#icymi part 1!
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Gekkan Shoujo Nozaki-kun Volume 13 omakes Part 1
Part 2 here and Part 3 here
© Cash Money Chiyo (@grolia, @liannesilver927, shire, squeaky, @waxlightjohn, and @zeldass!)
icymi, we’ve already translated the Volume 13 omake chapter about Mikoshiba/Hori here and here!
#gekkan shoujo nozaki kun#gsnk#monthly girls' nozaki kun#gsnktranslation#mod grolia#Hori and Mikorin wearing the uniform normally is... unsettling for some reason#you guys may want to jog your memory and reread Ch119-128 to understand the context of these omakes hahaha
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tags: yakuza!suna/escort!reader the prequel(ish), icymi here's PART 1 + PART 2
series masterlist
The car pulls up along the back of the club just past ten o’clock.
It had rained earlier in the evening, though you'd fortunately missed most of the shower. The world passing outside the windows of the car is still soaked with it, and puddles pool in the divots of the road as the water trickles slowly towards the storm drains that line the street.
“Thank you, Toma,” you say to your driver as you reach for the handle to let yourself out, and in the front seat the kindly man dips his head in response.
“Would you like me to wait to drop you home?” he asks, his eyes meeting yours in the mirror positioned along the highest centre point of the windshield. “I haven’t got another ride for a half an hour.”
“I have to drop my take-home off to the office and get my payout, and the trains are still running, but thank you,” you assure him with a shake of your head. You smile at him in the rearview mirror as you pop the door open. You hesitate just before you slip out, leaning up towards the front seat. “Drive safe tonight.”
You have to step around puddles as you approach the staff entrance to the club, the water collecting every few steps along the craggy surface of the alley. You hear a voice filtering down the dingy alleyway from up ahead, and it makes you slow ever so slightly. It’s familiar, and as you round the corner to the door, you recognize why.
Kaito stands just beside the metal door with ‘STAFF ENTRANCE ONLY’ emblazoned across it peeling white paint. He’s ditched the suit jacket you’d seen him wearing earlier in the evening, left in his black dress shirt with the first few buttons undone and his sleeves pushed up to his elbows. The flickering light above the door catches on the garish chain he wears around his neck, glinting at you as Kaito holds his cellphone up to his ear, lost in his conversation.
“Of course, sir. I understand,” he says, and though his voice is as insincerely pleasant as ever, his face is contrastingly grim—the affectation of charm extending only to that which the caller on the other line is able to witness. You watch as Kaito pushes a hand through his carefully-styled hair in frustration, tousling the dark strands, squeezing his eyes shut. “It’s not last minute at all, I’ll make sure our very best girls are available once he arrives.”
You pause upon overhearing that particular snippet of his phone call, your heels clicking to a stop on the unevenly cobbled path, and Kaito’s eyes crack open once he senses your approach.
“Very well, I’ll be sure to be at the entrance to greet him myself. Have a good evening, sir.”
Kaito ends the call, his eyes still on you.
“You’re back,” he remarks, acknowledging you once he tucks his phone into the pocket of his dress pants—his voice is so different now to what it had been only seconds prior that he may as well be a different person entirely. He plucks out the cigarette tucked behind his ear and holds it to his lips, fishing a lighter out from his pocket. “Early, isn’t it?”
“Right on schedule, actually,” you reply, snapping out of your momentary stupor and approaching the door as the lighter clicks to life. “I was meeting with Suzuki-san this evening.”
Suzuki is one of your longest-standing regulars: a successful businessman in his mid-60s whose wife passed away a few years prior, and whose children have all grown and moved away. He takes you to dinner once a week, and your appointments are never anything more than that. He’s lonely, you realized quickly after meeting him, and the way his face lights up when you arrive at whatever restaurant he’s reserved for the evening makes your stomach ache a little too much to ever really enjoy the food.
“That old sucker?” Kaito’s eyes widen, the corner of his mouth twisting upward in an almost cruel way. “Still paying you to play footsie with him at dinner after all this time.”
You frown, shooting Kaito a withering look as you reach for the staff door to step inside. He ignores your glare, and you watch with a feeling of abject dread as an idea comes to him.
“Hey,” he says, his hand suddenly coming to rest against the peeling paint and forcing the door closed before you can properly open it. The acrid smell of his cigarette smoke is overwhelming with him this close to you, and it makes your nose scrunch up. “You should stay late tonight.”
“Can’t,” you reply flatly, angling your body away from his. “I’m just here for payout.”
Kaito huffs at your immediate refusal. “I’ll make it worth your while,” he tries again.
“I can’t,” you repeat yourself, holding firm.
He narrows his eyes, and you watch as he considers how he should reply. He rolls his eyes a bit and eventually backs off, taking a long drag from his cigarette. “Whatever.”
You open the door and step inside without any further words passing between you.
In the main office, you hand in the envelope of cash Suzuki-san had pressed into your palm after walking you back to Toma and the waiting car outside the restaurant. The disinterested man in the office—you never manage to keep track of who’s who with how frequently the faces change around here—takes the cash and counts it in another room, even though you'd already triple checked for yourself on the drive back to the club. You wait there with your arms crossed over your chest for him to bring you back a slip of paper that would outline how much you’d earned that week and what was deposited directly into your bank account, and your heel taps against the dingy tile as the minutes tick past.
The back office of the club is far less flashy than the interiors of the lounge a few hundred metres and some staircases away. In fact, the interiors tend to deteriorate in luxury the further outwards you move from the epicentre of activity—the club and the private rooms that are attached to it are the height of luxury, the suites that line the south end of the building slightly less impressive in their quality, and finally the administrative rooms and various other spaces that only the staff ever visit like this one are completely unremarkable. Looking around the shabby, disorganized office you wouldn’t even know the kind of business it’s running.
Maybe that’s the point, you can’t help but think.
As you wait for the nameless man to return with your pay stub, you hear a sound from the hallway outside the open office door. It’s slight, but familiar—the sound of a sniffle. It makes the hair on the back of your neck stand up.
It’s not unusual to hear a woman crying around here.
You quickly turn your back to the door, trying your very best to ignore it. That’s what you’ve learned to do over the years, after all. But the sobbing becomes less ignorable, more noticeable, and before you can think better of it you’re stepping out of the office towards the sound.
Around the corner from the office, next to a supply closet, you find a small girl hunched in on herself in a sparkling pink cocktail dress.
It’s Mini—at least, that’s the name she goes by around here since the girls rarely use their real names in this place, for good reason.
She’s young, maybe 20 if you had to guess generously, and had only been working at the club for a few week as a server mostly: circling the busy floor of the bar area and bringing patrons their drinks. She’s a bright, bubbly girl, and she’s taken a shine to you for whatever reason after only a few shifts where your paths have crossed.
“Hey,” you call to her, and it seems to startle her a bit, jolting when she hears the sound of your voice.
Her mascara is running down her cheeks as she lifts her face to look up at you, and her nose has gone bright pink even underneath the layer of makeup she wears. At the sight of you, she starts to cry harder, crushing herself unexpectedly against your chest. You’re not sure what to do, so you pat a little awkwardly along her back in a vague attempt to comfort her.
“What’s wrong?” you ask her, hoping your voice isn’t quite as stiff as the rest of your body is.
“K-k-kaito just pulled m-me off the f-f-f-floor,” she wails, the final word drawing out in a warbling little cry.
Your jaw sets as she struggles to compose herself, pulling herself away from you after another moment of tears.
"Why?"
“He told me”—Mini swipes at her running nose with the back of her hand, sniffling wetly—“told me there’s a private party coming in. He’s rounding up as many girls as he can for it and sending them into one of the private lounges.”
Mini hasn’t been at the club long, and has never worked a private party. You both realize what it means for her, without it needing to explicitly be said. Evidently the premise has her frightened.
You really have no right to be as angry as you are, but that doesn't change the fury you feel rolling in the pit of your stomach.
Or stop you from doing what you do next.
You find Kaito in his office on the other side of the building.
“Who’s this private party?” you ask him once he answers the sharp rap you land against his door and he calls you in.
Kaito glances up from his desk. He’s got his suit jacket on again, and he’s fixed his hair—back to his usual self. He looks a little surprised to see you standing in his office doorway, especially as pissed off as you are.
He quirks a brow. “What’s it to you?”
You bite the tip of your tongue in an attempt to temper the flare of irritation searing through you.
“I don’t think Mini’s ready to work a private party.”
“Who?” he asks, and the worst part is you know he means it, leaning back in his chair. His brow furrows as you stare at him.
Your lips part to explain, but he cuts you off before any words come out.
“Doesn’t matter anyway,”—he waves his hand disinterestedly—“I need girls and she’s on shift. We’ve got a very important patron coming in who needs a selection to choose from, and half our best girls are already booked out tonight—or refuse to stay late.”
He tacks on that last part just for your sake.
Your teeth clench.
“So you’re just gonna send a bunch of rookies in there?” you ask him. “What kind of impression is that supposed to make to this very important patron?”
He shrugs. “Beggars can’t be choosers.”
You’re not sure who the beggar in this situation is supposed to be.
You grind your heel into the tile of his office floor as you sift through your thoughts.
“How many girls do you need?” you finally ask him, the question hissing out through gritted teeth.
He grins, seeing the cracks forming in your armour even from the other side of the room.
“Depends,” he replies flippantly.
“On what?” you ask him flatly.
He leans forward across his desk with a sharp smile pulling at his lips.
“On if I’m going for quantity or quality.”
In the end, Kaito agrees not to send any of the inexperienced girls into the private room. Instead, there will only be five girls, all relatively experienced, who this unexpected guest that Kaito seems so insistent on catering to will get to choose from.
You agree to be one of them.
You touch up your makeup in one of the dressing rooms before heading towards the designated lounge. It’s one of the nicest private rooms in the building: large, quiet, and with it’s own small mini-bar that’s kept well stocked to minimize any interruptions—another testament to just how keen Kaito is to pull out all the stops for this mystery patron.
You’re not dressed how you usually would be a lounge shift like this—much less a private booking. The dress you’d worn to dinner with Suzuki-san is a little too tasteful for the role you’re about to assume. Mini had kindly offered to let you borrow one of the spares she’d brought to work with her after she found you freshening yourself up (and conveyed her relief at being spared the private party,) but you declined—not least of all because of your very different body types. Your quiet hope was that you’d get there, pale in comparison to one of the other girls who were better suited for the occasion, and ultimately be able to continue home like you ought to have already been by now, this whole situation an unfortunate—but only momentary—road block.
The other girls are already gathered in the room when you arrive, with drinks in their hands and glossy lips and beautiful, skin-tight dresses on their frames. You greet them quietly, accepting a glass of champagne that’s placed into your hands by one of the girls you’re closest to—a tall, stunning woman who goes by the name of Yuki.
“Any idea who this high roller is that Kaito’s kissing ass for tonight?” she asks you as you take a sip from your drink. Yuki had cut the drink with soda water, you realize it right away as the muted taste of effervescent wine reaches your tongue. It’s a welcomed trick that you yourself have been known to employ of many occasions, a tactic used to keep your wits about you without seeming like you’re turning down a drink while you work a long shift.
You can’t help but lament the fact that you really could use a proper drink right about now.
“No,” you tell her quietly, fiddling with the thin stem of the champagne flute between your fingers. “He didn’t say.”
“Must be someone good,” Sakura, another working girl whose long hair is tinted a pretty shade of pink that suits her name, chimes in from the other side of the room where she’s draped across the tufted sofa.
You wonder if she’s right about that, because an unpleasant feeling creeping over you is telling you the opposite.
The girls chat quietly amongst themselves as you all wait for the arrival of the much-anticipated guest, and you continue sipping your watered down champagne as you rest perched on the arm of a chair along one side of the room.
You should already be home by now. Should already have scrubbed the day from your skin and slipped into a pair of soft cotton pyjamas. You should be sitting on your sofa watching a movie, or reading the last chapter of the book you’d had to tear yourself away from to come to work that afternoon, or even be curled up in your bed asleep. You’re bitter to still be within the walls of the club, to still be maintaining the character you’re paid to play, and you chew the inside of your cheek as you stew in this resentment—so much so that you almost miss the door to the lounge swing open.
Your eyes flicker up as the rest of the girls stand in greeting.
You’re the last to rise from your seat.
Behind Kaito is a man you’ve never seen before, his apathetic stare sweeping lazily around the room as Kaito rambles on about something you don’t care to listen to. The guest doesn’t seem to either.
He has dark hair that reaches a little longer than the top of his ears, and an expression on his face that doesn’t seem to imply that he’s any happier to be here than you are. He has a bandage on his cheek, the skin around it still red enough to imply the injury is fresh, and a cut on his lip that looks like it could bleed again at any moment. He’s dressed in black—a turtleneck, under a long coat, over a pair of trousers, all in the same shade. His hands are shoved into his pockets to complete his general air of indifference.
His eyes land on you just as you make it up to your feet, and the way his attention lingers on you for a moment longer than it had the rest of the girls makes you want to curse under your breath. Your attempt to go unnoticed has already started off on the wrong foot, and the man isn’t even fully across the threshold yet.
Your eyes meet—properly meet—and for a moment you hold your breath.
“Ladies,” Kaito says, that saccharine, ingratiating tone you hate so much the thickest you’ve ever heard it in his voice. “This is Suna Rintarou”
The man’s eyes are still on you.
“I’m sure you’ll see to it that he has a very memorable evening.”
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HEADS UP, TRAVELERS!
Juno needs to get in contact with a certain thief, and luckily he has a plan... but what will happen if that thief really, really doesn't want to be found?
ICYMI: Juno Steel and the Recipe for Disaster (Part 1) is out now wherever you get your podcasts.
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The Spiral [Lio Meier] - Part 4
A/N: One more part after this! things are starting to turn around for our Lio 🤭
Word Count: 5.3k
Warnings: allergic reaction, lots of medical talk, angst, childhood trauma themes
ICYMI Part 1, Part 2, Part 3
The morning after his concussion, Lio thinks it would have been better to have been crushed by a garbage truck. His head hurts so bad, worse than any hangover headache or migraine he’s had in his life. But worse than that is the fog that has settled into his brain. Details of last night are fuzzy- the game, Lucie, their conversation. He thinks things are better, but is worried about facing her this morning.
He rolls over to his back, tentatively opening his eyes. The world doesn’t swirl like it had been last night. But he feels like the front of his forehead is going to explode off from the pressure. Is that normal? Fuck.
Slowly, Lio adjusts his position to sit up. The smell of something baking hits his nose. He smiles. Lucie is still here. It takes awhile before Lio can get out of bed, changed, and hit the bathroom. By the time he is done with that, he feels like he could go back to sleep. Instead, he drags himself towards the kitchen. Lucie is at the stove, a large stack of pancakes to her left. As he gets closer, he can see the rainbow sprinkles poking out of the cakes.
“Lucie pancakes.” He chuckles, approaching her.
“They still hit even as an adult.” She shrugs.
“Doesn’t Stell think these are her creation?”
“Yeah because of her dad.” Lucie rolls her eyes. “Connor thinks she created everything, even though I made these all the time when I was pregnant with her.”
“So he thinks because she was there, she made them?”
“He thinks she created the craving for me, so it’s from her.”
“Your mom could set that straight.”
“Mmm, I don’t think anyone can set that man straight about his sweet girl.” Lucie takes off two more pancakes. “Sit down and eat. You look awful.”
“Thanks.” Lio mumbles, resting his head delicately in his palm. He sets his elbow on the counter watching as Lucie slaps two pancakes on his plate. “Still hate syrup?”
“Yep.” Lio confirms, picking up his fork to cut into a pancake.
“I heard from Ben. He wanted you to check in when you got up.” Lio nods, grabbing his phone.
While he eats small bites, him and Ben talk about how Lio is feeling. Ben is concerned about the intensity of Lio’s headache. He wants him to go to the hospital for a CT scan.
“Can you send a car? Lucie needs to go home to her family.”
“No, I can take you.” She says, waving away his worries. “Con is taking Stell to the rink for practice. She is loving her mommy-free life right now.” Ben and Lio chat more. The team doctor is going to meet them at the hospital and they will know more after the imaging is processed.
Lucie and Lio finish breakfast, then head into Newark. Lucie waits while Lio is being scanned and afterwards while they wait for the radiologist to do a quick read. Everything looks good. Lio’s brain isn’t showing any damage, but he does have one hell of a concussion. The news is good. Lio feels like he can breathe and be more at peace with where he is at.
“You’re going to have to take it easy.” The doctor reminds him. “At least two weeks before you do any exercise.” Lio agrees. He can’t imagine getting on the ice right now with how shitty he feels.
“Is it okay if I drop you off and head out?” Lucie asks Lio when they are back in the car. “Connor is going to the Children’s Hospital to see some of his kiddos. I need to get home before he leaves again.”
“Yeah, I will be fine. Thank you for staying with me. And.. um tell Connor thanks too. I appreciate it. Know he isn’t my biggest fan.”
Lucie drops Lio in front of his building, then heads back towards her city. Lio’s doorman greets him warmly, opening the big door for him.
“Thanks, Charlie.”
“Tough one last night, Mr. Meier.”
“Hey, boys pulled out the win tho.” Lio waves as he walks through.
“Your mama is waiting for you in your apartment. She was mighty frazzled this morning.” Lio stops in his tracks. There are two people who have unlimited access to his apartment besides him. One just dropped him off. The other lives in Switzerland.
“Ah, thanks. Moms…” Lio trails off with a shrug.
Lio seriously contemplates sprinting out of his building. Doctor’s orders be damned. The only woman to ever love him unconditionally is upstairs and he is not ready to face her. Not ready to see her after the horrible things he said to her. Not ready to face his own shame and self-hatred. It’s why he left Switzerland without seeing her even after telling his dad he wouldn’t do that. He doesn’t deserve her or her love.
But she is here. Already. He knows how many hoops she must have jumped through to get to him. He senses his dad’s involvement as well. The strings Timo Meier would have pulled for her are unlimited. So Lio Meier gets into the elevator and rises the 6 floors to his awaiting fate. Outside his apartment door, he takes a deep breath, then puts his key in the lock. He pushes the door open, not seeing her on the couch like he expected.
“Mama?” He calls into the apartment.
“Lee?” He hears her call from deep inside. She comes rushing out of his room. With zero hesitation, she grabs him and wraps him into her body for a hug. “Oh” She sighs, holding his head against hers. She sucks in a deep breath then lets out a relieved sigh at having him close to her. “Are you okay?” Her brown eyes are deeply pained. Lio closes his eyes, unable to see more.
“Um, well, I guess but also no. What are you doing?”
“Your laundry.”
“Of course.” He chuckles, shaking his head. He has been grown for awhile, but she still insists on taking care of him. It makes Lio less worried for whatever is to come.
“Well, I was very anxious waiting for you. I had to do something.” She insists, waving a hand in front of her face. “Now, go sit down. I have lemon water, hot oatmeal and toast ready for you.” She gently guides him forward. “And vitamins. You need extra nutrients to get better.”
“Mama.” Lio sighs when she turns to head back to the kitchen. He feels like such a piece of shit with how she is jumping right in to take care of him. The undeserving suffocates him, tightening his throat until he struggles to breathe. “Don’t do this.” He finally chokes out. “Don’t double down and love me harder right now.”
“Lee.” Emma comes back to him, putting her hands on his cheeks. She kisses his forehead, right over where his head aches so badly. “I am never going to stop loving you hard or taking care of you. I’m your mother.” She runs her fingers through his hair, then moves back into the kitchen. His blue eyes follow her.
“Is dad here?”
“Yes, of course. Boys are with Uncle Neeks and Auntie Lex, but Livy is coming this weekend.”
“You both didn’t have to come and Liv needs to stay in California. She has school.”
“Mmm, but we did.” Emma looks over her shoulder at him. “We needed to see that you were going to be okay.”
“Dad isn’t here now?” Lio looks down the hall towards his bedroom.
“No, we felt like it’s you and I that need to talk. Not the three of us.” Lio looks away. “Don’t be mad at daddy. It was me. He didn’t want to do it.” Lio’s blue eyes find her again in the kitchen.
“You don’t get to tell me to not be mad at him.” He whispers.
“Probably not. But I love your dad very much and if I can save him from your wrath, I want to.”
Lio goes to the couch, sitting down, laying his head back on the top. He is exhausted from his morning. He feels the air of his mom coming around the couch. She puts her hand on his forehead, smoothing the wrinkle of distress there.
“What’s the news?”
“Concussion.” Lio mumbles.
“Is your brain okay?”
“Yes.” Emma sighs in obvious relief. Her hand drops to his shoulder. She strokes her hand there, quietly contemplating where to go next. When Lio opens his eyes, she begins.
“Lio, daddy and I love you more than I even know how to say. I never thought I would have to find words to express how much and I’m deeply sorry that you’ve been so hurt.” She sighs, running her hand through her hair, then looking out the floor to ceiling windows to the city. His apartment is only a few blocks from where her and Timo lived when she was pregnant with Lio. That feels like so long ago, but she tries to go back to who she was then to give Lio more insight into their life.
“I was the one who wanted to fudge your story. I know daddy told you that this summer, but he doesn’t know all of the things that went into that. You and I had experiences when you were a baby that made me feel very protective of you. People judged. They were horrible and social media made our life so accessible, even as Daddy and I tried to hide you. But this was never because we were ashamed or didn’t love you.” Disgust and substantial disagreement scrunches Emma’s nose. “It was the exact opposite.” Emma puts her hands on her cheeks for a moment, then continues.
“When you were 10 months old, the Devils were playing in the Eastern Conference finals. Daddy was hurt. He was playing through it as he always does, so he wasn’t performing very well. People were upset.” Lio watches his mom become increasingly uncomfortable. “You and I were out at a store after the Devils went down in the series. There was an incident in public where someone came up to you, a little baby, and called you that name…” Emma closes her eyes. “They went on to literally blamed the entire playoff situation on the fact that you were born out of wedlock. Daddy’s play as well. We were being punished for our sin of having you.”
Lio can see how much this still hurts his mom decades later.
“I’m sorry, mom.” He says sincerely.
“That person got to me.” Emma shakes her head. “I felt you deserved a better story. A more picture perfect story because of how much joy and purpose you brought to our lives. I..” She sighs. “I felt like we ruined your childhood before it had even really begun. I tried to fix it the way I knew how. Instead I hurt you.”
“But Lio, please know, I have loved you since the moment I knew of you even when I was crying on a bathroom floor. I didn’t know what to do, but I knew I had to figure it out for you. When I got up off that tile, whatever decision daddy wanted wasn’t going to shake my decision. You were coming because I wanted you. It would be me and you against the world.” Emma stops, looking at him, then she chuckles. “But daddy wasn’t going anywhere. He was all in. He loved us so much. You’ve seen the videos from when I was pregnant with you. Nothing about that was forced.”
Lio remembers the one of his dad laughing hard as a three week old Lio tried to latch onto Timo’s big chest. The pictures of him on the ice at The Rock for the first time in skates that looked massive on his feet. Tons of videos of Lio and Timo napping together the year of the Devils first cup run. He looks across his apartment at a picture of his parents and him with the cup. It was only Lio and them at that time. Well, his mom was pregnant with Livy, but they barely knew that. Although the most difficult to win trophy in sports is right there, his dad’s hands are on a young Lio, engulfing him and his mom in his sweaty equipment.
“It felt like a lie.” Lio hears himself say. He gestures to the picture. Emma follows his gaze. “Like it looked like that. But then you and dad would make a comment about wanting me so bad you couldn’t wait and my whole life felt like a lie.” Emma swallows hard, nodding.
“I see that now, Lee. I’m very sorry. But that was real. That was our life, baby.” She reaches for his hand.
“It hurt me.” He whispers. Emma winces, then runs her hand up his arm to squeeze his shoulder.
“I know. I am so sorry. I hope you can forgive me.” Emma purses her lips together, then looks at Lio with tears in her eyes. She brushes her thumb over the hairs behind his ear. “So loved. So wanted. Never a mistake.” Lio nods, then reaches to hug her. They hold one another tightly.
“Love you, mama.” Lio inhales heavily. “I can see how you wanted to protect me.”
“I love you, Lee. So much sweet boy.” When they pull apart, Emma stands to grab Lio more water, then comes back to the couch.
“She wasn’t even pregnant.” Lio confesses. “False positive.”
“Oh.” Emma blinks. This is the first time she is hearing this. “How does that make you feel?”
“Relieved.” Lio answers honestly. “More than any of the other reasons I said this summer… I just don’t want kids, mama.” Emma nods. She has suspected so for awhile.
“It’s your life. You get to decide. But you need to be more careful because at some point, it becomes not your choice.”
“Kay, pot.” Lio jokes with a light-hearted smirk. Emma tisks, chuckling and smacking Lio’s leg.
“Don’t slut shame your mother. You didn’t see how good James Bond looked that night.”
- - -
A brisk and skin drying wind has picked up on the East coast in the middle of November. Old man winter is roaring its way to the East coast with a winter storm warning in effect beginning tomorrow. With the impending weather, things are sure to get dicey in the booming metropolis of New York City. Despite the lingering effects of his concussion agitating him today, Lio is currently being dragged from room to room in the Bubble Planet by Stella Wood.
“This way! This way!” She yells, struggling to pull his heavy weight with her little body.
“Stell, I’m coming. Just chill.” He laughs.
“She doesn’t know that word. She’s three.” Lucie jokes back to him.
They weave through room after room, each one more exciting than the last. Stella is having the time of her life, especially when she is on Lio’s shoulders, getting to touch the bubbles falling from the ceiling.
“Mama, this is the best day! I wish daddy could come!” Lucie and Lio avoid looking at each other, just like they avoid the giant elephant that is Connor Wood between them.
Although Lucie and Connor have discussed more about what happened this summer, he is not ready to move on. It got particularly heated when Lucie asked if Stella could see Lio. Connor questioned Lucie’s motives, worried about the implications and confusion Stella would have about Connor not being there. These were fair and valid points, but her inquisitiveness hurt less than her tears about missing Lio.
“Baby, you do what you need to do, but I’m not interested in spending time with him or fixing this. I’ve made concessions along the way. This is where I am at. Stell stays here with me.”
Lucie respected that. She dropped it completely. But suddenly the next morning, Connor had given her quiet permission for her to bring Stella to breakfast with Lio. That was a month ago. Connor heads to the rink on days when his girls are meeting up with Lio, always having an excuse about training or treatment or nutrition. Lucie kisses him extra hard on those days, wanting him to know she loves him deeply and understands so much of this is difficult for them.
Now, as she watches Stella up on Lio’s shoulders, all she can fathom is the immense hole Connor’s absence brings.
“Baby, are you getting hungry?” Lucie asks her daughter as they bop out onto the New York avenue.
“Yeah.”
“What do you want?”
“Mac and cheese!”
“You had that for dinner last night.” Lucie laughs.
“She is a good Swiss girl!” Lio nods approvingly.
“Her favorite is Kraft.” Lucie points out.
“We’ll work on it. She’s three, ya know.” He jostles Lucie’s shoulder, then immediately regrets it at the way the world swirls upright for a minute. “Oof.” He rubs at his temples.
“Careful, Lee. No setbacks.” Lucie cautions, gripping his shoulder.
The three of them head a few blocks down to a diner, settling into a red booth with huge, plastic menus and a coloring page for Stella. Lio sits on her side of the booth, taking turns coloring a troll in a field of daisy.
“Not pink!” Stella scrunches her nose, pushing Lio’s hand away.
“What? You said I could pick any color.”
“Yeah, any one but pink.”
“You love pink?”
“When I was two.”
Lucie and Lio both snort, attempting to pursue their lips to keep their laughter in. Stella Wood is an absolute hoot.
“Can I share a milkshake with you?” Lucia asks Lio.
“I was gonna share with Stell.”
“Oh, I see how it is.” She raises her eyebrows then looks away with a smirk at her menu. She decides on a simple Strawberry shake. “Stell, do you want to share with uncle Lee?”
“Yeah.”
“Which flavor?”
“Reese’s! His favorite!”
“No, you can’t have those, baby. You’re allergic to peanuts.”
“No peanuts in there?”
“Yes, there is peanut butter.” Lucie calmly reminds her.
“Sorry, Uncle Lee. I get sick.” She pats her little pot belly.
“It’s okay. I was thinking chocolate.”
“Oh yes.” The little girl sighs happily.
The waitress comes and takes their orders. The adults grab cheeseburgers with fries while Stella happily exclaims she needs Mac and Cheese. The waitress practically swoons out of her Keds at how sweetly Stella thanks her for going to get their food. More coloring is done and a quick few games of hangman using three letter words like cat and dog and hat. Stella is getting so good at her ABCs. The milkshakes come out first. Stella watches in awe as the shake is split between two cups for her and her uncle.
“You gonna be able to finish that?” Lio asks.
“Mhm.” Stella nods enthusiastically. With one hand she grabs the glass while the other helps her balance on the table top. She sucks up the milkshake quickly, then sputters, coughing.
“Oh, that was a big sip. It’s cold, huh?” Lucie chuckles, handing Stella her water glass. She holds it up to the little girl’s lips for a sip.
“Ah!” She exclaims. “Mmmm.” She sucks up more of the thick liquid. Lio and Lucie chuckle, watching Stella enjoy her ice cream. Lio leans back farther in the booth, looking across the table at his cousin.
“I’ve had so much fun with you today. I missed this.”
“Me too.” Lucie murmur. Stella coughs again, loudly, then seems to gag. Stella sits up straighter, looking Lucie in the eyes with wide orbs. “Are you okay, baby?” Lucie straightens. Lio sits up as well, reaching out for Stella. She makes a wheezing noise, then sticks her tongue out.
“Oh my god. Stell?” Lucie covers her mouth, watching a red, angry rash begin to form on Stella’s face. Lio grabs Stella as she begins to sway backward.
“She is very warm.”
“What is going on?” Lucie whispers, she looks around the table then she smells it, the faintest whiff of peanut butter coming from the ice cream in the glass Stella was drinking. “Oh my god. Peanut butter.” She reaches for her purse, fumbling around. “Um.. ohmygod.”
“Do you have an Epipen?”
“Um.” She nods vigorously, beginning to pant herself. Her stomach tightens, fear dashes down her spine. She rips her hands through the contents of her purse, looking for the injection she always carries with her since the first reaction Stella had a few months ago in Switzerland. But it wasn’t like this. It was nothing close to this.
“Luc, come on.” Lio calls to his cousin, picking up Stella into his arms. “You’re okay, baby. It’s okay!” He tries for a cheery voice as Stella being to sob. “Luc, dump the purse out.” Lucie picks the bag up, emptying it from the handles. Lio sees the EpiPen immediately, tossing the cap off hastily. He does the injection, pausing to watch Stella’s reaction. Her wheezing gets tighter, but she can no longer speak to him or even cry. Lio’s heart is racing in his chest as he watches her struggle.
“Do you have another one?”
“No! It’s with Connor at home.” She shakes her head frantically. “Oh my god. Someone call an ambulance!” Lucie sobs out to the restaurant. In the haste of dumping her purse out, her phone fell underneath the booth. But she is frozen in paralysis. She can’t move. She can’t breathe. She is forced to watch her baby struggle.
Adrenaline takes over Lio like he was injected with the epinephrine. He calculates out where they are in the city, the amount of time it will take for an ambulance to get there and he knows Stella’s chances of making it are slim with how much she is struggling even after her first injection. He has seen this before with a kid in school when they still lived in Jersey.
“There isn’t time for the ambulance. I’m taking her to Children’s.” The hospital is at the end of the three blocks they walked from Bubble Planet, close to Lucie’s car. Lio secures Stella to his chest and begins to run from the restaurant. He leaves Lucie at the table to scramble her things back into her bag. He runs as fast as his body will go. Stella jostles against his shoulder, going limper and limper and Lio quite literally races against time.
“You’re going to be okay, Stell. it’s going to be okay. I won’t let anything happen to you.” He promises the little girl in his arms.
Tears blur his vision. His concussion rears it’s ugly head, pulsing against his temples and making the sidewalk shift with his blurred vision. He can’t let that stop him. Stella needs him. He pushes his injured and weak body to go harder the next block, dodging pedestrians and cabs in walk ways and dogs on leashes. He hits the emergency entrance of the hospital, screaming for help.
“Help! Please! My nieces is going into shock! She was exposed to peanuts!” Nurses swarm him, snatching Stell immediately and taking over.
“Did you give her Epinephrine?”
“How was she exposed?”
“Is this her first exposure?”
Lio answers the questions as best he can. Yes, ingested and no. He looks over his shoulder, wondering when he can expect to see Lucie. But then they are taking Stella away on her bed. Another nurse holds him back as they rush down the hall with her.
“Sir, I need you to wait in the lobby.”
She is right. He needs to wait for Lucie anyway. But that doesn’t make it easier to turn around. He heads to the doors he just sprinted through, avoiding the gazes of curious onlookers. He walks outside into the cold air. His chest tightens immediately and he turns to the side, looking for something he can vomit into. But then he sees Lucie Wood, rushing down the sidewalk, clutching her purse to her chest, sobbing so loud he can hear every inhale and exhale of her shaking body.
“Luc, they’ve got her.” Lio calls to her. He opens his arms up and Lucie collapses into his body. His shirt is immediately wet from her face. Large hiccups shudder her frame against him. He squeezes her tight, smoothing her hair down. “It’s going to be okay.” Lio whispers to her, hoping that maybe if they chant that together, it will make it real.
Several minutes pass. Lucie continues to sob into Lio’s body, even after he moves her inside to get out of the wind. The doctors come out looking for him, finding him and Lucie together. Stella is stable. They can go see her, but she will need to stay for several hours for monitoring as they had to give her two more injections. Lucie heads right into her daughter’s room, curling up with the little girl who looks drugged and exhausted in the center.
“Mama is here. You’re okay.” She cries to her daughter. Stella is upset and shaken from the ordeal. She clings to Lucie like a monkey, balling her shirt up in her little fists.
“LuLu, do you want me to call Connor?”
“Yes.” Lucie whispers, barely able to get the word out of her shaking lips. She reaches into the back pocket of her jeans, handing her phone to him. “If you call he won’t answer.” She says simply. Lio tries to brush that off like it doesn’t hurt, but it stings as bad as the wind biting his cheeks during his sprint to the hospital.
Lio takes a deep breath, then clicks on Connor’s contact. His heart is pounding in his chest like he’s about to take a face-off in the final minute of a trailing game. He licks his lips, leaning agains the wall, waiting on the call to connect.
“Hey baby! I’m just about to leave.”
“Ah.” Lio coughs. “Hey, it’s Lio.”
Silence.
“Where is Lucie?” A definite snap tightens the words through the line.
“She’s with Stella. She asked me to call you and tell you what is going on.”
“What? Are they okay? What..”
“Lucie is okay.” Lio starts.
“Stell? Whats wrong with her!?” Connor’s voice is beginning to escalate. “What did you do, Lio?” Connor snaps. Lio closes his eyes.
“I didn’t do anything. It was a mistake at the restaurant.”
“Fuck!” Connor yells. “Where are you?”
“At Children’s hospital off 34th.”
“You have to tell me what happened, Lio.”
“I’m trying to, but you’re not letting me get much out here, man.” Connor sighs. Lio takes his silence as compliance. “We were out grabbing lunch and she had an allergic reaction and we had to bring her to the hospital. Her Epipen wasn’t enough.”
“Fuck, I have the second one. We usually have the two together, but Lucie and I had plans the other night and…” Connor’s voice is distraught.
“It happens. But you should get down here. They need you.”
“I’m on my way.”
Lio removes the phone from his ear, looking at the lock screen of Lucie, Connor and Stella. Lio took that photo of them this summer in Switzerland, before everything happened. He sighs heavily, then comes back into the room.
“Connor is coming.” Lio assures Lucie. She doesn’t take her crying eyes off the little girl in her arms. She sniffs and nods in acknowledgement, continuing to touch her daughter’s face soothingly. Lio can’t tell if it’s for Stella or Lucie.
Connor Wood arrives thirty minutes later with squeaking sneakers on the tile floor of the hospital hallway. Lucie and Stella are dozing in an overwhelmed sleep. Lio sits in the chair next to them with one hand on Stella, rubbing her arm. Lucie’s hand clings to his wrist, needing comfort in one of the worst moments of her life.
“I’m a terrible mom.” She had told Lio tearfully.
“You’re not. It was scary.”
“What if you weren’t there?”
“It doesn’t matter. I was.”
“Luc! Stell!” Connor rushes into the room then locks in on Lio. He shifts his worried eyes to the bed, seeing Lucie and Stella curled together. His lips pull into a deep frown, then his eyes seemingly dim when he takes in Lio in the place he should be.
“They’re resting, Lucie is pretty upset.” Lio says as he slowly works his wrist out of Lucie’s grasp. “I’m sorry, I know you don’t want to see me. I’ll leave now, I just didn’t want to leave the girls alone before you got here.”
“What happened?” Connor asks. Lio can see the way his chest rapidly raises and falls beneath the Rangers logo on his chest.
“Stella somehow got a peanut butter shake at the diner. Wrong order. She had some and started having a severe reaction.” Connor’s face gets ghostly pale. He puts his hand on his head over his blue hat, waiting for more. “Um, Luc, She… she panicked. It was all scary. Truly awful. But I gave Stell the injection, but it didn’t do enough. She became mostly unresponsive.” Connor closes his eyes, bringing his hands to his face in anguish. “There wasn’t time to wait for help, so I grabbed Stella and ran here with her.”
“You ran?”
“Yeah. Stell didn’t have time.” Lio reiterates. If he is mad at Lio for that, then so be it. Maybe it was reckless, but Lio had to make a judgement call and Stell is going to be okay because of it. Connor stares at Lio. Then suddenly he steps forward around the bed. Lio stands up taller, preparing for anything. Connor wraps an arm around Lio’s shoulders to bring him into his body. Lio brings his hands up, clasping Connor’s back as they share a deep, sincere hug.
“Thank you.” Connor whispers, tears coating his voice. Lio squeezes Connor tighter, not wanting to let go of his best friend. Suddenly, it hits Lio. How close they were to losing Stell. How dire she had looked when he ran through the doors of the ER. How Lucie had every right to be that terrified at the table. It had been bad. Horrible. Worst case scenario.
Lio can’t help it. He begins to sob. Everything that has happened the last few months weeps out of him. From losing Savannah, to screaming at his parents, to only having his little sister, to losing the three people in this room with him. His concussion… almost losing Stella on that New York street.
“It’s okay, Lee. She’s going to be okay.” Connor puts his hand on Lio’s head. “You saved our girl.” Lio nods, shuddering as he pulls away. Both men wipe their faces with their hands, then look over to the two girls laying in the bed. Stella has a sleepy grin on her face, watching them.
“Daddy!” She giggles, reaching out to him, flexing and unflexing her fingers for him to come closer.
“Hi baby.” Connor smiles brightly, leaning down to kiss her cheeks. “Can I lay with you and mama?”
“Yeah.” Stella yawns as she says the word.
“Sleepy.” Connor chuckles, kissing her again. He curls her and Lucie into his body, trying to be careful not to wake his wife. Lucie jolts up at the feeling of his hands on her. “Me, Luc. It’s me.” She visibly relaxes when she sees her husband. “I’m here.” He brushes her cheek with his thumb.
Lio watches from the end of the bed, then anxiously rubs at his forehead. He clears his throat, stuffing his hands into his pockets.
“Um, well I’ll head out so you all can be together.”
“No, don’t go.” Lucie shakes her head.
“It’s okay, Luc. I’ll see you later.”
“You should stay with us.” Connor says softly. “We want you here.” The insinuation of the we has the corners of Lio’s mouth sliding up.
Lio makes his way back to the chair by the bedside, sitting down in it. Him and Connor share a look of understanding. Lucie trails her nails along Stella’s back as another big yawn stretches her little mouth.
“Uncle Lee?” Stella murmurs.
“Hm?”
“You gonna be here when I wake up?”
“Yeah, Stell.” He sighs. “I’ll be right here.”
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Hope is confusion | Next
Aunties, assemble!
*puts on a pot of bee tea*
ICYMI - Part 1 | Part 2
We’ve seen this before, right? Someone plants a seed and at first you brush it off like “nah, not me”, but then it starts eating away at your brain cells and now you’re on the phone with your momma and trying to see how your boyfriend feels...
A handsome local, an entire 5 years older than Hope, was pretty smooth in how he played that, we gotta give the brotha Kenji some credit. You can tell by the look on his face when he said what he had said...
But is he wrong?
Hope just became a young adult 13 seconds ago (and only had her first time 11 seconds ago), she’s madly in love and Jay will probably pop a ring on her finger the next time she feeds him some homemade biscuits. If she marries young, for example, how will that impact whatever wild side she wants to explore? If they take a break, could it break them apart? And why does Jayce seem so accommodating? Because he loves her or because maybe *he* needs a break because his momma has lost her shit? We don’t know yet...
But here we are, and that’s on twinkle, twinkle, little star.
#ts4#indya#black simblr#mmmmm#goodnight you crazy kids#ts4 story#sims 4 story#simblr#ts4 storyteller#ch21
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Hey Primo! This is only my opinion so please don't take it to heart. I remember reading your post about how bad the interaction (at the time) was with one of your posts. I felt a bit odd about it considering it was only 1 day apart and notes etc normally pick up over the span of a few days/weeks. I think that when writers reach to a point where they crave to hear what others think of their work, is when writing no longer becomes a fun pastime if that is what it originally intended to be. There was also someone that made a comment stating that alot of writers can't take criticism though they ask for it which is completely true. It's a constant back n' forth where at the end of the day we'll never truly be able to satisfy everyone. You'll just drive yourself mad (case in point, you're someone that normally gets thousands of notes but this time merely 1 day of little interaction seemed to have gotten to you which is extremely unhealthy.)
You're an amazing writer and overall genuine person. Don't let things like this eat away at you.
I quote from your post
You'll just drive yourself mad (case in point, you're someone that normally gets thousands of notes but this time merely 1 day of little interaction seemed to have gotten to you which is extremely unhealthy.)
Which is extremely true and it is very unhealthy that I expected so much out of that post when in truth I should know that not all of my posts is going to have thousands of notes. Some will reach further some will not, and that's something I should understand and accept.
Though I do agree with you that posts pick up over a couple of days... sometimes, for me who has a few thousand followers, if it doesn't pick up the first few hours and doesn't get reblogged the first few hours, it actually won't pick up anymore. At the moment it has 2,000 or so notes, unless someone revives it, it will actually remain stagnant and will even have difficulty climbing to 3,000. (This is the reason why you see some authors reblog their own post and caption it "in case you missed it #icymi "because it actually won't move anymore if they don't do that)
But here's the thing, the notes is not what really got to me. Yes that was part of it, but what really bugged me is that I spent so much time on that one post and I realized that I shouldn't have. Realizing that my TIME is now more precious than it was a year ago. Which ties in to what you said about it being unhealthy. Tumblr is not something I should spend my time on, to be quite frank. I love doing this, but I hate so much that I forgo something when I do it (e.g. Time with my family).
Thus my 10 minute quick writes was born, after realizing this fact. In that way I don't spend so much time in front of the computer, mulling over my writing, re-reading it, wondering how I can make the words flow better. Wondering how to make the words and story clearer in my mind and everyone else's. With the 10 minute quick writes, I don't really give a freak who read it, who interacts with it, who likes it...because it only took 10 minutes of my life (I actually put a 10 minute timer on whenever I feel like writing now) and some day when I have more time, then maybe I can write something longer but honestly, right now, I would rather not.
Thank you so much for your message! It has cemented me back to Earth, cause even with my 10 minute quick write I had felt guilty that I only wrote such a short thing...but reading your message has told me there's nothing to feel guilty about, specially when I MYSELF am already happy with doing 10 minutes of writing, regardless of what tumblr thinks.
<3
With love,
primofate
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5 for 500 has finished!! ICYMI, here’s what came out:
Confessions at Starfall – Az angst/jealousy one shot
With benefits – Cassian angst/smutty one shot
Two lessons in one – Rhys fluff/smut one shot, he teaches you to fly
Stay with me – Az one shot where you tend to his injuries
Overwritten Part 1 – an new Az series! Reader/Az’s mate has been brainwashed to think he and the IC are their enemy
Thank you so much for the support on these stories ❤️It was no small task to post everyday, it took about 30+ hours to write and edit 😰Your comments and likes along the way have meant the world 💕
Anyway, I love you, thank you from the bottom of my heart for following, and please stay hydrated ❤️
#acotar fanfiction#acotar fandom#acotar one shot#acotar series#azriel one shot#Azriel series#rhysand one shot#cassian one shot#azriel angst#azriel fluff#rhys fluff#rhys smut#cassian angst#cassian smut
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ICYMI: We Are was originally announced as part of Studio Wabi Sabi's 2022 lineup (above are the posts from their Instagram). No casting announcements were ever made and it was postponed. Now, director P'New is making it with GMMTV as part of their 2024 lineup.
Links: 1 / 2
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ICYMI: agendabymooner’s catchup list (1)
Because I keep saying that I’ll update my masterlist but wouldn’t and would continue to post nonsense imagines, I’ve decided to put a little update on what I’ve posted this week/last week or since the last time I updated my masterlist. I make too much shit in one go, unfortunately and I think ppl are missing out on some of them.
SO!!! Where are we? Right!
From August 22nd to August 31st (9 days) I’ve made fourteen posts! Here are what you may have missed that you should check out!
WRITTEN FICTIONAL PIECES:
TIME TO ROCK & ROLL, Fernando Alonso: Just a brief idea of how he and his wife (OFC Beatrice Staedtlander) ended up in a rough situation back in 2007 and how they ended up getting back together again.
THE LECLERC DAYCARE, Charles Leclerc: Extention to a fic Of Long Lines and Names; Charles Leclerc being a good dad to his sons while he kind of doubted himself while he watched them with the assistance of his friends Esteban and Pierre.
SEBASTIAN AND SONS (& SOUFFLÉS), Sebastian Vettel: How Sebastian’s day normally goes as a father to his son and his much older daughter (and practically a dad to Mick Schumacher as well).
KENERGY UNFOLDED, Mick Schumacher: Mick couldn’t exactly resort to anything malevolent as he continued to take the piss from Arthur Leclerc, who made sure that Mick was doing what he’s supposed to be doing as a proud boyfriend of Arthur’s best friend.
SOCIAL MEDIA AU PIECES:
MANEATER, Fernando Alonso: Carlos Sainz’s ex girlfriend is actually engaged to Fernando now 😌
EGO, Fernando Alonso: Part two of Maneater; Apparently, Fernando’s fiancée is getting too cocky now that she’s made herself known more for herself rather than the good girlfriend image that her ex once molded her into.
MATILDA VOLUME TWO, Max Verstappen: Ohhh~~ Max is a dad, is dad!!
LINE WITHOUT A HOOK, Yuki Tsunoda: OFC just misses her asshole boyfriend, and thankfully Yuki missed his asshole girlfriend too!
LIFTED, Lewis Hamilton: Lewis and his wife are the most fashionable couple in the grid.
OTHER STUFF TO CHECK OUT:
HONEY HONEY, Lando Norris SMAU introduction.
HONEY HONEY, SMAU PT. 1: WHO TF IS LANDO NORRIS?
Jenson Button Blurb — Affection
Pierre Gasly Blurb — Do I Make You Nervous?
TO LOATHE AND TO LOVE, MV33/MV1 Chapter 11: MATILDA
Give them all a read! Or some love! Enjoy xx
Moony 🫶
#formula one imagine#formula one masterlist#f1 masterlist#formula 1 masterlist#formula one fic rec#f1 fic rec#formula one x oc#formula one smau#f1 fic#f1 smau
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yakuza!suna/escort!reader part 4: the prequel(ish) continued..., tw alcohol, reader goes by a stated pseudonym for her work (Yua) but is otherwise unnamed, this part immediately follows PART 3 and here are PART 1 + PART 2 icymi!!
series masterlist
“You.”
The sound of the man’s voice—low, smooth, and unmistakably pointed—makes you freeze.
The room goes terribly quiet in the wake, like no one is quite sure how to respond.
Kaito’s eyes snap towards you, a flash of something close to panic momentarily slipping through the facade of his gregariousness. He composes himself quickly and looks back to this new guest, his brows lifted in surprise as his eyes narrow into crescents thanks to how his mouth lifts in an easy smile. “Who, sir?”
“Her.”
All eyes in the lounge turn to you, but somehow you only manage to meet one pair.
Your grip on the champagne flute in your grasp is so tight you worry that the thin stem might snap between your fingers.
Kaito laughs a bit, but the sound is stiff and doesn’t fit his usual tone. He reaches up and places a friendly hand on the man beside him’s shoulder. “Why don’t you take a while to acquaint yourself with the girls, then you can—“
The man—Suna-san as he’d been introduced to you all just a few moments before—turns his face to look at him. You watch as his eyes flicker down to the hand resting on his arm with a look of disdain.
“Is there a reason you’d question my choice?” he asks flatly, a chill in his tone that makes your stomach feel uneasy. “I was told these girls are your best.”
“Of course,” Kaito assures him with an easy, obliging smile. You can’t help but notice how he quickly drops his hand. “You’ve made an excellent decision.”
The other girls and Kaito quietly leave, once the manager waves them out following a terse snap of his fingers. There’s a sense of disappointment that you detect from some of the girls as they bid the guest goodnight as they step past him, having scarcely had the opportunity to spend time in his company at all. Yuki meets your eyes as she glides past you towards the door, a curious—if not concerned—look passing between the two of you.
The door to the lounge closes behind Kaito once the last girl has filed out, and then it’s just the two of you.
You watch as Suna walks to the chair on the opposite side of the room, directly across from you, sticking close to the very edge of the wall and giving you a rather wide berth. It’s strange. Most men in these situations make their way right for you, or at least beckon you to come to them— especially ones as forthright as he’d been. Instead, he gestures for you to take your seat, nodding towards the chair you’re still standing beside. In spite of your relative confusion, you oblige him. On the other side of the room he does the same, slumping down into his seat with his legs spread wide.
You sit at the edge of the upholstered chair with your hands crossed primly atop your lap.
He watches you for a while, and under his heavy stare you find yourself resisting the urge to fidget.
“What’s your name?” he asks you after a while.
You blink slowly, as though you’re processing the question he’s asked—though it’s anything but a difficult one.
“Yua.”
It’s not your name, of course. You’re sure he knows that too. It’s not even one that you’d chosen for yourself, in truth. There had been a girl working at the club before you started who’d used it as her pseudonym, and when she left and you arrived to take her place, it was easier just to inherit it than come up with a name of your own.
The kanji used spell out binding love.
The irony isn’t lost on you.
It doesn’t seem to be something Suna-san misses either, because there’s a little pull at the corner of his mouth that indicates a sort of wry recognition of the fact.
It goes quiet again.
You being to worry things are getting awkward. You can’t let that happen.
“Would you like something to drink?” you finally ask him, shooting him a warm smile before looking towards the mini bar.
His eyes flitter to the empty glass in your hand. “What are you drinking?”
“Champagne.” You stand and approach the bar, running your finger along the bucket where the half-empty bottle sits in ice. “But there’s plenty to choose from, no matter your taste.”
“What do you like to drink?” It’s the same question as before, more or less, but this time he poses it differently.
You glance at him over your shoulder, and find he’s watching you intently—still torpidly reclined back in his seat.
“I’m not very picky,” you answer with a little laugh. You reach for a bottle of whiskey off the bar. It’s a nice one. Expensive. You hold it up so he can see it, turning around to face him. “Would you like a highball?”
He cocks a brow. “Will you join me?”
“Of course,” you agree with a smile, and then you set to work.
Highballs are easy cocktails to make. Calling it a cocktail seems undeserved, sometimes, but the quality is in the ritual.
First the ice goes in, and you stir it for 30 seconds using a long barspoon to chill the polished glass. The ice clinks against the edge in a delicate little noise as you go.
The room is weirdly quiet. Unnaturally so.
The private lounges are mostly soundproof, for many reasons, but it means that none of the usual thrum of activity or music from the rest of the club seeps into the little space you occupy. It leaves a stagnant, almost uncomfortable silence stretching in between you while you work.
You drain the water from the bottom of the glasses carefully.
Next you add the whiskey.
You’re partial to a stronger highball—somewhere closer to a 2:1 ratio of soda to spirit, but you know not everyone enjoys their drinks so potent. You opt instead for a 3:1 ratio for the evening, letting the whiskey spill down into the waiting glasses below. You stir it precisely 13 and a half times clockwise in each glass.
Last is the soda, which you allow to trickle down the rivulets of the bar spoon so it doesn’t lose its effervescence. Each drink is then garnished with a delicate twist of lemon.
You swallow, steeling your nerve before you turn to face your patron once more.
“Would you like to listen to music?” you ask cheerfully as you bring his drink towards him.
There’s a sound system throughout the room controlled by a tablet, you’re trained to make the offer just as you had been to prepare the drinks.
“Not really,” he replies from below you once you arrive next to his chair. He reaches up to take the glass you offer him from your hand, and your fingers brush as the drink passes from your grip into his own.
His touch is warm.
Most men would pull you down into their lap at this point in the exchange, or otherwise grope you in some way, but save for that gentle pass of his fingertips along your own, he doesn’t make any attempt to touch you.
You perch on the couch beside him, a little bit perplexed.
This man is not what you’d expected.
He’s young, handsome, and above all strange.
Especially how he watches you—his gaze heavy-lidded but surprisingly impassive. You’re fully dressed but the way he watches you makes you feel terribly bare.
He lifts the drink to his mouth and takes a sip.
“Is it to your liking?” you ask him coyly.
He nods.
Since he’s taken his first sip, you’re now free to do the same. This drink is far sharper and stronger than the watered-down champagne you’d been sipping earlier. You savour how the heat of the whiskey sears its way down to your stomach. Part of you is relieved to finally have a proper drink in your hands.
Beside you, Suna sighs. He leans forward and sets his glass on the low table in front of him, and you watch as a bead of condensation drips down the edge of the polished glass.
Your eyes flicker over to him curiously. He meets your gaze.
“I’m not much of a drinker,” he admits with a little shrug.
“If you don’t drink and you don’t like music,”—you prop your elbow up on the armrest of his chair and rest your cheek in your hand, batting your eyelashes demurely—“this seems like a strange place you’d choose to spend an evening.”
Suna’s eyes flicker down to your lips, and he leans towards you.
“I don’t think anyone is coming here for the atmosphere.”
There’s a flutter in the pit of your stomach that erupts in the same place the whiskey had just warmed. For a few petrifying moments, only the span of a few heartbeats, you wonder if he’s going to kiss you.
As a general rule, you prefer not to kiss newcomers. It might seem an arbitrary place to draw the line, but some forms of intimacy just feel unnatural with a stranger, even in your line of work. Some of your regulars don’t even get to do that.
For a confusing, startling moment, you can’t help but think you’ll let him if he tries.
But he doesn’t.
Instead he leans back in his seat once more, his long legs still spread before him.
“It wasn’t my choice, anyway,” he says.
You make a little sound of confusion from the back of your throat, quenching your sudden thirst with another long sip of your drink. You’re not quite sure what he means.
“Coming here tonight,” he explains, sensing your uncertainty. “I just got into a bit of a… scrape at work. My boss sent me to blow off some steam.”
He wouldn’t be the first man who used this place as a means of stress relief. Though you wonder who his boss might be to have had Kaito scrambling the way he was.
“I see,” you reply quietly. Slowly, you reach forward and set your glass atop the table next to his own, the difference in how much you’ve each consumed more stark when your glasses rest side by side. You pull yourself upright again, and turn to face him with your lip caught gently between your teeth. You let it slip out to quietly murmur, “I’m happy to help with that, if you’d like.”
Suna’s head tips back against his seat as his eyes close, and he lets out a breathy little laugh towards the ceiling.
Just above the neckline of his high-necked sweater, along the column of his pale throat, you see the faintest edge of a mark.
A tattoo.
Without thinking, you reach out for it. Just before your fingertip can touch the enticing tendril of ink, his hand catches yours in a tight grip.
You jump slightly at the unexpected contact, and your eyes flash up to his face, only to find that he’s watching you again—more alert now than you’ve seen him since he arrived.
“I’m sorry,” you apologize meekly, your entire face suddenly feeling hot. You're not sure what possibly possessed you to think touching him like that was okay.
He’s still clutching your hand, but after a moment his grip eases—his touch slipping down to your wrist. His long fingers circle it easily, and something about the sight makes you feel strangely small. Breakable even.
His hold is different now, gentler. More delicate.
Slowly, he takes your hand and guides it to his cheek.
“Your hands are cold,” he remarks as his eyes slowly close again, and you realize the chill of your touch must feel nice against his injury. His cheek is radiating heat as he holds your hand to it.
You cup your hand to cradle his face in your palm, but he still holds fast to your wrist.
“It’s from making the drinks,” you reply quietly to his comment, your thumb reaching out and ghosting over the cut on his mouth without thinking. Other than the wound, his lips are incredibly soft under the pad of your finger.
He hums, leaning into your touch. After a few moments his eyes flutter open and meet yours, but they’re heavy lidded again. His gaze hazier now. More disarming, somehow. Your thumb is still pressed to the swell of his bottom lip.
“You’re good at this,” he whispers softly, like you’re not supposed to hear it at all, and you’re confused by what he means. He tilts his face and presses his lips to the heel of your palm in a hot, open-mouthed kiss. Next his lips slide down to your wrist, mouthing at you there too.
“Pardon?” when you finally manage to speak, you find your voice is fluttery and unlike yourself.
“I really had no intention of fucking you,” he murmurs into your skin. “You just looked so miserable when I walked in that I thought it might be fun to bother you a little bit.”
Your heart is suddenly hammering in your chest, and you wonder if he can tell as his tongue sweeps out against your pulse point.
He smirks against your skin, his unfairly long eyelashes fluttering as he peeks over at you once more—his stare is just as electrifying as it had been the first time he turned it on you.
“I underestimated you,” he says, and his words sound like commendation.
Your head tilts to the side, not quite knowing what he means, but your confusion only heightens as Suna takes your hand and guides it to his throat. He holds it there the same way he holds you in his gaze—firm and unwavering.
“I didn't think you’d be so good at seducing me.”
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i'm outta my head over you Pt. 4
prologue (Pt. 1) | Pt. 2 | Pt. 3 | AO3 | playlist
icymi, i retcon-ed the last little bit of chap 3 (what steve's entry to Be My Baby said from Eddie to Teddy!)
@steddie-week prompt for today: first kiss/Kiss on My List - Hall & Oates (though the part before that got a away from me a little 😅)
-------
Staying away for a bit seemed to be the best thing to do, so Steve goes back to the hospital a couple days later, coming back in the early morning this time to try avoiding stepping on Wayne Munson’s toes.
He looks in on Max first. She’s still asleep, so he quietly sneaks around the room, straightening things up, and picking up discarded popsicle sticks and cotton balls from whatever game the party’s made up as an excuse to throw them around.
He straightens her blankets, pulling them up a bit higher to make sure she stays comfortable, and sneaks back out the open door.
Steve really wants to check in on Eddie too, but doesn’t want to incur the wrath of the older Munson if he catches wind of him being there.
“I’ll just look in, make sure he’s okay, and leave.” Steve rationalizes, mumbling to himself as he walks the familiar path from Max’s room to Eddie’s.
He hears music playing softly as he approaches, the tail end of one song and the beginning of another that is definitely not something he would’ve associated with the bold and brash metalhead currently laid up there.
Steve peeks around the doorframe and finds Wayne there already, sitting beside the tapedeck Steve had brought for them to play music for Eddie.
He’s got a pair of glasses sitting low on his nose, scowling down at a small worn book in his lap. Steve recognizes the cover immediately. It’s the copy of The Hobbit Dustin had left there.
“Damn it Ed, you couldn’t’ve had an easier favorite to read?” Wayne grumbles aloud.
Steve laughs without thinking, and Wayne’s sharp gaze snaps up to him in an instant.
“Oh shit, sorry, Mr. Munson.” he steps into the doorway a little more, pointing a thumb over his shoulder, “I’ll just…yeah.”
He’s turned to leave when Wayne’s voice stops him. “Harrington.”
Oh boy.
“Yes sir?”
“Lemme talk t’ya a second.”
Steve enters the room; the itch to immediately go to Eddie’s side is strong, but he stops himself short a few steps away from the foot of Eddie’s bed.
Glancing down at his friend, he’s shocked and delighted to find Eddie’s breathing tube is gone.
“His tu—” Steve starts, but stops himself. He’s there to hear what Wayne wants to say.
“Came out last night, actually.”
He nods gratefully at the offered information, but when Wayne doesn’t say anything, Steve starts, “Mr. Munson–”
“Wayne.” Wayne cuts him off. “I need to apologize.”
Steve blinks at him in shock.
“That loud curly-haired kid of yours really gave me a what-for this morning.”
“Dustin?” Steve whispers.
“That’s the one.” Wayne nods.
“Mr. Mun–Wayne, I’m so sorry, Dustin can be a bit much, whatever he said to you I promise was just said because he cares about Eddie so much..”
“I know that,” Wayne nods, “Really cares about you too, y’know. Nearly tore my head off for darin’ t’say somethin’ bad about your family.”
“To be fair to Dustin, my family deserves it.” Steve jokes, but immediately kicks himself for interrupting.
Wayne nods, “That they do. I’m glad you know this already.”
There’s a weighty pause while Wayne stands, Steve stays frozen waiting for Wayne to continue.
“Your kiddo told me you were the one to get Eddie out of there. Back here to the hospital.” He continues after Steve nods, “Now I realize that was you there in the next bed over when they first called me, but t’be fair, I wasn’t worried ‘bout much else but Eddie.”
“I understand.” Steve nods.
Wayne takes one long step forward to place his hand on Steve’s shoulder and Steve looks up to meet his eyes.
“M’sorry I snapped at you, son.” Steve’s stomach clenches. “Thank you fer bringin’ my boy back to me.”
“You’re we–OOF.” The rest of his response is cut off when his face is suddenly pressed into Wayne’s shoulder. The elder Munson smells like asphalt and cigarettes, the sharp smell of grease stings the back of Steve’s nose
He chooses to blame that for the tears that spill over onto the man’s jacket, and if Wayne notices the wet spot, or the tears that stain Steve’s face after releasing him, he doesn’t say anything.
They sit and talk a bit, Wayne explaining his modified visiting hours due to his work schedule was likely why they hadn’t really crossed paths until Steve accidentally stayed late (“Shouldn’t you be sleeping right now?” Steve asks him, “Probably, but this is more important.”), he tells Wayne what he’d taken to doing for Eddie while he was there in return (“I thought chapstick would be a bit too far for me,” he says as he hands Wayne the new tube of chapstick that’s been haunting the front pocket of his jeans, “but I couldn’t stand watching his wrist get rubbed raw by that damn cuff.”), then move on to Wayne’s personal mixtape he’d been playing whenever he’d visit.
“Even you know it’s not Ed’s particular brand of tunes, but this is our…default tape. Always got it playin’ when we clean the trailer, or while he’s paintin’ somethin’ in the living room while I read the paper.” Wayne shrugs, “Thought it’d bring him some comfort.”
They both fall quiet after that. It’s still relatively early in the morning, and they’ll have a few more hours before the party (sans Dustin, who was off to a previously scheduled, school-sponsored trip as of this morning, hence why he was in so early to say goodbye to Eddie and and to berate his uncle) descends, so they sit in the comforting lull of the day to the Munson Background Music. Wayne moving onto his paper, Steve picking up and attempting (once again) to get into The Hobbit.
He’s gotten through a whole five pages (Five! A new personal best!) when Wayne clears his throat, trying to grab Steve’s attention.
“Now don’t take this the wrong way son, but I gotta ask; it seems t’me you’ve got some…extra feelings for my Eddie.”
Steve freezes.
“No, no, none of that, Steve. I’m asking you both as a concerned uncle, and as a protective one.”
Steve gulps audibly. “How do you mean?”
“C’mon son, you see anyone else here for ‘im as much? Believe you me, your curly-haired number one fan really handed it to me today. You’ve been here with Eddie more than I have.”
Steve feels his face burn in embarrassment, both for Dustin’s antics on his behalf, and for the current path this conversation is taking.
“Not to be cliché, but I gotta ask, What’re your intentions with my nephew?” Wayne’s eyes crinkle heavily in tandem with his warm smile.
Because the universe hates him, the chorus of the song currently playing cuts through the brief silence between his question and Steve’s not-yet-formulated response.
“ So won’t you, please (Be my, be my baby)? My one and only baby? ” Ronnie and her Ronettes croon, much to Steve’s dismay.
Steve chuckles, half humorously, “Ronnie said it best, Mr. Munson.”
After Wayne’s good-natured laughing fit is over, he says “Best of luck t’ya, Harrington. Just know I’ve got a shotgun in my closet back home.”
“Don’t worry, if I ever hurt your nephew, Dustin will sick Nancy on me. And she’s got a few.”
They fall into conversation again after that, and Steve finds out a bit more about the man, the myth, the legend that lays unconscious in the bed between him and Wayne. Eddie’s favorite color is either black or navy blue, he loves cinnamon-sugar on toast, about half the mugs in the Munson trailer are ones he’s collected, and (possibly the most important piece of information Steve’s ever known) Eddie’s full name is Theodore Wayne Munson.
“No way, Theodore??” Steve can’t contain his grin.
“Theodore.” Wayne nods with a smirk. “His dad hated it, started calling him Eddie basically from when he was born. Rationalized it bein’ short for Theodore, like a Ted to Teddy to Eddie type thing.
“Was his mom that named ‘im that, after her dad. She died when Ed was real young, so he’s been ‘Eddie’ all his life.” Wayne shrugs.
Steve goes to say something else, but is interrupted.
“Oh good, you’re both here.” Hopper grunts, stepping into Eddie’s room.
“Hop? What are you doing here?” Steve asks.
“You here to take that damn cuff off, Chief?”
Hopper comes up to the foot of Eddie’s bed and leans onto the plastic footboard, speaking low to only the two of them. “We’ve got a plan. We’re going to officially clear him today to the public, so yes, the cuff will be off later today but…” he pauses, looking between the two of them.
“Owens figures Eddie’ll be waking up sooner than later and when he does, he’ll need a place to lay low. You both know exactly how this’ll play out with the public, so Steve, we were hoping you’d be willing to take Eddie in in the meantime. If Wayne’s alright with that.”
“You don’t want him to be easy to track down.”
“Most folks wouldn’t expect him to be staying with Steve...” Wayne says in understanding.
“Exactly.” Hopper nods, “But what about your parents?” he directs back to Steve.
“Honestly? No worries there. They haven’t been around much at all in the last year; I think they are about to cut their losses and just sign the house over to me.” he shrugs.
He ignores both Wayne and Hopper's concerned looks and continues. “What will I need to do to help him? Is he going to do physical therapy? Do his bandages need to be wrapped any different than mine?”
Dr. Owens comes in then, “We’ll know more after he wakes up, Steve, but yes, physical therapy appointments are likely in order to build back up his abdominal strength.”
“Honestly don’t think there was much there t’begin with, doc.” Wayne says, poking fun at his nephew as easy as breathing.
-----
A few more days pass, and Steve goes back to work. Having taken time to heal himself, and make sure his people were safe and sound after taking care of Vecna.
This is about when he gets the idea in his head about making a mixtape for Eddie himself. Music is such an important thing in Eddie’s life, and Steve wants to be sappy, okay? Mixtapes are a romance cliché he hasn’t delved into before and what better person to create one for?
Steve gets the call Eddie’s awake on a Wednesday. Family Video’s least busy day.
“Family Video, this is Steve, How can I help you?” He drones.
“G’morning son, y’able to get to the hospital?” Wayne sounds like he’s smiling, but his stomach turns to lead anyway.
“Wayne?”
“Eddie’s awake. He’s ask–”
Steve doesn’t let him finish. “I’m on my way!”
He slams the phone down on the receiver, yells “Gotta go, Ryan!” to his coworker in the back office and books it out the door without waiting for a response.
Breaking multiple speed limits on his way, Steve arrives at the hospital in record time. Deciding the elevator was a waste of time, he sprints up the two flights of stairs to Eddie’s room.
Wayne’s outside the door talking to Hopper when he finally skids to a stop.
“He’s awake? Did someone tell Dustin? Gotta ask Will to help, he should be able to operate their crazy radio–Cerebro!” He snaps his fingers when the name comes to him. “Or maybe El can reach out an–”
“Steve, calm down.” Hopper shushes him, “Yes, Eddie’s awake but still kinda loopy from the drugs. He’s been in and out for the last couple hours. And yes, I’ve called Claudia, she’s contacting Dustin’s camp to give him the news.”
He smiles, sagging in relief. “Can I see him?”
“Sure, go on in,” Wayne chuckles, stepping back from the door for Steve to pass.
Rushing forward to Eddie’s side, Steve sees the other man shifting; stirring as if waking up from a nap, not a coma.
“Hey Eds,” he chuckles after a particularly funny-looking stretch. “You good, man?”
“Stevie! Steviesteviestevie’s here! Wayne, Steve’s here!”
“I see that, now stop wriggling around. You’ll pull yer stitches.” Wayne calls, then goes back to his conversation with Hopper.
“Ohyeah, I’m Frankenstein now.” Eddie tells him with all the confidence in the world.
“You are, are you?”
“Yeah I got all new skin and stitches.”
“...Are you talking about your skin grafts?”
“Uh, ya. Pay ‘tention Steve-o.” Eddie attempts to poke the end of Steve’s nose, but misses completely, poking a cold finger into his eye instead.
“Ow??”
“Steve? You okay?” Eddie looks like he’s about to cry, none the wiser to the bruised eyelid he just caused.
“Yeah, yeah, hon, I’m fine. You just poked me is all. Are you okay?”
“Yeah.” Eddie breathes, sagging into the pillows under his shoulders with a sigh and a smile. “You called me ‘hon’.”
“That I did,” Steve says with a chuckle, “That okay?”
Eddie’s still smiling, closes his eyes and says, “No.” then promptly falls asleep.
“...What?”
-------
“You told Steve my full name?” Eddie accuses Wayne as soon as he steps through the door later that night (early that morning? Whatever..).
“Why’re you up?”
“Answer the question, old man!”
“Yeah, I did. Seemed pleased as punch t’have learned that lil’ bit of information.”
“I can’t believe this. He called me Teddy!” Eddie waves the scanned page in his uncle’s face.
“That’s cute.” Wayne toes off his boots and wanders into the kitchen for coffee. His bedtime staple.
“Cute?! You’re giving away my secrets!”
“You just now finding out about the Teddy thing? That was weeks ago, Eds, did he not call you that the whole time you were stayin’ there?”
“No??”
Wayne just shrugs in response.
“Wait…” Eddie scans through the one memory he tries to keep wrapped up tight, lest he agonize over it 24/7, “He did once; he was running late for work one day…”
-------
Eddie is packed up and ferried off to Steve’s a couple days later; he’s still sore, still recovering, but at least now he can be out of the hospital and he’s past the biggest threat of infection.
He’s got a schedule of PT appointments he’ll have to make; a schedule of which Steve made sure to get into Keith’s hands before Eddie came home and ensuring he’d get Steve’s work schedule swapped around to accommodate (He did, after a thorough berating by Robin).
“This’ll be fun, huh Stevie?” Eddie asks, gesturing to the re-dressing instructions for his various wounds in his hand.
“Oh yeah, loads.” he responds sarcastically at first, but gives him a smile immediately after. “I’ll make sure you’re taken care of, Eds.”
He reaches over and pats the top of Eddie’s leg, then turns back to the road, pulling away from the curb none the wiser to Eddie’s burning red face.
They ride along in comfortable silence, the radio playing the local rock station at a low volume.
“You ready for the chaos when Henderson gets back?”
Eddie scoffs, “I’m surprised he didn't manage to convince Claudia to pick him up, honestly.”
“Maybe he’s planning his escape to the bus station as we speak.” Steve laughs.
Eddie’s quiet long enough for Steve to look away from the road over at him. The sun through Eddie’s open window makes his dark brown, almost black curls glow gold at the edges; Steve finds himself wanting to kiss him more than anything.
But his face is contorted in worry, and he’s chewing on his already stubby fingernails.
“Eds? You alright?”
“Huh? Yeahyeah I’m just…panicking.”
Steve glances back to the road briefly, “About what?”
“He’s going to hate me.” Eddie blurts as soon as the ‘t’ leaves Steve’s mouth.
“No he’s not, Ed–”
“Why shouldn’t he? With what I put him through down there?”
“Hey, no, none of that.”
Eddie doesn’t respond. His fingers are going to start to bleed if he doesn’t stop.
“Eddie, look at me.” Steve grabs his hand away from his mouth, ignoring the feeling of wet fingertips as he laces their fingers together.
“Gross, man–”
“Eddie, that boy loves you so goddamn much. He may be a little passive aggressive about it for a while, but I know he’s glad you made it out of there. That you’re here with us.”
He lets himself smile at Steve’s words. “I’m only here ‘cause of you.” he says in a small voice.
“I just didn’t want Dustin to be sad.” Steve states, matter-of-factly and turns all his attention back to the road.
Eddie snorts in laughter at that, and Steve’s face pulls up into a smirk.
He’s still holding Eddie’s hand.
-----
The plan is for Eddie to lay low for a couple weeks at minimum.
Luckily for them, Hopper coming back lent credence to the claim that he was trying to help track down the Creel Murder copycat killer, being as the original killer was from Hawkins and all.
The government pulled their strings, declaring Eddie a free man and a hero for saving a young Mr. Henderson when, while being held hostage at the Creel House, he’d taken a majority of the killer’s wrath and kept Dustin safe from the crumbling rubble when the earthquake hit.
It was flimsy at best if you looked at it too hard, but luckily for them, it seemed like the people of Hawkins would much rather ignore their shortcomings when it came to the witch hunt than face them.
It only ended up taking about those two weeks for Eddie to get much stronger, and for things to blow over enough for him to go home.
But damn does Steve wish it was longer.
Not the…hiding from a mob thing, or healing from horrible wounds thing.. But the ‘having Eddie that close’ thing, the ‘comforting presence after a particularly bad nightmare’ thing.
Steve was falling harder and harder every day. Doing his damndest to make Eddie blush just a bit pinker every time his hand lingered on Eddie’s just a bit too long, every pretend need to brush his hair away from his face, and the particularly great ‘Oh, don’t worry if you can’t reach up enough to wash your hair, Eddie, I’ll help. I won’t look anywhere else, promise…unless you want me to’ he’d said (in much more eloquent terms) with a flirty wink
It was sickeningly domestic, and he wouldn’t have traded it for the world.
Even in the times they’d get frustrated with one another; Eddie sick of having to be helped with every little thing and having to deal with the constant pain, or Steve also dealing with his own wounds and having to deal with a couple of Eddie’s fits of anger at having to be helped.
Kudos to Eddie though, he really pushed through his PT, did everything right, listened to what Steve and his doctors told him, he was healing fast.
On the second to last day of Eddie staying with him (though he didn’t know it at the time), Eddie was up before him. He’d snuck easily past the open door to the living room from the hall under the stairs, and into the kitchen.
Steve woke up to the smell of eggs and toast and wandered groggily into the kitchen himself.
Eddie had stretched the toaster from its usual spot in the corner of the counter to right next to the stove and had perched himself on a stool from the island so he could cook.
“Eddie?”
“Stevie, hey!” Eddie says, turning a bit to smile at him as he enters. “I hope you don’t mind scrambled, I don’t quite have the muscle movements to flip anything yet.
Steve blinks twice. Fuck. He’s in love.
“I’ll take anything you give me, Eds.” Eddie’s face turns fully scarlet at that. “Need any help? I’ll make some cinnamon toast if you’d like?” He asks, already pulling the toaster away from the stove with one hand and reaching for the cinnamon sugar with the other.
“Y-yeah, that’d be great Sweeth–Stevie.”
Steve feels his own face go scarlet at the slip, but doesn’t call attention to it. “Cool.” he says, like an idiot.
Eddie hums as they work, some song Steve doesn’t quite recognize, and soon they have two plates of breakfast.
“Thanks Eddie, this looks great.”
“You’re welcome Steve-o, I put some cheese in there too.” His smile is perfect.
“What’ve you got planned today?”
Eddie launches into the campaign he’s been planning for the party, what he’s still got to figure out, whether or not he’s going to delay starting in order to make them all a figure of their characters, but then if he did that he’d need them all to give him their character sheets well beforehand and Mike is horrible about not making a character till the very last second..
Steve’s so entranced listening to him, he doesn’t realize what time it is until Eddie stops himself.
“Hey, don’t you have the opener today? It’s already 9:30.”
“Aw shit..”
Steve races up the stairs to his room to the tune of Eddie’s cackle, starting the shower first, then grabbing up whatever clothes he can find that’re clean.
He jumps under the warm spray and showers as fast as he possibly can, jumps back out, focuses on drying his hair as much as possible while trying to yank the denim of his jeans over the still-wet skin of his legs, pulls on a polo, shrugs on his vest, grabs up the stupid styling mousse he doesn't like to use all that often (it makes his hair sticky and he hates it, okay?) and whips his hair into shape.
Good enough.
He bolts back down the stairs, pulls on his socks, then shoes, fuck! Where are his keys??
“In here, Stevie!”
He peeks into the kitchen and Eddie’s got both arms outstretched in front of him where he’s still perched on the stool.
In one hand: his keys, in the other: a brown paper bag.
Eddie made him a lunch.
Can you fall more in love with someone that quick after doing it the first time?
“You’re a fuckin’ lifesaver,’ Steve reaches out with both his own hands, enveloping them over Eddie’s.
He pushes them wide, steps between Eddie’s legs, kisses him quickly, then, just as quickly, is gripping onto the bag and his keys, and stepping backwards toward the door.
“Take it easy today, okay Teddy? You already did a lot, so just relax. See you later!” Steve admonishes the other man teasingly and spins out the front door.
It takes hours.
Hours for Steve to realize what he did.
“Oh no…Oh fuck! ” he yells, dropping the tape in his hand and abandoning the returns cart where it stands.
He books it to the front counter and launches himself over it, knocking a whole stack of already organized tapes off it in his wake a la Dustin Henderson.
Old Ms. Wilson turns her nose up at his antics and leaves without any preamble, and he’s mercifully alone in the store.
“C’mon, c’mon, Eddie please pick up…”
“Harrington residence!”
“Eddie! Eddie, I am so so sorry! I swear, I didn't even realize what I did until just about..hm.. 20 seconds ago? It doe–” Well, better now than never. “It doesn’t have to mean anything, we can just forget it ever happened if yo–”
“Yeah, yeah, no worries Harrington,”
“Harrington?”
Eddie continues on like he didn’t hear him “I know it was just a mistake; I should be out of here soon anyway so..”
There’s something off about his voice. “Ed–”
“So just forget it ever happened, ‘kay? Ooh, bring back Star Wars when you’re off, yeah? Thanks, Steve, you’re the best.”
The dial tone sounds in his ear.
Wow.. okay, that’s…fine. He’ll just stick to being hopelessly in love on his own, then.
-------
-------
“You mean to tell me,” Wayne’s got his eyes closed and his thumb and forefinger pinched over the bridge of his nose. “That that boy kissed you full on yer mouth. And you thought he was 100% not in love with you?”
“Well I know now that’s not true.” Eddie crosses his arms over his chest like a petulant child being scolded. “He didn’t exactly sound all that excited about it when he called me.”
“I can’t believe I’m the one t’hafta tell ya this, but from what you said, in your own retelling , was Steve called hours later, ‘cause he didn’t realize he kissed ya, said ‘I’m sorry, it doesn’t have to mean anything.’...and you pushed him away.”
“That’s what I just said Wayne! I know now ‘cause of this tape but–”
“You’re hopeless. Bless that Buckley girl, oth’wise you’d still be…what’s she call ya? A Doofus about him.”
"...shut up.."
-------
Part 5 here!
tagging: @hellomynameismoo and @messrs-weasley 'cause they both asked so nicely!
#did anyone guess that i was back on my theodore > teddy > eddie pipeline bullshit??#I'M SORRY THAT'S JUST HIS NAME NOW#steddie#steddie week#steddie week 2023#eddie munson#steve harrington#steve harrington x eddie munson#mixtape#songfic#(kinda)#wayne munson#the munsons my beloveds#idiots in love FOR REAL#first kiss#st#stranger things#st fic#st ficlet#noelle writes
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My media this week (2-8 Jul 2023)
📚 STUFF I READ 📚
🥰 Crawling on Back to You (rainbow_nerds) - 109K, steddie - a canon-divergent everyone lives AU, lapsed childhood friends-to-lovers steddie
😍Lima Charlie (One-EyedBossman (desert000rose), SecretFandomStories) - 71K, Differently Okay Local Idiots #9, modern no-powers stucky - reread, when a new episode comes out I always have reread the prior ep, these stories are so packed with emotion
😍This Sacred Trust (One-EyedBossman (desert000rose), SecretFandomStories) - 71K, Differently Okay Local Idiots #10 - 'kintsugi' is the word that comes to mind when I read this series - they're seeing how their very jagged edges fit together and making something strong & beautiful out of them
💖💖 +106K of shorter fic so shout out to these I really loved 💖💖
mission parameters (shipyrds) - DCU: SuperBat, 33K - fake relationship for a mission! actual feelings! that's the good stuff!
WHO IS EDDIE MUNSON FUCKING (beetlesandstars, witchjeons) - Stranger Things: steddie, 2K - absolutely hilarious 'eddie accidentally sexts the group chat and now everyone is determined to figure out who he's fucking' - reread, someone reminded me of this story and I love it so
If I Could Stop the Clock With You Tonight (Voylitscope_speed) - MCU: stucky, 10K - modern no-powers AU - Natasha gets Steve a private chef for his birthday, but there's something familiar about him…
📺 STUFF I WATCHED 📺
Speed
Nimona
Mamma Mia! Here We Go Again
Independence Day [my dad's tradition is to watch this every 4 Jul]
Clue
D20: Dungeons and Drag Queens - "Queens on a Quest" (s18, e1)
D20: Adventuring Party - "The Illuminati Invented Sandwiches" (s13, e1)
D20: Dungeons and Drag Queens - "Welcome to the Underworld" (s18, e2)
D20: Adventuring Party - "The Bloods and The Crypts" (s13, e2)
Um, Actually - s8, e8
🎧 PODCASTS 🎧
Smart Podcast, Trashy Books - 569. Romance in Libraries with Robin Bradford
ICYMI Plus - The Subreddit Teeming with Crime, Complaints and Candles
⭐The Sporkful -The Enslaved Chefs At Monticello Who Created American Cuisine
⭐Vibe Check - Vibe Check LIVE! Featuring Penn Badgley
What Next: TBD - The Trouble With TikTok Songs
Stuff The British Stole - Bottles in the Basement
Radiolab - The Cataclysm Sentence
Pop Culture Happy Hour - Trans Representation In TV And Film
Dear Prudence Plus - I Hate My Fiancé’s Mustache—but He Refuses to Get Rid of It. Help!
Into It - A Messy 2023 So Far: Ranking Celebrity Breakups and Songs of the Summer
American Hysteria - Hot Dog Urban Legends with Comedian Jamie Loftus
Endless Thread - Best of Summer: Swimming Hole - The man, the myth, the leap
⭐Ologies with Alie Ward - Curiology (EMOJI) Part 1 with Various Emoji Experts
ICYMI Plus - How Reddit Turned On Its Creator
Re: Dracula - July 8: Method in His Madness
Radiolab - Man Against Horse
Welcome to Night Vale - Bonus Episode: The Process
You Are Good - Twister w. Niko Stratis
Re: Dracula - Bonus 4: Queering the Gothic
99% Invisible #543 - In Proximity: Ryan Coogler and Roman Mars
🎶 MUSIC 🎶
Dancing Queen [Cher] {2018}
Cher
Presenting Johnny Cash
#sunday reading recap#bookgeekgrrl's reading habits#bookgeekgrrl's soundtracks#visiting my dad & bonusmom most of the week#so less reading/music and more watching#fanfic ftw#i am so very much loving dungeons and drag queens!#nimona was great#dungeons and drag queens#cher#johnny cash#vibe check podcast#the sporkful podcast#ologies podcast#smart podcast#trashy books#re: dracula#99% invisible podcast#stuff the british stole podcast#you are good podcast#endless thread podcast#into it podcast#what next: tbd podcast#icymi podcast#pop culture happy hour podcast#welcome to night vale podcast#dear prudencepodcast#american hysteria podcast#radiolab podcast
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The Spiral [Lio Meier]- Part 2
ICYMI, Part 1 is here.
Word count: 2.4k
Emma Meier sits alone on the dock of her and Timo’s house in Switzerland. Her feet are curled up under her thighs as she looks out at the glassy water. It is early. Their teenage twins are still asleep and Timo had gone out for a quick run before she made her escape down here. She enjoys the stillness of the morning here. It reminds her of how lucky they are to live in Switzerland.
Weight of another person makes the dock creak. She knows those footsteps belong to the love of her life.
“Coffee?” Timo asks, holding a cup down, over her shoulder. She grabs it without her eyes leaving the lake. His fingers smooth over her pony tail then he sits beside her. His feet go into the lake, a shiver trailing up his body at how cold the water is for the end of summer.
Gentle slurps of coffee are the only disturbance to the quiet lake morning. Emma and Timo have spent thousands of mornings here together in content silence. Timo wishes he could have another morning like that with her, but there is something his wife needs to know.
“Em.” Timo calls softly. She turns to face him. He looks extremely uncomfortable. “I really don’t want to tell you this, but…” He sighs, running a hand over his hair. He glances out at the glassy, lake surface, having a difficult time focusing on her face. “I ran by Lee’s place earlier and he is gone. His place is empty. There is a rental sign on the window. His car is gone… I think he went back to Jersey.”
“No.” It comes sputtering out of her mouth. Her coffee cup slams down onto the dock, brown liquid sloshing over. It drips into the lake below. “No.” She begins to stand up. Timo quickly follows. “He did not leave here without speaking to us! No, he did not!” She slaps his chest. “Fix this! You have to fix this!”
“Baby, he is grown up.” Timo sighs, gathering her into his arms when she begins to sob into her hands. “I can’t make him come back here. I can’t make him pick up the phone. We have to hope he is listening to our messages.” He sighs.
“He is not!” She screams, shoving away from him. “If he was, he would not be on that fucking plane!” Timo purses his lips. These outbursts of anger have been common since Lio walked out of their home weeks ago. “Timo.” She wails, hunching over as she begins to sob harder. He rubs her back as she struggles to breathe through her tears.
“What if he never talks to us again? What if..” Emma closes her eyes, rocked by the pain. “What if he never wants to see us again? What if he has an entire life we never get to be a part of!?” Tears fill Timo’s eyes at how devastated his wife is. IT wasn’t long ago he had these same concerns about him and Liv. It kills him that he can’t fix this. That he can’t get through to Lio, even when he visited him at training a few days ago. Emma doesn’t know. He didn’t tell her because he thought it would be a moot point. But Timo also thought he made it really fucking clear with Lio what needed to be done before he left.
“Lio here?” Timo asks as he walks into the gym. The trainer nods.
“Out back.” He tosses a thumb over this shoulder. Timo rounds the corner, seeing his son flipping a big, tractor tire down the back alley.
“Lio.” The frustration in his voice is evident. Timo is over this pout fest from his oldest. He isn’t sure he can handle any more tears from Emma over what has been happening. It’s bad enough he missed their anniversary party. Now, Lio is missing from all their family pictures and Emma is beside herself at not having a shot of the entire family for their Christmas card. Lio looks over his shoulder at the sound of his name, then rolls his eyes. The tire smacks the ground aggressively with a final flip.
“Gee dad, only you would think me avoiding your calls means show up here.”
Timo laughs sarcastically as he approaches his son. He reaches a large hand out, balling up Lio’s sweaty shirt and launching him into the concrete wall. Lio’s strong back hits with a heavy thud that knocks the breath from him. Timo pins him up against the wall, getting right in his face.
“Cut the shit right now.” Lio gulps. His dad is pissed. “If anyone else was treating your mother this way, they’d be smeared into the road like a dead animal.” Timo releases Lio’s shirt, smoothing it out. “But you’re our kid, so you get to live another day.” He motions for Lio to go to the bench off to his right. Lio plops down forcefully. Timo sits down with a shake of his head. “Lee, mama and I deserve a chance to speak our truth here.”
“You could have in the 15 years before now. Or in our conversation. But mama kicked me out of the house.” Lio snaps. “And you were going to beat my ass in two more seconds if I didn’t leave. More stellar parenting from you two.”
“Not our best moments, no. But also not yours.” Timo responds. Lio scoffs, crossing his arms over his chest. He looks straight out in front of him, over the buildings to the tall mountains North of them. Silence settles over the two men. A few cars pass along the road, breaking up the quiet mountain air. Lio’s leg begins to bounce anxiously. Timo sighs, leaning back into the brick building, spreading his feet wider apart to relax into the bench.
“12:43pm on December 21st, 2023.” Timo begins softly. Lio feels his throat tighten. “The moment my life started having meaning.” Lio’s bottom lip shakes. He turns his face completely away from his dad again. “Mama showed up at my apartment and she blurted out we were pregnant and life finally had meaning. Was I scared? Yeah. Did I not want you? No. Not for even one millisecond, kid.” Tears race down Lio’s cheeks. His whole mouth quivers trying to hold back a sob. “Before mama, I’ll admit, I wasn’t sure I wanted to be a father. But then mama picked me. And so did you. And it was the only thing I wanted. Everything started to matter more. Life wasn’t defined by hockey- goals, assists, TOI. I was measured instead by being the best husband and father. I finally had purpose.”
Lio brings his hand up, wiping his tears, still not looking at his dad.
“Mama had things harder than me though. Her road was difficult before and after your were born. She was judged, very publicly for getting pregnant. Called awful things. Right or wrong, she wanted to protect you from how badly that hurt. So, we fudged a bit of the truth.” Timo shrugs. “We didn’t think it would hurt you like it clearly has. But we were not ashamed of you. You were not a mistake. You were not an obligation. You were everything good about us wrapped up in a perfect, 8 pound baby. We loved being your parents and because of that we had three more babies. You created our entire family, Lee.” Timo puts a heavy hand on Lio’s sweaty head.
“I’m not going to sugar coat to you how hurt Mama is about what happened. You said things to her that cut deep. She is never going to forget them.” Lio leans forward to put his head into his hands. He cries harder, shoulders shaking. He hates himself for what he said to her. He didn’t mean it. He was so upset, lashing out at the deep pain and shame he felt in his bones. “The longer you take to start making repairs with her, the more we all hurt.” He rubs at his son’s back. “You need to start taking ownership of your choices. Be accountable for your words and actions and how they effect the people who care about you. Otherwise, you’re going to lose a lot of what makes life good.”
Lio feels like he already has. His dad’s advice is coming a little too late. Timo can sense that Lio won’t be speaking any words back to him today, which is fine by him. As long as Lio has been listening; its enough for Timo.
“I love you. More than any words can express.” Timo pats Lio’s back, checking the time on his watch. “I gotta get going. Mama is having a hard day. I don’t want to be gone from her too long.”
“Dad?” Lio chokes out, trying to breathe. Timo turns back. “I’m really sorry I hurt you and mama.”
“We forgive you, buddy. Come home and see mama before you leave.”
Lio nods, seemingly in agreement.
Now, while consoling his sobbing wife on the dock, Timo replays the conversation. He had been so sure Lio would show. The pang in his chest cracks deeper than before. His throat begins to clog with tears of his own. He wraps Emma deeper into him.
“I’m so sorry, babe.”
For the first time, Timo Meier has no fix for what is happening to his family.
- - -
Lio skates his slow circles around the ice on the Prudential Center before their first battle against the Rangers in the regular season. During pre-season, Lio and/or Connor were sitting out with the rest of the starters and have yet to face each other. Tonight, Lio can’t deny the butterflies in his stomach at playing against his former best friend.
Lio glances over to the Ranger’s side of the ice, seeing Connor ripping a snap shot into the top right corner. Usually, the two would meet at center ice to stretch and bullshit before going to battle. Lio knows that tradition won’t continue tonight. Neither will Lucie and Stell coming down to give him knuckles at the glass after visiting Connor.
Fuck, he already wants this game to be over. All the distractions and tension have his focus off the ice. He thinks about how nobody is in this arena for him tonight. Liv moved to California with Luca. He ghosted his parents before he left for Switzerland and now hasn’t heard from them. Lucie won’t pick up the phone when he calls, then he gets threatening messages from Connor to leave them alone. At least he still gets to see Savannah. She has maintained a very professional relationship with him though. It’s almost like they never had a connection before he fucked things up with her. She’s polite. But so polite that it makes Lio’s throat close up at her obvious dismissal of any future together. The old Lio didn’t care. But this version of him is in love with her and it fucking sucks having to see her every day, knowing he lost her.
The only thing Lio has in his life from a year ago is hockey. And his season has started off abysmally this year. Fans are calling for him to be traded. They jokingly chant his name in his home arena after he makes a bad play. The local reporters talk about how washed up he is.
There is nothing left in the tank for Lio Meier.
He plays with no heart.
Are we sure he has any Hischier blood in him?
The Devils need to buy out his deal and move on from this orange cone.
Noise, noise, and more noise.
Lio closes his eyes, going down to one knee by a neutral zone face off dot. He leans forward, stretching out his hip flexers. He glances again at the Ranger’s side. Connor is down close to the corner. Lio’s heart leaps when he sees Stella and Lucie there. He looks away to the Devil’s bench where Savannah is taking pictures. Usually, this isn’t her role, but someone must have called in sick. He watches as she moves her camera, scanning for someone else to take a picture of. She lands on him. He drops his gaze, focusing back on his stretch, trying to get his head into the game.
Halfway into the second period, Lio is still waiting for his head to get where it needs to be.
“Come on, superstar.” Ralph, his right wing, encourages as he pats Lio’s breezers. “Plenty of game left for us.” The Devils are down 1-0 and the team needs a push. Their third line is out now, creating chaos in the Ranger’s end, hoping to set the stage for Lio’s line to go out next and put one in the back of the net.
“Meier!” Coach bellows as the Rangers send a puck down for icing. Lio and his line mates hop the boards. Lio skates to the face-off dot, ignoring Connor to his right, in front of the net. Lio is going to win the face off back to his D and go right there to fight for position in front of the goalie. This exact scenario happens, but Connor shifts off to defend the boards, so Lio is stuck in front with his defensive partner, David Carlson. Lio likes David okay, but not right now with the cross checks digging into his back and ribs.
“Fuck off.” Lio grits out, shoving at David after the goalie freezes the puck.
“You fuck off, pussy.” David snarls back. Connor comes into the scuffle, pushing David away from Lio.
“Focus. Need a big play here.” Connor mutters to his D partner.
Lio skates back to the face-off dot. This time he loses. He bursts forward to go to the corner to chase the puck, hunting David. Lio lines him up, but David raises his shoulder and knocks Lio straight in the face. The huge blow slams Lio straight back onto the ice. He is unable to brace himself for impact and his helmet hits the ice hard. The whole arena gasps. Lio tries to suck in air, feeling like he is suffocating from the force of the hit. Eventually he is able to gasp, slowly opening his eyes.
The rafters and lights of the arena morph together. Lio does a long blink, trying to make the world righten again. He feels his body becoming gelatin, fluidly losing his bearings.
“Lee? Lio!” Connor’s voice calls to him. Lio feels a glove tap the logo on his chest. “Lee, you okay, bud?” Lio looks down, seeing Connor holding his chest with his red and blue glove. “Hey! Keith!” He calls to the ref. “Lio is hurt!”
Lio groans.
And there goes hockey too.
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Sorry, Friends but no Fanfic Sunday writing or posts this week. In the meantime here's what I have already posted for GhostSoap icymi
Hide & Go Seek. #GhostSoap Omegaverse - Scent Kink - Competence Kink - NSFW - Complete
When Price declares that Ghost has the best scent tracking nose, Soap doubts his claim. So he sets up a game of hide & go seek with an extra special prize at the end. https://archiveofourown.org/works/46825408
I'll Take Care of Him #GhostSoap BDSM - Mutual Pining - In Progress Soap's Dom notices that there's something between Soap & Ghost. So he makes the selfless decision to step aside.
Don't Go Tranqing My Heart #GhostSoap Omegaverse - Mutual Pining - In Progress
Ghost pines for John Soap MacTavish. He keeps his feelings hidden from everyone. But when Soap has an incident out in the field, Ghost's secret is laid bare for all to see.
To The Victor #GhostSoap Omegaverse - Dubcon - tweetfic - In Progress
When Soap is captured infiltrating an omega trafficking ring, Ghost will do whatever necessary to get him back.
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Let me know which fic you would like me to update next!
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