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PRICE OF FAME (PART 3/12)
ALRIGHTY HERE WE GO !!
————
18+ — MINORS DNI
pairing: rockstar!eddie x journalist!reader
summary: eddie and gareth don't get along and eddie thinks you look cute when you're sleeping
contains: enemies to lovers trope, smoking, alcohol use, maybe gareth's a bitch lol, scary feelings, a sprinkle of fluff, and eddie being down bad in every way, shape, and form <3
word count: 5.3k
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| series masterlist | -main masterlist- |
Breakfast has been your favorite part of joining Corroded Coffin on tour. Aside from the fluffy, soft, sweet pancakes, grease-dripping bacon, and toe-curling orgasmic coffee, breakfast has always been lighthearted and fun. Richie makes everybody sit at the table together like a family so there can be some sense of normalcy throughout the busy days; it’s nice.
You alternate with your seating, wanting to get to know all of the crew members as best as you can while you have the time, and you’ve had decent conversations amongst some awkward ones. On the first day, you sat next to Mitch, the light coordinator, and listened to his story about how he met his husband. They’re expecting a baby this fall, and you two bounced a few names off each other for him to consider. On the second day, you sat beside Kaylee, the tour stylist, and talked about your college horror stories. On the third day, you sat next to Brandon, a stage manager, and spoke about… well, you don’t really remember because he talked the entire time, and you kind of blanked out. Slowly, you’ve made your way around the table each day, learning little things about the group.
Today, however, there is not the usual lighthearted and familial atmosphere at the table.
You came down to the breakfast hall a bit late from your shower, and the second you stepped into the room, you could sense the tension still hanging from yesterday. You haven’t spoken to or seen Eddie since he confronted Gareth at the studio, and you’re not sure if he’d even want to see you, but you have no choice but to take the only open seat next to him.
You quietly say good morning to everyone, and Richie is the only one who gives you a warm response. “How’d you sleep, birdie?” He questions around a mouthful of eggs. You nod and settle in, “Good, I almost slept through my alarm.” You jokingly admit. Richie chuckles, “1500 thread count sheets will do that to you.” He says, causing the table to erupt in a soft symphony of laughter.
It falls awkwardly silent, and you try your best to avoid glancing at Gareth, but there’s no doubt everybody notices the shiner he’s sporting on his eye. The room is filled with sounds of forks clanking against plates and the quiet mumble of short, faint snippets of conversation until Richie clears his throat, “We’ve got an interview with the press at twelve and rehearsals at three, like always, so do what you need to do before then. We can’t be late for this interview, got it?” He reminds the crew, and everybody’s head nods in understanding, all but one.
“I’m not going.”
All eyes turn to Gareth, a full plate sitting untouched before him as he slumps back in his seat. Beside you, Eddie lights a cigarette, and you opt to busy yourself with taking a bite of your French toast, practically feeling the anger radiating from Eddie as he takes a drag. Richie clears his throat once again, scooting closer to the table and tilting his head with a look of confusion, “Um… why not?” He questions.
Gareth glances at him as best as he can with his black eye, “Because I’ve got an eye the size of a tennis ball on my face, Richie.” Everyone at the table seems to uncomfortably shift now that the elephant in the room has been addressed. Eddie doesn’t waste a second to speak up from beside you, “Nothing you didn’t deserve.” For the first time since yesterday, Eddie looks at Gareth and sees the swollen eye he left from yesterday. Eddie doesn’t show a single hint of regret.
The table returns to quietly eating as Gareth ignores Eddie’s comment, “I’m not going.” He reiterates. Richie sighs and rubs the coarse mustache on his face, “You have to go, Gareth. Just put some shades on.” He suggests, returning to his food as if the conversation finished, but Gareth holds up. “I’m not gonna sit there in shades like a fucking idiot, man.”
“Well, you don’t have a choice, son,” Richie snaps, dropping the fork in his plate to look at Gareth. You wish the floor would open up and swallow you whole, and you’re sure you’re not the only person with that wish when you look at the other crew members at the table. “This band has an album coming soon,” he reminds the group, “We don’t have time for rumors and gossip to start circulating; you need to show up as a unit. This isn’t up for debate.”
The conversation could’ve ended there because, quite frankly, it seemed like Gareth was willing to go with it, but Eddie couldn’t let the moment to say something slip, “Just let him go, Rich.” He shrugs. You glance at Eddie, watching as he taps his cigarette ash into his plate, “It’s not like he brings much to the table anyway.”
Across the table, from the corner of your eye, you see Gareth lean forward to glare at Eddie, “The fuck does that mean?” He snaps.
Eddie looks at Gareth for the second time and shrugs, “Means you’re a shit band member, man. Fuckin’ Mitch has done more for this band than you ever have or could’ve done.” He gestures towards Mitch, ignoring when the man slightly cowers in his seat. Gareth looks at Eddie with a stone-cold glare, saying nothing momentarily and letting the thick blanket of silence curl around everyone's neck. He leans forward and points a finger at Eddie, who’s not even looking at him anymore, “Fuck you. You wonder why Chrissy left you for Jason Carver, it’s because you’re a fucking asshole.”
“Jesus Christ, guys–” Jeff tries to interject, but Gareth continues speaking, “At least Jason acknowledges her. That’s more than you ever did.” He jabs. Eddie chuckles, shaking his head before speaking around a cloud of smoke, “You don’t know shit about me and Chrissy.”
Gareth tauntingly laughs, “Nah, she filled me in quite a fuckin’ bit.”
The invisible ticking time bomb seems to have gone off in Eddie’s mind. He stands up from his chair, a loud screeching noise grating everyone's ears as he flicks his cigarette into his plate, “The fuck did you just say?”
“Hey, hey, hey!” Richie interjects, standing up and raising his hands as a gesture to stop. “Enough. Fucking enough,” he glances between the two heated men in annoyance, “I don’t know what’s gotten into you boys, but you need to figure your shit out on your own time.” He snaps. Your hands rest in your lap, anxiously picking at the seam of your jeans, wanting to shrink into your seat because you can’t help but feel as if this is your fault. It was your journal he read anyway; you play some part in the issue, right?
Richie sits back down with an exhaustive huff, picking up his fork to resume eating, but before he picks up a piece of his food, he gestures at the table, “Either sit down and finish your goddamn meal, or fuck off somewhere. Both of you.”
Eddie stands for a moment before deciding to leave without another word.
By the time the press interview rolls around, you’re more anxious than you thought you’d be. Between the time frame of breakfast and now, you had more than enough time to ponder over the messy situation you’ve accidentally created between Gareth and Eddie.
Truthfully, you had no idea that the Chrissy Gareth had mentioned during your conversation was Eddie’s ex-girlfriend Chrissy; hell, you didn’t even know Eddie had an ex-girlfriend named Chrissy until yesterday!
On one of your few sit-downs with Gareth, you ended up discussing his love life, and you took the leap of faith to ask him if he’d ever been in love.
“…There was one girl. Her name was Chrissy; we went to high school together.”
“You dated?” “No,” Gareth shakes his head, “No, we never dated. But I always had this weird connection with her… like we understood each other in a deeper way.”
You smile in awe of the sweetness behind his words, jotting down little notes in your journal as he speaks. “I always admired her to an extent, but she, uh,” he clears his throat and scratches at his jaw, “she was in another relationship for most of the time I knew her.”
Gareth silently watches as you continue to write. You look up at him when you realize he’s been silent for a while, and you open your mouth to ask what is wrong, but he speaks before you, “Is this um,” he gestures towards your journal, “this bit isn’t going in the final publish, right?” He asks. You tilt your head, a few questions running through your mind, but you brush them off, “Um… well, I suppose I can leave some of it out, yes.”
Gareth nods, shifting in his chair and clearing his throat. “Okay, good. Um… well, anyways,” he begins, “Me and Chrissy didn’t hook up until I went back to Hawkins during our break off from last year's tour.”
Ultimately, Gareth had explained that Chrissy had recently left a three-year relationship when they’d hooked up. He explained that they crossed paths at a bar, and things took off from there, but he cut it off with her the following morning. He never told you why he cut it off, but you now understand the guilt of betraying his best friend had forced him to do so.
You had no idea that the entire conversation was pertaining to Eddie’s ex; if you had known, you would’ve never written it down. You wouldn’t have even finished the conversation if Gareth had told the whole truth because, quite honestly, you would rather not be in the mix of this disaster.
You’re disappointed. Upset that Gareth practically used you to get the guilt off his chest. And the truth is, that conversation did little to nothing for Gareth in the long run; he still felt guilty for never telling Eddie, and it’s only gotten worse with the added tension between them now that the secret is out.
Eddie was cold toward you before, but now he’s thicker than the ice in Antarctica. He’s avoiding you at all costs— and maybe he’s just avoiding everybody. Still, you can’t help but take his avoidance personally, especially when you’d thought you were finally reaching some sort of middle ground with him.
You sit off to the side of the stage with the rest of the band’s crew as you watch them take their seats for the press interview. Eddie sits on one end of the table while Gareth sits at the other end, the other two members filling the two seats in between. Gareth had no choice but to cover his black eye with a dark shade of glasses, and it seemed like nobody paid mind to it— typical rockstar wardrobe and all.
The interview was off to a good start, with reporters asking questions about the upcoming album, life on the road, and relatively anything about the music. Near the end, however, is when things seemed to get rocky. The questions became more of a filler than anything important, and boys were evidently tired of answering. It wasn’t until a journalist asked a specific question that things seemed to reach a tipping point.
“There’s been rumors that this album has more love songs than usual. Could you confirm or deny that?”
The boys look at each other, and Gareth leans forward to respond, but Eddie beats him to it. “There were a few, yeah, but um… They didn’t make the final cut, so maybe next time.”
The energy vividly shifts amongst the boys; Gareth looks at Eddie and scoffs before leaning back into his chair, clearly throwing in the towel for the rest of the interview. You don’t understand the apparent dispute just now, but you find out when the boys finish the interview and walk into the green room.
“What the fuck, man?” Gareth spits, walking a few paces behind Eddie. “We’re not cutting the song.” His loud voice booms through the room, not caring if anybody will overhear their dispute.
“I’m not putting a song out that you wrote about my fucking ex-girlfriend, Gareth. Are you out of your fucking mind?” Eddie snaps.
Richie turns to the band and crew members and motions for them to leave the room, which nobody even bothers to protest, eager to escape any more awkward conversations for the day. Everybody else makes a beeline for the tour bus, planning to fill in the few hours before rehearsal.
You glance back at the room where Eddie and Gareth are bickering, and you bravely choose to sit in the chair outside the doorway. You try not to stick your nose in their business, but they’re arguing loud enough for you to hear snippets either way. The conversation doesn’t last long before Gareth storms out of the room and down the hall, bursting through the doors and out of sight.
You glance back into the room where Eddie stands, fishing out his pack of cigarettes and sparking up. You figure now is better than ever, so you clench your bag strap and stand up, hesitantly stepping into the room. Clearing your throat once you’re a few steps away from Eddie, you watch as he exhales a cloud of smoke. He glances at you and turns away, “What do you want?”
You take one step closer, “I um… I wanted to apologize.” You begin. He looks at you again, brown eyes tired and riddled with pain— and you can’t imagine how much of a whirlwind the past twenty-four hours have been for him. “For what?” He asks, confusion and annoyance laced within his tone.
He’s turned to face you, shiny chains glistening on his hips beneath the building lights. You shake your head, struggling to find the words, because, was this really even your fault?
You obviously can’t apologize for Gareth fucking his ex-girlfriend— you had no part in that— and it’d seem silly to apologize for accidentally dropping your journal. So, what exactly do you apologize for? How do you let him know that you’re sorry this was how he found out, even if it isn’t entirely your fault?
You decide to try and redirect your wording, “I want you to know that I was never going to put that in the final article.” You say.
Eddie scoffs, taking a drag of his cigarette before responding, “And why would I believe that?” He questions.
He’s gazing at you like the first night you’d met when he was watching you from across the green room and commanding you to leave. You think he has the same intentions now, but Eddie has yet to learn that you’re stubborn.
“Well, for starters, Gareth asked me not to put it in,” you admit. Eddie’s jaw tenses and part of you feels as if you’ve tossed Gareth under the bus, but you had no choice. This was Gareth’s doing, and if you have to tell the ugly truth to save your image, then so be it. “He didn’t tell me why, but I know now. And now that I know the full truth behind that story, I definitely won’t write it in.”
Eddie watches you momentarily, intense eyes burning holes through you before he turns away. He scratches his jaw for a moment, taking a breath before returning to you. Eddie points to you, the burning cigarette hanging between his fingers as he speaks, “You know,” he begins, “somehow, you’ve managed to persuade everyone that you’re some sweet, innocent small-town journalist that just wants to ‘appreciate the artists,’ but that,” he gestures to your bag where he knows your journal is resting, ashes fluttering to the ground with each wave of his hand.
“That proved everything I believed about you.” He says. “People like you are fucking vampires. You suck the life out of people to keep you alive, and it’s fucked up.” He snaps.
Your face twists in anger, subtly shaking your head as you subconsciously step closer, “Eddie, I didn’t… I didn’t even know she was your ex, and if I did, I would’ve never written about it.” You exclaim, tossing your hands in exasperation. “And I’m sorry you found out the way you did, but you can’t hate me for something someone else did!”
Eddie frustratedly rubs his face, “That’s not the point!” He exclaims. “I read your journal. I saw everything I needed to see to confirm that I was right about everything with you and this fucking article.” He stresses, his loud voice echoing throughout the empty room.
“I'm not here to destroy your life, Eddie!” You snap, voice raising to match the level of his own. Eddie steps closer, towering over you and glaring so intensely into your eyes that you almost cower, “I don’t fucking believe that for a second.” He snaps back.
His chest rises and sinks like a rocky boat beneath his angry breaths, and he’s so close you can smell the cigarettes and mint on his breath. The scent of his cologne wrapping around you and choking you like a snake.
You don’t know how much more patient you can be with Eddie. You don’t know how much more of this back-and-forth you can take before it drives you insane. You want it to end. You want him to understand that you’re not his enemy; you never were.
You can only think of doing one thing: unzipping your bag and reaching in to grab your journal. Eddie watches with a hint of confusion in his eyes as you crack open the journal and start flipping through the pages. “What are you doing?” He asks in annoyance, patience running thin at your silence.
You flip through nearly half of the book before finding the pages you sought. You don’t think twice before ripping them out, not even caring if it destroys the binds of your precious journal. “The fuck are you doing?” Eddie asks again.
You tear each page out and drop the book to the floor, ignoring Eddie’s questions as you shred each torn-out page to pieces. Eddie watches in silent and hidden shock as each pen-soaked strip flutters to the ground, creating a heap of trash between where you both stand.
You tear the last piece and let it fall before looking at Eddie, watching as he gazes at the torn pages. Nearly five pages worth of writing, gone.
“There. It’s gone. Do you believe me now?”
Eddie says nothing when he drags his gaze up to look at you, shock-ridden across his face. “I’m not who you say I am, Eddie. I’m not here to ruin your life; that was never my intention.”
Eddie stays silent, seemingly lost for words, and even if you want him to say something, your braveness has begun to falter, and you itch to leave the room. You’re strong-willed, but you’re no fucking superwoman, and Eddie has pulled every exhausting breath out of you, and you can’t seem to get a grip because every time you breathe in, all you smell and feel is Eddie.
Eddie, Eddie, Eddie.
You grab your destroyed journal from the floor, not bothering to try and fix the binding before you shove it back into your bag, and you don’t say another word as you leave the room.
You’ve been writing for hours when you check the clock— twelve thirty-two. The band played a show tonight, but you decided to stay in your hotel to let your ankle rest— you haven’t been taking all the precautions the medic advised you to, so by the time lunch rolled around, you were in an uncomfortable fit of pain. You used your free time by tweaking the draft of your article— adding in new pieces of information and taking out unnecessary notes. You’re about twenty pages in, but by the end of the month, you’ll have compiled it all into ten; but for now, it seems your brain has become a muddled mess of words and ideas.
You suppose drinking three glasses of wine didn’t help fix that, either. You’re tipsy, teetering on the edge of drunk, and that’s a dangerous place to be when you’re practically working. You don’t even want to think of the past drunken works you’ve made; they’re worse than you’d like to admit.
You sigh, dropping your pen onto the hotel desk, leaning back in your chair, and rubbing your hand down your face in exhaustion. You glance over to the chair you’ve propped up to rest your injured leg, deciding that you should probably ice it since you’ve neglected to do so all day.
You figure you’re done writing for the day anyway, so you put your things in order before grabbing the ice bucket and making your way out of the room to find the ice machine.
What you don’t expect to find on your journey is a sleepy Eddie sitting in the hallway just a few doors down from yours. Maybe you drank four glasses of wine.
Out of common, drunk courtesy, you redirect your path and limp over to where he sits, arms folded across his chest and head leaned back against the wall with shut eyes.
You gently say his name to grab his attention, but he doesn’t budge. You shuffle closer, calling his name out again, and when that doesn’t work, you gently nudge him with your non-injured foot. His eyes flutter open, blinking away the light sleep from his eyes as he looks at you.
You tilt your head in question and ask, “What are you doing sleeping in the hallway?”
Eddie shifts in his spot, grunting and glancing at the bucket in your hands. From the looks of it, Eddie is as sober as can be, so you guess he decided to skip out on the after-show festivities they usually partake in. “I um… I lost the key card to my room.” He explains, gesturing to the door across from where he’s seated.
“The band is out for the night, and the lobby’s closed, so…”
You nod in understanding, glancing around the empty hallway, catching sight of a cleaning lady entering a room down the corridor. And technically, you don’t owe Eddie anything.
You could leave him here in the hallway to spend the night sleeping on the hard ground, and it probably wouldn’t bother him either way because Eddie clearly doesn’t like you, but fuck you feel bad.
You’re not a terrible person. You wouldn’t kick somebody when they’re already down, and Eddie… Eddie is clearly down.
Before you can thoroughly think it over, your liquor-weighted mouth speaks before you can stop yourself, “You could crash in my room for the night.”
Eddie looks at you with the blankest expression he could ever muster and blinks, “Why would I do that?”
God, he’s such a fucking asshole.
You shrug, gently swinging the bucket in your hand and glancing around again, “I don’t know, unless you'd like to sit here all night like a moron, then be my guest.”
Your ankle hurts as you stand and wait for Eddie to make up his mind, and just when you almost decide to throw in the towel and let him fend for himself, Eddie grumbles a short “Fine,” and gets up.
You watch as he reaches down to grab his leather jacket and turns to you, “You can go ahead; I have to get ice for my foot.” You tell him, pointing to your door so he knows where to go.
Eddie glances down at your injured leg and says nothing before he reaches forward and gently takes the bucket from your hands— cold, jewelry-covered fingers brushing up against your warm knuckles and sending shivers up your spine.
He hands you his jacket, and you stand silently, confused by the exchange. Before you can ask what he’s doing, he answers your question, “I’ll get the ice.” And he doesn’t even bother looking at you before turning around and leaving to find the ice machine.
You’re too drunk to figure out what that was about, and your ankle is starting to throb under the pressure of standing, so you walk back to your room clutching his jacket and trying your hardest not to let the familiar scent of Eddie knock you dead.
You leave the door slightly propped open for Eddie and place his jacket on the chair near the desk. In the meantime, you busy yourself with removing your suitcase and clothes you’d haphazardly tossed around from the extra bed where Eddie will be sleeping. You figure you’ll just head to bed once Eddie gets here, so you exchange your jeans and fitted top for shorts and a ratty old He-Man shirt from high school.
You’re setting your previous clothes aside when Eddie steps into the room, a bucket full of ice in one hand with a Coke and chips in the other. You raise an eyebrow, questioning the extra items, and he shrugs as he shuts the door with his foot, “What? The vending machine was right next to the ice, and I was hungry.” He explains as he places the bucket on the desk, making sure to avoid placing it on your work pages. He tries his best not to look at what you’ve written, and you don’t point it out when he clears his throat and diverts his attention to something else. He grabs the wine bottle and shakes it, raising an eyebrow when he realizes it’s less than halfway full, “I take it someone had a good time?”
You roll your eyes, walking over to take the bottle and put it back on the desk. “Not that it’s any of your business.” You respond, turning to grab a ziplock to fill with ice. Eddie takes the bag from you and shoos you away, “Go sit down, I’ll do it.”
Your face twists in confusion, “You’re starting to scare me. Are you gonna kill me?”
Eddie laughs and busies himself with scooping large chunks of ice and dropping them into the open ziplock. “I will if you don’t sit down.” He responds.
You relent and walk over to your bed, sitting at the head of the mattress to lean against the pillows near the headboard, doing your best to shove a pillow beneath your foot lazily. You sit silently, hands folded against your stomach, watching Eddie work.
He’s wearing his usual black jeans, decorated with hanging chains from his waist, and a plain white shirt, hidden muscles flexing beneath the soft cotton. His shoulders are broad yet hidden beneath the thick, curly mane of hair he has. Tattoos litter his arms, a few trickling down to his fingers, and you catch glimpses of his knuckles dripping with drops of water from the ice and— fuck.
There’s no way you’re checking out Eddie Munson, the asshole who’s made your life a living hell these past few weeks. You really can’t handle your liquor.
You panic and grab the TV remote, quickly turning it on to fill the silence. You distract yourself by watching the random sitcom playing until Eddie steps into your view. You must’ve been focused on the show because Eddie seems to have traveled to the restroom to get a towel to wrap around your makeshift ice pack. Your sheets are pulled back, leaving your bare legs on display, and you can’t help but squirm when Eddie stands at the foot of the bed and takes in the sight of you.
He says nothing as he gently lowers the ice onto your ankle. His inked fingers sink into the plush cotton of the towel, and if Eddie weren’t an artist, you bet he could land a job as a hand model. Or maybe you’ve really lost it.
His gaze flickers to catch your wide eyes, and you hold your breath when he speaks, “Is it too cold? Do you need another towel?” He asks. You stutter to answer him, so you shake your head no, eventually sputtering out a response of, “N-no, it’s fine. Thank you.”
Eddie turns to grab his snacks and falls into the other bed with a sigh, cracking open the bag of chips and popping a few into his mouth. You grimace and pull the sheets over your body as you comment, “If you bring ants to my room, I swear to god, Munson, I’ll hunt you down.”
Eddie chuckles, glancing at you as you shift around and get comfortable in bed, “Not with that broken foot, you won’t.”
You glare at him over the heap of expensive duvets and pillows, “I wonder whose fault that is?” You respond, falling back into bed when you see him roll his eyes.
Eddie clears his throat after a moment, “Speaking of that,” he begins; you peek over at him once again to watch as he puts the chips aside and grabs the remote to start flicking through channels. “Since we’re off these next four days, you should keep it light on your feet.”
You sarcastically laugh, “Don’t tell me you’re actually concerned for my well-being. This night keeps getting weirder and weirder.” You joke. Eddie pauses his task to glance at you, “No, I just…” You raise an eyebrow, urging him to continue. He rolls his eyes, “I’m not a complete asshole, you know?” He grumbles, turning back to the TV.
You’re snuggled into your sheets now as you watch Eddie flip through the channels, admiring how different features of his face light up under the different colors from the screen. He’s… pretty.
“What do you have planned for your days off?” You question behind a drawn-out yawn. You think you catch a glimpse of a smile on Eddie’s lips, but you can’t see very well in the dim lighting. “My Uncle Wayne is flying in, so… I’m spending time with him,” Eddie explains. You smile, “Your uncle?”
Eddie nods, and you hum, “That’s nice… Can I meet him?”
You’re never drinking wine again.
Eddie looks at you as if you’ve asked him the dumbest question on earth, “Why would… why?”
You shrug, “Maybe he’ll help me figure out why you’re such a grump.” You half-heartedly tease. Eddie scoffs, returning to watch the movie he’s landed on, “If you think I’m grumpy, you’re not equipped to meet Wayne.” He comments. And then something remarkable happens.
Eddie smiles to himself.
It’s small and obviously not meant for your eyes, but you see it either way, and it… fuck, it makes you feel things you would’ve never imagined you could for such an asshole of a man. What is going on?
“He can’t be any worse than you.” You joke. Eddie scoffs, “Nah, Wayne takes the cake for grumpiest man alive,” he bids.
Eddie tells you about Wayne, little memories he remembers that bleed into more memories until, eventually, he’s practically taking a walk down memory road. You go back and forth with him, commenting when you had a similar situation or when Eddie mentioned the same show you loved in high school.
At some point, Eddie’s stories and the low hum of the TV lull you to sleep, and you find yourself lying in cotton candy clouds, sinking into the softness and letting it surround you.
Eddie’s not sure when you checked out on him, but he figures he’d been talking to himself for a while because you're fast asleep when he looks over at you.
He watches you for a moment and appreciates the way the blue and white hues of the TV dance across your face. Your skin looks soft under the fluorescent lights, and he thinks the steady rise and fall of your breaths is more entertaining than any movie he could’ve landed on. And you’re so pretty— soft and molded to perfection, and Eddie thinks he might like you more like this; when you’re not talking and being the most obnoxious person he’s ever met. Eddie hates the feeling he gets in his chest from just looking at you.
You’re cute, he thinks.
He shakes his head to free himself from whatever weird feelings are spiraling through his mind, and he turns off the TV, letting the darkness swallow the room.
He’ll just have to worry about his feelings another time, he thinks.
————
part four
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a/n: HII U MADE IT TO THE END, U CAN ALL THANK MY STINK @mmunson86 FOR THE TINY PIECE OF FLUFF, THIS WAS FOR U BAE <3 ANYWAYS, PLS LET ME KNOW HOW U LIKED THIS PART I ALWAYS LOVE TO HEAR UR FEEDBACK, ILY BYE
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cutie lil taglist: @mastermindmiko @whataboutbibi @ryanmxrie @ihatepeanutss @tlclick73 @motherfckerrr @emxxblog @jesssssmaybankk @eddiesguitarskills @bibieddiesgf @chloe-6123 @micheledawn1975 @demxnicprxncess @emma77645 @sidthedollface2 @mvnsonslvt @s-u-t
#SCREAMMMM#HERE SHE IS#I HOPE U ENJOYYYYY#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson#eddie x reader#stranger things fanfic#eddie munson fanfic#eddie munson au#rockstar!eddie munson#eddie munson x fem!reader#eddie x y/n#eddie munson smut#eddie x you#eddie munson fluff#eddie munson blurb#eddie munson headcanon#eddie x fem!reader#stranger things au#rockstar!eddie x reader#rockstar!eddie smut#rockstar!eddie x journalist!reader#journalist!reader
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As Iron Sharpens Iron
"As iron sharpens iron, so one person sharpens another." Proverbs 27:17
Beta-read by @dragonrider9905
Chapter 11:
Previous // Next
Warnings: Angst. Canon violence
--------------------------------------------------
Three days had passed since the argument with Hunter that sent you storming from the Marauder with anger blazing hot in your veins. Two days since you’d left the planet, intent on putting all your focus towards the job Cid had given you.
One day had turned your anger into a suffocating heaviness of guilt and grief. Now it was something else - it felt strange and unnatural - or maybe it was just nothingness. Whatever it was, you wished the anger would come back. Anger was tangible, it gave you something to hold onto. Anger had a conviction - a purpose. Whatever it was that you felt now, slipped numbly through your fingers, floating aimlessly and as silent as the vortex of hyperspace you currently traveled through.
They didn’t come for me.
---
You had waited around Cid’s for a full rotation - unsure what for.
Did you really think they’d come looking for you?
Did they even want to?
“Give it up, kid.” Cid advised as you’d found yourself glancing over at the door for the thousandth time, “Dark and Broody ain’t coming after ya.”
You looked at her sharply. How did she know?
Cid shrugged, “Don’t look at me like that, Hotshot. I’m not stupid, you know. I’ve seen the way you look at him.” She smirked, “It’s the same way he looks at you.”
You raised an eyebrow. “Oh yeah? Then tell me why he hasn’t come.”
Cid threw down her washrag, looking annoyed. “You’re the idiot who ran away. He’s smart enough not to bother a woman who’s mad at him.” She scoffed, “Or he’s stupid enough not to go after the woman he obviously cares about.”
That’s when the anger came back, flashing brightly like the flame of a candle exposed to the air just before it fizzled out again. “You’re wrong. He’s not here because he doesn’t care. None of them do.” Disappointment settled like a boot on your chest.
Cid let out a bored sigh. “Then quit moping around and do something! I’ve got plenty of jobs around here and no one to do them. Might as well get paid if you’re just going to be miserable anyway.”
You looked at her quizzically then groaned. “Alright… where do you need me to go?”
---
The ship shuttered as it dropped out of hyperspace, pulling you back to the present as you came into orbit around the moon Cid’s coordinates had directed you to. You chuckled bitterly.
Well joke’s on them. I don’t need them either.
---
“Omega, come on! We need to make a supply run in town,” Hunter called down the ramp as he slung his pack over his shoulder. He frowned as she made no move to get up, though he was certain she’d heard him. He set his pack down and walked over to her. She sat on the ramp, resting her arms and chin on her knees, as she looked blankly out at the empty road.
“Omega..” he sat down beside her.
“It’s been three days, Hunter. Where is she?” Her muffled voice broke his heart. She’d been crying and he had no words to comfort her.
There had only been two times in his life that Hunter found himself with no idea what to do.
The empty numbness that dug its relentless claws through his skull screamed at him in an overwhelming self-hatred after their first real mission failure which left Wrecker clinging to life.
Failure. Coward. Pathetic.
It was the same feeling now that spread through his bones. I should’ve run after her. Now it’s too late. Mission failure once again.
The gut-wrenching flood of emotion that came with being a parent and falling in love was more unyielding than any enemy he’d faced before. It’s the one thing they didn’t train us for. At least when an enemy combatant refused to cooperate, there were many ways to get what you wanted out of them. Hunter didn’t know how to react when it was his own thoughts that refused to comply.
“I don’t know, Omega.”
“She’s coming back though, right?” She looked up at him but he couldn’t bring himself to look her in the eyes.
He spun his vibroblade anxiously. “I hope so.”
“Wrecker went out looking for her, you know.”
Hunter straightened in surprise, turning to look at her. “He did what?”
Omega wiped her eyes on her sleeve and sat up. “Yeah. He left this morning. He said he was gonna find her and make everything better again.”
As if on cue, Wrecker came barreling down the road, skidding to a stop just shy of the ramp panting and out of breath. Hunter stood up as Omega dashed to his side.
“What is it, Wrecker? Did you find her!? Is she okay?!” Her eyes were wide and Hunter was glad to see some of the hopeful spark return. He just hoped that whatever news Wrecker brought wouldn’t snuff it out again.
Wrecker collapsed onto the ramp. “Phew… I’m never running like that again!”
“Well?” prompted Hunter, still nervously twiring the blade through his fingers.
“Huh? Oh yeah! I found out from some scumbag that Cid sent her on a mission. Said it was real dangerous.”
“What.” Hunter tensed. Suddenly that pitiful feeling of futility was gone, replaced by something he was all too familiar with. He slid the vibroblade back into its sheath with a deadly click, mouth set in a fierce line of determination.
“Did he say anything else?” Omega asked.
Wrecker laughed. “Yeah. When I hung him upside down from the roof, he cried.” He turned towards Hunter and his smile faded into a growl. “Hunter, he said it was a suicide mission. He said nobody gets outta there alive. That’s why I ran all the way here.”
Omega gasped, “Hunter we have to go after her! She might not know it’s a trap!”
Hunter had already strapped on his pack and secured his blaster.
“Tech, Echo! Start the ship.” He called out. “I’m gonna go have a little chat with Cid.”
Loosened by the adrenaline as he ran, a sudden moment of clarity fell upon him. He’d been thinking about this all wrong.
You were not a mission in which to succeed or fail. You were a part of him - the missing link in his short mess of a life - and he would do everything it took to get you back.
The door to Cid’s Parlour opened with a slam. Cid nearly dropped the glass she was cleaning as she looked up to see Hunter striding over to her, fire in his eyes. The only two patrons in the room fled, feeling the mood of the room sour almost immediately. Cid set the cup down in obvious annoyance. “Hey! You can’t just storm on in here, scaring away my customers like that! I’ve got bills to pay here.”
He didn’t seem to hear her as he pointed a sharp finger in her direction.
“Where is she?”
Cid smirked, deciding to play coy. This could get interesting, she thought as she dried her hands, making sure to look as unbothered as she possibly could.
“Where is who? You gotta be more specific.”
Hunter narrowed his eyes, “You know exactly who I’m talking about.”
She tapped a finger on her chin, pretending to think. “Hmm… I really don’t think I do.”
Hunter sighed, exasperated. “I don’t have time to play your games, Cid. Tell me where you sent her.”
Cid sighed, suddenly bored of whatever ruse she’d cooked up to mess with him. “Fine.”
Hunter clenched his teeth. “I need to know, Cid. Now.”
“Cool your jets, Dark and Broody.” Cid rolled her eyes. “Your girlfriend’s fine. She asked me for a job and I gave ‘er one.”
Hunter’s face darkened. “Where. Is. She.” His white knuckled fist slammed down on the counter. “I promise you I won’t be so nice if I have to ask you again.”
Cid raised her hands in a mocked surrender. “Look, I promised her that I wouldn’t tell any of you lot where she went. She obviously doesn’t want to talk to you.”
Hunter's hands shot across the bar, vibroblade suddenly poised in a violent threat at her throat. His voice was dangerously low. “She could be in real danger. Tell me where you sent her. Now.”
Cid gulped, backing into the wall, knocking a bottle onto the ground where it shattered. She glared then raised her hands in surrender. “Alright, alright fine! Put the knife down and I’ll tell you!”
Hunter lowered the knife. Cid nervously rubbed her throat. “Geez… I can see why she likes you so much. I sent her to a small moon in the Sullest system. Doesn’t even have a name. Hardly anybody goes there at all.”
Hunter glared daggers.
“Relax, Dark and Broody. She’s not in any danger. It’s just a simple snatch and grab. The mines over there are full of stuff worth a ton to the right people.”
Hunter narrowed his eyes. “Just give me the coordinates.”
Cid sighed, “Already done. Get outta here, lover boy.”
Hunter rolled his eyes as he turned to leave.
“Hey!” Cid’s voice called after him. “You owe me for that bottle. Corellian Whiskey is hard to come by these days!”
--------------------------------------------------
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**SPOILER WARNING FOR THE RED WHITE AND ROYAL BLUE MOVIE**
This movie was very entertaining. It hit all the beats of a great rom-com. I personally enjoyed the music a lot, even if it was at times very different from the music in the book. Nicholas Galitzine was a standout of the main cast for me - he really made me feel Henry’s angst just like the book did, and I think this is a character that the film truly did justice. My personal favorite character from the movie though was Zahra - Sarah Shahi was absolutely incredible. She had fantastic comedic timing and her dynamic with Alex, Henry, Shaan, and Ellen. I really enjoyed Bea, Nora, & Pez as well, although I think they were severely underused and I kinda hated how the Nora/Pez dynamic worked without June. I think the romance was beautiful - I particularly enjoyed the polo scene, the karaoke scene, the Texas stuff, and the V&A museum.
I also laughed out loud a ton during the movie. Zahra’s scenes were hilarious, and the royal wedding/cake debacle was handled perfectly. I miss June here a bit, but I generally was very satisfied with how it all went down. Also, despite many fans early fears of a lack of chemistry between Nick and Taylor, I thought their chemistry was fantastic. Maybe not the best I’ve ever seen, but it was definitely believable, entertaining, and one of the most compelling parts of the story.
I also liked that we got more of Henry’s POV than we did in the book. It didn’t add a ton in my opinion, but I do think it allowed Nicholas Galitzine to show off his acting chops. I think the heart of the book remains, and after the press/everything I’d heard about the movie going into it, I was pleasantly surprised with how the political stuff was handled. Alex’s arc with Texas in particular was beautiful, and I think the end of the movie left me with a similar feeling to the book.
As for things I didn’t love, and I will say there were kind of a lot of small things, I’ve made a list that I’m sure no one cares much to read.
I missed June a lot. I identify a lot with her character, and although I totally understand why she was cut out (I do think in the book she serves less plot purpose than Nora), I actually think the choice to exclude her made even less sense after seeing the movie than before seeing it. Nora and Alex’s relationship felt very underdeveloped in the movie, and none of the romantic elements that I thought made their relationship important to the book ended up mattering at all in the movie. He kisses a different girl on New Year’s, there’s no mention of a sexual history between them, there’s no fake dating setup to detract from Alex/Henry, and Nora’s just generally absent. I feel like June would’ve served that purpose fine if not better.
The romance felt kind of rushed. The whole Christmas phone call that imo is so crucial to Henry & Alex’s relationship and character development doesn’t happen at all (probably because his parents are still together), and I didn’t have like a timer or clock or anything but it felt like the 100 or so pages leading up to the NYE kiss was like less than 20 minutes.
I hated that Alex’s parents were happily married, and I think it massively takes away from his character development. His arc honestly fell very short for me which is disappointing since he’s a character I identify so closely with. I don’t feel like they do his like major anxiety justice, and I think he goes from kinda being an idealist, reckless dummy to being a heartfelt, romantic, ready for a big commitment guy in the span of a few minutes.
I honestly could’ve done without the sex scenes. They were good, and I could tell the intimacy coordinator slayed with this one, but they were more explicit than the book imo (especially the one in Paris), and while I don’t think there’s anything wrong with that, I would’ve much rather had more fade to black so as to save screen time to develop the romance more at the beginning.
I didn’t enjoy the Miguel character at all. He has no character development, and I do not at all understand how this character is the Luna/Liam blend he was promoted as. He functions as a ruthless journalist who despite being queer himself decides to out Henry and Alex to the entire world, and we NEVER get an explanation for why. It’s alluded to that maybe Miguel had feelings for Alex and did it because he resented Alex for not feeling the same? But like, he literally outed two prominent figures to the entire world at risk of benefitting a homophobic predator running for office. And he never apologizes? Or faces any repercussions???? Like this is just kind of there?? And that is NOT AT ALL Rafael Luna or Liam who are both generally speaking positive forces in Alex’s life. I just don’t get it at all.
This is a personal issue I had that most probably don’t care about, but I’m from Minnesota, and seeing Minnesota red in the movie was infuriating. MN is not a swing state, never really has been, and was basically the only state in the upper midwest to stay blue in the 2016 election. I’m biased because this is my home state, but MN would NEVER vote red and I’m kinda just annoyed at the implication that it did instead of them just choosing to blame it on all the actual swing states.
Okay those are my thoughts. I doubt anyone cares that much, but I needed to get it out of my system. I will say I really enjoyed the movie, and I can see why the bulk of reviews are positive. I think anyone who didn’t read the book won’t feel like anything is missing, and fans of the book will for the most part still really enjoy it. I will definitely be rewatching when it comes out officially on Amazon Prime tomorrow, and I can see myself rewatching hundreds more times in the future. But it sort of needs to exist independent of the book for me, I guess. And that’s okay! I think everyone involved did a great job with the adaptation, and I look forward to watching it again.
#red white and royal blue#rwrb#firstprince#red white and royal blue movie#red white and royal blue review
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Gojo/Reader Sick Day NSFW
So this is a one-shot rn but i’m thinking of making it maybe an interconnected series of them? I toyed w/ the idea of a fully fleshed out story for it but idk. I don’t really have a good idea of the reader’s character to get heavy into a plot like that. One shots where i don’t have to develop a background and distinct character motivations tho? I can do that. Maybe something will come to me and i’ll circle back around to it idk. I’m also working on a geto/reader (honestly haven’t truly decided on the pairing yet - toss up between nanami & geto) that i’m actually really excited about so i feel like i’d be spreading myself a bit thin. If you want a good gojo/reader fic go check out mushmoon12’s - the girls are being fed w/ it omg.
I’ve had the outline of this ready to go since November and have just been sitting on it.
You can’t hold back the mumbled curses as you shift around. Your body unable to get comfortable no matter which way you twist and turn under the mountain of blankets you had piled on top of yourself before falling asleep.
Everything is much too warm and your body aches as you move. Your fever has not gone down it seems.
You had woken earlier that day with a kick drum pounding behind your eyes, your throat scratchy and your skin searing hot to the touch. You weren’t used to feeling anything other than ‘normal’ so the cold you’d developed had you convinced you were at death’s door. Calling in sick from classes left a bad taste in your mouth but the thought of pushing your aching body to get dressed and walk all the way across campus was less and less appealing by the second.
You’re not sure if the text you’d sent to Yaga had been coherent - your mind was much too foggy to concern itself with such details - but after sending it you had promptly rolled back over and cocooned yourself into your bed, hoping to sleep off whatever it was that had you feeling so miserable.
It hadn’t worked, of course, you realize as your mind becomes more and more present. With an irritated huff you work on untangling yourself, the process taking longer as your limbs feel like dead weight as you try to coordinate yourself.
You finally manage to get your head out from beneath the covers, your eyes squinting at the harsh light you don’t recall turning on, and you let out a soft gasp of surprise when the first thing you see after returning to the world of the living is deep cerulean.
“Mornin’”, Satoru’s smile is all teeth and he’s certainly made himself comfortable on your bed as his larger body has somehow taken up most of the space. He’s laid out like he owns the place. You’re not all that sure of when he got there. Or how. You’re certain your door had been locked before you went to bed last night.
You raise a questioning brow to him, “How long have you been here?”
“Long enough to see how pathetic you are when you’re sick,” he brings one of his hands to your forehead, feeling the fever on your skin and clicks his tongue, “I didn’t believe Yaga at first but you really are in a bad way, huh? Poor thing.”
You’d roll your eyes at his teasing if you could find the energy for it.
"Fuck off,” is all you can manage to mumble before attempting to shift away from him. Entertaining him when you feel as if you’d been hit with a semi isn’t sounding all that appealing.
"Hey, hey," his hands make quick work of stopping you from moving away from him, "Don't be like that. How are you even more cranky than usual? You must be feeling better.” He pulls your face back to him and his eyes examine you under those long white lashes. He takes in the rosy hue of your cheeks and the glazed over look in your eyes. It’s all looking very familiar to him even if he’d never seen you sick before. You recognize the look in his eyes too.
You blame the sudden dizzy feeling overtaking your brain on the fever.
"I know!” he suddenly releases your face and claps his hands as he arrives at a thought, not paying attention to how the sharp noise causes you to wince slightly "let's play doctor. I'll take real good care of you.”
"Please, I'm surprised you manage to keep yourself alive day to day.”
"Come on,” he insists as his hands begin uncovering the rest of your body from the blankets, ignoring your protests, “It'll be fun. Let me take care of you.”
“I don’t need a babysitter,” you practically hiss as you put up a weak resistance against his wandering hands.
“Not really what I had in mind,” the octave his voice takes causes you to still in your movements. He smiles down at you with that shit eating grin. The one that promises that he’s up to no good. You’ve seen it a million times - usually it’s reserved for when he’s about to do something to annoy Yaga that you and Geto try to talk him out of. More recently, though, he’s been using it when it’s just you two.
A trill goes down your spine, heating your body further at the thought of the good trouble he’s been the cause of recently.
You nearly hiss when he finally manages to uncover the rest of your body. The cool air hitting your overheated skin brings some relief but it’s short lived as his hands begin to travel to where your sleeping top has ridden up, his fingers ghosting along the skin as he toys with the hem.
His eyes drink in the sight of you in that way that makes your stomach do flips before he startings leaning down towards you again, bringing his face closer and closer to your own.
Gojo let's out a soft questioning hum when his lips meet your cheek instead of the intended target. You can see the pout already forming on his lips, upset that you had turned your head from him and denied him. He always pouted when he didn’t get his way. Spoiled brat.
"I could get you sick,” you explain as you bring your hands to the ones that are still playing with the fabric of your top. Tempting as he was, one of you had to be sensible and you knew it was never going to be him.
His pout quickly morphs into another shit eating grin at your explanation. “Oh, you really do care about me. Don’t you?”
You barely get a mumbled ‘shut up’ out before he silences you with a kiss. His lips quickly molding against yours and silencing whatever harsh words you had for him. You can’t help the small moan as his tongue slips against yours.
He shifts above you, caging you in-between his body and the mattress as he moves to pepper sloppy kisses and bites down your neck and collarbone, tasting the slight salty sheen of sweat that coats your skin. Your breath shudders at the feeling of his teeth as he marks you. He’s always eager to leave marks on your skin - you want to hate him for it. You’ve told him so many times to be mindful of where he leaves them, not wanting to suffer the awkward glances that others might send your way should they see them. You’re certain the idea of others seeing evidence of the time the two of you spend together only encourages him to do it more. Bastard.
It’s hard to stay mad at him though. At least when his mouth is moving against your skin like this.
He pulls back from his work for a moment, surely admiring it you think in irritation, before his eyes raise and meet yours. When you offer no further protest he rewards you with a kiss as his hands begin removing what little clothing you had on. His eagerness making quick work of the process. His hands and mouth travel across the expanse of newly exposed skin. His fingers dip between your folds and you feel him smile against your skin. You’re already soaking wet.
"You're not being a very good doctor, you know,” your breath is airy, the feeling of his fingers against you sends a buzz of pleasure throughout your body. Your mind too muddled with desire to think as his other hand moves your thighs further apart to make room for him. Anticipation coiling the spring further and you nearly forget how to breathe properly, "More like a pervert taking advantage.”
"Semantics,” his breath ghosts along your skin as he moves further down your body.
Your hands rush forward to grab his head, stopping him. He stares at you, the question evident on his face and you can’t help but look away in embarrassment.
"I feel gross" and you do. The sweat from your fever doesn’t exactly feel sexy in the moment.
"I'm gunna make a mess of you either way" he says, continuing his descent as his fingers resume their exploration of you. You can’t stop the gasp as he pushes one inside of you, it glides in easily to the first knuckle. Your soft flesh warming him to the bone, "does it really matter?" The feeling of his breath on your clit as his finger slowly begins to pump in a steady rhythm nearly makes you forget every thought you’ve ever had.
"I guess not"
He wastes little time pressing his tongue against you, your eyes nearly rolling back into your head at the overwhelming sensation as he slips another finger into you, stretching you out further. You’re mesmerized by the sight he makes between your thighs, gripping his white hair tightly as you groan at the heat building inside of you. The feeling of your nails raking through his hair against his scalp is enough to have him choking out his own moan. The sound vibrating against your core and sending another wave of pleasure through you.
You can’t help the incoherent babbling of praise and encouragement that falls from your lips when his fingers increase in tempo and his lips lock around your clit. It has you squirming in his hold, trying to meet each thrust of his fingers.
Your desire builds, steadily climbing but your hazy mind recognizes that it’s not enough. You need more.
He lets you pull his head up to yours. You nearly whine as you feel his fingers slip out of you, your heat cleaning around the new emptiness as you bring his lips to yours again. You taste yourself on his lips as your tongue explores his mouth, your legs wrapping around his waist to pull his body closer to yours. You feel his length straining against his pants as your grind your hips against his, the friction sending small electric currents of pleasure throughout your body but still not enough.
You force your aching muscles to move and soon enough you find yourself on top of him. In the back of your mind you want to think that you surprised him with the movement but you know that he’s only under you because he allowed it.
He’s smiling up at you, his eyes heavy lidded with desire as his hands come to rest on your hips. He looks nearly delirious and you’re sure he could say the same for you.
“Eager, are you?” his teasing is cut short with a groan as you grind down on him again. The fabric between you doing little to mask the feeling of him against you.
You bite your tongue to prevent your own reply to his stupid remark, opting instead to pull on his waistband and release his dick from the restraint of his pants. You nearly smirk as he lets out a soft hiss at the feeling of your hand wrapping around him, he’s always been so sensitive that even the slightest touch from you can draw noises from him.
Your other hand goes to balance yourself on his chest as you raise your hips. You can’t stop your own noises from spilling from your lips as you lower yourself onto him. His nails sink into your flesh deeper as you take him inside of you inch by inch. He doesn’t bother to quiet the loud moan when you finally have his dick fully inside of you. He never bothers to be quiet.
Your pace starts off steady as you move against him. Your teeth catch your bottom lip as you fight off your own moans at the look of him beneath you. His pale skin is flushed, pupils blown wide and mouth hanging open. You raise your hips higher, his length nearly slipping out of your completely before you’re slamming yourself back down onto him. The action drawing noises from both of you, his dick buried so deep inside of you with each movement that it leaves you seeing stars. His fingers digging into your hips leave small indentations as his grip tightens, small curses leaving his lips as he watches you move on him.
"You're supposed to be the one taking care of me and here I am doin all the work," you moan, digging your own nails into the skin of his chest as punishment, "fucking spoiled brat."
"You wanna be spoiled too baby?" He grabs your hips suddenly, taking control as he thrusts up into you. He angles himself just right to hit that sweet spot again and again. The one that makes you sing for him. "Cmon, is this what you wanted? Gotta use your words" he teases, knowing that he's fucking any sense right out of you.
Your grasp of how to coherently string together a sentence in any human language is lost to you. Instead, you find yourself whimpering and throwing any arrangements of syllables together that would get him to just keep doing that. The tips of your ears begin to burn as you feel yourself reaching your peak. His thrusts become harder and deeper as he feels you beginning to clench around him, knowing the signs that you’re close has him chasing his own release.
Gojo’s always been such a visual creature. The sight of you fucking yourself onto him, his length entering your wet heat, your whole body being rocked by his thrusts is nearly enough for him finish right then and there. It isn’t until he feels you spasming over him and his name tumbling out of your mouth like a prayer that the pressure becomes too much. His thrusts become erratic as pulls your body down against his, drawing out your orgasm with each movement. The pressure snaps with one final thrust into you, his warmth filling you to the brim as he releases a strangled cry of your name. He pumps into you a few more times, riding out his wave until there’s nothing left. You can feel his heart hammering away in his chest as you both take a moment to catch your breath.
When you look up at him you find his eyes already trained on you. His pupils are still so blown out that they nearly overtake the entirety of the blue you’ve grown so attached to. His smile isn’t the cocky self-assured one or the shit eating grin that you’ve grown to associate him with. It’s a soft thing that is so unlike him you almost think you’re seeing things. His hand rises to your cheeks and the kiss is soft too. Tender, even, as he holds you against him. He pulls back from you with a content sigh.
“That was really dumb.” you can’t help but say, “you’re going to be really annoying in the next few days when you start to come down with whatever I have.”
He scoffs.
“Please, as if I’d get sick,” he says as if the idea is entirely ludacris. Maybe it is. With a power like his, who knows.
You turn your head down hiding your own soft smile as you bury your face in his neck, breathing in his scent.
It’s followed by a sharp yelp of pain from his as you bite down against the skin.
Just enough to hurt.
Just enough to remind him he’s human too.
____
He does get sick and like predicted is very fucking needy about it and whines to you to take care of him
"You have to take responsibility! You did this to me" "Dumbass I told you you'd get sick! This isn't my responsibility!" "How was I supposed to know this would happen? You should've been smarter and stopped me" "You had your tongue down my throat! Of course this would happen"
you do end up playing nurse. He's so demanding and childish but it's also...kinda cute.
#gojo x reader#gojo saturo/reader#gojo saturo x reader#gojo/reader#gojo saturo#jjk fanfic#jjk x y/n#saturo gojo x reader#saturo gojo#saturo x reader#saturo gojo/reader#ao3#fanfic#gojo smut#first time posting in awhile and its smut omg i feel embarassed#but that geto/reader or namami/reader im working on im really happy about#its set during nanami and haibaras first year#reader is a first year with them and im loving the little friendship im building between her and those two#oh if only haibara could live 💔#gunna be a little angsty cuz god damn do kids in anime go through some shit#but maybe there will be some comfort too#just who is going to be doing the comforting tho? decisions decisions
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Gimme More
Title comes from this song:
Request: Heyyy I'm way too shy to ask this off anon but have you ever thought about writing a fic where reader has to go undercover as a stripper and she gets paired on the mission with Bucky who acts like he hates her but it's because he's secretly obsessed with her and this is the thing that drives him over the edge? I don't know just think you would do wonders with a prompt like this.
Words: 4,392
Warnings: Stripping, unwanted sexual advances, mild torture. Shower sex.
A lot of the visuals and reader’s final outfit is based on this music video:
Masterlist can be found here:
“Louisiana, Steve?” Bucky barked.
“I really think, this is the key Bucky, we know the deal is happening, we just need this final push of information.”
“Y/n, is already down there, has been the last two months, she’s making fantastic leads but I really think this could be the final step.”
Bucky sighed, and ran his hands through his hair.
“I know you’ve got some problems with y/n, but I really need you to do this.”
Whenever Steve said those words Bucky never felt like he could refuse, because it was Steve and everything he had done for him, so he relented.
Bucky dug the heels of his palms into his eyes, it was more than problems he had with you, he could barely stand to be in the same room as you, let alone have to live with you, he put off packing for as long as possible trying to prolong the inevitable.
Bucky let himself into the safe house, you had texted him the coordinates earlier, telling him you didn’t finish work until after 2am, he showered and climbed into bed.
Your headlights pulling into the driveway woke him and he was rising to let you in.
“I managed to get you work, you’re needed as a heavy hand, security, protection, that kind of thing.”
“How’d you manage that so quickly?” he mused.
“I’ve managed to get quite close to him, I’m his favourite girl at the moment. He trusts me.”
Bucky scoffed and you rolled your eyes, “I’m going to shower, just turn up on time and don’t fuck this up for me.”
Vincent was the club owner, despite never having been a member he had profited greatly from dealings with Hydra. Now he was running a money laundering campaign using the club as cover. He was good to his girls and for the most part ensured no one harmed any of them.
Your second week on the job you had purposely instigated a situation that had a man carried out of the club on a stretcher while you cried on Vincent’s lap, he was a sucker for a pair of sad eyes, you had the saddest eyes of all and you knew how to play him like a violin.
But Bucky didn’t need to know the ins and outs of what you had done to make this mission work.
And so Bucky went to work early the next day, and he didn’t think any more about you until you turned up for your shift the next evening.
“Hey Antonio,” you greeted running your hand along his chest as he moved the rope to let you in “James,” you acknowledged with a nod.
“Man tell me how you’ve known her this long and you aint tapping that,” Antonio sighed following you with his eyes.
“Watch how you speak,” Bucky snapped and he regained his composure sharply, surprising even himself with the outburst.
The dance music spilled out into the night drowning out the sound of crickets and Bucky and Antonio were moved from outside to run security inside. It wasn’t Bucky’s first time inside a strip club, but he didn’t particularly enjoy time in them.
Antonio tapped him and pointed his head in the direction of the stage, Bucky hadn’t even seen you make your way up to the stage, but he was mesmerised as soon as you began to sway your hips, your legs accentuated by the six inch heels you had on, hair tied up in a long ponytail that you swished and swirled effortlessly. You worked the pole in ways Bucky had no idea your body could move, he genuinely felt his mouth go dry as you dropped to the floor, crawling on all fours stopping in front of Vincent to run your hands up your body and swirl your hair, as you unhooked your bra.
Bucky looked away only then because he didn’t want to invade your privacy. The irony of that not being lost on him.
He may have been trust into the modern world against his will, but he still had certain beliefs and the only time he wanted to view your body was with permission and when it was squirming underneath his.
When he chanced a look in your direction again you were sitting on some guys lap while he spilled champagne over your chest and into your mouth.
Bucky made a mental note to make sure you were really were doing okay when you got back to base that night.
You were quiet when you slipped in, Bucky was still awake tapping on his laptop as you slipped your shoes off.
“Does this guy look familiar to you?” you asked simply throwing an ID at Bucky, the name read Andrew Beck, Bucky instantly clocked him as the guy’s lap you had been sitting on earlier.
“How did you get this?” Bucky was seriously impressed, “He paid for a private dance after you left,” you offered simply.
“Y/n,” Bucky sighed “Are you sure you’re okay with this, if Steve knew-”
“-Steve knew what he was sending me to do, I’m fine Buck. But you cannot be so uptight, Beck thought you were my boyfriend the way you kept watching like you wanted to pull the head off anyone who touched me, if Vincent sees you-”
-”No you’re right, I’m sorry.” Bucky interjected and you nodded.
“I’ve put a lot into this and we’re so close I can’t afford to slip up now.”
“We won’t,” Bucky promised, but you knew better than to rely on one of those. You eyed him warily and hmmed in response.
You excused yourself to bed after a shower.
To tell the truth Bucky was putting off going to bed, he had tried to sleep earlier but the thought of you on that stage had his mind going to all sorts of terrible places, and he’d had to readjust himself a few times to try to get comfortable. He didn’t want to cross that boundary but the way your body had wrapped around the pole earlier made that incredibly hard.
Bucky didn’t like you. He made it abundantly clear when you were both living back at the compound. He rolled his eyes at things you suggested, he berated you for mistakes you made on missions and that last one had been so bad Steve had to step in. When Steve had informed you he was sending Bucky down you had begged him for a solid week to send anyone else but him, but he never gave in. If you hadn’t invested so much of yourself into this mission you would have simply told Steve to stick it but you were almost certain you were within arms reach of finding out who Vincent was laundering for and if that meant sucking it up with Bucky for a few weeks then so be it.
Weeks went by of alternating shifts between you and Bucky, he was less and less on security work lately and more on the heavy handed side of things, collecting debts and rolling out punishments, while you continued to work the stage, collecting IDs and bringing them home for Bucky to run through the data base. One particular night he came home fist bloody and headed straight for the bottle of whiskey you kept on the counter. You were applying the finishing touches to your makeup in the bathroom mirror and getting ready to head in when you saw Bucky’s reflection behind you, “Y/n, be careful okay, you don’t hear the way the other guys talk about you and the things they want to do,” before you could even respond he was retreating into his room and slamming the door.
Bucky was the first to find out that Vincent was throwing a private party when he was booked to do security that night. He rushed home to tell you just as you were getting off the phone, “I know when the exchange is happening!” he rushed but his face fell when he saw yours, “What is it?”
“I’ve been booked to work that night,” you said simply, “None of the other girls, just me.”
“You think he’s on to us?” Bucky asked panicked.
“No Bucky, that’s not it. Private parties for Vincent normally mean more than just dancing,” you sighed rubbing your hand across your face.
“Well then it’s non negotiable you’re not going.”
“Bucky we have him, we have him in the palm of our hands now is not the time to back out. Let Steve know to be here, I’ll work out the rest.”
The bile rose in Bucky’s stomach at the thought of it but he had no choice but to trust you.
Bucky stood by the pool, arms folded watching like a hawk, for any sign of the buyer. He hoped Steve and the others were in place because he couldn’t risk using comms tonight.
He heard your laugh from across the lawn, you were in a pink silk and shimmery bra with a matching short shimmery skirt with a slit all the way up to your hip on one side, you looked like a goddess to Bucky with the gold glitter around your eyes and gold bangles adorning your arms.
There was a stage with a singular pole in the middle of the grounds, leather couches and small firepits surrounding it. Some men had already taken their seats in anticipation of your performance. When Vincent stood up to announce your arrival Bucky felt his throat go dry. The music started and you began to sway, there was no denying it, you were the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, you let your hair loose, letting your fingers run through it and swirled your fingers around, dropping to a splits you eased onto your back, long legs extending into the air as you spun around onto your stomach, slowly crawling your way back up the pole.
Bucky wanted to march up on stage, grab you and drag you off into a corner and fuck you senseless, him and every other man watching you, he suddenly felt an immense pang of jealousy over that.
You weren’t his to want or have.
And then he locked eyes with you, as you bent down to touch your toes, butt pressed firmly to the pole, looking up at him through your lashes he nearly came on the spot as you smiled coyly his way.
His concentration was broken however when he heard Vincent’s voice in front of him.
“I’ll want to be compensated, she’s my best earner at the moment,” Bucky honed in on the conversation.
“I will expect to try before I buy,” the man to his right said simply, eyeing you and you slid your bra off effortlessly, Bucky knew that voice, he began wracking his brains to place just where he knew that voice.
“I’ve had only the briefest taste myself but you are in for a treat.”
Bucky didn’t know if he wanted to be sick or kill the men in front of him or both but he hoped Steve would swarm the place soon so it didn’t get to that.
As you finished your set you pulled your bra back on and climbed down from the stage, to the thunderous sound of applause.
Bucky watched you wind your way through the crowd to get to him.
“Enjoy the show?” you teased and he groaned, “I saw you Barnes, you couldn’t look away.”
Bucky lunged forward to reach for you, grasping your arm in his, swallowing thickly, his eyes glanced down to your lips.
“What the fuck did you do?” Vincent shouted, grabbing you by the arm forcing you out of Bucky’s arm to face him.
“Vincent you’re hurting me,” you cried trying to wrangle out of his touch.
Bucky barely even had time to react when he felt the jab in his neck and suddenly he was losing consciousness, your terrified eyes the last thing he saw before he hit the ground.
__________________________________
Bucky blinked his eyes open to a blinding pain in his head, his hands were secured high above his head and no amount of pulling could set him free, even with his metal arm. The dull ache in his shoulders told him he had been in that position for a while. He tried to do a quick survey of his surroundings, he was definitely in a bunke. He whipped his head around trying to spot you and his heart fell out of his chest when his eyes landed on your unconscious form, tied to a chair, head hanging forward and blood drying on your lips.
“Y/n,” he hissed, “Y/n, you need to wake up. Please,” he begged.
“She’s a tough one,” the same voice that he had been trying to remember earlier mused stepping out of the shadows, “Took down two of my men trying to get to you earlier, she’s got fight in her,” he cupped your face lifting it up to inspect your features, “She’s beautiful huh? Can see why the Cap chose her for this line of business.”
Bucky shook the chains in pure anger trying in vain to free himself, “Get the fuck away from her,” he roared.
It was only when he turned around that Bucky realised it was Jack Rollins, second hand to Brock Rumlow who had participated in disciplining him during his time as the Winter Soldier. He wished his stomach didn’t twist the way it did when he locked eyes with Rollins.
He let out a dry laugh, “So you’re who Vincent has been dealing with?”
“Surprised to see me?” he smirked making his way over to stand in front of Bucky, “Everyone assumed I went down with Triskelion so I let them believe it. But I’ve just been here biding my time, waiting for the day you would show up. I knew Cap couldn’t let his Hydra vendetta go. I was counting on it.”
“And you assumed he would send me?” Bucky spat.
“I knew he would,” he smirked, “Her on the other hand she’s a bonus!”
Bucky again fought with his restraints, “If you fucking touch her-”
-”You won’t be here to see it,” Rollins grinned, “The other guy, the soldier will however, he may even join in.”
Now it was Bucky’s turn to smirk, “He’s gone, the words don’t work anymore, there’s nothing you can do to torture him out of me anymore.”
“Oh I know,” Rollins smirked “You’ve been trained to withstand torture we saw to that,” he turned his attention back to you, “She however, hasn’t. In fact shall we wake her up?”
Bucky saw red and pulled so hard he nearly pulled his arms out of their sockets, but his arms would not come free. He had to simply watch in horror as Rollins threw a bucket of water over you and you gasped back to life, pulling on your own restraints, eyes widening in horror when you saw Bucky, suspended in front of you, before Rollins' face came into view.
“Nice of you to join the party sweetheart,” he smirked and you kicked your leg out in an attempt to connect with him.
Rollins laughed dryly “You see?” he turned to Bucky smirking “Feisty!”
“Fuck you,” you spat “Untie me and I’ll show you feisty.”
Rollins fisted his hand in your hair, forcing your head back, Bucky could see the goosebumps on your skin from the cold water Rollins had thrown on you, he was furious, you were still in the attire you had worn to the party, pink bra and barely there skirt, you had to be freezing, they didn’t even have the decency to cover you.
“You’re going to do something for me,” Rollins commanded.
You tried to yank your face away “I will do nothing for you,” you spat launching forward to plant a headbutt to his face, within seconds he had his hands around your throat, the chair swung back, and the two back legs were the only thing keeping it on the ground.
Bucky watched your legs kick out as you gasped for breath, but what he wasn’t prepared for was the scream that left your mouth to knock all the air out of his lungs, Rollins was holding against your bare torso a device that Bucky knew all too well, it had been used on him one too many times, the volts of electricity that were currently running through your body had been enough to bring him to his knees more than once.
As soon as the four legs hit the ground, you slumped forward, only the restraints kept you from falling forward entirely.
“Submit,” Rollins ordered and you shook your head weakly, “Submit,” he ordered again and you wearily pulled yourself back into place, “No.”
“You want to see her dance again?” he smirked and stuck the rod into your side again reveling in your screams as your body thrashed with the pain.
“Stop! Stop!” Bucky screamed, but Rollins simply drove the rod deeper into your side, your screams like a knife to Bucky’s chest, “Stop, please I’ll do whatever you want, I’ll yield. Just stop.”
He pulled the rod away from you, with a sick smirk and you slumped to the side. Bucky watched your chest rising and falling, a sheen of sweat covering your face and chest.
“Good,” he simply said “Now that I see you can be reasoned with, get some rest. I will be back to talk business soon. Lets give our girl a little chance to recover huh? I have great plans for the two of you- might have to break this one in a little more through,” he winked.
Bucky didn’t respond, his only interest was getting Rollins as far away from you as possible.
“Are you okay?” he tried after a while.
You simply nodded weakly, “Please y/n I need to hear you say it, I need you to talk to me.”
“I’m okay Buck.”
Buck, you had never called him that before.
“But if you for one second think I’m allowing you to give yourself to that creep, you have another thing coming.”
“Y/n-”
“- I can take it Bucky, whatever he does to me I can take, do you hear me? Do not offer yourself like that again. Do. You. Hear. Me?”
He nodded but he knew full well the second he had heard your scream he would rather die than watch you go through that again.
The aches in Bucky’s shoulder was turning to pain and the discomfort was evident on his face, you were assessing the situation. If you could just get out of your binds you could make it up to the chains holding him in place and free him too.
You tried standing a few times, you were shaky on your feet the first few times but you were determined.
“What are you doing?” Bucky tried but you ignored him.
When you felt like you could confidently stand, you took a deep breath, this was going to hurt like a bitch. Natasha had taught you this move on your second week of training, you had never managed to do it without immense pain, but if that meant freeing yourself to give you and Bucky a fighting chance, you were going to do it.
You sprung into action, running as fast as you could and propelling yourself into a summersault you landed down on your back, the chair collapsed in pieces and you lay winded for a few seconds before you could manage to wrangle free from the ropes that had bound your arms in place. Bucky couldn’t even process what he had just seen, he watched you push your left shoulder back into place, wincing slightly and he almost backed away when you made your way towards him.
“Are you okay?” you asked examining him carefully.
“Am I…Am I okay? Y/n are you? What the hell was that?” you huffed out a laugh and switched your attention to the chains over his head, “I need to get up there,” you motioned and he glanced up, he didn’t even get to respond before you were essentially climbing him like a tree, you felt his torso muscles tense when you came face to face, almost like he was holding his breath. You couldn’t help chance a look into his eyes, those worried cobalt eyes were boring back into yours and you swallowed thickly, arms locked around his neck and legs wrapped around his torso.
“You should have escaped,” he said, voice raspy.
“I’m not leaving without you,” you reassured “We’re both getting out of here.”
Bucky nodded and you continued your ascent upwards, the chains were clamped in an industrial clamp, it was locked and no matter how much you tried to pry it open it would not release, it was very clearly made to withstand Bucky’s strength. You slipped one of the heavy bangles off your wrist and unscrewed one of the ends Bucky watched in awe as a tiny blade appeared and you fidgeted with the lock a few seconds before you managed to pick it. The clamp opened and Bucky felt some relief as the pull loosened on his arms.
You plopped back down to the ground, and asked Bucky to pull as hard as he could and he cried out in relief when the chains pulled free from the ceiling.
Without a moments hesitation Bucky strode over to you clasped your face in his hands and pressed his lips to yours and you returned his kiss greedily, leaning your weight into him, as he snaked his arms around your waist.
“Do you think you can kick the door down?” you asked almost in a haze and he hummed with a nod of his head.
“We’ll have to fight our way out doll.”
“Ready when you are,” you nodded and he made quick work of busting down the door.
It was immediate hand to hand combat and Bucky managed to wrestle a gun from a guard and take out a few more along the way. You were in your bare feet trying to avoid getting your toes trampled on as you fought tooth and nail with a foot soldier who refused to go down, a shot to his shoulder from Bucky had him collapsing and allowed you to pass by.
“Where’s Rollins?” you shot to Bucky as the two of you escaped down a winding corridor, it almost seemed too easy.
Bucky took your hand in his and pulled you along beside him, ready to pounce at any second and finally he was kicking a door out into the fresh night air, and you were both running faster than you had ever run before.
You couldn’t risk going back to the safe house now that your cover was blown, and you didn’t stop running until you were fit to collapse, your body had been through significantly more than Bucky’s tonight.
He managed to hotwire a car and only once you had been driving for over an hour did you feel safe.
Bucky stopped at a gas station to fill up the tank and returned with a sweatshirt that said Louisiana on it, “I thought you’d be cold,” he said simply when your eyes softened at him.
“I spoke to Steve,” he added after a moment, “I used the phone in the store to call him, they’re going after Rollins, Nat got a hit on him, I have the coordinates for a safe house an hour an a half away so they’re going to meet us there tomorrow.”
You relaxed back into your seat, pulling the sweatshirt on.
Bucky collapsed onto the sofa in the safehouse and you rummaged for some food, in the cabinets, finding a box of mac n cheese and opting to make that for both of you, you both ate in silence. The shift in yours and Bucky’s relationship was thick in the air and you didn’t know how to broach it.
“I’m going to take a shower,” Bucky’s voice broke your trail of thoughts and you nodded with a small smile. You bit the inside of your cheek as you heard the water begin to run, before you could overthink it you followed him into the bathroom.
He was standing with his back turned to you, water dripping down his muscled back, and your mouth went dry, you slipped the Louisiana sweatshirt off and his deep voice commanded from nowhere, “Leave the outfit on,” you smirked and slipped into the shower in your shimmery costume, gasping when he pushed you up against the cool tiles of the shower wall.
“You have no idea what you do to me in those tight little outfits,” he groaned sliding his hand up under the skirt, “Watching your body move on stage, watching every man in the room want you, was driving me crazy.”
You panted head thrown back as his fingers continued to work their magic, and just as you were about to reach your release he pulled his fingers away, “All of them wanted you, but who did you want?”
“You Buck. Wanted you,” was just about all you could muster.
Suddenly, without warning he flipped you around and you had to put your hands against the tiles to brace yourself, his pace was ferocious, pounding into you, hands fisted into your hair, your palms against the tiles the only thing protecting your face from making contact with the wall. You cried out as he pounded, the sound echoing through the steamy room and he grunted as he came, releasing his hold on your hair and slowing his pace, and you winced as he pulled out.
He spun you around much more gently this time, removing your outfit gingerly and easing you under the water, he lathered his hands with soap and gently massaged your body.
“You’re fucking beautiful,” he mused and you sighed contentedly, wrapping your arms around his neck, and leaning in for a kiss.
“Next time will be more gentle,” he mused running his hands tenderly up and down your waist.
“I’m ready when you are,” you smirked pecking his swollen lips.
Tagging:
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Link: A Robin’s Song Chpt Six
Two months ago
“I’m moving.”
The words shot through him like a bullet to the heart, leaving him stumbling back. All their after high school plans, their college coordination, everything that had gone unsaid that would now never be.
He made a choked noise and dove for him, burying his face in the crook of his neck. Jon gripped him like a lifeline, shaking.
“Gonna miss you…so much.” he sniffled, feeling the hot tears gather where Damian was hiding his face.
“Don’t say that, please don’t say that…” Damian’s voice was muffled, hands bunched in Jon's shirt.
His world was breaking, his everything was gone. Jon was being ripped away from him despite his best efforts. He was desperate, clinging to his friend as if any second he would disappear.
“Thank you for being here with me, through everything.” His voice cracked and he curled in on the smaller boy, tears dotting their clothes.
“You’re moving, not dying, idiot.” Damian muttered, eliciting a broken little laugh from the other boy.
“I know. Just…promise me. Promise me we’ll still be friends.” He held out his pinkie like they would do as children.
“I’ve been invested into this friendship for too many years to let it go out now.” Damian felt a pang in his chest, and an odd feeling of dread as they shook their linked fingers.
They wouldn’t know how quick the years’ bond could come crashing down, memories aflame.
Jon leaned back, pulling the shorter boy to his chest in a cuddling position. Damian’s cheeks flushed, and he blamed it on the tears, ignoring the flutters in his stomach. This was a moment for them, a moment to soak up every last memory that they could make in the time left.
If he had looked up, just for a moment, he would have seen the rush of emotions on the other boy’s face, and the conflicting pink to his cheeks.
One day ago
“Two tickets for the 5:30 showing, please!” Damian snatched up the tickets, bouncing on his toes as he waited outside the theater.
The girl manning the booth grinned at him, saying teasingly. “Got a date?”
He flushed, before waving his hands in the air. “N-No, he’s my best friend.”
“Sureee.” She waved him in. “Hope you enjoy it.”
He waited awhile, the clock ticking further and further towards the time of the start. He pulled out his phone, texting him again, deciding he might as well get concessions.
Fifteen more minutes passed and he was on the edge of a seat facing the entrance and ticket booth, eating the popcorn.
There was no sign of him and Damian was starting to worry. This had been planned for months, and Jon had promised he’d be there.
He called him once the movie started, still outside. It rang and rang, ultimately going to voicemail.
“Jon, you’re late, are you okay? Don’t tell me you forgot, we’ve been planning this for months!”
“J, this is really messed up.”
“I’m not watching this movie without you and you know it.”
“Jonathan Samuel Kent-Lane, answer your goddamn phone!”
Thirty minutes of calling once the movie was well underway, and he was still alone, the phone ringing and ringing, slushies melted and popcorn cold.
The sympathetic looks were painful and the moment his phone buzzed, he jolted, clicking on it.
A notification from Haisley’s instagram tagging Jon lit it up and he clicked on it nearly crushing his phone in the overload of feelings, looking at the high-quality picture of the two of them in the park, Jon flushed pink as Haisley kissed his cheek.
His jaw clenched and with shaking hands he pressed the call button again, waiting for the voicemail.
“You DITCHED ME for your GIRLFRIEND?” His voice was wrecked, an example of himself in the moment.
“Screw you, honestly. I can’t believe you, you said this was important to you and that you’d tell her and she’d understand!”
He screeched into his hands as the voice limit cut off, not caring that he was in public and getting several concerned glances.
Damian pocketed his phone and began picking up, tossing the empty stuff into a trash can and taking the rest home. At least his siblings could enjoy them.
“Hey, kid!” The booth manager beckoned him over and curiously, he went. “That was a shitty thing your boy did. Take this, and bring him back when he comes to his senses.”
It was a voucher for two and he smiled a bit, thanking her for her kindness. She waved to him and he made the walk back home, tired and emotionally drained..
The heartache blossomed in his chest, the lull of the painful longing swirling together and coming out as something so hideous that he was ashamed of himself for feeling it.
Present Day
“Damian?” Tim prodded at his brother. “Damian, get up, you slept through the alarm.”
“Mmpf.” He mumbled, blearily rubbing at his eyes. Tim still had his bedhead and Duke was still searching for his hoodie, so he hadn’t missed much.
Zombie-like, he stepped out of bed and dressed, slipping on his shoes and leaving the bedroom in search of the rest of his siblings.
His father was in the kitchen, still in his PJs, and when asked why, he responded that Dick had woken with a fever and was going to stay home.
The rest of the morning went by as usual, and despite the sick feeling at the bottom of his stomach, he shoveled breakfast into his mouth and walked the rest of the way to school.
Duke avoided conversation, opting to stay silent but presenting a comforting air that made Damian’s fists clench.
His first few classes of the day were spent avoiding Jon in the hallways, ducking his head if he noticed the blue eyes sweeping the long rooms for him.
He heard his name called a few times but brushed by, pretending he had not heard anything. It was petty, but he felt it was well deserved.
The bell rang for lunch and he slunk out of the room, dread coiling in the bottom of his stomach.
Just get your lunch, and go to the library. Damian chanted in his head, trying to evade the worst of the line and Jon’s eyes
He was nearly out when a hand clamped down on his shoulder, causing him to twist into a defensive stance and swing, narrowly avoiding Jon’s nose.
“Whoa, whoa, D, it’s just me!” he yelped, ducking.
“Sorry.” He said, avoiding his gaze. “You scared me.
Jon crossed his arms, waiting for him to look up. “Dames, you’ve been avoiding me all day. What’s going on? Did I do something wrong?”
Yes.
“No.” Damian grit out. Clutching his tray harder, he tried to walk past him, what little appetite he had gone.
“Then what is it?” He scowled, blocking the shorter boy’s way, the tray spilling its contents on the floor.
“Oh my gosh, i’m sorry-”
“Don’t.” Damian hissed. His self-restraint had been chipping away the last few months, the heartbreak and the longing and the anger swirling together and spitting filth at the one who was rooted in the cause.
Although, deep down, he knew it was really himself who was to blame.
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t apologize for things you don’t mean.” Jon’s face twisted into an unreadable expression, grasping that they were no longer talking about the fallen lunch.
“Dames, what’s going on with you?”
His fists curled at his sides and he looked up at him. “Jon, do you know what yesterday was?”
“N-no..” He pulled out his phone to check, clicking in his messages and visibly falling as he realized everything going on.
“I’m so sorry, Dami, i didn’t mean to-”
His nails dug into the soft skin of his palms as his eyes itched. “You went out with Haisley yesterday, knowing that it was the day we were supposed to watch our movie.”
Jon huffed. “That’s not fair, Damian, I forgot! My phone was at home, and you know that I have to spend as much time with her as possible now so that we can stay together when I move.”
His eyes watered at the implication but he blinked them back and held his stance.
“You told me, months ago when we planned this, that she’d understand. Why is it, that this girl you’ve been dating for a max of six months, who you don’t even like , is more important then someone who’s been with you your whole fucking life?”
The taller boy scowled, eyes reflecting hurt.
“Shut up, you don’t know how I feel, and you don’t get to tell me who I can and can't hang out with. Are you jealous? Is that what’s happening right now? Because that sure sounds like it. You don’t like that I'm with someone else who’s not you, and that’s why you’ve been like this since Haisley. That’s real fucking selfish.”
Right on the money, but not in the way you think.
The rare curse from the boy made the quip die on the tip of his tongue, only further solidifying what they knew.
Everything, the years and memories and the hidden feelings had been lit aflame and would soon be crumbling to ashes over the simplicity of something missed.
There was more to this than either of them would dare to admit, and this would be the downfall to haunt them for the rest of their lives.
They stopped, watching each other. Damian’s anger and hurt were spilled on his face and mannerisms, curled in on himself but still rigid in a defensive position.
Everything about Jon screamed defensive, from the way he was standing to the expression on his face, eyes guarded but still watching.
Tearful eyes stared down, circling each other while staying in the same spot.
“I was your best friend.” Damian spoke into the tense silence. “I gave you everything I had. I let you vent and offered advice and gave up the things that would have brought me nothing but joy because I wanted you to stay happy and stay with me .”
“I don’t care that you have someone, that you have other friends than me, or we would have been done a long time ago. I can’t….”
He inhaled shakily, heart wrenching out of his chest with the way Jon’s eyes overflowed, his own voices dangerously close to wobbling.
“I can’t do this anymore. This isn't an ultimatum, because I'd never make you choose. But I don't think that I can keep playing second fiddle and being ditched left and right because your priorities switch in a bat of an eyelash.”
His eyes shut as the pain-stricken voice he loved rang in his ears. “The ice cream and the songs and the jackets and nights out on your porch just all mean nothing to you?”
“They mean everything to me.” Damian’s voice broke, hot tears burning his eyes. “And I will never be able to let them go…never be able to let you go, no matter how hard I try.”
“Then don’t let me go.” Jon pleaded pitifully.
“I have to. I have to for my own sanity, and for you, because you need to l et go. Let go of me, and this place, because you’re going to do amazing things, Jonathan Kent. You’ll move, and you’ll forget, i swear you will-”
“I won’t.” He sobbed. “I will never forget you, and I'll stay here and we’ll make up, and everything will be fine-”
“YOU WILL!” Damian screamed. “I’m replaceable, forgettable, and this only proves it. I’m leaving, even if it's just for now.”
“Damian, please -”
He couldn’t hear the rest of the plea, whipping around and letting his feet take him somewhere far away, out of the halls and the schoolyard and down the streets until he wound up at his door, stumbling through with barely contained wail.
His father stood from where he was sitting on the old chair in the living room and rushed to pick him up.
“Damian, Damian, are you okay? Can you hear me?”
He choked on a sob and buried his face in his father’s chest. Bruce scooped him up and held him like he were five instead of the nearly eighteen.
When he was calmed enough, he began talking, wobbling through the events of the past few months, allowing himself to be rocked gently and held.
“I left school…I’m sorry.” He rubbed his eyes nearing the end of the story.
“I’m sorry, Dami, so sorry this is happening. It’s fine, I'll call you in, and you can stay home tomorrow too, if you want.”
He sniffled and nodded, sliding out of his father’s grasp but leaning against him on the couch.
A black-haired head bobbed up and into the living room, clutching a blanket. Dick’s nose was red and his eyes were puffy, and out of it enough to not question his elder brother’s appearance at home instead of school. He climbed between them and fell back asleep, warm from the fever.
The heat, no matter how worrying, was controlled enough that Damian’s eyes began to flutter shut as well.
He woke to a door slamming shut and sobs coming from whoever had just entered. The couch was empty, Dick back in his bed and his father in the doorway.
Looking around, he saw Tim in his father’s hold, crying. “I-I knew they were going, b-but it’s too s-oon, I d-don’t want h-im to l-leave-”
“Tim?’ Damian got up and went to the other side of the couch.
“D-Dami,” He hiccuped. “It-s next w-eek-”
The words sunk in and the world around him crumpled. Rushing blood pounded in his ears, his breathing erratic.
No, no, no, no, please please please don’t let him leave me, he can’t leave with things like this between us still-
“Dami? Dames?”
Please. Please not like this-
“Damian? Damian, can you hear me?’
Oh, God-
The world spun, the tears he didn’t realize were running down his face, the sobs sucking the air from his chest.
“Damian, breathe with me, okay?”
His emotions were consuming him whole, swirling around him as his surroundings blurred and he tasted the bile rising at the back of his throat. He clamped a hand over his mouth, barely reaching the trash can before his stomach lurched, emptying its contents.
He fell on his knees, the vile taste in his mouth the last thing he remembered before the world went dark.
Damian woke up a few hours later in his bed, Tim curled into his side. A disgusting taste was left in his mouth and he slid out from under Tim, slowly and painstakingly trying to avoid waking him.
He made his way to the restroom and rinsed out his mouth, brushing his teeth twice to rid himself of the taste. He padded into the kitchen, the smell of cooking food making him nauseous.
“Hey Dames. Tim still asleep?” Duke’s voice came from behind him, his brother sitting on the table with a stack of homework.
“Yeah.” He slid next to him, despite the angry rumbles of his stomach.
Duke ran a hand through his own hair, offering a tired smile. “You want something? Some ginger ale, toast? A hug?”
Damian shook his head. “I’m thinking I'll go back to bed.”
“Okay.” He leaned over and gave him a quick side hug in thanks before making his way back to the room.
Tim was slightly awake now, curling back into Damian as he laid back down.
“I think I loved him.” Tim whispered, eyes shimmering. “In some way. Platonic or other, but I know I did.”
“I know, Tim.” He inhaled shakily, tears burning his eyes. “I did too.”
“We’re all like birds, you know? A flock, and when some try to fly away with the others, most end up staying anyway.”
Damian buried his nose in Tim’s soft waves, humming softly. “I suppose so.”
The imagery stayed with him the rest of that day, and the next until words pieced themselves together and by the weekend, he had a whole new song. This one, titled Two Birds, would be the most painful for him yet.
He refused to open his phone at all, terrified of missed messages and calls from a certain someone. He wanted to leave it and pretend none of it had ever happened, but that would be impossible. The small flicker of hope telling him to fix what they had left before Jon left was small yet persistent.
He was unprepared to let go, not ready to lose the steady constant in his life. For the thousandth time, he cursed his feelings, screaming, begging, for the past to be changed and to feel these things for someone else.
When he finally went back to school, he avoided everyone he knew at all costs, hearing his new song coming from more than one direction.
The time dragged on, but was simultaneously too fast. Too much time staring in his direction, too little time to say what he truly wanted to.
School ended much too soon, for that day. He dragged himself home, knowing that up the road was a big white truck, taking one half of his childhood with him.
“Damian?” Tim’s voice was small, having just come from the Kents with Bart and Cassie to give Kon their goodbyes.
“They…they’re still there, for now. If you wanted to…?"
In a fit of courage, he nodded, picking himself up from the couch and slipping on his shoes. The closer he got, the more desperate he got as well, pushing himself farther, too far. He paused, panting, before turning on his phone for the first time in a week and calling Jon's number.
The phone went straight to voicemail, no matter how many times he called. He picked up speed again and realized with painful horror, that his number had been blocked.
Please, please, please-
He was almost there.
So
Close…
Damian saw the cars pulling out of the driveway and with his last bit of strength he chased after, dropping onto the pavement as they exceeded his limit, away from the house, way from the block.
Away from him.
And they would not be coming back.
Two birds on a wire
One tries to fly away and the other
#damian wayne#jondami#jon kent#Damijon#A robins song#Bruce wayne#tim drake#dick grayson#duke thomas#unrequited love#my writing#angst#Reverse robins#no capes au#Batkids age reversal#Batfam#A Robin's Song#a ROBIN mixtape
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Inspired by this post and its notes (and by that I mean it refused to leave me alone until I wrote these scenes)
Jason tried not to make going to the ‘Cave a habit. No, he much preferred to conduct any Bat-related business in as close to neutral turf as possible, but-
Tim. Tim was in the ‘Cave, had been manning the comms for the group all night as he nursed a couple bruised ribs. Oracle was away on Birds’ business, so the responsibility of playing coordinator had fallen onto his lap while he recovered.
It made him easy to find, luckily. Jason wanted to have a chat with the little bird.
“Hey Babybird,” he tried to keep the thrilled, self-satisfied smugness out of his tone as he climbed off his bike and tugged off his helmet, but-
This was just too good.
The numbers- courtesy of the magic user and dimension-jumper they’d had to coordinate taking down last week- had appeared just as they’d managed to shove him back into the universe he’d come from. A parting gift in the form of a spell.
May you all see what you truly are.
It’d been ominous, but anytime a magic used opened their mouths was a pretty ominous fuckin’ moment in his book. And nothing had come of it, not really. Just these- numbers, hanging over their heads silently. Only seen by one another, and seemingly nonsensical.
Until tonight.
“Jason, what are you-” Tim turned in the leather computer chair in front of the set of monitors, mug of coffee in hand as he moved to greet him. He stopped, looked above his head with a furrowed brow. “Your number went up.” Jason couldn’t help the smirk that spread across his face as he ambled over to the platform, neither pausing nor bothering to give Timmy his space as he responded.
“Yeah, funny thing. I ran into someone I’ve been lookin’ for while goin’ about my business tonight- real scum of the earth type, yeah? He’d just gotten off on another rape charge on a technicality- it went about as well as you can guess.” He spun the helmet in his hands lazily before setting it to his side, leaning against the desk and grinning down at a stone-faced Red Robin. “Imagine my surprise when I got back from that little meetin’ to find my number’d gone up.”
If the cause was surprising news, Tim didn’t let on. “I see.” His tone is level, even. It meant nothing- gave nothing away, about how Drake was feeling.
“And it got me wonderin’, Prettybird,” Jason added, lips twitching in amusement as the nickname did not draw out the usual faint scowl on Tim’s lips. It was as good a tell as any that the neutrality in his features was an act. “Why your number is hovering around triple what I’ve got hanging over my head.”
He leaned over, taking full advantage of their comparative sizes and Tim’s seated position to loom, a taunting grin spread across his lips. “How’d’ya think Daddy Bats is gonna take to his perfect little soldier bein’ no better than his biggest failure?” He reached down, taking an errant lock of hair between his gloved fingers before adding, “bein’ three times worse?”
Tim looked up at him, glacial blue eyes taking in the triumphant grin on his face and finally emoted.
He laughed.
“I guess we’ll find out, won’t we Jay?” He took the moment of surprise- fully fuckin’ earned, because the little shit just laughed at him holding destroying his life over his head- to push back in the seat, rolling away enough to get standing. “When you tell him, that is. I’m assuming you are going to tell him, yes? That’s why you’re dangling this in my face first?”
Tim looked his way, head tilted in that studying-a-bug way of his that always made him feel both small and about to be skewered. Jason blinked his way, sure he was broadcasting just how off-kilter he currently was-
“I thought one of you would figure it out eventually, but- honestly my money was on Dick before you.” Tim gave him a grin, small and conspiratorial, seeming utterly amused by the truth coming out.
Jason was at a fuckin’ loss. “What’d you do, to get that number?”
“Oh no, that’s not how this is going to go.” Tim laughed again, shaking his head. “We’re not going to share stories, Jay. You didn’t come here to do that. And it wasn’t to warn me, tell me you were so sorry but you had no choice but to tell the others. You’re gloating. You came here,” and Tim stepped closer, that grin and gaze sharpening enough to cut, “to make me squirm.”
Tim stopped in front of him, just barely within reach as he regarded him. He wasn’t in the Red Robin uniform- opting instead for a loose hoodie hanging over the sleek black athletic wear used by most of them when running training exercises. He looked underprepared to fight him and unconcerned by the prospect, the combination of which managed to turn his looming back around on him.
“I’m afraid this isn’t going to get me there, Jason.” The cool condescension in his tone killed any quip he might’ve come up with for the innuendo in their tracks, making him sneer. “But go ahead,” Tim waved his hand, turning to gesture towards his helmet, “I’m sure everyone would love to hear it.”
“You’re bluffing.” He didn’t even sound positive to his own ears. He’d- this was not what he’d been expecting. He’d been thinking he might get denial, a fight, maybe. Not cold, calculated acceptance of the revelation and this...heel-turn.
Tim huffed another laugh, meeting his eyes again. “Feel free to call it, then. Do you think Bruce will even remember my number when he finds out what the one hanging over him means?”
“Do you really think he’ll believe you, when his whole idea of himself is at stake?” Fuck, Tim was right and that grin on his face did little to hide that he knew it. “Your word’s worth more than it used to be, Jay- but nobody’s is worth that much.”
Fuck. He’d have to prove it. “This isn’t over.” He promised, narrowing his eyes at the little bird.
“I wouldn’t dare assume otherwise.” Tim eyed him coolly, watching as he straightened and yanked his helmet off the desk.
“You know- I might be a fuckin’ asshole, Tim. But you’re ice cold.” And his judgement was probably less than meaningless to the man, considering he’d come here fully expecting to rub this in his face, but-
“So I’ve been told.” Tim shot back, sounding bored, “now do you mind plotting elsewhere? Some people didn’t abandon their patrols to play mind games and I have a job to get back to.” He gestured back to the computer, easing into the chair and returning to the monitors.
Jason stormed out, trying not to let the curveball that was this entire interaction get to him. Tim- seemingly adept at finding new ways to be infuriating when given any opportunity- was right about one thing. Bruce wasn’t going to believe him if he just told him.
He’d have to show him.
...
Tim made it until the roaring of Jason’s bike faded into the distance before his head was between his knees, forcing himself out of the instinctual hyperventilation he’d been trying to avoid since the moment Jason had told him why his number had gone up.
So- it was over. Tim’d killed people- a lot of people. He hadn’t- god he hoped his bluff had bought him some time, that he hadn’t just goaded Jason into finding Bruce in person and telling him.
Hope wasn’t enough and he didn’t have time to lose it now. He stood- probably too fast, since he was lurching to the side of the platform just to empty the contents of his stomach over the side. God, he’d- he’d killed people.
He wiped his mouth on his sleeve, grimaced at the acid clinging to his tongue before forcing himself to get it together.
The first thing he did was get onto the ‘Cave recording and delete any record of his conversation with Jay- the Hood’s would be a problem, probably having picked up the entirety of his act from its spot on the desk.
Jason could just go show that to Bruce. That brought down his possible time-table considerably.
Tim moved quickly after that, grabbing every bit of gear he thought he’d need to get out of Gotham and quickly divesting his motorcycle of every piece of tech that could be tracked.
It came out easily, considering he’d designed it with something like this in mind, someday.
And- sure, his idea hadn’t exactly been ‘turns out you’ve murdered a few hundred people’ that would be the final nail in the coffin, but-
Bruce had been vocally disappointed at him considering where to draw his own line with Boomerang, no killing required. Enough so that he’d planned a few exits, should the need arise.
Yeah, seemed like the need was there. He had to go, like, yesterday.
He kept his own readout tracking the rest of the Bats’ movements- Jason was sure to act if his control of the comms seemed amiss. Luckily he tended to keep things quiet on the group comm anyways, unless something big was going down.
Thank god it was a slow night. Outside of Jason, apparently, committing a murder.
Not that he could judge.
He got to one of his safehouses tucked away from anybody’s current route, logging into the Nest’s system from the pared down system inside. He set a countdown and activated subroutines that would be necessary for the rest of them to go on without him- and not find him, hopefully.
After that he bought bus, plane, and train tickets in every direction under every alias he could afford to burn.
He used none of them, abandoned his bike at the border of Chinatown and backtracked to execute the rest of his plan. He didn’t break down, not when he successfully crept through the marina to the small, solar-powered yacht he’d carefully kept off the books and got aboard. He didn’t fall apart, when he’d carefully slipped below deck and into the dimly lit space that was to serve as his home until he’d managed to put as much distance between himself and Gotham- and seven or eight of its residents in particular- as possible.
A buzzy, distant kind of calm washed over him as he carefully, purposefully changed once more into clothes more suited for sailing, and tested just how silent the electric motor was as he undocked and left Gotham’s tainted waters in the rearview.
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Growing into the Job, Post 351: That was Then, This is Now, p3 (Gianna Interlude)
Jesus Christ look at this place. I can’t believe what a fucking mess it is. When was the last time I cleaned? The thing is I just don’t care anymore. My life was once neat and orderly but it all started slowly falling apart the moment I got put on this project. I really can’t fucking believe it. What’s happening to me?!? I used to be a smart, driven chick, headed for great things. Now…it’s like I can barely think straight! All I can think about is him. It’s like my brains are now all in my tits…which, to be honest, should make me a fucking genius.
I’ve been with Evolution for a few years now. I was hired onto the Quality Control team, and now I’m a Project Manager. The gig looked good, originally, they sounded serious. Well, they are serious. They’re fucking really serious. They seriously have made my life suck.
Okay, so it seemed great: I got to try out this new Product they wanted to push out. They made me the clinical coordinator, but I also got to be a study subject myself. It sounded so fucking awesome. This shit was going to make me a fucking queen, after all this went down. They were using it, in these trials, for like politicians, and CEOs, women of influence, girls who were in important positions. To make approval easier they presented it to the FDA as an OTC (over the counter, of course), non-Rx (nonprescription, duh) supplement which is like a joke, because it’s a fucking bioweapon. They had the right people in the right places and they somehow got it through, approved for OTC. But in the end it’s not going to be available for just anybody. It was going to make women they choose - like me, if it worked - better. Better at what they do. Better at meeting their challenges. Better at what they need to be to help us fucking win.
I don’t totally understand all the science, but I understand some of it (and all the witchy stuff I only half-believe). I do know that it’s next-level shit and totally sketchy from a safety-profile standpoint. It was all to help ‘the movement' though, and blah blah blah, of course I’m all for that, who isn’t? So, yeah, I’d take the trial. It sounded great. And it’d make me better at my job; that’s why they wanted me on it in the first place.
It was just some shots, and I knew that if this panned out I’d be, like, ascending. Like I’d heard others have, like the chicks I’d seen in the clinics. When all this is said and done I’d get my own team with the company, fuckloads of salary, and a promotion up and out of this bogus job.
They just need to wait with me, they said. They need me to run this clinical trial, but not affect it. So I can’t show up in person. I can’t have my influence change what’s going on in there. In fact, they wanted to keep me isolated and out of the offices so I didn’t affect anyone there, or out in public. Like, I can’t even see my own family. They’re still all back East so it doesn’t really matter. I don’t really want to see them anyway.
So I’ve basically been in quarantine, alone, for like, months now. Sure it sounded great at first - I get to work from home, and I get to set my own schedule. I get everything delivered, you know, food and whatever. I don’t have to deal with any of the fuckwads out there in the world. But I’m so fucking bored. Months of this. Months, while life goes on in the outside world. The elections and all that? I just ended up celebrating here by my own fucking self.
I mean, yeah, I’m working for a good cause. But jesus, look the fuck at me now! I was always a busty girl, but I’ve gone from a double-E to an - I dunno, double-G - to whatever the hell I am now. Fucking huge is what it is.
Why? Because the dude, this doctor likes…no, loves…no, worships tits. Because women with big tits get him to do what they want, I guess. Sound familiar? That’s fucking men in general, but I need this specific one to do what I tell him to. My only interaction with the guy is, like, here and there on video conference calls, and all he sees of me is like from the waist up. So, my ass is still my plain old ass, but now my tits are like a porn star’s. And they keep getting bigger! And that’s not the worst of it! Now he’s all I freakin’ think about! I feel like a goddamn braindead lovesick bimbo mommygirlfriend sometimes and-
Gah!
I mean, I know I’m no different than other girls. Women everywhere want this sort of thing now. A shorter boyfriend, a weaker guy, a dependent husband, all vulni- or whatnot. The shorter, weaker and more dependent the better. We all want them to need us for money and safety, for warmth and nutrition. For everything. It’s just fucking sexy. We’d love to be able - if we could - to pick them up like children, like infants, hold them in our hands or haha nnnngh stick them down our dresses and hide them in our tits. Honestly we all want our men to be like little embryos. If we could shove them up into our wombs, we fucking would. It’s, like, nobody’s really talking about it out in the open, but it’s normal now, to feel this way. We’re all looking for short, weak, totally and utterly dependent men.
But, fuck, this product has got me. I don’t want it to be just anyone. I want it to be HIM. I think it’s because I don’t see any other guys It’s imprinted him on me. And since my pheromones can’t get to him he doesn’t feel the same He’s like enamored/suckled onto this Melissa person and it fucking burns my hooch to think about. Jealousy is not a good color on me, well on anyone I realize, but I can’t fucking help it I want him to nnnnnnngh fucking shrink for me so I can shove him into my tits, up my cunt, into my bra. I want to make him just stick to me and I’ll fucknig absorbbbb him ahhhhhggg
fuck.
Get your shit together, Gianna. You’ve got a job to do. Back to work…
…but just imagine.
===============================================
Want to know how the ‘Product' got past the FDA? Read 'Seeking Approval', available on my Patreon.
And thank you thank you RiF for the pro-bono editorial work on this one.
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Chapter 3: Blaise Zabini and his increasing exasperating day
Series Masterlist
By the third week of school Blaise had a schedule set up. Wake up at 7am and take a run around the Quidditch pitch. (And when Quidditch season starts he has already decided he’s just going to wake up even earlier). Take a shower, get ready and make it to the Great Hall early enough to be the first person to sit down at the Slytherin table.
The schedule is perfect. He gets to dodge his roommates, release some energy on his run, take his time getting ready to make sure he feels prepared for the day; all with enough time to make sure he gets access to all the food first so he isn’t just eating everyones leftovers.
It’s great.
It also allows him plenty of room to switch up his schedule. Nothing major, getting up at 7 and being first at the table are non negotiable. But everything in between can be subject to change.
Which leads to situations like today, where Blaise is heading to the kitchens for the first time in his Hogwarts career. After reading through Hogwarts : A History Blaise has come to the conclusion that the best way to get an audience with the Hogwarts elves is through the kitchen. As he approaches the infamous painting with a bowl of fruit which is said to lead to his destination, Blaise stops and for the first time wonders, “What the hell am I going to say?”.
This leads to Blaise pacing in front of the portrait for a good few minutes having an internal debate with himself.
Ok, what’s my end goal?
I want to be in their good graces.
Why?
Because they do so much for the castle and everyone is ungrateful.
…cute. What else?
…It would be nice if they would drop off my clothes when I’m there so I can organize them. How I like it, to keep it in perfect condition.
That sound so fucking pretentious.
Well I am pretentious so what of it?
Fair.
But how am I going to word that?
I don’t know, it's probably best to just be honest and get it over wi-
“Can we help you sir?” squeaked a voice to his left.
Blaise, stiffly, turned towards the voice to find an elf poking her head out from behind the portrait. All that could be seen was her bat-like ears and large blue eyes.
“Yes, actually I was wondering if I could speak to an elf about some…request I have concerning my clothing?” Blaise choked out.
I hate this, is all Blaise could think as he watched the elf process what he just said. How could I be so stupid as to not plan this out? I always plan out my conversations, that’s what I do, I plan.
“Would you like to discuss it now or shall I find you later, sir?”
“Now works just fine.” said Blaise doing his best to hold in his frown at the formal way she addresses him.
“Oh well,” she muttered, clearly unprepared to have someone actually want to speak to her “ please come inside so that we can figure something out.”
Bliase followed her through the portrait and took a breath just to absorb all the wonderful smells he was suddenly surrounded by. He did his best not to stare at the way the elves were so focused and coordinated in their movements in preparation for the children they were about to serve.
The little elf sat him down at a small table against the wall, out of the way of the mass operation commencing at the same time that Blaise came to beg for them to take special care in delivering his laundry.
I don’t like this.
“So what I can I help you with?” she practically whispered, refusing to make eye contact.
I don’t like this.
“I’m sorry I’d just prefer if instead of putting my clothes away for me, if we could set up a time where I can take the clothes from you personally, so I can put them away myself.”
She did a slow absent blink.
“I just am really particular about how I have my personal items set up, I have systems etc. So I’d really just appreciate it if you could give me my clothes directly.”
Another blink.
I don’t like this.
You’re too deep now, you must commit.
“I’ve noticed you all tend to clean the rooms and put away the clothes between 11pm-12am every Tuesday while I’m at astronomy with the other Slytherins of my year.”
Another blink.
“So if instead you could meet me just before or after astronomy so that I can take care of it myself, that would be perfect.”
Another blink.
Blaise whipped his palms on his slacks as covertly as he could under the table.
Why won’t she say something?
“You don’t want us to put away your clothes for you?” she mumbles with a shaky breath.
“Yes…” Blaise is starting to become incredibly worried with the condition that the elf is in.
“But everyone prefers it when we do it for them.” She now has a tone of confusion that does nothing to aid Blaise’s stress levels.
“Well I am weird in that sense, I have a bit of an obsession with organization so-” he trails off trying to find the right words “- I really appreciate all that you all do for us but if I could do this one thing for myself I would be infinitely happier.”
Another blink.
Blaise sends her his most disarming smile.
“Okay.” she agrees as if she was winded.
“Okay?”
“Okay, what’s your name sir?”
“Blaise Zabini.”
“Well Mr. Zabini, I shall ensure to arrive 30 minutes before your astronomy class with your clothes.” she promises with wringing her hands together.
“Thank you so much…”
“Daisy.” she stammered.
“What a lovely name, thank you so much Daisy. I’ll see you then.” Blaise said quickly.
Eager to be finished with that conversation and out of the kitchens, he walks as quickly as possible without looking rushed out of the kitchens and to the Great Hall.
I hated that.
I hated that so much.
Why the hell didn’t I plan that conversation out.
The things I do for organization, is the last thought Blaise allows himself to have before he stares at all the food before him losing his appetite entirely only being able to force down two pieces of bread with jam and a chalice of apple juice.
--------------------------------------
He sets off to History Of Magic the second he convinces himself that he’s eaten enough. He arrives beyond early, not even Binn’s is here yet. The classroom is set up the same as a muggle ‘Lecture’ classroom he visited for an abroad program in the States- though he’d never voice the comparison outloud. He takes his usual seat- he far back against the right wall to give him a perfect view of the entire classroom. Pulling out his textbook, parchment and his quills and sets himself up for today's lecture.
Blaise loves History of Magic.
He might be the only person to have ever sat in this classroom and to have thought that unironically. And he’s fine with that. There’s something about history that has always consumed Blaise. And it seems not even Binn’s monotone voice can kill his love for the stories of the past.
And so by the time Blaise has perfected his setup, students begin to trickle in. First is a Hufflepuff girl. Blaise has seen her around before; it's practically impossible not to, considering they share 3 classes together a week, but it's more than that. She seems to not exist outside of these classes. Everyone else Blaise catches a glimpse of in the hallway or at dinner or lunch or just somewhere. But she seems to disappear the second she walks out of the classroom.
And it pisses Blaise off.
Blaise likes to think of himself as observant. He knows things about people. He can tell that despite having met only in the beginning of the year two Ravenclaw boys are already squabbling with each other. He can tell that ever since she’s demonstrated her brilliance Hermione Granger has been isolated from her house. He can tell when Flitwick is having a bad day. He can tell Pansy is getting an irritating letter from home. He can tell when Susan Bones is talking down to Anthony Goldstein despite her sweet tone.
What he can’t tell is who the hell this Hufflepuff is. All he has is a name and information gathered from his eavesdropping. Name: “Isabella Reyes”. Isabella is apparently Black and Latino, which tracks with her light brown skin and curly black hair constantly pulled into a messy ponytail. She’s a Hufflepuff. Blaise had to stop himself from exclaiming, “No shit we all wear house robes.” when he heard someone whispering it to their friend group like it was the juiciest piece of gossip ever heard. And that’s it.
That is all Blaise has gathered in the weeks since starting school.
And it keeps him up at night.
And what is most upsetting is, there is no real way to fix this.
Blaise refuses to become a stalker, eavesdropping hasn’t gained him any information, and he will not speak to her directly.
Not even an option.
This plagues him. Far more than it should considering he’s never spoken to her.
But just as he starts to gain momentum in his frustration Binns begins the class…and at what point everyone filled in the seats Blaise couldn't tell you.
An hour and half later, Blaise has been sufficiently distracted with information about Emeric the Evil.
That is until he runs right into the problem he needed to be distracted from, knocking her right to the floor.
Damn. Two unplanned conversations and one bad meal in a day. What have I done to deserve this? Blaise asks the Universe as he puts out his hand to help Isabella up.
“Thanks.” she says shortly as he takes his hand.
A short “a”. She pronounced “Thanks” with a short “a” sound.
“You’re American.” Blaise states plainly, pulling her up.
All this time and the first thing and that's the first thing I say? I don’t know what I did, but Universe I am sorry.
She looks at him like he's an idiot. “Yes, thanks for pointing that out for me.”
They both start collecting her books and papers from the floor. Why have a school bag if you're just going to carry everything in your hands?
Blaise hovers with tense shoulders as he hands her her things to put away. Finished, she turns to leave and makes it four steps before turning back around and asking, “Can I ask you a weird question?”
“You just did.”
She was not amused with this response.
“I’m going to take that as a yes. What were you doing pacing outside the Hufflepuff common room?”
Daisy must have rubbed off on Blaise because all he could think to do was blink.
“This morning~” she taunts.
“I wasn’t pacing outside of your common room, I was pacing outside of the kitchens.”
She was quick, “Why?”
“I needed to ask for a favor from the elves?”
“Why?”
“Because I need their help.”
“Why?”
“None of your business.”
“You’re one to talk.”
“What's that supposed to mean?”
“I’ve seen you people watching. I’ve seen you blend into the background and listen in on people’s conversations.”
There’s a beat.
“Incorrect, try again.”
Another beat.
“Excuse me?”
“What you are implying is factually incorrect, I don’t do any of those things on purpose. They just happen.” Blaise said confidently.
Blaise Zabini is a bold-faced liar to everyone but his mother. He has mastered the art of spouting false information with expressions varying from a straight face to the most dazzling smile anyone has ever seen. The only one who has ever seen through this is his mother, hence why he doesn’t like to lie to her.
It's pointless to even attempt to.
The second the sentence leaves his mouth, Isabella is striding towards him. Blaise resists the urge to take a step back when she stops right in front of him.
And then she stares. She stares right into his eyes and suddenly Blaise feels compelled to tell the truth.
Before he can even think of something to say in response to her actions she takes another step forward and this time he can’t stop himself from taking a step back.
“I know that you don’t know me yet so I’m going to let that lie slide. But for the record, I do not appreciate being lied to. I will clock any lies you tell me whether it is in the moment or after digging, but I will find out. So I strongly suggest, for the sake of your health and sanity, that going forward you are just honest to me. Either tell me the truth, or that you aren’t comfortable to talk about it or whatever logic you have behind not wanting to tell me something but do not lie. Because from now on I will not accept you looking me in my face and lying to me.”
She takes a moment to breathe “ Okay?”
“Definitely, I’m sor-”
“Don’t apologize, just don’t do it again.”
And with that threat (?) she turns around, makes a left and is gone.
…Blaise has even more questions than he did before.
Starting with, what the hell does she mean “yet”?
Author's notes: hey yall I'm still trying to figure out what would be a good upload schedule but for now its going to be...whenever. Apologies, that's not specific at all but its what I got for now. Alright please like if you enjoy and comment to share thoughts. thanks for reading
ALSO I really want to tag this blaise x reader but like Isabella is defintely an oc and i dont want to miss tag it and for people to get annoyed. But like people miss tag all the time soooo. so if anyone wants to tell me what theyd do please go for it
#blaise zabini#draco malfoy#harry potter#slytherin#slytherin boys#pansy parkinson#theodore nott#blaise x oc
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hii, from the heat sensory issues anon (loved it btw)
may i request the brothers with an mc with dyspraxia/DCD? i’ve never seen anyone cover it before so just curious about your take on it and stuff
i'm glad you liked it !
i searched it up and it intrigued me, so let's how this would turn out
the brothers with an mc who has dyspraxia / dcd
heads up: gn!mc, spoilers for lesson 16 in belphie's
additional info: dyspraxia or dcd (developmental coordination disorder) is a neurodevelopmental condition that starts in childhood that makes the person have difficult time doing motor skills (such as walking, closing your buttons on a shirt, etc.)
lucifer
informed beforehand through your files
at first, only helped you for diavolo's reputation, but now helps you willingly
your uniform is closed with a zipper, he doesn't require you to wear a necktie (but if you want to, he'll make sure he'll be help you or have one of his brothers do when you want the help)
takes you out on short walks to help you get accustomed to the newer environment that is the devildom
obviously gives you easier tasks or chores, but if you want to help out more, he'd supervise you
"mc, let me help you with that" "mc, you shouldn't carry such heavy things. please, let me" "mc, put that broom down right now or so help me-"
helicopter mom
mammon
the info about you is basically drilled into his head
he has to ask satan what dcd means though
at first, he's annoyed that he has to babysit a clumsy human, because how can you be such a klutz? are you stupid-
he absolutely pampers you the next day
he'll have your arm hooked around his whenever you walk together, insisting that you need all the help you get
would still want to include you in his shenanigans, but has been choosing the easier things whenever he's with you
"human, the floor's slippery, hold my hand" "'c- course i'm only doing this because i need to, alright?! don't go getting the wrong idea!" "mc, forget that assignment and hang out with me! me! you're only getting your back strained the longer you sit there!"
he'd purposely get lazy with his tasks just to hang out with you
leviathan
doesn't care at first
"normies and their weaknesses"
he felt like an idiot for how he acted back then
he finds you characters that you can kin
"hey, you know about-"
he ends up ranting up to 3 hours about whys and hows you and said character are the perfect mirror
doesn't know how he'd be able to help you tbh, but he'd probably serve as a crutch for you if you need one
"mc... are you supposed to carry that?" "i don't know about this one, mc..."
he would sew you easier to wear clothes though
satan
has studied that human condition before, at least
so when the human exchange student living with them had it was a surprise and a big coincidence
he really wouldn't bother with you at first, just starting with the "do you need help?" questions just to be polite with you
later on he'd help you without even asking
he'd tie your necktie, your shoelaces. heck, even your hair if it's long enough so it wouldn't get in the way of your eyesight
he's read physical therapy might help, he'd be taking you on short walks too. even letting you help out in the kitchen for little tasks like putting the onion on the stove
"oh, mc. care to help me in the kitchen? you can wash the bat wings this time" "hm, this might be too hard for you. no, don't even try to deny it"
helicopter mom 2
asmodeus
he'd coddle you too much at first tbh
he'd stop if you express distaste or that you're uncomfortable
that wouldn't stop him with helping you around, though. at some point
"oh, mc, mc! let's get beel to carry this, shall we? we're both so frail and i wouldn't want us both to get hurt!"
he'd probably have a few remedies that he thinks might help you, but would consult lucifer or satan first if they're safe for humans
"mc, dear! i found this lotion that might help you! don't worry, lucifer says it's 100% safe!"
"i didn't say it's a hundred percent safe, asmo."
"oh, hush!"
would give you massages
beelzebub
he'd think you're completely paralyzed at first
so the first thing that occurred to him was to put you on his shoulder the first time you two met
"don't worry, lucifer. i can carry them"
"beel, no-"
eventually puts you down after much convincing that you're not a fragile doll
thinks you might get stronger if you eat a lot
"mc, try this one"
absolutely hovers over you and always carry everything you have
"mc, let me do it" "mc, the door's too big for you to push open" "mc... maybe you'd be safer on my shoulder"
he's reminded of the times he used to coddle someone else in the past (that isn't belphie)
belphegor
not only are you stupid, you're stupidly fragile
^ his thought on you during his time at the attic
you were so easy to manipulate, so when he got his hands around your neck-
he wants to stop thinking about that
he avoids you for the most part, thinking he'll hurt you again
you'd have to initiate an interaction with him if you want him to talk to you
when you do, he'd keep a safe distance, but keeps an eye on you if you looked weaker as the day goes on
he'd make sure you'd have the most peaceful dreams so you'd be energized in the morning
he's the literal avatar of sloth, it'd be a miracle if he'd do anything with you
"mc, just leave that alone. let lucifer find it or something" "mc........ let's go back to bed" "mc, i want to bestow the sin of sloth on you just so you would stop moving around so much"
don't use him as a crutch, chances are you'll both fall to the floor
i love them you guys
#belphie keeps on getting the angsty stuff#sorry belph#dcd#dyspraxia#mc with dcd#omswd#obey me#obey me lucifer#obey me mammon#obey me leviathan#obey me satan#obey me asmodeus#obey me beelzebub#obey me belphegor
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˚｡ 𖠗 𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐧𝐞𝐭𝐬.
# 01 — reiner braun x fem! reader
# 02 — cw: fluff, slight angst, bittersweet ending (?), and reiner being a softie <3
# 03 — wc: 0.95k
# 04 — an: *clearing my throat* hello! this is pretty much me posting my first work here on tumblr and i’m nervous and excited as hell. so, um, i chose reiner to break me into this because i love him and who doesn’t? feedback and constructive criticism is greatly appreciated!
an off day. that was one thing reiner could usually look forward to. and looking forward to stuff was something pretty rare in his world.
however, today was a different story. today could very well be their last day of peace before the big expedition beyond the walls the next day.
and naturally, like anyone craving to spend time with their lover, reiner decided to take you out of the barracks for some much-needed alone time for the both of you.
“this is the nicest way to spend my day off,” you sighed with a wide smile splitting your face, leaning back on your palms as the both of you sat on the raggedy blanket you had scrounged from the supply closet. he had somehow managed to find a small cliff in the forest that overlooked a lake, not too far from the barracks. it was beautiful and quiet, which was exactly what the two of you were looking for.
reiner looked at you, a small smile breaking out on his own face. how long had it been since he’d been able to sit like this with you, not caring about anything other than those few minutes? he couldn’t even remember.
he’d been so busy and anxious planning to retake the coordinate during the expedition. and now the big day was here and reiner suddenly didn’t want it to arrive at all. if their mission were to succeed, he would have to abandon everyone and everything and leave immediately. he didn’t think he was ready to leave just yet. he didn’t think he would ever be ready to leave you.
of course, it was never meant to be this way. the both of you were not meant to be. he was there to wreak maximum destruction, retrieve the coordinate and get the hell out of there. he was cursed with the burden of their mission among lots of other things and knowing that he could never be yours forever was one of them. all because he wanted to play hero.
he was the bane of his own existence in a way. but while reiner could be all kinds of despicable, he would be damned if he let his misfortune taint you.
he shuddered at the thought of you finding out the truth about him; for he was sure that you would loathe him with everything that you were and he wasn’t sure he could survive that.
so he pushed it deep, deep down into his dark heart and focused on now. deal with it later, he chided himself mentally.
“yeah.” he breathed, entwining his fingers with yours. “it really is.”
“oh? you sure you wouldn’t rather spend it with bertoldt?”
he fondly rolled his eyes at you. “that was one time, will you ever stop harassing me with that?”
you shook your head, a mischievous glint lighting up your pretty eyes and you smirked. “never. i’m going to pester you with this forever and ever and ever.”
your tone was light and airy but the words hit him right where it hurt. forever and ever. something he wouldn’t be around for.
and you must have seen the way all humour left his face and how dread replaced it, because you turned towards him, one of your hands coming up to cup his face, eyes shining with seriousness and determination.
“hey.” your voice was softer now but it didn’t lose its firmness, “i know we’re here to relax but it’s impossible to ignore that tomorrow is the expedition.”
he stiffened slightly.
“you come back to me, ‘kay?” and suddenly reiner could see the fear and uncertainty in your eyes that you hid so well from everyone else. “i’ve lost enough, and i refuse to add you to that list. reiner, i need you with me.”
his heart constricted painfully in his chest at how scared you sounded.
ignoring the lump in his throat, he pulled you closer, his forehead coming to rest on yours. “i need you too, y/n,” then he shut his eyes and lied through his teeth. “i’ll come back to you as long as you promise to do the same.”
he felt you nod against him and he opened his eyes again, wanting the sight of you smiling up at him burned into his mind.
but then your eyes flicked to his lips for a second before returning to his amber orbs and the corner of his lips twitch up into a soft smile.
“would it be okay if i kissed you right now?” he murmured softly.
“i’d like that very much.”
so he leaned down slightly, waiting for you to close the distance. and you did.
your soft pink lips pressed onto his, eyes closing on their own as your arms winded up around his neck, pulling him closer and closer and closer until there was no space left behind the both of you.
he felt a little dizzy—strange for someone who was also a titan—as one of your hands slid down to rest over his chest and the other tangled in his hair. and he tightened his grip on your waist, holding you close and he felt your fingers grow tighter in his hair in response.
he was sure you could feel his heart thundering under your palm but he didn’t care, all he could think of and feel was you, you, you.
reiner hoped then—when you parted from his lips, breathless and flushed, and your eyes shone up at him with a thousand galaxies in them—that even if the both of you fell apart, you would always come back together, no matter what, like two pieces of a magnet.
— © property of couragemydearheart. do not copy or post on any other site without permission.
#⸰ֺ ࣭⭑𓄹—katy writes!#attack on titan#aot#shingeki no kyojin#snk#reiner braun#reiner braun fluff#reiner fluff#reiner braun x reader#reiner x reader#aot fluff
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Feral Instincts Ch.27
Pairing: The Rogue’s Gallery (Geralt, Syverson, Mike, August Walker, Walter Marshall) x Stephanie Daniels (OFC)
WC 1564
Warnings: uhhhhhhh *shrug*
It took coordination with Heather, but she had the next couple weeks off from work. Mike, unfortunately, wasn't included in that so he still had to work while Stephanie stayed up at the cabin with the others where they could keep an eye on her. A few of the Betas in the pack were going to stay over in the apartment during the day, as well as a couple of the other Omegas so Albert felt more comfortable. Mike and Hunter had become fast friends, a routine set up where he and Mike played Warhammer 40k twice a week with Hunter’s set laid out on the dining room table.
“I swear to all that is good and holy, Mike,” Stephanie said as she put clothes in a duffle bag, “If I get back when this mess is over and the apartment is trashed, you’re sleeping on the couch until the end of time.”
“Have a little faith in me, babe.” He said, rolling his eyes with a smile.
She and August headed up to the cabin in his truck, Stephanie throwing her bag down on the floor of Mike’s former room once she greeted the others in turn.
“I know this is tough, doll.” Sy said from the doorway, “But we’re just tryin’ to keep you safe.”
“I know.” She said, sitting down on the bed. “First Jordan and now potentially a Council hitman. Can I go back to the most stressful part of my life being work when something explodes?”
“Trust me, this shit ain’t normal. Even for wolves.” He said.
“It’s ridiculous, is what it is.” She said, “If you explained this entire thing to me as an outside observer, I would tell you it's a shitty D movie plot. Direct to streaming, no theatrical release, but no, it’s my goddamn life and I just--” She made a frustrated sound, flopping backwards onto the bed with her hands pressed to her face.
“Geralt is going to talk to his contact on the Council, see if there’s any weight to it.”
“The Council strikes me as a very “the left hand doesn’t know what the right is doing” kinda organization. You know, plausible deniability and all that. The Councilors themselves have no idea what their underlings are doing in detail so it can’t blow back on them. If the shit hits the fan, they just step to the side of the fan.”
“Wouldn’t shock me.” Sy said with a shrug, “I’ve learned more about it in the last few weeks than I have my entire life. They were just this…thing when I was growin’ up. I knew they were there, I knew what they did, but it didn’t affect me none so I ignored’em. They didn’t bother me, so I didn’t bother them. But now…shit Steph, if they try to come after you, I’m goin’ down swingin’.”
“Don’t.” She said, sitting up again to look at him, “Don’t talk like that. Don’t place my life above yours. Don’t any of you place my life above your own. I’m not more important than you, my life doesn’t mean more than yours or anyone else’s.”
“You don’t get it, and I understand why. You weren’t raised wolf.” He said, “You’re our Alpha. More than that, you’re our Mate, and we protect our Mate. With our lives, if it comes to it. It ain’t a matter of choice.”
“I don’t like that.”
“I know.” He said, “Alphas protect the pack, and Alphas protect their Mates. You just happen to check both boxes. Wouldn’t’ve mattered if you were still human and our Mate, or just a member of our pack but not our Mate. Either way.”
“I really don’t like any of this.”
“I know.” He said, “Hey, maybe when this is all over and done, you can introduce us to your folks.” She gave a snort that was devoid of humor.
“I told you my dad was a SEAL, right?”
“Yeah, retired when you were sixteen.”
“Well, I haven’t seen my dad since I was sixteen.” She said, “He and my mom got divorced right after he retired, and I stayed with mom while he took off for parts unknown. My brother had already moved out of the house at that point.”
“You got a brother?”
“Yeah. Jack.” She said and there was pause.
“You got a brother named Jack Daniels?”
“Mom was sixteen when she had him.”
“Yeah, that’ll do it.” Sy said, “What about your mom? Don’t think she’d approve?”
“Not even remotely.” Stephanie said, “And not because there’s more than one of you, but because you’re wolves, and she doesn’t like wolves.”
“Ah.” Sy said after another moment's pause. “Does she know you’re…”
“Nope, we haven’t talked in years and I plan to keep it that way.” She said, “She disowned Jack after he got married to a wolf he went to college with and she infected him at his request. Getting married to one is one thing, she can just freeze his wife out, becoming one was too much for her. I thought she was going to have an aneurysm when he told her.”
“When’s the last time you talked to him?”
“Couple years back?” She said, “Jordan kinda…alienated me from him after I told him my brother was a wolf.”
“Probably because he woulda seen him for what he is, a Feral. If not him, then his wife.”
“Probably. I tried to call him a little while back, but he must have changed his number because someone else answered who didn’t know who he was.”
“Want me to find him?” Sy jumped about a foot in the air, Geralt having appeared behind his shoulder.
“Shit!” He exclaimed, “Did you know he was there?” He asked, looking at Stephanie and she nodded with a small smile. “Fuck, man, damn near gave me a heart attack.”
“Do you want me to track him down, Steph?” Geralt asked again with a snort, “Him and your father.”
“If you want to,” She said, pulling a leg under her, “But don’t go sweaty on finding my dad. If he had wanted to stay in our lives, he would have.”
"Jack, right?" Geralt asked and she nodded, "Jack Daniels?"
"Their mom was a teen when she had'im." Sy said and Geralt arched a brow at him for a moment before shrugging. "How old was your dad?"
"Seventeen." Stephanie said and he sighed.
"Lemme guess, found out he got his girlfriend knocked up and enlisted in the military, marryin' her when she turned eighteen." He said and she nodded, "Knew a few boys just outta boot with the same story. Seein' as they got divorced…doll, don't tell me…"
"I was supposed to be the fix-it baby." She said, "Because bringing a child into a loveless marriage is always a great idea. It didn't work. Shocker. Jack was seven."
“And she don’t like wolves?” Sy asked.
“Last time I spoke to her, she told me, laughing, how she had called Animal Control on her neighbors while their son was outside doing yard work. He wasn’t shifted, obviously, but she called Animal Control on him saying there was a “rabid dog” in their yard.”
“Fuck.” Geralt said and she sighed with a nod.
“Yeah, and it was the last time I spoke to her.” Stephanie said, “She tries to call me every now and then, but I let it go to voicemail.”
“I’ll see what I can find.” Geralt said, giving her a small smile and walked away, heading back to his room. With an exaggerated sigh, Stephanie flopped back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. She heard Sy come closer before he laid next to her, settling on his side and lacing their fingers together where her hands lay folded on her stomach. She could see him watching her out of the corner of her eye and she started to run her thumb back and forth over his skin.
“Can I switch gears?” She asked and he hummed. “Do you resent me?”
“Why would I do that?” He asked, a scowl furrowing his brow.
“Because I can’t give you kids.”
“I don’t resent you, babe. Not even close.” He said, “Thought about gettin’ it reversed, though? If it’s buggin’ you that bad?”
“I thought about it.” She admitted, “If you had answered yes, or something to that effect, I would have seriously considered it. I got it done for medical reasons, for the shit that runs through my head. Don’t want to pass that onto a child knowing what their life is going to be like through no fault of their own.”
“Yeah.” Sy said, “Not wantin’ a child to suffer is a damn good reason, even if that child is just an idea.”
“Do you think the others--”
“Not even a little bit.” He said, cutting off her train of thought. “I’d say maybe in vitro, as you still got your eggs, they just can’t make the trip, but you’d still be passin’ on your genes.”
“Yeah.” She said, “Kinda invalidates the reason why I did it. If they could single out what causes mental illness and make sure it doesn’t get passed on…maybe.”
“We’ll love you no matter what, Steph.” Sy said and she squeezed his fingers gently. “Pups or no pups, as long as you’re happy, we’re happy.”
“I love you.”
“Love you more.”
#henry cavill#captain syverson#walter marshall#august walker#hellraiser mike#geralt of rivia#feral instincts
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"What is Hels like?" Welsknight asked the darkness in front of him. Darkness, because he ran out of torches ages ago, and the only light he had left was the backlight of his cracked communicator. His cracked communicator, the battery of which, as fate would have it, was rapidly dying, given it hadn’t really been charged all that much when he came down here in the first place. It was still alive, actively pinging his coordinates to any hermit who came within range of the signal, an SOS software designed just for this kind of scenario. But it would die soon. Wels, practical, rational, kept the backlight screen off. The higher the chance of his signal being caught. Without its light though, and without a torch, well, it was dark in the little hole he found himself trapped in. Dark, but not lonely. No, Wels was never truly alone.
"Pathetic." The familiar voice hissed in his ear. "You've given up the fight so quickly this time."
En Garde. Wels took no opening stance. He wasn't looking for a fight today. Wels, rational, patient, never did.
"This situation is beyond my capabilities," Wels explained coolly. "Help will arrive soon. Until then, I thought you might enjoy some small talk."
"Feeling lonely, Wels?" Feint. "Are you scared no one will come for you?"
"My communicator has plenty of life for an SOS," Wels shrugged into the dark. He rested his elbows on his crossed knees, trying to make himself comfortable. It took some fumbling to actually find his knees. Much like the void, the pitch black of a darkened cave was impenetrable. For the time being, it remained a familiar pitch. "Even if it didn't, there's a thousand other ways to find someone who's lost."
The voice didn't answer. Something like frustration, frustration not belonging to Wels, made a home in his chest.
"You told me a little about Hels when we first met." Step safely, the voice in the dark bites, and Wels is sticking his hand in its mouth with every word. The frustration that isn't his seethes quietly. Wels patient, calm, let's it be. It isn't hurting him yet. "It's in the nether, right? But I've been to the nether quite a bit, and I don't think I've ever seen it before."
"You're looking in the wrong places, idiot." Lunge. Aggressive and over-extended. Once again, Wels refuses to engage. "We can add that to your list of personal failings: short-sightedness."
"You said you were a champion there."
"I am."
"Is it a fun place to fight? It's got to be fun, if you did it so much." If it’s all you ever do. Wels winces, but he can't take the thought back. He's made a mistake.
Allez!
"Better to fight than cower in a hole. No wonder they forgot you for half a season. It's your natural state to pretend you don't exist."
"I didn't mean-"
"Backpedaling already, Wels? Have I caught you off-balance? What kind of a knight are you?"
"The kind that's asking a simple question," Wels stated, doggedly pursuing the topic at hand. "I didn't think you'd be too scared to answer it, Helsknight."
The frustration in Wels' chest seethes closer to rage, and he's forced to swallow in deep breaths to keep it in. There's something palpable about the dark in front of him, and a smell like brimstone and netherack burns his nose. He counts himself lucky that for now there's no smoke.
"I cannot describe Hels to you." The voice says at last, and it snarls with sharp teeth around every word. "It is only a place that makes sense."
"That's a lot of places."
"It is the only place."
"Uh, not sure if you've looked around much buddy, but Hermitcraft makes sense." Wels chuckles. "As much as it can, anyway."
"No. It doesn't."
"Would you care to elaborate? Or are we going to sit here in the dark talking around this for an hour?"
The darkness grins, and the gaps between its teeth are unfamiliar. Wels can't tell what the grin means, or how close it is to him. The frustration in his chest that isn't his simmers.
"We could sit here in the dark talking forever. That's your choice."
"This situation is out of my control," Wels repeats dutifully. "I'm waiting for help, and it's coming."
"Why are you trapped in this hole?"
"Were you napping when it all went down or--?"
"Humor me, insufferable beast."
"Creeper went off while I was caving. Trapped me in here."
"Why?"
"I... Ran out of torches?"
"Why?"
"Is this going somewhere?"
"Faster than you are."
Wels rolled his eyes. "Uh, well, this was supposed to be a quick trip. I just needed some iron. But I didn't find as much as I liked."
"And why do you need the iron?"
Wels feels like he's been manipulated. He's being circled, sword points extended, tracking movement. But he's doing his best not to move. Refraining from engagement. That is always the best way to fight Helsknight: to not fight at all. When something only knows war, peace is a baffling and unapproachable concept. But still, he feels engaged with, in the process of cornering.
"Well I need some for the build," Wels shrugs. "And I gave all I had to Beef the other day."
"A mistake you're facing the consequences of now," the voice snarls scornfully. "Why is your communicator dying?"
"I forgot to put it on the charger." Wels pauses, and then sensing the next question before it's asked, adds, "I was busy helping Jevin yesterday, so it slipped my mind I guess."
"You deserve to be trapped here."
"I mean, it's more of just, a series of unfortunate-"
"There is a clear and directed logic to why you are here right now. Every decision you've made has led to this moment."
"You say that like this is important or something."
"It's not. It's shameful. You're an idiot."
"It's good to know you think so highly of me." There was a twist in Welsknight's chest, the previous frustration raging back to life again. He stifled a laugh.
It is now Helsknight’s turn to ignore him. “Hels is a place that makes sense. Every event has a clear and traceable lineage. Every failure or victory is well-earned and deserved.”
“Because you can track things from Point A to Point B? We just did that. By your logic, Hermitcraft makes sense.”
“It does not.”
“What’s so weird about it?”
“Tell me, why are you so sure you’re going to be rescued?”
Wels shrugs, and the movement holds stiffness in it. The smell of brimstone in the black around him has begun to fade. He still feels like Helsknight is feeling him out, searching for something. “My friends will find the SOS ping. They always do.”
“Why would they help you?”
“Because we’re… friends…?”
“What makes you so sure they’re your friends?”
“Listen, I know what this is. We’ve done this song and dance before. Just because The Power Of Friendship isn’t quantifiable, that doesn’t mean my friends secretly hate me or something.”
There are teeth close to his face. He can sense them in the dark, the grinning maw murderously close. The simmering frustration that isn’t his becomes, for a brief moment, unbearable. It feels like a claw hooked through his ribcage, pulling, pulling. Dragging towards a mouth that, since it first appeared, has craved the moment it could devour him. Wels grimaces, and his hand fumbles through the dark to make sure he hasn’t actually managed to be impaled by something. When his hand reaches his chest, he feels only cold metal.
“An old wound of yours, Wels?” Helsknight snarls.
“I mean, that was an intense fight between us,” Wels allowed, and the feeling of a hook in his chest slowly starts to ease at the admittance. “I’m still on the mend… but I am mending.”
He feels like the darkness in front of him squints, sizing him up. He lets it. It’s not like Helsknight can really do him any harm here. The space is too small, for one thing. For another, Helsknight isn’t really here. Not in any form that lives and breathes and lunges, at least. No matter how palpable he feels in the dark.
“You cannot quantify friendship,” Helsknight continues. “But you can quantify a repayment in kind. What have you done, Welsknight, that you deserve to be saved in this moment? You gave away a little iron, a little time, but what fool trades their life for a few scraps?”
“I’m not asking someone to trade their life for mine. That’d be kind of selfish, I think. All I need is someone with some gumption and a functional pickaxe.”
“You are trapped in a hole of your own making. Every decision you’ve made has led to this moment. You are a hermit. You go long stretches of time without talking to your so-called friends, or aiding them in their needs. And yet you deem two small acts of favor enough justification for a lengthy search and rescue.”
“Do you not know what kindness is, Hels?”
“Kindness is a quantifiable trait. It can be repaid in equal parts to what is given for it. Your relationships with the people on this server, they cannot be accounted for. You expect them to rescue you, you expect them to like you. You expect them to accept your time given. But what have you done to deserve these things? There is no clear measure of your worth to each other. You have fallen into a safety net of caring people, who can decide at any moment they no longer care for your presence. Would you see it coming when it happened, Wels?”
“You’re trying to make me paranoid.”
“You are paranoid. Would these thoughts exist if you hadn’t had them first?”
“See, this is also an old argument, I think? If we’re the same person technically, and I’m thinking these things, that means you’ve thought them.”
“I’ve overcome these thoughts,” Helsknight cackles, a noise that reverberates around the tiny space like a rockslide. Wels finds himself pressing against the wall behind him, feeling if its stable. “I am the greatest warrior Hels has ever seen. Every victory I have ever won was rightly and justly earned. My world makes sense. You, however- I would not be here if you weren’t the weak link in my armor. An insignificant thing that fights, and spites, and hopes, and fancies after a world that cannot be counted or measured. You trust blindly, and then you crumble.”
That hook is in Wels’ chest again, and it’s hard to breathe around it. Its less that it hurts, more that it pulls. He breathes in and struggles to breathe out again. Those teeth are near his throat, threatening him with their presence, and the frustration that isn’t his is a barely contained rage. Wels screws his eyes shut – even though in the pitch black it makes no difference – and he fervently reminds himself that Helsknight isn’t really here. That the black knight can threaten and posture all he wants, but that’s all it really is at the end of the day. That’s all it is. His hands shake as he wipes his bangs out of his eyes. He’s still blind in the dark.
“Your curiosity bears promise, however.”
The feeling of the hook in his chest once again begins to fade.
“If you wish to know what Hels is like, what a world that makes sense is like, I can show you.”
Wels is startled by the realization that, for the first time, he isn’t alone in the cave he’s trapped in. It seems to him like suddenly a presence, real, physical, blinks into existence in the dark. Or maybe the dark becomes so thick and impenetrable that it gives itself form. Either way, one minute Wels is taking solace in the fact that he’s alone here. The next, he isn’t.
“Welcome back to Hermitcraft, Hels.”
The presence that is real and unsettling, and not just vague impressions of teeth and claws, leans towards him and extends a hand.
“You hate me,” Wels reminds him. “Why should I take whatever it is you’re offering to show me.”
“Because you are my weakest link,” Hels says matter-of-factly, and it’s weird hearing his voice out loud, dying in the closeness of the space they’re sharing, instead of reverberating dark and ominous in the corners of Wels’ mind. “I desire to be stronger, Wels. That is a clear and quantifiable motivation.”
Wels can hear the smile in Helsknight’s voice. “Help yourself.”
Silence falls heavy on the both of them as Wels hesitates before the outstretched hand. The conversation weighs on him, along with the weathering gaze of his Hels-spawned double. Welsknight reaches out his hand.
There’s a resounding crack, and Wels flinches as light suddenly pours into the little cavern. Xisuma is standing there, torch in one hand, pickaxe in the other. He blinks down at Wels, mouth open with a half-formed thought, before finally landing awkwardly on, “oh… Hello Welsknight.”
Wels looks back into the little cave pocket he’d been trapped in. His arm is reaching towards an empty wall. He pushes himself to his feet, pretending he wasn’t just caught in the middle of making a dumb decision. “Hey Xisuma! Thanks for coming after me, man.”
“Ah, well, I wasn’t coming after you, actually.” Xisuma fumbles, looking a bit lost. “Evil X sent me out this way looking for something. And, well… I can’t really remember what it was now I was supposed to be looking for.”
“Oh? Well that’s… serendipitous, I guess.”
“Just a regular derp moment, I guess?” Xisuma laughs uncomfortably, and then seems to get his bearings again. “Well! Glad I could help you out anyway. Would you like me to escort you back above ground again?”
“Yeah, if you don’t mind.”
“Come along then.”
Xisuma turns and starts making his way up the cave. Wels pauses only long enough to check the hollow he’d been stuck in, nodding to himself when there’s no sign of anyone there.
Later when Wels is alone again, back in the safety of his house, he will think about the hand extended to him in the dark. He will think about what Helsknight said about a world that makes sense, where every thought and action is quantifiable, every victory and hardship wholly justified. He thinks about what it must be like to be trapped in your darkest moments, and at every turn to recognize the individual shortcoming that brought you to that place. He thinks about how cruel a world it might be, if no one rescues those trapped by their own faults.
He thinks next time Helsknight extends his hand, he’ll refuse to take it
#the barking writer#hermitcraft#hermitcraft ficlet#helsknight#welsknight#hi you can tell i've been thinking too much about things again#mostly to the tune of 'skye philosophizes about how Right bad headspaces tend to feel in the moment'#Through Hels or High Water
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