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softaestluv · 3 months ago

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Grease & Grime Won’t Break Your Bones

You never thought you were attracted to grease and grime, sweat and exhaustion, definitely needed a shower and scrub, but no one has worn it like he is.

Mechanic! Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x fem! Reader

Tags: dirty, greasy, grimy, sweaty, blue collar worker, yeah I’ll take one of those! you own a pick up, & I actually don’t know anything about cars, eventual smut

Pt. 1, Pt. 2, Pt. 3, Pt. 4, Ao3 | masterlist

You twirled.

Of course you did.

You took Simon’s hand, held it above your head, and slowly spun around; a low whistle leaving his lips in appreciation.

His grip tightened on your fingers when your back faced him, stopped your movements dead in their tracks. Kept you in place, ass arched for his viewing consumption. It was only a few seconds, but it felt like an eternity. Your heartbeat drowning in your ears, hands clammy against his, inhaling shallow breaths like you had just gotten back from a run.

Except you hadn’t.

You were just showing your ass off to your mechanic. Your dirty mechanic. Filthy mechanic.

And it left your underwear a sticky mess, cotton fabric molded to your aching pussy in anticipation. He could bend you over the hood of your pick up right then and there, hitch the fabric of your pencil skirt over your hip, show off your glistening pussy, and slide right in with no resistance.

You would take it— god, would you take it.

Let Johnny see the whole thing, wouldn’t really care if he did because you would be too distracted with Simon’s dirty hands, filthy cock and balls, pungent sweat staining your body. Ruining your pretty flesh, clean and pristine, freshly washed just for him, shaved just for him.

Give him such a pretty and warm cunt to ruin, taint with his grime.

Except he didn’t, and you weren’t one to beg.

Just let him twirl you around until you faced him again, eyes dilated, pools of his irises settling dark. A better image than you; you were sure.

Left it at that, drove home with an unnecessary oil change and panties clinging uncomfortably to your skin. Laid in bed with an insistent craving, an unbound fever that ruptured, seeped out of your control, and lead to the front steps of Simon’s dinky shop. Suffocated you to your wits end; a hunger that demanded more. More than two slender fingers attached to your wrist.

So, you sought out more.

The time in between felt endless. You spent the days hoping your shitty pick-up would break down, the engine light would come on, your tire would go flat. Any excuse to see him again, but your lemon of a truck suddenly decided it didn’t have any problems, wasn’t a nuisance in your daily life.

You were so close to sabotaging your own vehicle, slashing a tire yourself, fucking up the engine on purpose. But you weren’t that desperate— yet.

You would have to bite the bullet. Bury it deep in your mouth, crack your molars against the lead, claim it as your own, and show up at the foot of his shop with minuscule problems. But by some miracle, Simon didn’t seem to mind, if anything, he melted the bullet into rubber, made the bite chewable.

Your air con’s not workin’? No worries, sweet’art, just needs some coolant and a new filter. Wouldn’t want ya melting in this heat, would we?

Yeah, you nodded weakly, yeah, we wouldn’t want your core to burn, pulse in agony, trail molten lava against the curve of your back, would we now?

Need me to rotate your tires? Easy ‘nough, and when’s the last time you replaced ‘em? Don’t worry, I’ll get some ordered to the shop, have ya sorted in no time. Can’t be drivin’ round with no traction, ‘t’s dangerous, pretty bird.

Headlight’s gone, is it? Simple fix, won’t take more than a few minutes. Go on, take a seat in my office, yeah? Glad you brought it to me— wanna make sure you’re safe, after all.

Pay him? What are you on about? Don’t even think about it. These are easy fixes— no need to worry, sweet’art. He’s just takin’ care of ya, that’s all.

Maybe it was a bit pathetic, a little out of sorts for your character, but if he wouldn’t accept your money, you would pay him back in other ways. A shirt that was a little too deep, a skirt that was a little too tight, heels that were a little too obnoxious. Never all at once, you had a little more dignity than that.

It was the same routine each time; a weak excuse to park in his service drive, then he would order you to sit in his office. To which you always did, obediently, more than content to watch him from the solitary confines of his office when Johnny wasn’t there. And when he was done, you would try to negotiate a payment, but all he would accept was a twirl.

Maybe it should’ve made you feel like an object. Objectified, paying for a fucking air filter with a sway of your hips, but it doesn’t. You can’t even describe how much you like it, can’t even explain why you do.

You just do.

In an excruciating way, everything you can’t say by words, too much and absolutely not enough at the same time. Painfully embarrassing from the way it leaves you a shaking mess, how it dampens your panties— soaks them through.

The day he places his free hand on your waist when you twirl, using his large palm on your hip to stop your spin instead of tightening his fingers in your grasps your knees almost buckle under you. A quiet gasp leaving your lips in surprise, squeezing his fingers tightly.

You think you might be imagining it, that your hopes had become so grandiose that it conjured the feeling, until it moves.

A rugged hand, scarred and calloused sweeps up in one careful motion. It sends shivers over your spine, jolting straight. But it’s gone as soon as it’s there, facing him once again as if he wasn’t carving the shape of your hip seconds ago.

When you stumble back to your truck, your stomach twists when there isn’t a grease stained imprint of his palm on your shirt, no remnant of his touch.

That becomes the new step in the routine. You should hate it, but you fucking love it. Like it’s a reward for sitting so calmly when your body is waging a war on the inside. A gentle pet against soft flesh to accommodate the few minutes you sat hot and bothered, untouched.

You think about his heavy hand grazing your figure any chance you get, stings and weeps in the absence of his touch, the lack of his dominant eyes.

You try to convince yourself that’s enough, that he would’ve asked you by now if he wanted more than fleeting glances and featherlight touches. That was before your truck broke down one day. You had been hoping, manifesting for your engine light to flick on, but not like this. On the side of a small country road, sun setting behind you, dirt flying around you on a Saturday night.

You should probably call a tow truck instead of Simon, but you don’t. You don’t entirely want an expensive bill to pay. Maybe you’re a little spoiled by his free services at this point, but he answers the phone in seconds, tells you he’s on the way within the same breath.

When his work truck pulls up beside you, and he steps out, you think your lungs collapse in your chest. You’re used to mechanic Simon, uniform soiled in sweat, reeking of a days of work.

Now, a clean Simon? It practically sends you over the edge, stumbling forward, stuttering over your words.

A black leather jacket and a white shirt covers his broad chest, blue jeans framing his long legs. His hair lays flat, damp, like he just got out of the shower; it makes you feel guilty, like you interrupted his private time. Not guilty enough that it stops your panties from soaking through when he gets real close and you can smell his body wash on him, mossy forest, redwoods.

“You okay, bird?” He asks, palm finding your waist in concern.

It’s practically out of a movie scene; it’s almost comical, but you feel like doing anything but laughing. Pressing your thighs together instead, trying to regulate your breaths so you’re not panting in his face like a dog.

You nod aimlessly, staring up at him with wide eyes, hoping that it was the correct response because you hadn’t really comprehended what he asked you. All you can focus on is the shape of his hand on your waist, fucking massive, thick and warm. His clean skin, free of all sticky and dark stains you’ve begun to associate with him, shaving cream wafting off of his smooth jaw.

“Le’s get ya in my truck, yeah?” He continues, voice firm and rich.

He guides you to his truck, opens the passenger door for you, just like you’re sure he would on a date. All cleaned up and a gentleman, a picture from your fantasies. And just like you do at his shop, you watch him hitch your truck to his through the rear view mirror. Admiring the way his wide back stretches the leather material taut.

When he gets in the driver seat you’re all strained voice and nervous laughter. The fabric of his seats smells like the Simon your used to, car oil and musk, but he smells like a shower and his cologne, woody and pine. You barely have the strength to listen to what he’s telling you, explaining that he can’t work on your truck tonight, that he’s busy, so all he can do is drop it off at the shop and drive you home when the combined scent is intoxicating.

You think about inviting him in, drenching your sheets in his clean scent when he walks you to your front door, but you don’t, can’t when he’s busy. He’s apologizing, you know that much, mumbling his sorry’s because he can’t fix the problem that night, but you don’t mind; it’s just another excuse to see him tomorrow, even if you’re shit out of a vehicle.

Can’t find it in yourself to care about anything else when your back is pressed against your door, trapped between the wood and his hulking frame.

“Goin’ to the pub with the lads, would ditch ‘em to help, but Johnny’d never let me hear the end of it.” He explains, tucking his hands into his leather jacket.

You smile with a shake of your head, “No, no it’s okay.”

“Gonna need a ride to work in the mornin’?” He asks.

“Are you offering to take me?” You lilt, tilting your head teasingly.

“Course I am.” He says so matter-of-factly, like it doesn’t make sense for him not to.

“Then, yes,” You agree, leaning forward on your tippy toes to press a chaste kiss to his cheek, “Thank you, Simon.”

It’s supposed to be a sweet moment, a tease of your feelings, warm and soft. Everything and more you could pay him with for his services, but he has your jaw cupped in seconds, lunging forward to capture your lips in his, your head knocking against the door from the sheer force. You gasp, fingers hooking into the collar of his shirt, fisting it tightly in your grasps.

It’s harsh, fierce. All clashing teeth and bumping noses, exactly how you pictured a man like him would kiss. Bruising the shape of his lips on your mouth, branding them red and swollen between his teeth.

You’re not sure how long the two of you stand there, destroying your modesty on your porch for all your neighbors to see, but it doesn’t seem long enough. He tastes like toothpaste, minty and sweet, a little like aftershave. You lick the taste fucking clean from his lips, clawing at his chest, panting into his mouth for more, more, more.

Johnny can fucking wait.

But he pulls away anyways, a pathetic protest spilling from your lips as you cling to him; you’re not ready to lose the sensation of his lips yet.

“Easy there, baby.”

God.

It’s a bit embarrassing the way your eyes flutter at the word, the way he has to ease you off your tippy toes, coax you back down. Opening your door for you as you stand there a little dumbfounded after a searing kiss.

“I’ll pick you up tomorrow, okay?”

He leaves you at that like he didn’t just tilt your world on its axis, lips throbbing in his wake, skin still pulsing where he gripped your face, thick arousal pooling in your panties— your fingers definitely aren’t going to be enough tonight.

masterlist ✎ᝰ.ᐟ

#cherri writes #softaestluv #call of duty #cod #simon ghost riley #cod x reader #cherris fics #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley smut #simon riley x reader #ghost cod #simon ghost x reader #fanfic #grease and grime won’t break your bones #mechanic simon ghost riley

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deansbeer · 1 year ago

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full of surprises ・ VHACKER. ៸៸៸ 𝐍𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐆𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 ! ♡ pinned library

eighteen plus. minors do NOT interact.

SYNOPSIS. helping vinnie in the garage, your knowledge, and skills with cars over the years come to surface, unveiling a secret you'd kept hidden.

KARI NOTES. while i was scrolling through pinterest, i fell down a rabbit hole of photos of vinnie working on cars.

the soft clanking and muttered curses drifting from the garage pull you away from your mindless scrolling on your phone. you glance at the clock, noticing it's past midnight already. vinnie told you he'd be done working on his car by now but it seems he's hit another snag in repairs.

sighing, you slide off the couch and pad down the hallway. vinnie's bent over the open hood distractedly turning a wrench, smears of grease decorating his gray tank top and forearms in a way that makes your heart flutter. you admire his toned physique for a moment, always loving when he gets hands on.

"any luck, babe?" you ask softly, not wanting to startle him. vinnie jerks up with a grimace, rubbing the back of his neck. "ah, no not yet. this damn fuel pump is being a real pain in my ass. i've replaced every other part but it just won't prime right."

he kicks the tire in frustration earning a soft chuckle from you. striding over, you stand on your tiptoes to peer into the engine compartment. years spent helping your dad under the hoods of countless vehicles have given you more than a casual understanding.

"mind if i take a look?" you inquire, already sliding some gloves from the table beside you. vinnie gapes at you in disbelief. "i had no idea you knew about cars, babe," disbelief colors his tone but you can also detect a hint of thrill at discovering another layer to you.

"my dad always said it's a good skill for any woman to have. now scoot over, let me see what's going on." vinnie readily obliges, interest overtaking his previous annoyance as you step into his place. running an analytical eye, you soon spot the issue.

"ah, there's your problem. the fuel filter is badly clogged, no wonder it can't draw fuel properly. just needs a replacement, should clear it right up." you declare confidently, removing the filter to examine. vinnie peers over your shoulder in amazement.

"damn baby, you never cease to surprise me. i'm seriously so impressed right now, you've got me feeling all kinds of things." he purrs against your ear, hands sliding around your waist from behind. a shiver runs down your spine at his breath on your skin but you maintain focus, humming thoughtfully.

"flattery will get you everywhere mister, now hand me the socket wrench so i can get this fixed," you demand gently, holding a hand back expectantly. vinnie hurriedly passes you the tool, enthralled by your take-charge demeanor. within minutes the new filter is installed and you're reassembling the compartment.

flicking your gloves away, you turn to face vinnie's adoring gaze with a smile. "alright big man, give her a start, and let's see if that did the trick." he grins, pressing a swift kiss to your lips in thanks before jumping into the driver's seat.

the cars roars to life on the first try, rumbling smoothly without any hiccups. vinnie whoops loudly, leaning out the window with glee. "fuck baby, you're amazing! that was the perfect fix. come here, i gotta give you a proper reward."

giggling, you allow vinnie to tug you into his lap as he's sat in the driver's seat. his mouth latches onto your neck desperately, hands roaming your sides. "i'm so turned on by how smart and skilled you are. drives me crazy knowing you could probably rebuild this engine from scratch if you wanted," he growls between kisses.

heat pools low in your belly at his adoring praise. you slide his hands up under your shirt, craving his touch. "mhm, maybe i will someday just to watch you swoon. but for now..." twisting, you capture vinnie's lips hungrily.

he sighs into the kiss, deepening it instantly as his tongue delves between your parted lips. you rock against his firm thigh. vinnie groans, hands gripping your hips to guide your movements.

"fuck, i need you so bad. let's take this inside, i wanna worship your perfect body properly." he breathes heavily, pupils blown wide with want. you nod eagerly, already scrambling from his lap toward the house. vinnie follows, hastily towing you the rest of the way by your wrist.

as soon as the bedroom door clicks shut he's pinning you against it feverishly. your shirt disappears followed by his as he assaults your collarbone with rough kisses and nips. a gasp escapes your throat, grabbing handfuls of his hair to encourage the delicious treatment.

vinnie hikes your legs around his waist, lifting as if you weigh nothing at all. the hard line of his erection presses relentlessly against your core through the multiple layers still separating you, seeking friction. you grind down needily, desperate for more contact.

"slow down, baby, 'm not going anywhere," he pants, carrying you to the bed and laying you out like a feast. vinnie quickly divests the rest of your clothing, gazing in awe at your naked form beneath him.

"so perfect, and all mine." his worshipping words steal your breath, stomach clenching deliciously. when his mouth latches onto a pert nipple to suckle, you cry out loudly at the exquisite sensation.

vinnie takes his time lavishing each breast and curve of your body with wet kisses and love bites, mapping every sensitive spot until you're writhing and begging for more. finally his fingers dip to your dripping core, circling your swollen clit teasingly.

"fuck vinnie!" you babble, back arching off the mattress at his feather light touches. he chuckles darkly, sinking two digits into your core. "you take my fingers so well baby. bet you'll feel even better wrapped around my cock though, what do you think?"

a choked moan is your only response, eyes rolling back as he pumps his fingers leisurely. vinnie slowly adds a third, stretching your entrance deliciously full. his thumb rolls firm circles over your clit in time, driving you to the edge at an agonizing pace.

just as your orgasm begins to crest, he removes his hand entirely leaving you keening. vinnie stands to remove the last of his clothing, hard length jutting proudly from his slender hips. the sight alone could make you cum but he hasn't given permission yet.

crawling back over you, vinnie slots his cock against your dripping entrance and leans down to claim your mouth in a filthy kiss. "gonna make you feel so good, fuck you senseless until you can't remember your name. that's what you want isn't it?"

you whimper desperately, nodding fervently against his lips. "please, i want to feel you so deep inside me. use me as rough as you like, i'm all yours baby." his restraint snaps, and with one powerful thrust, he's fully seated to the hilt within your clenching heat.

you cry out loudly at the relentless stretch, walls spasming deliciously around his girth. vinnie groans deeply, staying locked in place to adjust before beginning a punishing rhythm of hard, deep strokes. his hips snap violently, balls slapping your swollen flesh with each impact.

all you can do is hold on for dear life, nails raking down his sweat slicked back as he fucks you into oblivion. vinnie pistons his hips with animalistic drives, pounding directly into your most sensitive spots unerringly. a constant litany of filthy praises tumble from his pretty lips, only spurring you nearer the edge.

"fuck you look gorgeous taking my cock sweet girl, your pussy was made for me i swear. gonna fill you up, have your belly swollen with my babies, you want that, baby? want me to come inside you while i fuck my name out of that beautiful mouth?"

the depraved imagery plunges you over at last, walls constricting vinnie's member in a vice grip. your orgasm tears through you with ruthless intensity, eyes rolling back as you scream his name. he chases his own release, fucking you through the aftershocks until spilling deep within your quivering channel with a guttural groan.

collapsing together in a sweaty heap, you trade sloppy kisses and whispered 'i love you's' while coming down from ecstasy. vinnie curls around your sated form protectively, pressing sweet affection into any skin he can reach.

"you never cease to amaze me, sweetheart. i love how full of surprises you are, constantly keeping me on my toes. and damn do i love when you take charge like that, so fucking hot." he sighs contentedly, nuzzling your hair.

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aspenmissing · 4 months ago

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Hello! I love your headcanons and x reader snippets! 😃🥰 Could you maybe do something where the reader is a creative, sweet but tough person who loves large scary sea animals? Especially with Vander or Silco. Silco would make sense since he has all those large fish swimming outside his hideout but I feel it would suit Vander too since he becomes a beast in S2. Anyone else could be read platonically but it would be fun to see Viktor's reaction too 💜💚💛💙🩵❤️

ꜱᴇᴀ ᴡʜɪꜱᴘᴇʀᴇʀ

ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ | ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ | ᴊᴀʏᴠɪᴋ | ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ | ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ | ᴊɪɴx || ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ || 3812 ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ || ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: ꜰɪꜱʜ, ᴅᴇᴇᴘ ᴡᴀᴛᴇʀꜱ

ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛ ᴀɴꜱᴡᴇʀ: ᴏᴏᴏ ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ Qᴜɪᴛᴇ ɪɴᴛᴇʀᴇꜱᴛɪɴɢ - ᴀɴᴅ ꜰᴜɴɴʏ ɪᴅᴇᴀ. ɪᴛ ᴅᴏᴇꜱ ꜰᴇᴇʟ ʟɪᴋᴇ ɪ'ᴠᴇ ʀᴇᴘᴇᴀᴛᴇᴅ ᴍʏꜱᴇʟꜰ ᴀ ʟᴏᴛ ᴛʜʀᴏᴜɢʜᴏᴜᴛ, ʙᴜᴛ ʀᴇɢᴀʀᴅʟᴇꜱꜱ, ɪ ᴅᴏ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏ! <3 <3

JAYCE

The soft hum of machinery filled Jayce's workshop, a comforting rhythm of gears and gentle clinks echoing softly against the stone walls. Moonlight filtered gently through the high windows, casting silvery beams onto cluttered tables covered in blueprints, sketches, and half-finished Hextech prototypes. Jayce leaned over his newest invention, completely absorbed, his brow furrowed as he meticulously tightened the final bolts. He barely registered the gentle knock on the door until a playful voice shattered his deep concentration.

"Working late again?"

Startled, Jayce looked up, his serious expression instantly softening into a warm, affectionate smile at the sight of Y/N leaning casually against the doorway. They wore a slightly oversized coat, sleeves rolled up messily, with an adventurous glint shimmering brightly in their eyes, always brimming with curiosity and daring.

"Couldn't sleep," Jayce admitted, pushing a hand tiredly through his tousled hair, smearing a faint streak of grease across his temple. "Besides, Hextech doesn't build itself."

Y/N chuckled warmly, stepping into the workshop with a familiar ease. They weaved around scattered tools and stacks of books, approaching him gracefully. Their gaze fell curiously upon the newly completed contraption, eyes tracing every delicate and robust detail. "What's this one do?"

Jayce hesitated, feeling an unexpected flush of shyness rise to his cheeks. "It's…well, it's for underwater exploration. You always talk about those giant sea creatures, and I figured—"

"You built something for me?" Y/N interrupted softly, eyes wide and sparkling, a wave of warmth spreading through their chest. Their passion for the ocean—especially its awe-inspiring, intimidating inhabitants—was something Jayce frequently teased them about, though always affectionately.

He nodded sheepishly, ducking his head slightly as he cleared his throat. "You always said you wanted to see a real leviathan up close. Though, honestly, that sounds terrifying to me."

Y/N laughed melodically, closing the distance between them to wrap their arms affectionately around his neck. The gentle scent of sea salt and fresh air lingered on their clothes. "Jayce, you brave soul. Are you actually volunteering to face a sea monster with me?"

He chuckled gently, resting his hands comfortably at their waist, his grip protective yet tender. "Only because I'd rather face my fears beside you than live comfortably without you."

The sincerity in his voice dissolved any playful teasing from Y/N's expression, replacing it with tender warmth. "You're too sweet for your own good."

Jayce smiled softly, gently pressing his forehead to theirs. Their quiet breathing synchronized, mingling warmth between them. "I trust you to protect me from any giant, terrifying sea creatures we encounter."

"Deal," Y/N whispered lovingly, their voice barely above a breath. "I'll always keep you safe."

Jayce stepped back slightly, a gleam of excitement igniting his eyes as he motioned proudly towards his latest creation, newfound enthusiasm evident in his stance. "Come on, let me show you how it works. It has reinforced glass, designed to withstand immense deep-sea pressure, and integrated Hextech lighting strong enough to illuminate even the darkest ocean trenches."

Eagerly, Y/N circled the invention, their fingers gently tracing the smooth contours of polished metal, marvelling at every intricate detail. Each facet of the device was both practical and elegant, a testament to Jayce's skill and meticulous nature. "It's incredible, Jayce. You've truly thought of everything."

Encouraged by their reaction, Jayce grinned broadly. "I even included a state-of-the-art tracking system specifically designed to locate those elusive creatures you've always dreamed of studying."

Y/N’s smile widened, genuine admiration shining brightly in their eyes. "Well then, when do we start this adventure?"

Jayce laughed softly, his confidence bolstered by their infectious enthusiasm. "As soon as you're ready. Tomorrow, even."

"Perfect," Y/N agreed eagerly, reaching out to squeeze his hand gently, the promise of adventure reflected clearly in their gaze. "Tomorrow we face the unknown, together."

The air grew comfortably quiet again, heavy with promise and anticipation. Soft, glowing Hextech filled the workshop with a gentle, blue-tinted radiance, bathing them both in its comforting glow. Surrounded by dreams of unexplored depths and legendary leviathans, they both knew without a shadow of a doubt that whatever mysteries lay ahead, they would face them bravely—as long as they faced them together.

VIKTOR

The late afternoon sun poured gently through the stained-glass windows of Viktor's laboratory, casting colorful hues across the stacks of notes, metal scraps, and intricate machinery. Viktor stood hunched slightly over his workbench, his cane resting close by, eyes intensely focused through his magnifying lenses.

"Viktor!" Your voice echoed warmly through the room, drawing his attention immediately. He looked up, adjusting his goggles to better see you standing by the doorway, your vibrant smile bringing brightness even greater than the afternoon sun.

"Ah, Y/N," he replied softly, straightening carefully with his cane in hand. "You've returned from your oceanic adventures already?"

You chuckled lightly, moving toward him, your expression glowing with excitement. "Yes! And you'll never guess what magnificent creature I encountered today."

Viktor tilted his head slightly, intrigued by your passion that always sparked his curiosity. "Another one of your beloved giant sea monsters, perhaps?"

"Precisely! A magnificent leviathan, Viktor! Massive and fierce-looking, yet so graceful. Everyone else was frightened, but I couldn't help but feel awe and fascination." Your eyes sparkled as you spoke, your hands animatedly emphasizing your description.

He smiled faintly, watching your excitement with quiet admiration. Your enthusiasm was infectious, your sweetness apparent even as you recounted your fearless interaction with creatures most would avoid.

"I'm beginning to suspect," he teased gently, "that there's no creature in the ocean frightening enough to deter you."

"Not even close," you replied confidently. "Speaking of creatures—how's your latest invention progressing?"

His gaze softened as he glanced back at his workbench. "Still troublesome, I'm afraid. It lacks your natural ease with formidable beasts."

You reached out, gently placing your hand atop his where it rested on his cane. "Well, perhaps it just needs someone creative, sweet, and a little tough to tame it?"

Viktor chuckled softly, eyes meeting yours warmly. "Indeed, it seems that everything does."

A comfortable silence settled between you, both appreciating the moment. Curiosity soon tugged at your mind, and you tilted your head toward the intricate machinery scattered across the workbench. "What exactly are you working on this time?" you asked gently, eyes tracing over the metallic parts that seemed to pulse softly with Hextech energy.

Viktor's eyes brightened slightly, his passion for discovery shining through. "A device intended to harmonize the human body with Hextech energy," he explained, running a finger carefully along the smooth metal surface. "It could revolutionize medicine, mobility... everything. But the synchronization remains elusive."

Your gaze softened, empathy colouring your features as you regarded his earnest determination. "If anyone can achieve such harmony, Viktor, it's you. Your patience and brilliance never cease to amaze me."

He offered a small, grateful smile, warmth blooming in his chest at your unwavering support. "Your confidence, Y/N, has a way of making even the impossible seem attainable."

"Because it is," you affirmed softly, stepping closer to rest your head briefly against his shoulder. "You're as courageous as any leviathan, Viktor. Perhaps your inventions just need a little more coaxing, much like sea creatures."

He laughed lightly, the sound rich and genuine, causing your heart to flutter. "I believe you may be right. Perhaps we both have much to learn from one another."

"Indeed," you agreed, grinning playfully. "Maybe next time, you'll join me to meet a few of my sea giants?"

His eyebrow arched in amused scepticism, though the softness in his gaze never wavered. "Only if you promise to protect me from their jaws."

You laughed warmly, squeezing his hand reassuringly. "Always, Viktor."

Together, you stood quietly once more, the lab filled only with the comforting hum of machinery and the warmth of unspoken affection. Both of you, fearless in your own ways—him braving the unknown realms of science, and you venturing into the depths of the vast ocean—each finding strength, inspiration, and solace in the other's courage.

JAYVIK

The soft hum of machinery blended seamlessly with Viktor's quiet footsteps and the rhythmic tap of his cane against the polished wood floors of their shared apartment. Outside, the city lights of Piltover flickered gently through the large windows, casting a serene glow over their cozy living space. Jayce glanced up from his detailed notes, his tired eyes warming immediately at the sight of Viktor thoughtfully positioning a small, elegantly crafted aquarium on the table.

"Think she'll like it?" Jayce asked, setting his pen aside and folding his arms, observing Viktor with gentle amusement.

Viktor carefully adjusted the tank, fingers meticulously rearranging the luminous pebbles and gently swaying underwater plants. A tiny, fierce-looking fish darted energetically from side to side, clearly exploring its new domain.

"Knowing Y/N," Viktor smiled softly, his eyes gentle and fond with the memory of her excitement whenever she discussed her passion for sea creatures, "she will absolutely adore it."

Jayce chuckled warmly, rising from his chair and approaching Viktor, wrapping an affectionate arm around his slender shoulders. He pressed a tender kiss to Viktor's temple, inhaling deeply as he enjoyed their quiet moment together. "A fearsome sea creature, yet apartment-sized," he mused softly. "It's perfect."

"Precisely," Viktor agreed, leaning comfortably into Jayce’s reassuring embrace. The peaceful stillness settled over them, both savouring the brief respite from the chaos of their work.

Their quiet laughter was suddenly interrupted by the familiar sound of keys rattling outside the door. Y/N stepped inside moments later, her bright eyes immediately lighting up at the sight of her two favourite inventors waiting expectantly, a mischievous glint in her gaze.

"What have you two been up to?" Y/N asked playfully, arching a curious brow as she placed her bag carefully by the door.

"We got you a little something," Jayce announced, clearly excited, barely able to hide his anticipation as he motioned grandly toward the aquarium.

Y/N’s eyes widened in pure delight, a radiant, heartfelt grin spreading across her face. She approached the tank eagerly, practically glowing with joy as she knelt to get a closer look. "Is that…a fish?" she asked breathlessly, amazement evident in her tone.

"Indeed," Viktor stepped forward, pride and deep affection resonating in his voice as he watched her fascination unfold. "A miniature version of the large, intimidating sea creatures you so admire."

Y/N laughed softly, eyes sparkling with excitement and appreciation as she wrapped her arms tightly around both Viktor and Jayce, pulling them close into a grateful, warm embrace. Her touch was tender yet firm, conveying all the affection she held for them both. "It's absolutely perfect," she whispered, voice filled with genuine emotion. "Thank you both so much."

"You deserve it," Jayce murmured warmly, holding them both tighter, savouring the closeness and comfort of their shared bond.

Viktor smiled softly, leaning his head against Y/N’s shoulder, quietly absorbing the warmth and love that surrounded them. "Nothing less for our brave, sea-loving heart," he replied gently.

The trio remained wrapped in their affectionate embrace for several moments longer, each silently thankful for the comfort and companionship they brought into each other's lives. Eventually, Y/N stepped closer again to the aquarium, enchanted by the tiny creature swimming boldly through its new surroundings.

"It's fascinating," she murmured thoughtfully, her fingers lightly tracing the glass. "What should we name it?"

Jayce laughed gently, placing a comforting hand on her back. "That important decision, I believe, is entirely yours."

Y/N turned to face her beloved partners, a playful smirk on her lips. "Perhaps something fierce and majestic," she pondered aloud. "To remind us all of the strength in even the smallest creatures."

"Perfectly fitting," Viktor agreed quietly, eyes shining softly.

Together, the trio settled comfortably onto their plush sofa, watching the little fish swim courageously in its new home. Their apartment filled once more with the gentle hum of machinery, the rhythmic tap of Viktor’s cane resting by his side, and the soothing silence of shared happiness. Their hearts were united, basking quietly in the warmth of thoughtful gestures, mutual understanding, and the deep affection that bound them so closely together.

VANDER

Y/N was known around Zaun for many things—her creative flair, her sweet yet formidable presence, and her peculiar fascination with the creatures of the deep. People whispered tales of how she ventured fearlessly to the docks each evening, bringing baskets of fish and other delicacies. Many believed she was feeding some monstrous beast; others simply thought she was charmingly eccentric.

Vander, however, knew better than to dismiss anything as mere eccentricity. It was part of why he loved her. One quiet evening, curiosity getting the better of him, he and the kids—Vi, Powder, Mylo, and Claggor—decided to accompany Y/N to the docks.

The docks were cloaked in twilight, and the sound of gentle waves lapped against the weathered wood. Powder clung close to Vander, wide-eyed, while Vi moved confidently, determined to show bravery. Mylo and Claggor exchanged skeptical glances but remained intrigued nonetheless.

Y/N stood at the edge of the pier, a gentle smile on her lips. She placed a large bucket of fish on the dock, humming softly. Vander approached her, wrapping an arm around her waist.

"So, love," Vander's voice was a gentle rumble, "what exactly are we waiting for?"

She laughed softly, leaning against him. "Patience, Vander. Trust me."

As if summoned by her voice, the water began to ripple and surge. Powder squeaked in surprise, clinging tighter to Vander's leg, while Vi's jaw dropped open. Emerging slowly from beneath the depths was an enormous, fearsome-looking sea creature, its eyes large and curious, scales shimmering gently in the fading light.

Vander instinctively stepped in front of Y/N, protectively shielding her, but she squeezed his hand reassuringly. "It's alright. He's gentle."

The creature emitted a deep, rumbling hum, moving gracefully towards Y/N. Without hesitation, she reached out her hand, touching its massive, smooth head affectionately.

"Meet Orion," Y/N announced proudly. "He's my friend."

Powder peeked cautiously from behind Vander, her initial fear replaced by awe. "Can I… Can I touch him too?"

"Of course," Y/N said warmly, beckoning the children forward. One by one, they approached the gentle giant, who remained calm and patient under their hesitant touches. Orion seemed to sense their curiosity, carefully moving closer to allow their gentle exploration.

Claggor laughed, fascinated. "He's incredible! I never imagined something like this existed."

Mylo smirked, trying to appear unimpressed, but couldn't hide the sparkle in his eyes. "Well, he’s definitely not something you see every day."

Y/N chuckled softly, watching the children's reactions fondly. Vander relaxed, observing the joy on her face as she shared this hidden part of her world. "You've always been full of surprises, love."

"Someone has to keep you on your toes," she teased, eyes sparkling playfully.

Vander chuckled softly, pulling her closer. "Consider it done."

As the night grew darker, Y/N gently sent Orion back into the deep. The creature paused for a moment, seemingly hesitant to leave, before finally disappearing beneath the waves, leaving behind ripples that shimmered like stardust.

Walking home hand in hand with Vander, surrounded by the animated chatter of the kids recounting their encounter, Y/N felt complete. Vander squeezed her hand gently, leaning close to whisper, "Thank you for sharing your secret with us."

"It's your secret now too," she replied softly, her heart swelling with warmth. She glanced back towards the docks, a tender smile forming on her lips. Orion had always been special to her, but sharing him with the people she loved made the bond even deeper.

Vander noticed her thoughtful expression, gently nudging her side. "Already planning our next visit, aren't you?"

Y/N laughed lightly, nodding. "I think Orion would like that."

Vander's voice was tender as he said, "Then we’ll make it happen. Together."

Y/N squeezed his hand tighter, knowing that together, they could face anything—even the mysteries hidden beneath the waves.

SILCO

The waters outside Silco's hideout moved gracefully, dark currents rippling under the neon glow of Zaun. Large, hauntingly beautiful creatures swam through the water—creatures most found terrifying. But Y/N was utterly captivated by them.

Perched by the window, she watched, eyes wide with wonder and admiration. A gentle smile played at the corners of her lips as a particularly massive creature, sleek and predatory, glided past, its scales shimmering mysteriously. She leaned closer, fingertips pressed gently against the cool glass, tracing the creature's fluid movements.

"They fascinate you," came a smooth, familiar voice from behind her. Silco's steps were almost silent, a ghostly presence that comforted rather than unsettled her.

"Always," Y/N replied, eyes never leaving the creature. "They're beautiful. People fear them because they don't understand."

"Or perhaps," Silco moved closer, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder, his thumb brushing reassuringly, "they fear them precisely because they do."

She turned slowly, eyes meeting his mismatched gaze, vivid with intrigue and tenderness. Her expression softened further, fingers reaching up instinctively to rest over his. "You're like them," she whispered affectionately. "Misunderstood, feared... but beautiful in ways few can see."

A quiet chuckle escaped Silco, eyes glinting softly in the dim lighting. "Only you would dare call me beautiful."

"Only because I see you," Y/N murmured tenderly, stepping closer, the space between them dissolving effortlessly. "Just like those creatures out there, there's more beneath the surface."

Silco tilted her chin up gently, his voice a warm whisper as his eyes bore into hers. "And you have always dared to dive deeper."

Their lips met in a slow, meaningful kiss, illuminated by the gentle, eerie glow from the window. The warmth between them contrasted sharply with the cool ambiance outside. Behind them, the creatures continued their silent dance, guardians to a love as deep and powerful as the very waters they inhabited.

Breaking the kiss softly, Silco guided her closer to the window, wrapping his arms securely around her waist. Y/N leaned into him, comfortable and safe, both gazing at the mesmerizing scene unfolding before them. The silent majesty of the underwater beings mirrored the quiet power that Silco radiated—a power Y/N had never feared, but rather had always found profoundly comforting.

"Do you ever wonder," Y/N spoke quietly, her voice thoughtful yet serene, "what they feel? If they sense our presence as clearly as we sense theirs?"

"Perhaps," Silco mused thoughtfully, his voice gentle yet firm, "they see through the glass and envy our warmth, just as we envy their freedom."

She turned her head slightly, smiling softly at the depth of his insight. "Maybe. Or maybe they know something we don't—something about surviving and thriving in places others avoid."

Silco tightened his embrace slightly, his lips brushing gently against her temple. "If that's the case," he whispered, "then perhaps we're not so different after all."

She turned fully, eyes glowing with sincerity and affection. "No, we're not," she agreed softly. "And I'm glad."

They stood together for a long time, savouring the quiet intimacy and the slow rhythm of the underwater creatures passing by. Outside, the waters continued their endless dance, beautiful, mysterious, and unafraid. Inside, two souls found strength, understanding, and love in each other—silent guardians of one another's hearts, as deep and boundless as the oceans they both admired.

JINX

Y/N peered over the edge of the rickety pier in Zaun, eyes wide with wonder rather than fear, their fascination clear as daylight.

"What are you staring at?" Jinx asked, bouncing impatiently on her heels, her braids swinging with curiosity.

"Look! Right there!" Y/N whispered excitedly, pointing at the shadowy figure beneath the murky waves. "It's huge! Must be a razorfin or something!"

Jinx squinted suspiciously. "You're excited about a big, scary sea monster? Weird, even for you."

Y/N laughed, shaking their head. "Not scary, Jinx. They're beautiful—strong, misunderstood. Just like people around here." Their voice softened, "Like you."

Jinx paused, caught off guard by the sincerity. She quickly masked it with a playful smirk. "Alright, Sea Whisperer, what's the plan? Befriend it and invite it to your birthday?"

"Actually," Y/N said, pulling out a worn notebook filled with sketches of sea creatures, mechanical contraptions, and artistic doodles, "I have an idea. Help me build something to see it better."

Eyes lighting up at the mention of building, Jinx grinned mischievously. "Oh, we're gonna make it go BOOM?"

Y/N chuckled, patting her friend's shoulder affectionately. "Maybe less explosion, more exploration."

Hours later, after welding scrap metal and scavenging the Undercity, they stood proudly before a makeshift underwater viewer—a peculiar contraption made of metal, glass, and gears.

Together, they lowered it carefully into the water. Y/N leaned forward eagerly, eyes bright with excitement. As the immense, graceful shape of the sea creature swam into view clearly beneath the glass, Y/N gasped in awe.

Even Jinx looked impressed, though she'd never admit it openly. Instead, she nudged Y/N playfully. "Alright, I admit it. It's pretty cool."

"Told you," Y/N smiled warmly, grateful to share this rare, quiet moment with her chaotic but fiercely loyal friend.

Jinx huffed dramatically, rolling her eyes but smiling back genuinely. "Just don't expect me to pet it."

Laughing together, they watched the creature vanish gracefully into the deep. But the moment of tranquility didn't last long; suddenly, another shadow loomed larger, darker, and far more menacing.

Jinx immediately tensed, gripping her weapon tightly. "Alright, now that definitely looks like trouble."

Y/N's expression turned serious, though excitement lingered in their eyes. "Wait! Let's just see."

The new figure surfaced slowly, revealing a large creature with scars along its scales, eyes wise yet wary. Y/N gasped softly. "It's wounded. Maybe we can help?"

Jinx groaned dramatically, but her loyalty shone through her grumbling. "Fine, but if this thing tries to snack on us, you're on your own!"

Together, they carefully approached the edge of the pier, offering cautious gestures of peace. Y/N reached out gently, speaking softly. Slowly, hesitantly, the creature moved closer, revealing a deep gash along its side.

"Hold still, big guy," Y/N murmured comfortingly, pulling some clean cloth and ointments from their pack.

Surprisingly calm, the sea creature allowed them to treat its wounds, and Jinx found herself helping despite her protests, mumbling something about "being too nice for their own good."

Finally, after some careful tending, the creature gave a gentle, thankful push against Y/N's hand before gliding silently back into the depths.

"Well, Sea Whisperer," Jinx admitted grudgingly, her expression softening, "you're actually pretty good at this."

"Thanks," Y/N smiled broadly. "And you're a better assistant than you think."

"Ugh, don't get mushy on me," Jinx scoffed playfully, hiding a smile behind her hand. "Let's get back before something even bigger decides it wants your medical services."

Laughing, they headed back to the neon-lit streets of Zaun, their friendship deepened by compassion, trust, and the strange, beautiful creatures of the deep.

#Arcane #arcane fandom #arcane fluff #reader insert #jinx x platonic!reader #jayce x reader #jayce x you #jayce talis x reader #jayce x y/n #viktor x y/n #viktor x reader #jayce x reader x viktor #viktor x you #vander x reader #silco x reader #jayvik x reader

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aurmisery · 5 months ago

Text

confessions unheard: sickening sweetness.

a ronin b. x gn! reader for 'My Fallen Valentine's.'

okay as you can guess this is going to be ronin x reader ! hope i did this prompt correctly? i just thought of really sweet (unhinged even) fluff.

cw // depictions of gore and viscera, this is ronin we're talking about LMFAO, violence, references to cat-calling/sexual harassment, drinking,

-and i'm sure that's it!

sorry if this is ooc, since this is supposed to be sweet n shit i tried making him more of a loser and uncharacteristically in love??? also i don't even know if he drinks and im sure it's probably not canon for him to be feinin this much 😭

idrk if i have a good grip on his character n all but i tried my best!! sorry for all the filler in this lol

good luck to everyone else participating!

(FUCKING FINALLY I GOT ALL THE WORDS BACK PLUS MORE!?! ENJOY!!!!! and if there's any errors....just ignore it...for my sake...)

word count: 5723 ❤️

something's...wrong, with ronin.

well- you technically could say that out of context and nothing would change, but no, something is terribly wrong with him. and surprisingly, it's not the fact that he's a serial killer with a kill count that rises practically everyday, nor is it the human remains aligning his shelves.

he's been out of it lately. constantly pacing around the reds and blacks of his room, all the while being more...fidgety than usual, unable to focus or parade his regular devil-may-care attitude around.

this is really fucking weird for him; ronin beaufort is the devil, and the devil doesn't change. he remains in the darkest pits of hell and slaps his knee at the idea of it, even.

he's unchanging, eternal, his punishment being no different.

so why couldn't he focus on his damn job and get this fucking filter replaced?

sweat beads down his forehead, grease coating his arms as he strained his neck further beneath the car, wrist flicking with each turn on the drain bolt and eventually...

it loosens, crust fluttering from the grooves of the screw, and the must of... whatever the hell's been sitting in this person's tank slowly infiltrating his nose.

it didn't have the strong petroleum scent, none of the chemical sharpness, and it didn't snake up his nose like new oil did either-

it smelled charred. ashy, even, and the must was evident as he turned the bolt and it did the rest of the work, a thick, almost black sludge filtering out of the tank and all over the concrete ground with a wet thud.

lacking a quick reaction, ronin's brows knitted low, letting a small 'fuck,' pass by his lips as he turned and reached around for wherever the hell he laid the oil catch pan.

he forgot to put it under the plug...somehow.

he's been forgetting to do a lot of things recently, matter of fact.

he shoves the thought down. he probably just needs to stop staring at a screen as soon as he comes home and get more rest, yeah, that's it.

speaking of a screen, when did you last text him? actually, when's the last time you two have held a conversation?

he slides the pan from beside him underneath the gunk-spewing tank, rolling from under the car and grabbing his tools and such off the ground, running his nails through the tips of his low ponytail.

...maybe he should check his phone.

it wouldn't hurt, just to see if there's a notification from you. he did get your number, finally. took a bit of convincing and some back-and-forth before you slid it, but now he has one of his best friends at his fingertips.

best...friends.

the collocation doesn't really fit with you, or at least the image he has of you. sure, you're his friend, a damn good one at that, and if he were to use it the way a normal person would, he would definitely call you his best friend.

but it doesn't feel right for him to call you that.

it's not like you're undeserving of the title, but it just doesn't fit with you. should he create a nice little title for ya?

he grins at the idea, and doesn't seem to notice the blackened oil trickling over his knuckles as he fumbles with his password.

you two are like... peanut butter and jelly? nah, overused, and stupidly corny. you two are like...thelma and louise! ehhh, he's not feeling it. cool reference, but maybe there's something else buried in that skull of his.

he leans against the car door, finally wiping his hand over the thin material of one of his plain work shirts. you can't really wear anything cool when you're working as a mechanic, after all.

tom and jerry? you two do bicker a lot. eh, not enough, also doesn't have that ring to it. bonnie and clyde? hard maybe, it'd be perfect if it was more platonic, besides, you two are just friends anyway.

friends- ugh, he cringes at that. he can't just dilute his partner in crime to a...friend.

naming you his partner in crime is very basic, but considering the underlying context between you two, it's rather fitting, right?

yeah, you're his partner in crime. plus, it doubles as a Set It Off reference in a way. fitting, veeeery fitting, actually.

"yo, beaufort! i'mma need this area in about 2 to 3, you finishin' up over there?"

a burly voice calls out- presumably one of his coworkers, and the twist in ronin's lips gives out- no notification from you.

he types out a quick message to you: 'still Alive?' as he slides his phone back onto the work table, he'll check it later- and only when he's done with this stupid replacement.

he lowers himself onto his creeper, rolling underneath the car whilst pulling the sludge-filled tin from underneath the ink-smeared tank and flushing the rest of the old oil out.

he grabs a wrench, tapping the rust and burnt oil from the plug and screwing it right back to its rightful place. he can do this quick, he's done this hundreds of times before, what's one more?

he's taking out the old tank when a high pitched chime rings out from his work table, his notifications alerting him of a new message.

weirdly enough, his motions freeze on cue and he's about to stand up and check it like it was instinct. but- well, he was still under the car.

a sharp, hollow crack rang through the garage as his head met the steel frame above him. a curse shot from his lips, low and snarled as the pain bloomed across his skull. eyes squeezed shut, he gritted his teeth, pressing a palm against the fresh ache.

for a moment he just...laid there, letting his arms fall flat on the concrete below him, exhaling through his nose and letting the pain settle before daring to move again.

what the hell's wrong with him? he told himself that he wasn't going to check his phone 'till he's done with this, and this is one of the easiest things to do in this field! why is it taking him this long?

through his wavering vision, he could spot two muddied boots slinking besides the car he's under, before they creased and the person sunk into a crouch.

"you okay there, kid?"

ronin rolled his eyes- 'kid', only one or two people here call him that, and the baritone of his voice paired with those boots must mean that the manager was doing his rounds and decided to check in on him.

"'m fine, just layin' on the concrete 'cause i wanna."

a thick rumble reminisce of a chuckle reins deep from the gut of the older man, before he cleared his throat and reached a gloved hand out underneath the car.

"need an ice pack?"

he eyed it- could help if there's any possibility of a bruise or a welt showing up, but as ronin ran a hand down his face, he gave a shake of his head.

it doesn't really hurt that badly anymore.

"nah, thanks though. just...lemme finish this and i'll be on my way out."

a grunt followed, the gloved hand retracting from under the car, and the raggedy pair of boots turned out of view.

alright, fuck it- let's just get this over with.

with a quick brush of his hands, ronin came out to the front, tapping on one of the various workers and letting them know that he was clocking out for the day.

slinging his bag over his arm, he was met with a calloused palm fixed onto his shoulder blade. he turns, and yep- the big guy.

"get some rest, you seem off your game."

the grouch's voice was unusually sincere, and it almost made ronin's gaze soften before the older man gave him an overly enthusiastic tussle of the hair.

"you're still young. sleep is important for you."

he's eyeing the light bags beneath his eyes and ronin could tell, but he only shrugged and gave a sloppy salute in return.

"yeah yeah, no kiddin', i'll be on my 'best' behavior next time. see ya later, old timer."

the gruff man stiffly nodded, immediately disappearing into the busy background as ronin turned and headed for the door.

as soon as the bell overhead chimed, he padded in his passcode and opened his messenger app, pleased to see the '3' icon bubbled besides your nickname.

[writer Darlin']

-'Sadly, my heart is still beating 😭'

-'agent's on my ass so I've been writing another piece for as long as I can whilst the hype is still high'

-'wouldja put me outta my misery?'

and there comes that feeling again, the staticky unease that bleeds into his cheeks, that flows in his chest and even shows through the light tremble of his fingers.

and then the obnoxious twist of his lips, the smile that weaves itself thick and heavy on his lower jaw that he can't seem to rip off, and he steps a bit slower through the sidewalk.

-'nah, i think I'll let ya Suffer a bit longer...'

-'besides, what's a devil to do Without entertainment?'

at this rate, you're probably rolling your eyes out of your own skull because of him, and he'd want nothing less.

[writer Darlin']

-'damn, cruel. shouldn't have expected the devil to be my savior anyway, guess I'll have to ask a sweetheart like Angel to smite me instead of your lame ass 🙄'

as soon as your reply dropped, he responded. no, not out of jealousy or anything stupid like that, but c'mon, be honest with yourself.

-'you've already got Lucifer himself staring over your shoulder, don'tcha think you're being selfish by hoarding all of the Divine power?'

he knows he's being a little shit, but that's just how he is when it comes to his best buds.

he's scrolling through your previous text messages, and it's enough to put a strain over his heartstrings. it's always a dance with you, and he wouldn't have it any other w-

...he nearly walks into a street light.

awkwardly shoving his phone back into his pocket, he decided to worry about getting home alive without some random slip-up ending in his death or worse.

yikes- yeah, he just needs a good kill and a few more hours of rest, and everything will go back to normal. that's all he needs.

...did you respond to his text yet?

maybe ronin was back to his usual self, because after going home and cleaning up, he felt like a new man.

it could've just been ridding himself of the grease and powder from his workplace, or maybe it was the thrill seeping its way back into his bones as he ran a finger over the cold, heavy iron of his crowbar.

changing back into his usual aesthetic helped too, reds and blacks with accents of silver coating him from head to toe, devil horns peeking atop the grey and black fabric of his beanie.

now that he's in uniform, pep flooded his step as he threaded his blackened nails through the silk of his hair, sliding out through his front door and into the night.

who's going to be his lucky pick for today?

he found his victim rather quickly.

greasy brown hair hung in uneven clumps around his sunken face, a pair of bloodshot eyes, watery and half-lidded, scanned the street with a predatory gleam, glinting with something both lazy and lecherous.

and each time a woman pedalled by, presumably hoping to get home before the night sky blackened further, his lips would curl into a crooked grin.

his targets were few and far between, but he made sure that every one of them knew that he had a mouthful of things to say about them right off the bat.

...no matter how young they looked.

it was almost funny, he wanted a victim and he found the best candidate as soon as he set out searching. who'd miss a scumbag like him? uptown needs their savior, after all.

it's more than enough to warrant bashing his head in for the night, and the perfect opportunity to clear his own in the meantime.

the narrow walls of the alley were slicked with grime and shadows. overhead, a single flickering street light was trying its' best to illuminate the corner with its green-hued flare.

its dying glow cast over the alley, draping its rickety textures in a haunting atmosphere- fitting, given that ronin had doused these walls with blood before.

the pavement was littered with crumpled newspapers, shattered glass, and puddles of murky water that reeked of decay. a nauseating stench hung heavy in the air- a blend of rotting food, damp mold, and something metallic and sour, like old blood.

scraping his crowbar along the exposed pipes decorating the filthy path, he tapped it against the dingy metal, once, twice- until finally, the scumbag turns his head, yellow teeth fixed into a scowl.

got him.

ronin's fingers flexed around the warming iron of his trusty weapon, before lifting it and raking its teeth against the brittle brick, a sound akin to nails on a chalkboard grating through the stale air.

"cut that shit out," a low snarl, warning, biting, even. the man's now leaning uneasily over his own two feet, glass bottle tight within the drunk's grasp.

ronin whistled out a long, sharp burst, dragging his tool against the cracked concrete, glass occasionally crunching under his platforms.

"you wanna go, asshole?" the pig snarled, vocal cords strummed with copious amounts of alcohol and mucus as his wrist wiped over his running nose.

the drunken bravado of this prick is more than enough to have ronin's fingers itching to burrow through his abdomen- to wreak havoc across this bastard's body and let him know what hell truly looks like.

the drunkard's now storming towards ronin, almost tripping over his own shoes as he slung slurred words and insults towards him.

little did he know, he was just luring him deeper within the emptied twists and turns of the alley, just to ensure that he gets enough time to hear him scream without any unneeded innocents stopping by and getting an eyeful of gore beyond their wildest nightmares.

eventually, the lone streetlight stopped its' flickering, dimming into a low hum buzz as its' glow grew weaker and weaker- and finally into pitch black.

how well can a drunk man see in the darkness?

it was the same routine. wash, rinse, repeat. mangle the disfigured body into whatever position he wanted and splatter the newly-killed man's innards all over the alley concrete for all to judge.

but the experience was....rather lacking. he barely had a taste of the rush, of the adrenaline rushing through his veins. it died out quickly, and he's right back to thinking of you as he slips through the night and right back into his sanctuary.

[goreboy] 04:06

-'hey Angel is cupid Also an Angel?'

[Angelic] 04:07

-'Well that's a lot of capitalization, especially with the A's but I don't think so? I think he's some god or something in Greek mythology, but I'm not too sure. Why?'

[goreboy] 04:07

-'you two have wings Good enough'

-'tell him to fuck off please and Thanks!'

-'and hey, you know i can't resist that Sweet sweet alliteration.'

[Angelic] 04:07

'How do I deal with you...'

'But wait wait wait, what does that mean? Cupid?'

he feels instant regret- he shouldn't be texting or ranting or whatever the fuck he's doing to angel right now. she's got her own shit going on, and he's skipping like a school girl in a field of daisies- well, preferably bodies, over the thought of...

you. god, it makes his heart hurt. why? how would he know?

he has to hunt you down for this- you definitely cast some weird spell on him to make him feel this strongly for whatever reason and it's absolutely destroying him.

sure, he cares about you, deeply. you're really close and he enjoys being around you, but he didn't know that hanging out with you a couple of times would amount to...this.

and now he's spiraling inside of his own head, falling apart at the seams so easily, and he doesn't even know why.

[goreboy] 04:13

-'oh god bless my bleeding Heart'

-'...'

-'it's Nothing.'

[Angelic] 04:13

'Ronin, is there something going on?'

being sardonically impulsive was a trait that rarely bit ronin in the ass, especially when his instincts were usually sharp, but when it did- it wasn't a fun time.

tucking his head in a bandage-draped palm, he dangled his fingers over the keyboard, only for them to hang motionlessly.

what does he even say to that? "i'm falling in love with one of my best friends and for the first time i'm too much of a pussy to admit it! woe is me!" give him a break.

[Angelic] 04:16

-'You don't have to tell me anything, but if there's anything going on, you know you have a safe place with me, no matter how irritating you are.'

-'Regardless, you really should sit down and just process anything that could be troubling you. Get some sleep in and see how you feel in the morning about everything, y'know?'

'-And if it's cupid related, I don't mind playing matchmaker. 🤍'

ronin couldn't help the smile creeping up on his lips. it helped, y'know? remembering that he had someone in his corner who he could confide in when things got heavy.

[goreboy] 04:17

-'Noted'

-'...'

-'thanks. for y'know, Everything.'

-'and that last bit seems rather Interesting despite the fact that you're basically a Lamer version of cupid'

[Angelic] 04:18

-'I hate you oh so very much 😭'

a dry chuckle vibrates through his chest, and he's shutting off his computer, letting the screen fade to black.

she's right, though. instead of moping in self pity, he should sleep on it, maybe even pray that he won't feel anything for you when the sun rises and he gets out of bed.

he lazily sets his phone on his nightstand, not bothering to plug it up before he had a double take, hitting the power button and reading the numbers in bold.

"4:20 AM."

didn't he say something about getting more sleep?

shit.

he wished he could say that sleep did something for him in the grand scheme of things...

it did little to nothing, especially with the time he went to sleep. now he's restless, maybe a tad manic, and driving himself absolutely mad at the thought of you.

god, it feels as though his teeth are about to fall straight out of their sockets- and not just because he's been slapping himself dumb around his room all night.

he's been thinking- way, way, way, way too much. thinking about his feelings, what he wants, if there's a possibility of you feeling anything too, if you want him too.

further in the day, he thought that perhaps a drink or two will smooth the rough edges, shut his brain up enough for him to do the usual, but after a glass, or two...maybe three, he wasn't getting any closer to salvation.

he still thinks about it- those rare times that you've two hung out and you would casually slink an arm over him or play with his hair as you two binged another horror franchise. the times where he'd turn to watch your reaction at a movie heavily relying on shock value and how you'd scoot a little closer to him after it.

was he just imagining that? did your heart beat no faster at the idea of being closer to him? was all of this normal for you? whenever you went outside to do something simple, like checking the mail, did you not spot something that reminded you of him?

because as he's trailing down the countless alleyways he has memorized like the back of his hand, everything he looks at sends his mind into a blurry fuzz of everything you.

he didn't even notice the storm clouds rolling in, and the low grumble of faraway thunder did little to dissuade him from traveling farther from home, despite his lack of jacket or umbrella.

he felt like a stray dog wandering the streets with a maw full of bleeding rot, looking for something to devour that'll push the feeling down.

but there's nothing to do to push it down, to cast it out of sight and out of mind, and he's too full of feelings that he doesn't know what to do with-

should he pick out another kill for him to waste his time on?

normally, that'd be something he'd consider, something he'd chase out and bide his time on until the adrenaline, the rush, the high- would hopefully push you out of mind.

but he knows it'll just fail, like it did the day before.

the sky's weeping heavier at this point, and he's just now wringing out the black fabric of his shirt, drenched beyond relief at this rate.

he shrugs it off like it's whatever, as if the thunder and fat raindrops pummeling down on him was nothing more than an inconvenience, and he decides to retreat back home for the day.

each stride through the darkening streets feel almost weightless as he trails down the empty sidewalks, and it's right there.

his sanctuary.

except he turns the doorknob and it's... locked.

a frown bags over his lower jaw, and he tries it again. nope, locked.

and then a hollered "i'll be right there!" muffles behind the door. wait, what?

he looks forward, noticing the unfamiliar 'welcome!' rug at the doors front steps, and the change in scenery around him.

the door opens, and before he can hot tail it out of there, you're peeking out from behind the frame, and your brows furrow.

fuck, he's so screwed.

did he really self sabotage himself so badly in his drunken stupor that he walked to your front door instead of his?

because now he gets to see you- in person. and he doesn't know if he can handle that right now, if he can stand face to face with you knowing how his heartbeat quickens at the sound of your voice, nonetheless seeing you right before him.

you're motionless for a second, eyes beading over his form in a vertical line before you craned the door wide open, a mix of concern and confusion etched onto your face and he sobered up at the sight immediately.

don't you see that you're opening the front door to the worst person right now? fuck, why did you decide to answer? you shouldn't have, you really, really shouldn't have.

it felt like he was dying of embarrassment, and death had never felt so foreign and uneasy in his chest as he gave you a nervous grin.

"uh, hey."

his voice was dry and nearly died out as soon as the words left his lips, a faint crack ending off of his awkward greeting.

and suddenly, he could feel the way his pants weighed more than usual and how his shirt stuck uncomfortably close to his skin, fat raindrops still pummeling him under the dark sky.

"is it...normal, for you to be standing in the pouring rain?"

it was a jab, a friendly one at that, but your lighthearted words were simultaneously laced with...shock? surprise? maybe pity?

he pulled at his collar, sheepishly rubbing at the nape of his neck as water trickled down against his spine, causing a shiver to stream through him.

"uh, yeah-yep. y'know, just, uh...getting some fresh air."

getting fresh air in the middle of a thunderstorm? yeah, right. he was hoping to lean into the dry humor of it all and maybe crack a smile out of you that would allow him to brush past the inevitable 'what the fuck are you doing here?' question, but fate said otherwise.

"well, maybe you should come inside? i mean-you're soaked and the night's only gonna get darker."

immediate no. he cannot let himself step through your doorway, he cannot delve between the walls that's everything...you. that's the LAST thing he needs right now, last thing he should surround himself with.

you tug at the wet fabric of one of his sleeves, as if trying to guide him into the warmth of your home, but he only nails his palms over the ridges of your doorframe, enabling him still.

"no, i'd rather stay riiiight here, thank you."

you side eyed the worsening weather at his back and grazed your pupils over to his, staring at him as if he said something funny.

"ronin-"

"'m fine where i stand, thanks darlin'."

you frown, your brow raised strictly as if you were about to scold him, but you held your tongue for whatever reason, as if you could tell that he really didn't want to step inside.

"fine, but if you get a cold and i have to take care of your ass, don't tell me i didn't warn you."

is it bad that the scenario doesn't sound too bad to him?

his heart's working against him in ways he never knew it could, and before he could shut himself up, he's leaning further towards you, eyelids heavy and irises locked onto yours.

"you'd take care of me if i were sick?"

he didn't realize how desperate he was coming across, but when he heard the immediate drop in his tone and the lack of crypt in his voice, he felt a flutter in his chest. fuck, you're killing him.

the attitude slathered all over your face phases over, shifting into light solemn as you cross your arms, giving a small nod.

"yeah, of course. i care about you,"

fuck, you're killing him!

"-you're one of my bestest friends, after all."

oh my god, put him out of his misery already!

he's never rolled his eyes harder, he could've sworn he saw the man on the cross himself for a moment and he could've set on his knees as a believer right then and there.

maybe he should ask for the lord to strike him down here and now, and hopefully with enough repentance he'll die on the spot.

unluckily for him, you noticed his reaction, the way his head turned and his x'ed out pupils narrowed and slid out of view. the way his head veered away from you and his nostrils flared momentarily.

now you're curious, and you already know what happens to those who question things they probably shouldn't. curiosity killed the cat, 'n all.

"well, you have something to say, yeah? this is the first time i've seen satan himself shivering, so should i assume that hell finally froze over?"

the jest in your voice was unmistakable, but so was the genuine undertone of your question. he wished he could turn you away and soothe your curiosity with a toothy grin that told you all you needed to hear-

but with how he's standing ahead of you like a deer in headlights, he'd reckon that it wouldn't do much to salvage this situation.

"i don't," he began, only to slap a hand over his face with his index and middle fingers pinching the bridge of his nose.

"i, i can't, it's..."

he drawls off, and he can feel it, the excuses longing to claw their way out of the confines of his throat, the overwhelming need to escape your gaze, and the hesitation churning in his abdomen.

"wow, whatever the hell you're going on about is really fucking you up, huh?"

you weren't wrong. this was definitely out of character, especially for ronin out of all people.

you clicked your tongue, rolling it over your teeth as you mentally noted the slight tremor in his body.

"are you...sure you don't want to come in?"

your voice falls on deaf ears, he's too absorbed in it all, in everything you do down to the smallest things. it's embarrassing, really, the dilation of his pupils following the view of your tongue running over the angle of your canines.

the sight should strike terror into his bones and he knows it. he should be running for the hills at this point - what can he even do to tilt the odds in his favor?

and yeah, he's fucking horrified. horrified at the way that his face doesn't pale in fear, but hazes over with the lightest pink. horrified at the way his heartstrings tense and pull, as if his heart was trying to ruthlessly beat itself out of its' bindings.

you're the scariest thing he's come across. the careless ruffle of your hair, the rosy pigment blotched over your bottom lip, and that...casual look in your eye. the way light dances and reflects in your irises like the prettiest firework show he's ever seen.

you're bad. really fucking bad for him, you're the worst thing he's laid eyes on, and he knows it once your head tilts in confusion and his gut wrangles high into his throat. what the fuck are you doing to him? do you know what the fuck you're doing to him?

you're probably deeper in the pits of hell than he is, and that's saying something. you're dangerous! akin to some monstrosity that the likes of man couldn't even fathom.

he was wrong for questioning your lack of survival instincts when you opened the door for him, he should've been questioning his own when he wandered to your front door like a lamb to the slaughter.

instead of having your aorta between his fingers, you have his wrangled between yours, and you don't even fucking know it.

the crackle of thunder right down the street is enough to wake him from his internal monologue, and he realizes that you're basically shaking him dry, snapping your fingers before him in a pitiful attempt to 'wake him up'.

"jesus christ," you heave, and you're grabbing him by the wrists, the heat of your fingers locking around his pulse burned his cheeks into a brighter shade of pink that, for once, made him look more alive than corpse.

"ronin, talk to me. tell me what's going on, please, you're not acting like yourself, and that says something."

the sound of his lifeline thumps heavy in his eardrums, even as he digs his teeth into the crackled, slightly bloodied mess of his bottom lip. he can feel the random, morbid variations of everything he's been feeling coursing through his veins.

they taste odd, unbalanced over the piercing on his tongue, and he doesn't even know how to describe it himself. fuck it, he's here right now, he needs to do something about these feelings while they're still fresh and bleeding, but all the ideas garble up into pathetic word vomit once he gets a hold of them.

he's eyeing the wet glisten of your lash line, and he notices you're now, too, partially in the rain. the hands holding his wrists now interlocked with his, fingers crisscrossing over one another.

he's thinking about it all; the times you've shared, ranging from your hangouts to your gaming sessions, and they all were...

perfectly imperfect.

yeah, the time you two went out for ice cream and not even two steps away from the truck, your scoops splattered all over the pavement. or the last time you guys hung out over at his place and blackjack- his pet rat, started nibbling on your fingers and you nearly dropped the damned thing.

nothing ever seemed to go as planned when your paths crossed. it was as if the gods themselves conspired to curse your time together, weaving misfortune into every interaction, a twisted, modern-day version of romeo and juliet. yet, no matter how things unraveled, the night would always end the same: with laughter, warmth, and the unmistakable feeling that none of it mattered as long as you were together.

the stupidest shit could happen on the days that you've planned to see each other on, and no matter what, you two would find a way to work it out, without fail.

standing here now, would telling you ruin everything that's been? divide you two back on your separate roads, the way fate wants it to be?

he's tired of guessing.

twisting black painted nails around the width of your hand, he moves your palm up to the plain of his chest, and your brows raise. he lays it close to his collarbone, but far down enough that the flat of your hand meets the rapid thudding in his body.

"feel how fast my heart's beating?"

you nod.

"would'ja drive a stake through it? spare me my autonomy, quiet the rhythm in my ears and leave me no longer breathing?"

he's closer to you now, the x's in his pupils trailing your every feature, taking in the way your cheeks flush and your lids lower.

"would you consider that mercy? no longer needing to confront your emotions?"

he gives you the slightest smile at your response, the void in his gaze sucking you in as he lays a thumb under the curve of your lower lids, brushing over your cheekbone, smearing a few water droplets across your cheek.

"who wouldn't? that's the beauty in being human, in feeling all these...things. gives us so many weaknesses, so many flaws, but so, so much to discover."

he's almost grinning ear to ear at the sight of your eye twitching irritably, a tight lipped smile spread on your face as you huff. he can tell you want him to get to the point.

so he will.

"ronin, stop all the cryptic talk. just, tell me what's going o-"

"i'm in love with you."

and the warmth pumping through your cheeks increased by tenfold, for a moment, the cogs in your brain just... stalled. you blinked, once, twice, staring at him like he'd just spoke in a language you didn't know.

"wait... what?" the words tumbled out before you could stop them, a mix of confusion and disbelief your words.

"you... you like me?"

"did i stutter?"

"no, no, i-i just...like, like like me?"

it was adorable; how doubting you were, your words almost frantic. and it wasn't in a 'ew, you like me?' type of manner, it was more of a 'oh my god, you like me? me!?' way.

he now has both of his hands cupping your face, thumbing along the corner of your lips and you're even warmer- or maybe it's just because he's drenched in rain water and you're only slightly damp.

"is there somethin' wrong with me for likin' you?"

and just like that, the tables turned. you're the one who's flustered and trying to explain yourself while he's just smug watching your panicked display with a grin.

"no! no, it's just- i'm...dumbfounded. i mean, i didn't really see it coming. are you...sure?"

he's more than 100% sure, but if you need some more convincing, he doesn't mind.

"want me to prove it to ya?"

his jaw's already nearing yours and a low timbre wedges in the tangle of his vocal chords, words sweet and curious.

his question was rhetorical- he knew you wanted him to, and your irises giving his lips a quick glance confirmed it.

"well? i'm waiting in the wings."

you give a slow nod, hands running up to the broadness of his shoulders before he dipped forward and...

the soft pout of your bottom lip met the cracked surface of his, and it couldn't have been more perfect, the trailing of your fingers rising through the soaked locks sticking to his skin. you're warm, really warm, and he doesn't want to let you go.

and suddenly he can breathe again, the tension compressed in his body releasing all at once, he, for one, finally feels free at the maddening press of your skin to his.

the faint taste of alcohol dances between you two, and your tongue gives a light swipe over his bottom lip in response to it, as if trying to get a better taste.

have you come from the abyssal sky above to grace him salvation? to save him from the endless pits of his own sin? to cut him apart with gentle hands, to dissect him with hushed promises of alleviating the burning ache in his chest?

because the warm cradle of your embrace sets his soul alight, and he's burning up like a dry weed catching the first sparks of summer's relentless rays.

it's been so long since he was last touched like this. since he's had someone to cradle, someone to hold, to kiss, to love.

he's been saved by you, and not in the biblical sense, no, he's damned no matter how you look at it. but he no longer feels lost, no longer yearning, craving something he thinks he can't have.

eventually, you have to pull away, his arms still slung over the dip of your back, and yours still around the nape of his neck.

"whaddya say? wanna be my partner in crime?"

you cringe, your nose scrunching in utter distaste at his title for you and you pitch a playful whack on his chest, a curl lingering on your lips.

"were you always this cheesy?"

he's about to respond with a teasing quip back, but then-

"ah-achoo!" his head pivots away from you and into the crease of his elbow, sneezing into his arm and he sniffles quietly.

"i uh, might have to take you up on that offer you proposed earlier?"

"see! i told you!"

----

hi teehee thanks for reading sorry this definitely sucks ass in some parts bc i rushed this last minute, lots of things here were just made up/headcanons about his character

i....i finished editing it....2000 words officially brought back from the dead...i couldn't have done it without the power of friendship ‼️

#killer chat #ronin beaufort #kc!#killer chat ronin #ronin #visual novel #x reader #ronin beaufort x reader #my fallen valentines

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the-bifrost-blogger · 7 months ago

Text

Of Chaos and Quiet Moments

Title: Doctor's Orders

Pairing: Loki x Reader

Timeline: Shortly after Loki's sentencing.

Thor’s voice echoed through the house, rattling the walls as if the thunder itself had descended into Jane Foster’s modest living room. He paced back and forth, his towering frame casting long shadows against the evening light filtering in through the windows.

“Loki, enough is enough!” Thor bellowed, his deep baritone carrying both frustration and exasperation.

Loki, reclining lazily on the couch, appeared completely unfazed. His legs were crossed, one ankle resting on his knee, and a polished green apple hovered between his fingers, suspended midair by a faint flicker of golden magic. He spun it absentmindedly, his emerald gaze focused more on the fruit than on his brother’s righteous fury.

“I fail to see what the issue is,” Loki drawled, his voice dripping with mock innocence.

Jane, seated at the dining table with her laptop open but clearly forgotten, threw her hands in the air. “The issue, Loki, is that you’re impossible to work with! Do you have any idea how many people I had to call after the soup kitchen fiasco?”

Loki’s lips curved into a mischievous smirk. “I’ve told you before, mortal, it was a mere grease fire. Hardly my fault that their equipment wasn’t up to standard.”

“Grease fire?” Thor barked, stopping mid-step to glare at his brother. “You turned the entire kitchen into an inferno! They’re still cleaning soot off the ceiling!”

Jane rubbed her temples, muttering under her breath, “And replacing half their pans...”

“And then there’s the dog park,” Thor continued, his tone growing darker. “What in the Nine Realms possessed you to bring an elephant to a dog park?”

Loki’s grin widened. “Admit it, brother. It was rather amusing.”

Thor’s nostrils flared as he stepped closer, looming over Loki like an impending storm. “Amusing? Amusing? The poor beast trampled half the park benches and terrified every dog in sight!”

Loki shrugged, utterly unrepentant. “It was a lesson in adaptability for those pampered Midgardian pets. You should thank me.”

“Thank you?” Jane cut in, her voice rising in pitch as she stood up and approached the two brothers. “Loki, the city’s animal control had to tranquilize the elephant in broad daylight. Do you know how much paperwork that caused? And let’s not even talk about the chihuahua incident—”

Thor groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “And those are just the minor incidents. What about the library debacle?”

“Ah,” Loki interjected, finally looking up from his apple with a gleam of pride. “That was a masterpiece. A simple enchantment, and poof! The books sorted themselves. It’s not my fault the mortals couldn’t handle the reorganization.”

“You made the books levitate, Loki!” Jane exclaimed, throwing up her hands. “One woman fainted, and another filed a police report because she thought the library was haunted!”

Thor pinched the bridge of his nose, visibly trying to compose himself. When he spoke again, his voice was quieter but no less firm. “Loki, this is serious. Your community service is not just a punishment—it’s a chance to make amends. But every organization we’ve sent you to has refused to take you back. If you don’t fulfill these hours, Father will have no choice but to intervene.”

At the mention of Odin, Loki’s expression flickered. For the briefest moment, his smirk faltered, replaced by a shadow of something heavier. But it was gone just as quickly, and he resumed his air of indifference.

“Very well,” Loki said with a sigh, tossing the apple into the air and catching it deftly. “Where, pray tell, do you intend to send me next? A preschool? A landfill? Perhaps I should clean your mortal sewers.”

Jane exchanged a glance with Thor, then crossed her arms. “Actually, I have a friend who’s willing to give you a chance. She works at Starlight General Hospital.”

“Hospital?” Loki repeated, his voice laced with disdain. “You expect me to play nursemaid to the sick and injured?”

Jane’s lips curled into a sly smile. “Not just any patients. Children.”

Loki’s eyes widened, and for the first time in the conversation, he looked genuinely horrified.

The sleek black car pulled up to the entrance of Starlight General Hospital, its polished surface gleaming under the mid-morning sun. Thor, seated in the driver’s seat with a grin as wide as the Bifrost bridge, turned to his begrudging passenger.

“Come on, brother,” Thor said cheerfully, slapping Loki on the shoulder with a force that jolted the smaller man forward. “It’s time for you to face your destiny.”

Loki, seated in the passenger seat with his arms crossed and a scowl etched across his face, stared out at the cheerful hospital façade. A brightly colored sign over the glass doors read “Pediatric Wing: Where Healing Meets Happiness!” and was adorned with cartoon drawings of smiling animals. The sight alone made Loki recoil.

“I refuse,” he said flatly, his emerald gaze narrowing. “Surely there is a more suitable punishment. Perhaps scrubbing the streets of New York or restoring those blasted park benches you’re so fond of mentioning.”

Thor leaned back in his seat, savoring Loki’s discomfort. “You’ve run out of options, brother. Every organization has refused to take you back. This hospital is your last chance. Unless, of course, you’d like to explain your failure to Father.”

At the mention of Odin, Loki’s jaw tightened. He turned to glare at Thor, his expression dark and venomous. “You will pay for this indignity,” he growled, stepping out of the car with the grace of a man marching to his own execution.

Thor followed, his booming laughter echoing across the parking lot. “Come now, brother! This will be good for you. And besides, how much trouble could you possibly cause in a hospital?”

Loki’s lips curved into a smirk as he walked ahead, his cape billowing dramatically behind him. “You underestimate me, Thor. That’s always been your weakness.”

Inside, the hospital lobby was a flurry of activity. Nurses wheeled patients past the reception desk, doctors hurried through the halls with clipboards, and the faint beeping of monitors mingled with the chatter of visitors.

Loki wrinkled his nose, already unimpressed by the sterile environment. His sharp eyes scanned the room until they landed on a figure dressed in bright pink scrubs that offended his aesthetic sensibilities.

The woman turned, revealing a clipboard tucked under one arm and a coffee cup in the other. Her scrubs were covered in cartoon kittens, and her name tag read: Dr. (Y/N) (L/N), Head of Pediatric Surgery.

She spotted Thor and broke into a warm smile. “Thor! You made it!”

Thor stepped forward, enveloping her in a bear hug that lifted her off the ground. She laughed, playfully swatting his arm when he set her down. “Easy, Thunder God. Some of us aren’t indestructible.”

Thor chuckled. “Dr. (L/N), this is my brother, Loki.”

Loki stepped forward, his posture stiff and his expression unreadable. “Charmed, I’m sure,” he said coolly, though his tone suggested anything but.

Dr. (L/N) raised an eyebrow, giving him a once-over. “So, you’re the infamous Loki. of Asgard”

“Infamous?” Loki repeated, feigning offense. “Surely you’ve heard of my glorious exploits. They’ve been somewhat exaggerated, I assure you.”

She smiled sweetly, though there was a spark of steel in her gaze. “Well, Mr. Infamous, let’s lay down some ground rules. No mischief. No tricks. And absolutely no causing trouble for my kids.”

“Your...kids?” Loki echoed, his brows furrowing.

Dr. (L/N) gestured toward a set of double doors painted with whimsical animals. “The pediatric ward. Those kids are my world. If you disrupt their peace, you’ll have me to answer to.”

Thor let out a low whistle. “Careful, brother. You’re in the presence of a true warrior.”

Loki’s smirk returned, but there was a flicker of something else in his expression—curiosity, perhaps. “I shall endeavor to restrain myself,” he said smoothly, though the glint in his eye suggested otherwise.

Dr. (L/N) led them through the hospital, giving Loki a brisk tour of the facility. She pointed out the nurses’ station, the playroom filled with toys and games, and the cafeteria where he could find snacks if he behaved.

“And this,” she said, stopping outside a brightly decorated room, “is where you’ll start.”

Loki raised an eyebrow, peering inside. The room was filled with posters of superheroes, stacks of comic books, and a collection of plush animals. In the center of the room was a hospital bed, occupied by a boy of about eleven.

The boy looked up as they entered, his face lighting up with excitement. “Is that Thor?” he asked, his voice high-pitched with awe.

Thor chuckled, stepping forward to ruffle the boy’s hair. “Indeed, young one. And I’ve brought someone else for you to meet.”

The boy’s eyes shifted to Loki, widening. “Who’s that?”

Loki stepped closer, his gaze flicking between the boy and Dr. (L/N). “I am Loki,” he said, his voice smooth and commanding. “God of Mischief.”

The boy’s jaw dropped. “No way! Are you a superhero too?”

Loki scoffed, but Dr. (L/N) interrupted before he could reply. “Loki’s here to help you out, Dylan. He’s going to make sure you have everything you need today.”

Dylan beamed. “Really? That’s so cool!”

Loki turned to Dr. (L/N), his expression a mix of irritation and disbelief. “You expect me to play servant to a mortal child?”

She crossed her arms, meeting his gaze with unwavering determination. “That’s exactly what I expect. Consider it your first lesson in humility.”

Thor clapped Loki on the back. “Good luck, brother. Try not to disappoint the lad.”

And with that, Thor strode out, leaving Loki alone with Dylan and the formidable Dr. (L/N).

Loki stared at Dylan, his sharp features betraying no emotion, though a storm of irritation brewed beneath the surface. He could scarcely believe the indignity of being assigned to "assist" a mortal child, no less one so infuriatingly cheerful.

The boy, oblivious to Loki’s disdain, grinned ear to ear. “So, what kind of powers do you have? Can you fly? Can you shoot lasers out of your eyes?”

Loki blinked, caught off guard by the boy’s enthusiastic questions. “I am not some circus performer,” he said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “I wield magic far beyond your comprehension.”

Dr. (L/N), standing just behind him, cleared her throat loudly. “Loki,” she said, her tone sharp enough to cut through steel, “remember what we talked about—kindness and patience.”

Loki glanced over his shoulder, his lips curling into a mock smile. “Ah, yes. Patience. My favorite virtue.”

Dylan giggled, clearly amused. “Can you show me some magic? Please? I promise I won’t tell anyone!”

The boy’s excitement was so genuine, so infectious, that even Loki found himself considering the request. With a dramatic sigh, he raised one hand, allowing a shimmering green orb to form in his palm. It flickered and danced like firelight, casting soft shadows across the room.

Dylan gasped, his eyes wide with wonder. “That’s amazing! Can you do more?”

Before Loki could respond, Dr. (L/N) stepped forward, placing a firm hand on his arm. “No tricks that could scare or hurt him,” she said, her voice low but commanding. “These kids have been through enough.”

Loki tilted his head, his expression unreadable. “I am perfectly capable of entertaining a child without traumatizing him,” he said, though his tone suggested he didn’t appreciate the insinuation.

Dr. (L/N) smiled sweetly, but her eyes were sharp. “Good. Then I’ll leave you to it.”

She turned to Dylan, her demeanor softening instantly. “If Loki gives you any trouble, just press the call button, okay?”

Dylan nodded eagerly. “Got it, Dr. (L/N). Thanks!”

As she left the room, Loki couldn’t help but watch her go. There was something about her—the way she carried herself, the way she looked at him without fear or reverence—that intrigued him. He shook his head, forcing the thought aside.

“Okay, Mr. Loki,” Dylan said, breaking the silence. “What else can you do?”

Loki raised an eyebrow at the boy’s audacity. “Do you presume to give me orders?”

Dylan shrugged, unfazed. “You’re supposed to help me, right? So, help me not be bored.”

Loki sighed, muttering something in Asgardian under his breath. With a flick of his wrist, he conjured a small illusion—a flock of shimmering golden birds that flitted around the room, their wings leaving trails of light.

Dylan clapped his hands, laughing in delight. “This is so cool! Can I keep one?”

“They’re not real, you foolish child,” Loki said, though there was no real malice in his tone. “They’re illusions, meant only to entertain.”

Dylan frowned for a moment, then brightened. “Can you make them do tricks?”

Loki hesitated, glancing at the boy’s eager face. With another sigh, he wove his magic, commanding the birds to form intricate patterns in the air—circles, spirals, even the shape of a dragon.

For the next several minutes, Dylan watched in awe, his laughter filling the room. Despite himself, Loki felt a flicker of satisfaction. Perhaps this task wasn’t entirely without merit.

Just as Loki began to relax, the door swung open, and Dr. (L/N) stepped back inside. She froze, her eyes narrowing as she took in the glowing birds.

“Loki,” she said slowly, “what are you doing?”

“Entertaining the boy,” Loki replied innocently, dispelling the illusion with a casual wave of his hand. “Is that not what you assigned me to do?”

Dr. (L/N) crossed her arms, clearly unimpressed. “No magic unless it’s absolutely necessary. Hospital policy.”

Loki smirked. “Ah, but you never specified that earlier. Shall I add ‘mind-reading’ to my impressive list of abilities?”

Dylan stifled a laugh, earning a glare from Dr. (L/N). She stepped closer to Loki, her voice dropping to a whisper. “This is a hospital, not a stage. If you can’t follow the rules, you’re free to leave. I’m sure Thor would love to hear about your inability to cooperate.”

The mention of Thor made Loki bristle, but he forced a smile. “Very well, Doctor. Your rules are my command.”

Dr. (L/N) arched an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “Good. Then maybe you can help Dylan with his reading assignment instead.”

“Reading assignment?” Loki repeated, his voice dripping with disdain.

Dylan held up a thin book titled Adventures in Space. “It’s my homework. I have to read a chapter and answer questions.”

Loki stared at the book as if it were a venomous snake. “Surely you jest.”

Dr. (L/N) smirked, clearly enjoying his discomfort. “Welcome to the real world, Loki. Have fun.”

With that, she left the room, leaving Loki alone with Dylan and the dreaded reading assignment.

Loki stared at the small book in Dylan’s hands as if it were an affront to his very existence. He pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering to himself. “Of all the indignities I have suffered, this must be the gravest.”

“It’s not that bad,” Dylan said, grinning. He opened the book and flipped to the marked chapter. “I mean, it’s about space. You like space, right?”

“Space is not a subject, child—it is an infinite expanse of wonder and chaos. Hardly something to be trivialized in...” Loki snatched the book from Dylan, examining the cartoonish illustrations. “This.”

Dylan giggled, clearly amused by Loki’s dramatics. “Come on, Mr. Loki. It’s only one chapter.”

Reluctantly, Loki sat down on the chair beside Dylan’s bed. He scanned the first page, his expression growing more incredulous with every sentence.

“In the vastness of space, Captain Zoom piloted his trusty rocket ship toward the glowing nebula…” Loki read aloud, his voice dripping with disdain. He lowered the book and gave Dylan a look of sheer disbelief. “This is the drivel they force upon you?”

Dylan shrugged. “It’s for school. I think it’s kinda fun.”

Loki rolled his eyes but continued reading, his voice taking on a sarcastic flair. “‘With his loyal robot companion Beep at his side, Captain Zoom prepared to rescue the alien queen from the clutches of the evil Star Lord.’” He paused, his lips curling into a smirk. “Star Lord? Truly, your Midgardian literature knows no bounds of absurdity.”

Dylan burst out laughing, clutching his stomach. “You’re funny, Mr. Loki!”

Loki arched a brow, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I do not strive to amuse, boy. This is merely my natural state.”

Once the reading was finished, Dylan picked up a pencil and opened his workbook. “Okay, now we have to answer the questions.”

“We?” Loki repeated, his tone filled with indignation.

Dylan grinned. “You’re helping me, remember? It’s part of your volunteer job.”

Loki sighed dramatically but leaned over to glance at the workbook. The first question read: What was Captain Zoom’s mission in this chapter?

“Rescuing the alien queen,” Dylan said, scribbling down the answer. He looked up at Loki. “See? Easy!”

Loki snorted. “Your educational system sets a disturbingly low bar.”

The second question read: Why did Captain Zoom trust his robot companion Beep?

Dylan tapped the pencil against his chin. “Um… because Beep was programmed to help him?”

Loki leaned back, folding his arms. “How unimaginative. A truly great ally is forged through bonds of loyalty, not mere programming.”

Dylan frowned, erasing his answer. “What should I put, then?”

“Write this,” Loki said, his voice authoritative. “Captain Zoom trusted Beep because true loyalty is demonstrated through unwavering actions, even in the face of great peril.”

Dylan dutifully wrote down the sentence, then looked up at Loki with wide eyes. “You’re really smart, Mr. Loki.”

“Yes, I am,” Loki said, his smirk widening.

As Loki finished helping Dylan with his homework, the door opened, and Dr. (L/N) stepped in. Her eyes immediately went to the workbook.

“Homework duty done already?” she teased, walking over to inspect their progress.

“It is an utter waste of time,” Loki said, rising to his full height. “This boy should be learning something of value, not reading tales of fictitious space captains.”

Dr. (L/N) tilted her head, clearly unimpressed. “And what would you suggest, Loki? Teaching him how to conjure snakes or make people disappear?”

Loki smirked, stepping closer. “I could teach him to see through illusions, to question the falsehoods presented to him. Surely that would be a more valuable skill.”

Dr. (L/N) crossed her arms, meeting his gaze without flinching. “Or maybe we should let him enjoy being a kid while he still can. These stories might not be your idea of profound, but they give him hope and joy—something he desperately needs right now.”

Her words struck a nerve, though Loki refused to show it. He glanced back at Dylan, who was watching them with a mixture of curiosity and amusement.

“I suppose,” Loki said slowly, “there is some merit in allowing the boy his distractions.”

Dr. (L/N) blinked, surprised by his concession. “Well, that’s... unexpected.”

Loki smirked. “Do not mistake my acquiescence for agreement, Doctor. I merely find arguing with you to be… tiresome.”

She laughed, shaking her head. “You’re impossible.”

Loki found himself loitering in the hospital’s staff break room, a space he had declared “unfit for anyone with even a modicum of taste.” It was a sterile room with plain white walls, mismatched chairs, and the faint aroma of burnt coffee.

Dr. (L/N) stood by the counter, pouring herself a cup from the offending coffee pot. She turned, her eyes catching Loki’s as he leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, his expression one of idle amusement.

“Lurking again, I see,” she said lightly, taking a sip of her coffee.

“Merely observing,” Loki corrected, his tone dripping with faux innocence. “You Midgardians are endlessly fascinating. Tell me, is that what you call coffee?”

She raised an eyebrow, unperturbed by his sarcasm. “It gets the job done.”

He stepped closer, his boots making an irritatingly soft sound on the linoleum floor. “Does it, though? Or do you simply endure it because you’ve convinced yourself it’s the best you can manage?”

She chuckled, shaking her head. “Do you ever stop?”

“Rarely,” he said, his voice low and smooth.

The way he looked at her then was different—less playful, more intense. Her pulse quickened as his piercing green eyes swept over her, taking in the tired lines of her face, the faint smudge of ink on her wrist where she’d made notes in haste earlier.

“And what about you, Doctor?” he asked, his voice softening, almost a purr. “Do you always settle for mediocrity?”

She didn’t step back, though he was close enough now that she could feel the faint warmth radiating from him. “I don’t settle for anything, Loki.”

“Bold claim,” he said, his smirk returning, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “But I wonder—are you always so controlled? So perfectly in command of every situation?”

Her jaw tightened, but she held his gaze. “Why don’t you tell me what this is really about? Or do you just enjoy hearing yourself talk?”

Loki let out a low chuckle, stepping even closer. He was invading her space now, and they both knew it.

“Perhaps I do,” he admitted, his voice a murmur. “But perhaps I also enjoy seeing you flustered, Doctor.”

“I’m not flustered,” she said, though the slight hitch in her voice betrayed her.

“Oh, but you are,” he said, leaning just slightly into her space. “Your heart is racing, your breathing has quickened. Shall I go on?”

Her lips parted, but no retort came. For a moment, she was acutely aware of how near he was, the faint scent of his cologne mingling with the burnt coffee aroma. She hated how much she noticed, how much she cared.

But then she smiled—a small, knowing smile that made Loki pause. “You know, for someone so clever, you’re remarkably predictable.”

That threw him off balance. “Predictable?”

“Yes,” she said, stepping around him to refill her coffee. “You think you’re mysterious, but really, you’re just lonely.”

The words hit like a dagger, and for a split second, his mask slipped.

“What would you know of it?” he asked, his tone sharper now.

She turned, meeting his gaze again. “More than you think.”

There was no malice in her voice, only quiet understanding. And that, somehow, made it worse.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The air between them crackled with tension—part challenge, part something neither of them dared to name.

Finally, she broke the silence. “If you’re done trying to get under my skin, we have a patient waiting. Unless, of course, you’d rather sulk.”

He smirked, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Lead the way, Doctor. I wouldn’t dream of keeping your adoring public waiting.”

...

Leave a comment on any of the posts relating to this series if you would like to be added to the taglist!

Taglist:

@buttercupcookies-blog @msdjsg7

#loki laufeyson #loki marvel #loki of asgard #loki x reader #loki x you

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bearforcecaptions · 18 days ago

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He used to be a real “fuck the government, rise up against the system” type of guy. Danny Whittaker lived out of a cluttered apartment above a hardware store on the edge of a dying downtown. The place always smelled faintly of solder and secondhand incense, a mixture of burnt copper and spiritual defiance. Every wall was plastered in yellowing anarchist posters, pages from zines, and dog-eared copies of Manufacturing Consent. Danny was proud of his distrust — wore it like a badge. Corporations were poison. Politicians were puppets. His laptop ran an obscure, barely-documented Linux distro. He brewed his own beer. Wrote furious blog posts by candlelight. And if you asked him his five-year plan, he’d grin, light a cigarette, and say, “Collapse the whole fucking system.”

That was then.

The change was slow — so slow he never noticed the shift. Not at first. It began, like most rot, in the unnoticed corners. One morning, Danny woke up to find his browser bookmarks reorganized — every broken activism link replaced by business news. He blamed it on an update, though he couldn’t remember installing one. His cheap off-brand toothpaste had been replaced with something expensive and imported. A soft mint with undertones of basil and neroli. He figured maybe his neighbor had swapped it by accident. Still used it. Tasted nice.

The next week, his boots were gone. Replaced by sleek black derbies that fit like gloves. His jeans — once proudly ripped and grease-stained — had been replaced with pressed navy chinos. The tags were still attached. Italian. Pricey. He cursed out loud, swearing someone had broken in to mess with him. But nothing else was taken. No signs of forced entry. And when he checked his closet the next morning, the jeans were hanging neatly beside five identical tailored button-downs he had never owned.

People started calling him “Daniel.” Not friends — those had drifted off, their names growing fuzzier with time — but strangers, acquaintances, baristas. It was never Danny anymore. Daniel sounded too polished, too put-together. But somehow… it didn’t sound wrong. Not anymore.

His reflection had begun to betray him as well. His once-thick mop of hair grew thin, then vanished entirely over the course of a month. He started shaving it smooth, though he couldn’t recall when he’d bought the razor. His beard — which had always been patchy, half-grown rebellion — now grew thick and full, streaked with a touch of dignified silver. He started shaping it with precision. Sometimes, staring into the mirror, he’d try to summon his old sneer, the cynical squint he used to wear like armor. But it was gone. Replaced with a gaze that was calm. Certain. The eyes of a man who hadn’t just won — but expected to win.

The apartment changed too. Slowly, like it was ashamed of itself. The milk crates he’d used as bookshelves were replaced with smooth walnut cases, filled not with revolutionary screeds but leather-bound investment books. His mattress — once dragged in from a Craigslist curb alert — now sat atop a minimalist steel frame. Egyptian cotton sheets. Glass desk. A lamp that adjusted color temperature depending on the time of day. He didn’t remember buying any of it. But the receipts were always there, in his email, under the name D. Whitmore Sterling.

That name — the first time he saw it, he laughed. Some joke. Some spam filter glitch. But then it appeared again. On invoices. On credit cards. On his driver’s license. He tried to correct it once at the DMV. The woman behind the desk looked at him with blank politeness, as if Daniel Whittaker had never existed.

He started receiving calls. Not from his old friends — those names had all been quietly pruned from his contacts. No, these were financial advisors. Attorneys. Executives from companies with names that sounded like medication. He began taking meetings. Not because he wanted to, but because saying yes felt easier than saying no. A town car would arrive. He would step inside, and thirty minutes later he’d be shaking hands in a high-rise boardroom, speaking with ease about metrics and margins and scale.

He told himself it was temporary. A phase. He was gathering resources, learning the game to one day dismantle it. But the lines kept blurring. His company — NovaSterra Holdings — became successful. Very successful. He couldn’t say what they actually did. Mergers. Acquisitions. Something with green energy, maybe. The logo looked expensive. His signature appeared on contracts, dotted lines he couldn’t remember reading. But the money came. And when it did, so did the power.

He hired an assistant. Sharp suits. Professional smile. She always had what he needed before he even asked. She called him “Mr. Sterling” like it was a sacred title. And when she walked away, he caught himself admiring the polish of her heels against the marble floor — the way they echoed, like he owned every step.

There were nights when he would wake in his penthouse, sheets twisted, sweat beading on his temples. Not fear — something worse. The sense that he had lost something fundamental. But when he rose and looked in the mirror, he saw a man with purpose. A man who had grown into his destiny. And whatever fear had clung to him would slip away like steam on glass.

Sometimes, he’d pass a protest downtown — chanting voices rising in the distance. He’d watch from the backseat of his town car, eyes hidden behind tinted lenses. A flicker of something would stir. Familiarity. Not guilt. Never guilt. But recognition. He used to be one of them. He used to shout at buildings like this. Now those buildings bore his name.

Danny Whittaker was a ghost. D. Whitmore Sterling — bald, bearded, unstoppable — stood in his place.

And he had never felt more real.

#male transformation

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numinousmysteries · 11 months ago

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24 - He/she called for him/her in his/her sleep.

super quick and dirty. no edits, just need to grease the old writing gears. s8 for some reason even though i hate it.

She’s not afraid of flying. Being afraid would be irrational and she’s not an irrational person. Commercial air travel is orders of magnitude safer than driving, she knows. Especially safer than driving in the middle of the night on unlit backroads with a Mulder who hasn’t slept in 36 hours behind the wheel, which she’s done on multiple occasions. Experience does nothing to allay her fears. Even before arriving at Quantico, she’d racked up thousands of international air miles as a Navy brat. Seven years as Mulder’s partner tacked on thousands more.

And yet. And yet, she can’t rationalize away the surge of adrenaline she feels every time the engines start to fire up for takeoff. Recalling statistics doesn’t calm the drop in her stomach whenever the wheels rise off the tarmac and she feels the ground recede beneath her feet.

Early in their partnership, she cursed Mulder for being able to drift off to sleep in a cramped coach seat while she was left alone to white knuckle the armrest and monitor every rise and fall in altitude as if she knew enough to assign any significance to them. Of course, as the years went by, their hands would find each others and she’d be able to rest with her head on his shoulder.

Don’t fall asleep, she wills herself now. She doesn’t want to show any weakness in front of her new partner. She doesn’t trust Doggett yet. But somehow the first trimester fatigue catches up. Where is this deep exhaustion when she’s lying awake in bed in the middle of the night, her mind racing with fears for her child and guilt that she hasn’t found Mulder yet?

She twists the air vent all the way open hoping the cold air will keep her awake. The flight attendant offers coffee but she’s already had the single cup she’s allotting herself these days at home this morning so she asks for water instead which does nothing to allay her exhaustion.

As much as she despises turbulence she wishes this particular flight hit a few more bumps but instead it’s a smooth ride over a cloudless Midwestern sky that only makes her eyelids feel heavier and heavier.

Now she’s lying on Mulder’s couch, leaning her back against his chest. His arms wrap around her and he’s resting his hands on her belly, now heavy and round. His long fingers dance across the taut skin chasing a protruding foot or elbow. “Incredible,” Mulder says quietly, not so much to her or their baby but to himself. Slatted sunlight filters in through the window shades and she feels warm all over. Warm from the sun, Warm from her partner’s body wrapped around her own, warm from the life growing within her. She brings her palms to cover his, holding him in between herself and their baby.

Suddenly, the ground starts trembling beneath them. The window is wide open now and the soft sunlight has been replaced with an unnaturally bright glaring white glow. She feels Mulder’s body rising from behind her and watches helplessly as he drifts toward the window. She’s paralyzed on the couch, the weight of her belly pinning her down. “Mulder!” She tries to scream, but no sound escapes her throat and he keeps being pulled away from her. “Mulder!”

“Mulder!” She calls again. This time she hears her voice as her hand involuntarily reaches out for him.

But it isn’t Mulder next to her. His living room has dissolved into the cabin of a plane quaking with turbulence and she’s immediately mortified to find her fingers gripping John Doggett’s dry-skinned hand. She gasps and pulls her hand away but his eyes are already locked on hers.

“I’m sorry,” she mutters under her breath.

He gives her the grace of a silent nod and then turns back to the newspaper in his lap.

She’s too keyed up to sleep for the rest of the flight so she just stares at the casefile she brought to read. She can’t absorb a single word, though. Her mind is running in a loop berating herself for being stupid enough to let her guard down.

She avoids looking at Doggett the rest of the flight. When they land, he retrieves both of their bags from the overhead compartment and she whispers a quiet thank you.

“We’ll find him,” Doggett says stoically before turning his back to her and walking up the aisle as she follows behind.

She still doesn’t trust him, but she wants to believe him.

#xfiles #txf #the x files #msr #xf fanfic #xfiles fanfic #thanks for the prompt

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b0amagination · 5 months ago

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Malfunction

A little treat! I wrote this for an assignment in my creative writing class and it got kinda whumpy :3

They've got names but they're not established characters or anything! So there's no missed context haha we're just in media res.

Content warnings: cyborg whump, medical whump mention, bad caretaking, heart disease mention

Word count: 685

~~~

The entire point of a synthetic heart was to eliminate these sorts of risks.

Chk-chk-chk-shhhh. Gears stuttered around the hydraulic line that kept it beating, and a spark drilled through his t-shirt.

“Jamie?”

“I’m fine,” he huffed. “The usual catch.”

“Like hell! You’re smoking!”

He peeked down. Dirty tendrils curled out of his chest cavity, filtering out through the newly established chimney. The curdling stench of melted rubber trailed with it.

“And why should that matter, Cal? My heart’s already wading in tar.” But Jamie grabbed them by the wrist and stormed into the bathroom.

Chk-chk-shhhhhh. Bag and jacket slammed down onto cracked tiles. His shirt caught on mechanical components.

“Your lungs are still flesh,” Cal said. The bastard leaned their happy ass against the door, content to watch him flail: a feral beast mauling what may have once been associated with a sheep.

“Lungs can’t have arrhythmia.” His voice fluxed and pitched into a squeaky approximation of his doctor’s from within his fabric prison.

“Whitten’s a moron.”

“The only moron who’s agreed to fix me,” Jamie grunted, the shredded remains of his shirt finally fluttering to the ground. “Would it have killed you to help?”

“It would kill you if he hears this and decides to weigh in on his patient’s dysfunctional state. We don’t need you relying on his shoddy craftsmanship to rip away any more of your humanity.”

“Shut the fuck up, Cal.”

To their credit, they did, content to rest in the dim glow of old halogen bulbs. Jamie would have appreciated the sterile hum of fluorescents back in the hospital corridor, but his companion wasn’t entirely devoid of logical thought. Arriving broken to an appointment wouldn’t do him any favors with the doctor.

He turned to the mirror where the faux heart smiled back, nestled comfortably between two steel panels where his pectorals had once wasted the precious space. Wan skin stretched in an endless expanse around it.

Chk-chk-chk-chk-chk-

Jamie’s fist nearly dented the left panel.

-shhhh.

“What did I say? Faulty machinery.”

Jamie’s fist nearly dented Cal’s left cheek. The wood grain bowed around purpled knuckles.

“Make yourself useful and open my back panel.”

“Careful.” They snatched the screwdriver before he got creative. “Whitten will saw that one off next.”

“Good. Maybe I won’t miss next time.”

The screws whined as Cal shimmied them out, already stripped from the last ten times. Oil and grease slithered out when they reached inside for the same loose gear.

“Before I tighten you up…”

“Save it, Calvin,” Jamie spat.

“No. No, listen to me, dammit!” They squeezed the hydraulic line and simulated beating came to a shuddering halt. “That tick-tick-tick in the upper chamber feels familiar, doesn’t it? You didn’t care to notice, but I studied your heart readings before you let that maniac replace it, and this thing is mimicking your atrial fibrillation. Whitten didn’t fix anything!” Jamie’s fist found its mark.

“Get your filthy hands out of my chest! This fucking thing keeps me alive, and you think you can use it as leverage to preach your naturalist bullshit?! How about I squeeze the breath from your throat, huh? How high and mighty will you be then?” An open palm pushed Cal back up against the door.

“This isn’t about an agenda, it’s about him!”

“Human hearts can’t be tightened and adjusted.” Each finger clamped down one by one, compressing supple skin. “One little mistake and it’s all over.”

“Is that a threat?” Cal wheezed.

“Stand down, or it will be.”

Chk-chk-chk-chk-shhh. Smoke billowed up between them.

“Let me be clear,” Jamie continued. “I’d let Whitten pick apart every bone in my body before I let you lay another finger on me.” Cal was flung to the ground, clutching their crushed trachea and retching softly against moldy grout and piss-stained stones. The salt and rot crawled up their tongue.

“Don’t come crawling back when he ruins you too, Jamie.”

He slung his bag over a bare shoulder and dropped the jacket into Cal’s arms. A moment of hesitation, then a wad of saliva splattered across their forehead.

“Keep your sympathy.”

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red-eagle-fire-protection · 11 months ago

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Comprehensive Guide to Diagnosing Kitchen Exhaust Hood Repair Issues

Maintaining your kitchen exhaust hood is crucial for a clean and safe cooking environment. This guide will help you diagnose common repair issues and provide tips to ensure your ventilation system operates efficiently.

Common Symptoms of Kitchen Exhaust Hood Problems

Recognizing potential problems early can save you time and money on repairs. Common symptoms include:

Reduced airflow or suction power

Unusual noises such as buzzing, rattling, or grinding

Persistent odors or smoke in the kitchen

Non-functional or flickering lights

Diagnosing Electrical Issues

Electrical problems are often at the root of many kitchen exhaust hood issues. Here’s how to diagnose them:

Check the Power Supply: Ensure the hood is properly plugged in and the outlet is working.

Inspect the Circuit Breaker: Look for any tripped breakers and reset them if necessary.

Examine the Wiring: Check for loose, damaged, or frayed wires that could be causing issues.

Addressing Ventilation Blockages

Blockages in the ventilation system can significantly impact your hood’s performance. Here’s how to detect and clear them:

Clean the Filters: Remove and clean the grease filters regularly to prevent buildup.

Check the Ducts: Inspect the ductwork for any obstructions or debris.

Ensure the Vent Cap is Clear: Make sure the exterior vent cap is free from blockages like leaves or nests.

Seeking Professional Kitchen Hood Repair

For complex issues or when in doubt, seeking professional help is advisable. Finding a reliable kitchen hood repair service can ensure your exhaust hood is properly diagnosed and fixed:

Professional Diagnostics: Experts can accurately identify and address issues.

Comprehensive Repairs: Professionals have the tools and experience to fix a wide range of problems.

Regular Maintenance: Scheduling periodic maintenance with professionals can prevent future issues.

Preventative Maintenance Tips

Preventative maintenance can extend the life of your kitchen exhaust hood and prevent costly repairs:

Regular Cleaning: Clean the filters and ducts to prevent grease and debris buildup.

Inspect Components: Regularly check the motor, fan, and wiring for signs of wear and tear.

Schedule Professional Check-Ups: Periodic inspections by professionals can catch issues early.

By following these guidelines, you can ensure your kitchen exhaust hood remains in good working order, providing a safe and efficient cooking environment.

#Kitchen Hood Repair #Exhaust Hood Maintenance #Vent Hood Troubleshooting #Grease Filter Cleaning #Kitchen Ventilation Repair #Commercial Hood Repair #Restaurant Hood Repair #Kitchen Exhaust System Repair #Hood Fan Replacement #Ductwork Cleaning #Electrical Issues in Hood #Professional Hood Repair Services #Kitchen Ventilation Maintenance #Air Quality Improvement #Fire Hazard Prevention.

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red-eagle-fire-protection-encino · 11 months ago

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Ensure Kitchen Efficiency with Expert Exhaust Hood Repair by Red Eagle Protection Encino

Maintaining your kitchen exhaust hood is essential for a clean and safe cooking environment. Common issues like noisy operation, reduced airflow, and malfunctioning lights can disrupt your kitchen’s efficiency. At Red Eagle Protection Encino, we specialize in diagnosing and repairing these problems. Our expert team ensures your exhaust hood runs smoothly, from tightening loose screws to replacing faulty motors and cleaning grease filters. Regular maintenance not only extends the life of your equipment but also enhances kitchen safety. Contact Red Eagle Protection Encino today for reliable and professional kitchen hood repair services.

Red Eagle Fire Protection Encino Encino, CA (213)698-3894 https://redeaglerestfirehood.com/encino-ca/

#Kitchen Hood Repair #Exhaust Hood Maintenance #Hood Cleaning #Fan Motor Fix #Grease Trap Cleaning #Duct Cleaning #Filter Replacement #Electrical Repairs #Improve Ventilation #Kitchen Safety #Hood Inspection #Restaurant Maintenance #Hood Upgrade #Clean Kitchen Air #Efficient Exhaust

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batteredbruises · 3 months ago

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closed starter for lucky ( @innocentcurse ) located at romano's auto shop

She'd seen her fair share of cars in her day, but since coming to Cardinall Hill, most of them had been pretty common cases. Without the Tucson sun beating down on a hot engine all day, it seemed to save a lot of damage in the long run. That hadn't been the case when this particular vehicle came rolling in, and Harper had taken immediate interest. It wasn't anything spectacular, but one look under the hood made her wonder how it had even made it there that morning. She'd already called dibs on talking to the owner when he returned to pick it up, Harper wanting to talk to the person who had miraculously kept the vehicle running, and she wanted details.

When he arrived, she came out from the back, wiping the grease from her hands onto her coveralls before offering a handshake. "Hey, I'm Harper. I was the one working on your car," she started out simple before getting to the meat of the conversation. "Replaced the oil, filter, and rotated your tires. There was some corrosion around your battery, nothing major, but I'd keep an eye on it, and if you see it get worse, just bring it back in so we can replace it." Now that she'd covered the basics, her expression shifted into a squint as she observed the man for a moment. He seemed normal enough or at least the type to not overreact to her next question. "I don't know what kind of witchcraft you're using on that thing to keep it running. Your engine should be shot, and I'm gonna be honest, I don't know how it keeps turning over."

#ᴅᴏ ʏᴏᴜ ꜱᴇᴇ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ɪ ꜱᴇᴇ? ᴛʀᴜᴛʜ ɪꜱ ᴀɴ 𝖔𝖋𝖋𝖊𝖓𝖘𝖊 ; ʏᴏᴜʀ 𝖘𝖎𝖑𝖊𝖓𝖈𝖊 ꜰᴏʀ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴄᴏɴꜰɪᴅᴇɴᴄᴇ ( threads. )#ᴄʜᴀᴛ ;; lucky

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holylustration · 9 months ago

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The edits continue, so have a snippet...

Predator & Prey's penultimate chapter's edits are a little unwieldy, as my mind keeps racing to add new tidbits to it. Still, I think it is coming together quite nicely.

But in the meantime, because my inbox is getting some traffic about My Knight So Daring, just know I haven't forgotten! In fact... I have a little treat as a show of good faith (especially for those of you asking about more Infernus Master :devil:)!

“Need a hand there, miss?”

She turned, a wary gray eye half-shaded by the veil of the fascinator pinned atop golden curls spotted the figure she’d missed when she’d first entered the stables. Tall, perhaps a little taller than her husband, and just as broad, was leaning against a post. She saw flickering ember of his lho stick in the reflection of his eyes, cast in the shadow of the barn. Slowly, the figure leaned forward, and she saw the coarse pattern of stubble on his jaw and the weathered brow set with deep lines. He didn’t look like a stablehand, more like some worker pulled off the machine line, for two fingers were replaced with augments and he had splotches of grease on his loose shirt.

“I can manage on my own,” Aurelia replied. Somewhere, there had to be a ladder and a post. How else were ladies and their voluminous skirts supposed to mount their faithful steeds? “But thank you.”

“I see.” Around the lho stick, the man’s lips curved into a smile. His eyes followed suit, warm in their regard. “Not Guisornian, then?”

“Is my accent that obvious?”

“Maybe a little.” The hay crunched under a soiled leather workboot as he moved. The metal toe caps caught the faint reflection of the sun filtering in through one of the skyholes. “More like you haven’t already ordered me about.”

As he spoke, Aurelia thought she heard the slightest familiarity in accent - the rhotic touch to his words, not unlike her own. A curious thing; she filed it away, not daring in that moment to give in to the sudden homesickness. “I like my independence.”

He chuckled. “I can tell.” He plucked the lho stick from his lips and gazed towards the paddock gate, where a few horses were grazing out of troughs and stretching their legs. “Just shout if you need me.” He glanced at her from the corner of his eye; it traveled along her from head to toe. “Shame for that dress to get covered in hay.”

A faint heat crept up her cheeks. He likely hadn’t meant it in that way, the way in which men and women might roll in the hay. Many were the stories of scandal of trysts with stablehands. And Aurelia was beginning to see why, if they all had strong hands, dark hair, and smile lines. She nodded. “I will.”

Aurelia listened to the retreating sound of his footsteps and the creak of the gate before turning her attention back to the task at hand: determining which of these stabled horses belonged to the de Gauvain family.

#rogue trader #warhammer 40k #rogue trader crpg #warhammer 40000 #fanfic #writing #my knight so daring #predator and prey #einrich monteg #heinrix van calox #marazhai aezyrraesh #my writing

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steviewashere · 7 months ago

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Rating: Explicit | Genres/Tropes: Drama & Romance, Angst & Hurt/Comfort, Slowburn, Future Fic, Canon Divergence | WC: 56, 917 | Chapters: 11/11 | Chose Not to Use Archive Warnings————————————————————————————————————————Relationships: Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson, Eddie Munson & Wayne Munson, Robin Buckley & Steve Harrington, Past Steve Harrington/Original Female Character(s), Steve Harrington & Original Child Character(s) Characters: Steve Harrington, Eddie Munson, Wayne Munson, Steve Harrington's Mother, Robin Buckley, Original Female Character(s), Original Child Character(s) Tags: Cancer Diagnosis in a Secondary Character, Mentions of Past Spouse Death, Implied/Referenced Past Alcohol Abuse/Addiction, Implied/Referenced Past Drug Addiction, Parent Steve Harrington, mailman!Steve Harrington, retired rockstar!Eddie Munson, Second Chances, Getting Back Together, Middle Aged Steddie, Tender Sex, POV Alternating, Eventual Happy Ending

You are at Chapter Two! Chapter One

———————————————————————————————————————— Ding. Ding. Ding…Ding…ding, went the bell above his head. The diner is a ghost town, despite it being around dinner time. Though, part of Steve appreciated how slow and small everything seemed. Despite his world expanding, recoloring, lighting gently.

Benny’s was never a particularly big place, even under the new ownership, there was no plan to expand it. All the tables were freed from the walls, chairs able to scrape against the floor. Yet, instead of the drab metallic grey the chairs were back in the ‘80s, the seating was race car red. A jukebox still sat across from the front entrance. Majorly overused fan by the door, dome trash cans, white lace curtains. Grease popped in the kitchen. Cooked potatoes filtering through the air, lightly salted, probably deliciously crispy.

Before he came in, he’d replaced the mail van with his own car. He also removed his jacket and hat, stored loose on the backseat, so it could be seen clearly if anybody walked by his windows. It’s not terribly unusual that he’s seen around town without his work uniform on, but tonight he feels especially bare. He would’ve dressed himself up a bit, though he supposes he doesn’t need the whole horse and carriage for rekindling whatever scraps of his friendship with Eddie remains. Just wished he appeared a little more presentable. Maybe a bit more colorful, if anything.

Still, the new owner, Cheryl—a first name was all he was given some years ago—greets him with surprise. She pops out from the kitchen and meets him at the counter. “Well if it isn’t our trusty mailman, Steve! And in his natural state, who’s the lucky lady?” she gently teases. He chuckles nervously, trying to not show the pulse of hurt that surges through him. And he must be too readable because she adds, not even a second later, “Oh, I’m just teasing you, kiddo. What can I do you for?”

“I’m ordering for here tonight, Cher,” he says in turn. “Got a friend that’s meeting me here.”

“Oooo, that’s exciting! Do I know this friend?”

Steve shrugs. “You might’a heard of him. Eddie Munson? Guess he used to be a nuisance to everybody back in the day,” he explains, smirking with it. She laughs brightly, bouncing. He sighs. “Anyway. I’ll just order some shakes first. Wait until he gets here for the food. Can I just do a strawberry shake with extra whip and a plain vanilla? Maybe throw an extra cherry on the vanilla one—only if you got it.” He reaches for his wallet, digging around in his back pocket, but she speaks before he can bring out the cash to pay.

“Sure thing, kiddo. I’ll put that on a tab for you, have you pay after you eat. Could even wave it off, since you do so much around here.”

“Don’t wanna put you out, Cher. The tab will be just fine.” Tucks his wallet back down in his pocket. And turns his head to the jukebox. She disappears to the blender, already working on the shakes. “Hey, Cher?” She just hums. “This old jukebox…does it still work?”

“You betcha! It’s not all that updated, though. But have at it!”

He steps away from the counter and busies himself with looking at the music selections. Sure enough, there’s nothing new past 1989. Which, even if Steve wanted to listen to something more recent, he wouldn’t know what to pick. He can only hope that whatever he picks is fine with Eddie.

Just as he shuffles through the songs for a second time, the bell above the door jingles again. Heavier footsteps behind him. As he goes to look over his shoulder, a waft of cigarette smoke and musky aftershave fills his nostrils. “Anything good in here?” Eddie asks behind him. His arm reaches over Steve’s right shoulder, index finger tapping on the glass window of the jukebox.

Steve gives a half-hearted shrug. “Nothing that you’d like, I’m sure,” he mutters. “Unless you don’t mind my go-to pick.“

“You invited me out here,” Eddie murmurs. He’s close to Steve’s ear. Pressed in against his back. “You’d know your way around here better than me, yeah? Whatever you want is fine with me.” His voice echoes inside of Steve’s head. Soft and raspy and something he’s ached for for way too long. Steve wants to melt into him, but forces himself to pick a song instead.

“The Promise” by When in Rome filters through the tinny speakers.

Maybe it’s a bit…on the nose, but the other handful of artists he does enjoy on this old thing are Taylor Dayne and Madonna. Not exactly Eddie’s forte, if Steve is remembering correctly. Though—How would I know about his music taste, he asks himself. They haven’t spoken to each other in nearly three decades. And he may have an inkling, but they’re off to a good enough start. He wouldn’t want to push his luck.

Steve forces himself away from the jukebox at the sound of glasses clinking on the diner’s counter. Grabs the nearly overflowing cups and guides Eddie wordlessly to a table in the back. Away from where prying eyes could spot them if someone were to walk through the front door. He sorts them out as they take their seats—Eddie on the far side, facing the entrance and Steve opposite—doling out napkins and straws.

When Eddie sidles into his seat, he makes a small surprised noise in the back of his throat. Right hand gripping the milkshake glass tight. Steve settles further, taking a mindless sip of his own shake. Strawberry sweetness exploding on his tongue, but he chokes as soon as Eddie asks, “How’d you remember this shit? Vanilla? Even the extra cherry on top?”

He slams a hand on his chest, wheezing around the swallow. With a strained voice, “I don’t know, man. It’s just something my brain latched onto, I guess.” His line of sight inches up to Eddie’s face, unaware he was even looking down at the plasticky tabletop. Met with copious bewilderment.

“You are something else,” Eddie mutters. He takes his own sip. Goes quiet and thoughtful. But nudges Steve’s shin with his foot, their eyes meeting once more. “Y’know, honestly, I’ve been trying to figure out that damn perfect oatmeal recipe you’ve got.”

“Perfect?” Steve scoffs. “You used to whine to me every time I gave you a bowl. All, ‘Ew, Stevie. I’m not a horse.’ Which, granted, you scarfed it down anyway. But still. You hated oatmeal, even if it was mine.”

Eddie rolls his eyes. Shrugs a little and looks down at his hands still wrapped around his glass. But he glances back up, a scorching softness behind his eyes. Every part of his face relaxed and open. Drinking Steve in as if they’re seeing each other for the first time. His left ankle hooks around Steve’s right. “It just…I don’t know. Maybe I just miss it,” he murmurs.

Steve hums. Runs his thumbs over the bottom of his own glass, over the textured edges, and sighs—trying adamantly to not think about the warmth radiating from Eddie’s leg. He sobers with a steadying breath. “Every morning I have a cup of coffee with way too much vanilla creamer,” he admits quietly, “I don’t even like it. It’s just straight up disgusting. Too much sugar in the morning, but it gets me awake enough for work. So I do it anyway. Maybe because I missed it, too, after you…You know.”

“Well, I’ll be back in town a while. Y’know, if you’d like to catch up.”

Something in Steve pulsed painfully raw at that. He knew, of course he knew, that Eddie wasn’t going to be here forever. But something in him hoped, even the slightest bit, that they’d have all the time in the world. Like their days could freeze over and they’d still be in this diner—sipping on infinite shakes and shooting the shit like they were still barely in their twenties.

But they’re well onto their fifties now.

Time doesn’t wait for them anymore.

“Sure,” he agrees, albeit a little hesitant while staring at his hands, “sure, Eds.” The nickname slides off his tongue easy enough, though. “Let’s get some food first and then…You can ask me anything? I’ve already ran my errands for the day. I have until”—he stops to check his watch again. It’s sluggish and behind by two whole minutes.—“I’ve got fifty minutes to entertain you. Jeopardy! is on right now and I have it recorded, but if I don’t get back home by eight, my mom will watch it without me.”

Eddie nods slowly, a small smile gracing his features. “I can do that, easy. Let me get the food, though? If I remember…” He stops to think. A dramatic hand gripping his chin, eyes squinting off into the distance, eyebrows furrowing deep down his face. Steve barely contains his snort. “…You get double fried french fries. And a cheeseburger with pickles on the side, extra mustard?”

“Ding-ding-ding!” Steve exclaims softly. “Looks like we remember more about each other than we thought.”

“Oh, you wouldn’t believe what I’ve got stored in my spacious brain, Stevie,” Eddie teases. Or…it almost sounds like flirting, if Steve zeroes more closely on it. He doesn’t, but it’s the thought that counts. “I’ll be right back,” Eddie states. And slips out of his chair before Steve can tell him about his running tab.

He watches Eddie’s back move away from him, as he rounds the corner back to the register. It’s hard to rip his eyes away from where he just moved, but Steve knows that if he doesn’t look away sooner, he’ll get himself trapped worse. He has to remind himself that Eddie is not here for dating, for romance, for second chances. There’s something else drawing him back in, making him drive through backroads, making him smoke out by his car in front of Wayne’s trailer—though, Steve swears that’s something Wayne and Eddie would’ve done together. And the very little he saw of Wayne’s face earlier, there was something familiarly terrible about it.

A reminiscent ghost from his past that Steve dares not make eye contact with longer than needed. Though, something in him stirs miserably alive—nauseous and unwelcome—the more he stews.

Steve rests his palms on the sticky tabletop, lukewarm in comparison to the ice cold outside of his milkshake glass. It grounds a part of him. Makes him draw back into reality. Eddie isn’t yours, he’s not here for you, he’s here for something else, he has to repeat. The feeling of Eddie’s fingers on his face, his weight pressed on his back, the ankle under the table…it’s all hard to ignore. Reminds him, all too much and all too well, of a time where they saw each other everyday, holding each other close on the couch, breaths mingling when they’d whisper to the other late at night—promises towards a future together, a life that they both wanted; promises that were nothing. They were just nothing; though not to Steve. Never to him.

The sound of a chain jingling makes him look back up from the table.

“We, Stevie, are set for a hot dinner of the world’s best cheeseburgers,” Eddie says boisterously, sitting back down. He’s smiling wide and shiny. An arm over the back of the chair, his body leaning to the right, an elbow on the table. There’s a certain suaveness that Steve vaguely remembers; it’s weird, yet comforting, to see it back now. To have that smile on him. Those wide, gleaming, Bambi brown eyes, too.

Fire prickles underneath him. Ready to engulf him. To damn him.

In Eddie’s orbit, he’s warm for the first time in a long while. In Eddie’s orbit, he is merely a planet circling the sun.

———————————————————————————————————————— “Can’t believe you enjoy talking to people around here,” Eddie says. There’s a little spot of ketchup in the corner of his mouth, something Steve’s getting antsy over—his fingers tingle, wanting to reach out, wanting to swipe the mess away; like he would’ve years ago, in another life. It’s endearing, though. Has been endearing the entire time he’s been rambling and raving over Steve’s little life here. “I feel like I’d get all clammed up, keep my head down and just slot the mail in, y’know?”

Steve snorts. “Oh, really? Feel like that’s a wrong observation.”

Another really endearing part of Eddie’s face has always been his eyes. How they just…light up. At anything. One point, it’d been when he realized he could bother Steve and Robin at Family Video. There was when he got a rather large crowd at the bar when he still played in town. When he received the information for a recording studio, when he began making connections, when he realized he was actually getting somewhere. Now, they light up at Steve with the faintest bit of tease, with mirth that he’s missed.

That he has missed.

“I’ve found it easier to talk to my walls over the years, man. Lost all that charisma I had.”

“Don’t think I’d call it charisma, Eds. Maybe something like…luck and coincidence?”

“Hey! You liked listening to me talk.”

That raw pulse of hurt surges back through him all over again. The same kind of rawness that’s left him gaping and lost over the last several decades. Why does so much of life have to be past tense? Why do him and Eddie have to be something to never happen again?

“I like listening to you talk right now,” Steve murmurs a moment later; a moment after he’s stuffed his mouth full of fries, trying to give his tongue something to do before he lets his hurt show. And, yet, even the distractions can’t save him from Eddie’s flash of surprise. He looks away from Eddie’s too open face, down to the face of his watch; sluggish, two minutes behind as always—“Jeopardy!’s on,” he states, “might miss it.”

“Oh,” Eddie breathes. If Steve weren’t right in front of him, he’d think it was just a nothing sound. This, though, sounded like disappointment. “Well…” he hums. “We can go, if you need to. I’ll still be at the trailer, if you ever want to”—

“Tell me about Los Angeles,” Steve interrupts, slapping his right hand down on the watch’s face. “Is it as glitz and glam that the magazines make it out to be?”

Taken aback briefly, Eddie just blinks at Steve. His head jerks, neck going frozen with the movement. Fingers rubbing against each other, sprinkling crumbs and salt back onto his plate. Those eyes curious. Those eyes…those eyes. After a confused pause, Eddie answers slowly, “I mean…it’s just a city, I guess.” He shrugs, looks away towards his food, fingers picking at the stale bun of his half-eaten burger. There’s still ketchup in the corner of his mouth. “It, uh, it’s big. Orange because the sun is almost always out. There’s these big, ugly billboards on the side of every road; no matter how major of a roadway it is. I’ve never seen the same faces twice, unless they’re my friends, but…I don’t even see”—Eddie shakes his head, silencing with a shallow breath.

Tension holds tight to Eddie’s shoulders, Steve notices. The way they hike to his ears, his head hanging low. There isn’t enough hair to cover his face, though. So Steve can see him contemplate, get all…distanced and something close to mournful.

“Los Angeles isn’t for everybody, let’s just say that. And, if I’m being honest, I kinda hate it out there. It’s pretty miserable. It gets lonely, people get wild, you end up in places you never thought you would,” Eddie says; bitterly, if Steve lingers on it. “Things just got crazy out there. I…I don’t even want to go back. Just one day here has really made me miss peace and quiet.” He clears his throat, lets out a deep breath, and then glows all over again. As if his part of the conversation never happened. “So, what’s been going on with you outside of work? That apartment still treating you well?”

“Apartment?” Steve repeats, confused.

Eddie squints his eyes and cocks his head just a little to the left. “Yeah,” he says slowly, “the apartment. Few streets behind Melvald’s?”

His mouth drops open into a silent “Oh.” He gives a brief, nervous chuckle. “I—uh—I actually live in a house now. Couple streets away from the house in Loch Nora. Been there since…since, I think, ’91? Or was it early ’92?” Steve sets his chin in his right palm, elbow on the table, deep in thought. Muttering absently to himself, dates cross-wired in his head. Shrugs, lets his other hand fidget with the last remaining burnt crumbs of fries on his plate, and gives a glance back to Eddie. “Doesn’t matter,” Steve says, “I don’t live in that shithole apartment anymore. Not since the toilet rat of ’89.”

Owlishly, Eddie blinks at him. Wide eyes, pursed lips, sprung forth eyebrows. “Toilet Rat.” A snort. “Guess I didn’t…I never heard that you moved. Makes sense you never responded to”—Eddie clears his throat awkwardly, gives a half-hearted huff, and scoots his chair back—“You’re right, doesn’t matter. How about I walk you out to your car?”

Floored, Steve can only muster an, “Oh, um.”

“C’mon, Stevie. Should probably get you back home so you don’t miss your show, right?” And Eddie’s already out of his seat before Steve can even get a full breath out. He startles and stands, too.

If he had the courage to call Eddie out on it, he’d probably point out how offensive it is that he’s so eager to get rid of their night. To call it good when the good has just begun. But, Steve—always the protector, whether it be of his own heart or the nervous prospect of a revisited relationship—won’t say a damn thing.

Instead, still awkward in Eddie’s presence—unsure of what to say, what to do, where to put his hands—Steve tries, “I was actually going to see if you wanted to…to come over?” That makes Eddie freeze in his maneuver to get away. Steve nearly collides with his back. Nearly falls flat on his ass, heart regurgitated into his palms, when Eddie turns back around with that confused puppy look. “Unless you’re busy,” Steve rushes to add, “which is totally fine. Just means I’ll see you around, probably the next time I’m delivering mail. You…you probably have things you need to do. Stuff to catch up on with Wayne. This can…” he trails.

We can wait, Steve faintly thinks.

A hesitant, light hand squeezes Steve’s right bicep. He inhales sharply at it.

There was a time when something like that didn’t feel so…sudden and scorching. A time in which he could be touched, held, cared for without the possibility of it fading away from him. He’d had that with Eddie, the first few months. Had it with his late wife, before she was sick—well and truly and unmistakably sick; when it seemed like a flu, not the sediments of an ending. A brush of fingers to his fresh, aching scars or the hard, yet careful edges of fingernails to his tender scalp trying to rid of a migraine. It was heavy heads on his shoulder as movies played out, breaths growing deep, the lights dimmed low or off completely. An elbow to a rib. The hug of a lover, unexpected, yet warm. An all encompassing thing; set fire to his lungs, burnt him inside then out, made him grow big when he was fed, made him fizzle once he learned to be starved.

Starve he did.

The morning after Eddie up and left. The three years before he met his wife. The seventeen years he’s somehow survived with nobody by his side; sans his mom, his daughter, and the here-and-there visits from Robin and Dustin and Nancy. But for the most part, it was just him. Him and a gaping maw and a hole in his chest the size of his heart—still pulsing, still searching, still hungry.

Eddie’s thumb tickles over the stitch at Steve’s shoulder. Just a little brush, absentminded and going just to do something. A fidget, that’s all it is. “If you want me there,” Eddie says low—hot and orange and autumnal like the embers catching inside Steve—“I can be there. Told Wayne I’d be out for a little while anyway. It’ll be good to be with you for a while.”

Steve sniffs and gives one, sure nod. “Cool,” he mutters, “let me—uh—I gotta pay the tab and then you can follow”—

“Already covered,” Eddie interjects. And his hand pats once over Steve’s bicep, falling away as fast as it landed. “Just lead the way, big boy.”

The nickname stirs those embers, even as there was still ketchup in the corner of Eddie’s mouth. Sticky, red, staining. A part of him wonders if that’s the condiment at all. Or maybe he let Eddie get away with a piece of his heart, chewy and beating, and he’s just now seeing what happened to it—maybe Eddie’s just as hungry as he is.

“My car’s the Subaru Outback in the lot. I drive a little under the speed limit, I’m hard to miss.”

“Y’always were.”

Maybe Eddie’s just as hungry.

———————————————————————————————————————— Eddie didn’t really know what to expect when it came to letting Steve back into his life.

Honestly, if he really thought about it, he figured it’d be that quick conversation in front of Wayne’s and then maybe a breath of eagerness to get to know one another, an eagerness that washes away—a saving face kind of thing. He never would have thought it to be remembrance, like the trees know to undress as soon as the autumn solstice hits. Just as he knows to order a cheeseburger meal for Steve, or how to clean his glasses (counterclockwise circles with the hem of a worn cotton t-shirt, left lens first then the right), or to keep his distance behind Steve’s car because he kept slow when not in danger. This morning, when he was driving into Hawkins, Eddie didn’t think he could rekindle a flame just by talking to it. Didn’t think he’d be excited, of all things, to learn about another person. Or—to learn about another person all over again.

Steve’s gone grey and worn. He’s soft the way the sun is right before it gives way to dark expanding night, decorated by little stars soft as the sun, soft as the morning. And he’s thoughtful. Like he takes his time to figure things out now, no longer head first and ready to strike.

Because they’ve matured. Whether by chance or by need, Eddie’s uncertain in Steve’s case. Though, driving behind this green Subaru Outback with a whip-wild streak of hope in his chest, Eddie’s certain that in the case of himself, he’s never matured. Maybe not as much as the rest of the world. Maybe not as much as others would’ve liked for him to.

He turns down a side road, Steve near tight to the right curb, high hedges coloring by in splashes of crisp yellows and muted greens. There are potholes and small cracks in the road. Family cars parked in driveways, in front of houses that are much, much smaller than his current…mausoleum of a house. He wonders, currently dwarfed by the sheer homeliness of the neighborhood, if Steve ever felt this way in Loch Nora. Resigned and shallow, yet heavy and infinite with a want he could not fulfill—for a home; a place to be safe; to remain.

The home they park in front of is one story, not terribly wide, brown and a little drab. There’s a few spots of moss growing on the gutters, a patch of replaced roofing that’s black in comparison to the reddish-brown tiling, an overgrown rose bush flush to the street-facing wall, and a crooked three next to the front door. 3019. He kills the ignition, keys sharp in hand, and hefts himself from the driver’s side. Steve does the same, lifting himself out with a gruff grunt. There’s a massive blue coat slung over his left arm, a hat scrunched tight in that same side’s fist, and a velvety navy messenger bag across his torso. He walks up the driveway to the front door, sure of himself and familiar, leaving Eddie to straggle after him.

When the door juts open, awkward under its heavy weight, Steve tells him, “Shoes off at the door, but make yourself at home. Feel free to…look around, I guess. ‘M gonna check-in with my mom, make sure she’s ready for bed.”

Eddie just nods and steps inside behind Steve. He follows instructions, toeing out of his Reeboks—carefully, though, he doesn’t want to crease them. And then he stands in the center of a warm, dimly lit, yet unfamiliar living room. It connects to another room, carpet meshing terribly with the cheap looking cream tiles of, what Eddie assumes, is a kitchen. There’s a dining table on the far right, or Eddie’s right, wall. Only two chairs, a third one just off to the side, unused.

He steps a little more into the actual living space as Steve comes from the hallway to Eddie’s left, just off of the living room. And he disappears into the kitchen wordlessly, scouring around a full sink, it sounds like. At the tap turning on, Eddie focuses elsewhere.

Finally, he took the chance to absorb Steve’s little living room. There was the sofa, dusty pink and well-loved—a middle cushion that’s long since dilapidated and still had the imprint of a well-held body. And the tabletop flat screen, sitting atop a low entertainment center made of black wood, pressed near flush with the wall, cords around it that were knotted and ill organized, a DVD player that’s dinged up and has faded buttons from oiled fingertips. There’s a framed puzzle of a sunset just above the television. A coffee table that’s just slightly lower than the entertainment center (definitely shorter than the couch), cluttered with magazines and the most recent copy of the newspaper. Bookshelf next to the TV that’s brimming to the edges; some titles he recognizes: The Great Gatsby, The Hobbit, The Scarlet Letter, A Separate Peace, The Outsiders; and some he doesn’t: Speak, White Noise, Warrior Cats, The Fault in Our Stars. There’s a few textbooks scattered among the other books; anatomy, algebra, and medicine.

Something important, that he notices, is a shelf dedicated to a jewelry box and a framed photograph. The picture intrigues him, so he grabs for it.

It’s three people: Steve, a little girl, and a woman. The background is plain grey, saturated and marbled with faint glints of white. Almost like a school picture. Steve is standing in the background; most likely in his twenties, though gently graced with the beginnings of aging, his smile is wide yet soft, crinkled hazel eyes, hair shaved down yet spiky like a kiwi, a polo with thick horizontal pink and white stripes, and what looks like the edge of a pair of khaki chinos. The woman is sitting in the foreground, Steve’s hands on her shoulders; she’s gaunt and pale, hair cut close to her scalp (too close to garner a good color), large and wide brown eyes that are fitted with faint black eyeliner and brown mascara, heart shaped face, nose similar in shape to Steve’s though narrower, sparse eyebrows, long sleeve white blouse with a heart neckline, plenty freckles on her chest and face, and pink lips stretching over yet another beautiful smile. This little girl is probably three years old, thick curly dirty blonde hair that falls to just under her little ears, pale pink overalls over a white t-shirt, fingers in her mouth, round hazel eyes, flushed cheeks, yet her skin is just as pale white as the woman’s. She’s a splitting image of Steve and the woman.

He’s a dad, Eddie realizes, and this must be his wife. And he cradles the photo more carefully in his hands. They make a good family. A very, very beautiful family. He can’t help but wonder about Steve…about his wife, too.

As if sensing he’s being thought about, Steve comes wandering back out from his kitchen, a tea towel thrown over his shoulder. “Hey, do you want some tea or should I—What do you have there?” He’s standing between entryways, to the living room, to the kitchen. Like an apparition, glowing from behind, soft though hard to miss. And his eyes go from tired to curious to…sadly thoughtful behind those shiny glasses of his. He spotted the photo almost immediately, of course he did. “Mmm,” he lowly hums. “It’s a cute picture, isn’t it? One of a few that I can display that has all of us.”

“It really is,” Eddie can easily agree. “Your wife, she must be really proud of you.”

“I hope she is,” Steve murmurs, “wherever she may be.” His tone is too somber for Eddie’s liking.

So, Eddie looks back at the photograph. Something like an 8x6. Sharp cheekbones, shaved hair, a slight dullness to her eyes. It’s what he sees in Wayne now. His stomach hurts. He looks back to Steve, words lost.

“I can tell you a bit about them,” Steve offers softly, “make you some tea, too. You still like English breakfast?”

He nods wordlessly. Of course. Of-fucking-course he still remembers after all this time.

When the tea is up and piping hot, Steve leads them towards the sofa. He places the mugs—pottery things, light brown with blue on the rim—on the coffee table, coasters underneath each one. The photo is still in Eddie’s hands, which he relinquishes when Steve holds his hands out for it. And just as he’s getting ready to take his seat on the middle cushion, Steve tells him firmly, “Don’t sit there.”

Another silent nod, sitting slow onto the far right cushion, space between them. And then the photograph is held up.

“Which one do you want to know about first?” Steve asks. “I know you’re curious.”

Eddie cranes his head just enough to see the edges of softly smiling faces. Arm thrown onto the back of the sofa, fingers tracing lumpy divots. “The little girl? Is she yours?”

“Yeah,” Steve murmurs, “her name’s Joanna. Sometimes, to annoy her, I’ll call her Josie. Drives her up a damn wall.” He chuckles under his breath. “She’s bright. Funny. Very charismatic, but don’t tell her that I said that. She’ll use it as an upper hand in every argument we get into from here on out. Stubborn, I guess I should add.”

“Sounds like you, Stevie.”

Steve barks out a single “Hah!” He gives a side glance to Eddie, something he wouldn’t pick up usually, but he’s right here, looking on at Steve’s gentle pride. The glow that parents seem to get when talking about their kids, he’s seen the same damn thing on Wayne’s face at conferences in the past and when he came home today. “That’s what Cathy always said,” Steve says, “never believed her. Josie always seemed right, guess we know why. But…she’s also my complete opposite. She’s in school, y’know, twenty-one and off in Boston. She’ll call me every once in a while, talkin’ damn near a mile a minute, rambling about some lecture a professor gave.

“Half the words she uses I barely have the time to remember, let alone ask what the hell they mean. Her friends are sweet, sarcastic, nice. So different from my childhood friends, it’s hard to believe her judgment came from my tree. I swear, Eds, if Nancy didn’t slap me in the face and knock my brain loose, I’d see a donkey’s behind and equate it to God or something.” Steve reverently swipes his thumbs on either side of the frame. Sniffles, a light thing barely here. He looks up to Eddie with half-lidded, wet eyes. A smile, shiny and wide. The tip of his nose is crinkled. He looks so…elated. “Josie…she’s more than anything I could’ve ever imagined. A freaking miracle child or something. I don’t know how I ended up with a kiddo like her; she’s where my luck begins and ends, swear on it.”

There’s a tear hanging for dear life in the corner of Steve’s right eye, one that Eddie wants so badly to reach out and swipe away. But he restrains. It’s hard, but he does it.

“And…and the woman?” Eddie asks gently.

Steve takes a snotty, deep breath, and swallows hard. “Catherine, she was my wife. I called her Cathy,” he whispers. The words barely make it out of his mouth, more letters than coherent sounds. His hands shake lightly, thumbs still reverent on the sides of the frame. “We met in 1989. I was on-duty, delivering mail. One of my first drives, I think. She was new in town, in this shabby apartment. It’s honestly not all that romantic. There was this package she needed hefted inside, so I did it. Sweated my ass off, she offered me a glass of lemonade”—

“Classic move,” Eddie murmurs.

Playfully, Steve swats his chest and scoffs. “I declined it,” he says, “gave a goodbye, went on the rest of my delivery route, and went back to my shitty apartment. Bumped into her a few days later at Benny’s. So, we sat and ate together. She asked me all kinds of questions about Hawkins; What happened here? Shit that I can’t describe, is what I told her. Do you think it’s safe to be here now, did I make a mistake? I just gave her a shrug and said, I don’t think you did. Do you maybe want to get drinks some time? I couldn’t believe my damn ears, she was so fucking forward. It’s just who she was, honestly.

“She was…god, she was beautiful, Eds. So fucking intelligent—like, she was studying to be a psychologist at the time, she was that smart. And she was funny, indescribably so. Just one look from her sometimes melted me into a puddle of giggles, could never reign myself back in. She and I shared an interest with cooking, always was pushing food at one another; Oh, try this soup I made, try this pie and tell me what you think, try the fish. It’s good, right? That’s what she always asked afterwards. And…I gotta be honest, she could’a charred all my damn food and I’d think God was feeding me straight from his palms.”

“Oh…oh, she had you tied around her finger, Stevie.”

“Yeah,” Steve breathily chuckles, “yeah, guess she did.” He lets out a quiet, sad sigh. “I fell for her hard and fast, as I always do. But she was…she was different. Something about her, I can’t really tell you what, felt like a forever kind of thing. Or…or maybe something like a while. And so, I took initiative on my gut this time; like…whatever that thing is you do in Dungeons & Dragons—the roll for initiative thing. I took my chances, is what I’m saying. Proposed to her by dressing up our apartment—at this time it was January, 1991 and I had been living with her for a little over a year, after that dreaded toilet rat thing; a story for a different time—but I put bouquets of bluebells everywhere that I could, granted they were out of season, but I put ‘em in vases and by her pillow and even in a few pairs of her shoes. I had made the lights dim and all amber. Put a record on, she was big into Jim Croce, so I kept nailing the needle to play out ‘Time in a Bottle’ and got on one knee in the small walkable space of our living room—it was heavily cluttered with furniture and knick knacks, surprised we even could walk around that place—and just waited.

“I almost threw up from nerves. But she…she came around the corner, her hair was wild and up. Just a big, bee’s nest of curls sitting lumpy at the back of her head. There was a slight sheen of sweat all over her face, grocery bags with thinning straps gripped tight in her fists, some sort of ink splotched all over this beige, cashmere sweater I bought her for Christmas. And I broke into tears, couldn’t believe my eyes that she—despite having what seemed like a rough go around with her day—she was this supermodel in our home. For the first time in my life, I was certain that I was doing something right.

“And of course she said yes. We worked day-in, day-out over our wedding plans. Just tirelessly. We wanted to get married as soon as possible, so it was set for mid-March. It was a small thing, here in town. I had actually…I asked her if it was okay to send you an invite—she already knew all about you and”—

Eddie stops Steve with a gentle hand on his bicep. It takes a sluggish moment, but soon Steve’s looking at him; wide eyes and perplexed eyebrows. Disbelieving and incredulous, Eddie flounders, “Hold on. She knew about me?”

A little shrug. “Yeah…yeah, of course she did. She probably would’ve found out about you at some point, I’m sure. Not sure how exactly, but she’s smart, she would’ve. And, y’know, it’s hard to keep something like how I’m bisexual away from somebody I love. She just took it in stride. She wasn’t like upset or anything.

“In fact, she encouraged me to invite you after some time. Thought that it’d be nice to meet you, for the two of us to reconnect. But I…” Steve blinks down at the hand still on his arm. A moment passes in stilted silence, contemplative and charged. He pats the back of Eddie’s hand. “…I wasn’t sure if you’d want to be there. And I also wasn’t sure if you had the same address. And I didn’t want to make Robin play middle-man, so I just…I guess I made the decision.” Eddie’s met with Steve eyes again, something deeply regretful and sorrowful in them. “Sorry,” Steve then whispers.

“It’s alright, Stevie,” Eddie assures, “really, it is. I probably would’ve let you down anyway. Wasn’t even at home, wouldn’t be even when the invitation arrived. Y’know, concerts and shit.”

“Oh, I forgot to ask you about all that. How’s music working out”—

“We can get to that a different time,” he gently interjects, “I want to hear more about Cathy.” Another emotion washes over Steve’s face. A bit of shock, a lot of disbelief. Eddie rubs his palm down Steve’s bicep, soothing him away from that surprise. “Keep going,” he murmurs, “I’m listening.”

“Oh—Okay,” Steve chokes out. His head whips back down to the picture, gripped tight now in his hands. Puzzled, he asks, “What more do I say?” Another silent pause. Then, “I didn’t have long with her,” he settles on, “we moved in here and took our time really getting accustomed to living with one another, but this time on a much, much bigger scale. She gave birth to Josie in August, 1995; Cathy and I were freshly twenty-eight. Then, Josie turned two and the months kinda tumbled after that.

“We were alright for a while. The house was warm and full and spilling with laughter. Our food was hot and fresh and delicious. Cathy would do her puzzles, like the one above the TV. Josie would toddle around and try and put anything and everything in her mouth. I went on with delivering mail. It was the same kind of routine. But then…then, Cathy got sick—sicker than I think I’d ever seen her, and that’s saying something because in the bit of time I really got to know her, she had food poisoning at least three separate times.

“This was…none of it was normal. I urged her to go to a doctor. And by the time she did, it was already too late.”

Eddie, absentmindedly, rubs his palm down Steve’s arm again. Sensing more than really seeing the seizing trembles of Steve’s whole body. He squeezes gently at the soft bicep under his hand. This is how he used to talk about his mom for a long time. All this gushing, red love; tainted so slowly, so obscenely, so invasively by illness; by death. And, sure, he saw this pale gauntness in Wayne this morning, but that doesn’t mean knowing the hurt and hearing the hurt makes any of this easier.

“You don’t have to continue if you aren’t ready, Steve,” Eddie says, trying to give him that out. The thing he never received as a kid. But, Steve’s hand is wrapping on the back of Eddie’s, heavy and warm and shaking. It just holds on. Bracing.

He steadies himself with a breath and keeps on, “The tumors were widespread in her lungs. On their way to her brain. She was on chemotherapy for a while. Then radiation when the chemo couldn’t work the way it did. And then it was…we were doing it just to grasp straws, trying to collect our bearings; she needed all the time in the world at the end, just to say goodbye of all things.” Another hard swallow. One that regurgitates with his spit, with tears ready to fall fast. Steve keeps going (never one to quit), voice low and trapped, “I knew that the cancer was invasive. We were at a loss cause. But…but you would not believe how many people were in the know. So many fucking strangers. Lawyers and—and funeral directors and doctors and hospice nurses. God, there were so many people in this house near the end, I’ve almost fallen in love with the quiet loneliness after her.

“And that’s terrible to admit, I know it is. But it’s true. When it came to her final day, it was just her and I. Josie had been picked up by Robin a couple days prior, taken out of town under the guise of a fun roadtrip with her aunty—but I just didn’t want her last memory of her mom to be a…a dark bedroom with a couple candles and a bunch of beeping that was just slowing and not to mention the…the discomfort. Cathy wanted to be completely in the moment. She wanted to be able to hold a conversation with me without having to slip away because of her morphine drip.

“So, at the end, it was me holding her hand, hiding winces behind the other palm. It was singing to her. It was sitting as close as I possibly could, telling her anything she wanted to know. Told her about how much fun Josie was having with Robs, about the flowers for the funeral because I didn’t know what she wanted—bluebells, she told me; it was always bluebells—and I told her that I loved her. Because, at the end of it all, that’s all a person really wants, isn’t it? To be cherished? To be loved?”

Steve sets the photograph down in his lap with barely a sound, leans forward for his mug—dislodging Eddie’s hand completely—and takes a slow, barely savoring sip of his tea. It’s probably cold, if Eddie had to guess, but if it was, Steve didn’t show it. He just resettled in his cushion, photograph left alone, and wiped the tip of his nose on the back of his left hand. Where, if Eddie had been looking hard enough to begin with, a gold band sits unpolished on his ring finger.

“Anyway,” Steve sighs. “This is one of a few photos I have with the girls. I keep it up on that shelf, just so I have…god, this is going to sound so depressing…just so I have something to say goodnight to before I try and sleep. Don’t know if you could tell, Eds, but I live a pretty boring, unfruitful, lonely life now.” A here-and-gone half-laugh, almost humorless, but the sound is too full to be hollow. “It’s why I wanted to know about Los Angeles. Maybe I’m missing something by staying here. But…but if somebody as wild as you isn’t enjoying it, maybe being a flour sack on my couch isn’t too bad.”

Eddie doesn’t want to leave this loose-ended and sprawling, but his comforting hasn’t always been that—comforting. “It’s a really nice picture, Steve,” is all he can muster. If he were better at organizing the feelings and words in his head, he’s sure he could say something at least a little nicer. Maybe make some connection to his mom, but even that feels just a little too…sour for all the love that Steve poured out. He pats at Steve’s arm again and reaches for his own tea; sure enough, the drink has gone cold over the course of their conversation. They’ll have to reheat them, if Steve still wants him here.

Just as he sets his cup back down, he spots Steve wipe his face with both of his hands, glasses knocked to the top of his head, coming back down awkwardly onto his nose. He readjusts them and groans. “Sorry,” he sighs. “Christ, I didn’t think I’d still be such a mess after all this time. Didn’t think I could still be all…mopey after it all. But it’s just”—he shrugs—“nobody’s asked about her in a long time. And you were interested and I just…guess I couldn’t help myself.”

“We all want to be remembered, Steve. I’m not going to wave you off as you do that. It was nice to hear about her, though. I’m glad you had somebody so…so lovely to share a portion of your life with, even if it wasn’t as long as you would’ve wanted. It always sucks when that happens,” he tries to amend. Eddie spots a breath in the conversation, where it lulls, where they’re beginning to really wrap up their evening. So, he takes a courageous breath and confesses, “I’m back in Hawkins because of Wayne.”

“Oh, yeah?” Steve questions, nasally and wheezy.

“Yeah,” Eddie answers, a nod and a sigh tied in one. “Yeah…he—uh—he’s got lung cancer. Just a single tumor, so it was caught early, but I mean…fuck, y’know? It’s hard to get news like that over the phone. Couldn’t just leave him by himself. Had to come home.”

A sniffle as Steve clears up his nostrils. And a breathed, “Eddie…”

“Nah, no, don’t—I don’t want you to feel bad. Please, please don’t feel bad. Shit, I just”—helplessly, probably the same way Steve’s been feeling the last few minutes, he gives a half-hearted shrug of his own—“I just needed to be here. In case, I suppose. But it’s nice—it’s really nice—to have a familiar face around. Not that I’m—I’m not asking you to be my emotional support rock, but I”—

“I’ll be here, Eds. I will even if you don’t always need me,” Steve rushes in, headfirst, chest strong. “I know what it was like to go through a lot of this alone. And…in my case, not saying it’ll be yours, being alone in it all is the worst. Sure, I had Robin on the phone and all, but my support system was small. God, it was so small. If I can do anything, you let me know. I make a good soup, I—I might have a few orthopedic pillows from Cathy, hell, I’ll come over with a beer if you need it.”

Eddie chuckles. “Don’t drink anymore, Stevie. A story for a different time, right? Toilet Rat, me not drinking—they’re one in the same. But I’ll accept a crisp Coke if you ever want to hang out.”

Steve responds with his own snort. “Toilet rat,” he echoes. “Yeah, okay. Another time, that’s okay.” He gestures off-handedly to their mugs on the table. “Want me to reheat your tea? I could get you a slice of toast to go with it or something?”

“No, that’s okay,” Eddie whispers, being careful to not break this peace they’ve now shared, “I should actually head back now. Make sure Wayne’s doing alright. He starts chemotherapy in the morning and I need to be ready for it.”

“Right,” Steve murmurs, “right, yeah, of course. Let me lead you to the door.”

The photo is set carefully on the bookshelf as they make their way back to the front door. Eddie clumsily worms his feet back into his laced sneakers, hand braced on the wall, the other tight on Steve’s shoulder. And then Steve opens the door, Eddie on the porch, staring at one another.

“It was nice catching up with you, Steve. I’m…I’m glad that you found something you like to do. That you still look good after all these years.”

“Oh, please,” Steve scoffs. “My whole head is basically silver. Stress will do that to a guy, y’know. I’d hardly say that it looks good.”

“You kidding, man? Makes you look like a…a silver fox or something. Trust me, you look good.” Eddie rocks back on his heels, face warm with the admittance. He’d been thinking it, didn’t know he’d actually follow through with saying it out loud. “Well, thank you for a nice evening, it really means a lot in the chaos that is my life right now. I’ll see you around?”

Steve nods softly. “Of course, Eds. Anytime, I mean it. Come hell or high water, I’ll be there if you need the support.”

This would be the part where they’d hug or something, Eddie figures. But for now, he gives an awkward wave of his fingers, a nod in return. And a final, “Good night, Steve. Sleep well.”

“You, too,” is whispered at his back.

And he can’t place it, why after so much softness, so much love, so much warmth, his chest goes tight with those words.

———————————————————————————————————————— End of Chapter Two! Read the Next Chapter Here —>

#stranger things #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #drama #romance #angst and hurt/comfort #slow burn #eventual happy ending #read all tags above in the post #steddiebang24

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