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ashs-cardboard-box · 1 year ago

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The Sin of Envy

~ Dutch Van Der Linde, Hosea Matthews, Child!Arthur Morgan/Child!Male Reader

~ Familial (found family)

~2.7k words

Request :3

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You owed it all to the Van Der Linde gang. Having lost it all as a mere boy, you grew up on the streets for most of your life. Just a few months after you had turned thirteen, two co-founders of said gang picked you up and treated you like their own flesh and blood.

You thought of the two of them as your fathers. Hosea was a gentle, patient individual. He took over as your primary caretaker. Feeding you, teaching you to read, write, and pick apart safe from toxic herbs. As such, you were a lot closer to him, though that’s not to say you didn’t care for your other father figure.

Dutch was a more stern, focused man. He kept you in line should you disobey either him or Hosea. While he wasn’t as open about his affection towards you, his protection and observations over your well-being showed he had a heart.

Living with them for the next three years of your life were nothing short of great– as great as life on the road can be. Dutch and Hosea were slowly attempting to gather members for a gang, with little success. The two would always praise you for the fine young man you’ve grown to be, starting to teach you your way around a gun.

However, when another, younger, orphan boy was picked up in the same manner you were, you couldn’t help but feel a little off about it. Stubbornly standing a ways off to the side with your arms folded across your chest as your father figures feed the boy at one of the few tables around a newly formed camp.

You didn’t know his name, and you weren’t sure you wanted to. You wanted to march right up to them and ask Hosea to teach you again the proper positioning of your weaponry, but you didn't. Instead, you stand and stare as silently as possible.

Much to your dismay, Dutch is more observant than you thought. He looks over towards you and away from the new boy, that same blank expression on his face. “Boy. C’mere.” He beckons, pulling Hosea and the boy’s attention over to you as well.

Feeling awkward with their eyes on you, you shuffle over to the poorly constructed, wooden table. Slowly dropping your arms back down to your sides, your shoulders slouching forward slightly. “Ah, Y/N! I don’t s’pose we’ve introduced you to Arthur here!”

Hosea seems excited about the new addition to your family. A wide grin spread across his face, the corners of his eyes crinkling. You and Arthur don’t say anything to one another. Staring at each other as if trying to read what the other is thinking.

Arthur looks away from you and turns back down to his food in front of him on the table. Stuffing his face as if he hadn’t eaten in a long while– a statement you could fully believe. He was scrawny, but you couldn’t deny the height the other boy had on you, only serving to make you more envious.

“He’s gonna stick around for a while. Found him the same way we found you, y’know.” Hosea points out with a chuckle as Dutch merely nods, turning back to his conversation with Arthur, almost seeming like a promise of a better life if he joined the gang.

You look back towards Hosea with a small sigh. Muttering a quiet “okay, papa” and giving your father figure a subtle smile. Accepting that as your agreement, Hosea joins their conversation once more, shutting you out.

You can’t deny the pang of resentment and jealousy building in your chest. Taking your leave and heading back to your tent to find something to do. You weren’t really used to being on your own anymore. After having to fend for yourself for the first decade of your life, you assumed you wouldn’t feel this way. Unfortunately, you got attached.

You’re not sure how long has passed of you sitting still on your bedroll, staring blankly at the floor, deep in thought, but you get caught off guard by a short “hey.”

Lifting your head, you find Arthur standing at the entrance of your open tent. The sun casting his shadow across the floor. You’re not sure why, but his presence just upsets you further. Your fingers beginning to fidget with one another as your hands rest in your lap.

“What’d’ya want..?” you grumble, trying to keep your harshness under wraps. He’s only two years younger than you, at fourteen, but that fact makes you feel worse. You’re scared. The last thing you want to be is an old toy your father figures toss aside for something new. Someone younger and much different from you.

Arthur shrugs with a hum of “i dunno.” While you got passed down some of Hosea’s old clothes as a hand-me-down, Arthur’s clothes are dirty and torn. The hems of his pant legs are frayed, the fragile strings flicking with each slight gust of wind.

“You wanna play dominoes?” He asks hopefully with a small tilt of his head. You don’t really want to be so mean to the new boy, but you can already feel that urge mounting. You take a deep breath before responding with a curt “no.”

“Well why not? You got somethin’ better to do?” Arthur asks curiously, but to you, it’s just plain obnoxious. Pushing yourself to your feet and crossing your tent. Walking right passed Arthur without another word to him.

You knew you shouldn’t, but you just didn’t stop walking. Right out of the small camp and heading wherever your feet took you. Slowly shuffling through the dense woods, brooding as your boots step over leaf after twig, crunching under your weight.

It wasn’t until you made it to the nearby town that you realized just what you had done. You were forbidden from leaving camp without either Dutch or Hosea until you could learn how to properly handle your gun. They just cared for you, after all.

Unfortunately, you had the bright idea to prove yourself to them. If you could prove you were strong, maybe they’d like you over Arthur again. You wanted your family to yourself again. You refused to be replaced.

Waltzing right into the budding city with nothing but false confidence keeping your head held high. Your mind darting over what you could possibly do to show you’re a strong man. The civilians didn’t bat an eye, seeming to not even notice you among the many other individuals.

Taking what little you’ve gathered from Dutch’s schemes with Hosea, you settled on pickpocketing. It seemed easy enough, and you could make a lot of money depending on who you choose.

Now looking at the surrounding people like nothing more than their wallets, you spot a shorter, older man waiting for the train with a newspaper held between his fingers. Perfect, you thought. Taking it upon yourself to take a seat next to him on the old wooden bench. He doesn’t seem to care about your presence; he’s far too enamored by whatever’s happening in the region.

Slowly, you slide your hand across the unsanded wood, feeling prick after prick of splinters threatening to pierce your skin. You’re too focused to care. Your eyes rapidly flicking from your hand, to the man, to something mundane in front of you to avoid seeming like you’re staring at him.

You make good progress. Getting as close as caressing the man’s pocket jean with your pinky, before you hear a ruffling of the newspaper, followed by a rough grip around your wrist, causing you to hiss in pain.

“The hell you think you’re doin’, kid?” The man demands, tugging your wrist away from his body, but not letting go of it. His face contorted into one of frustration at your audacity. You don’t respond, and that seems like the wrong choice to make. Staring doe-eyed at the man with a small grimace, wanting to be strong and not show pain nor fear, though you feel it all.

The man grunts in disapproval, giving your wrist a sharp tug and sending you down onto the floor of the train station. Propping yourself up on your elbows as you stare up at him, but you don’t run away. You’re not strong. You’re terrified.

“Someone oughta teach you a lesson, boy.” He spits coldly as he stands up, reaching down to tug you up by the collar of your shirt and drag you to your unsteady feet. Letting go of you and taking a step back putting up his fists, glaring at you to tell you to follow. “Be a man. Fight me for it.” he challenges

Feeling that false, stubborn confidence return, you put your fists up at the level of your eyes, copying the man. The man has both an experience advantage, and a physical advantage over you. He might be short in stature, but he’s bulky in his old age– seeming in his late fifties. You, on the other hand, barely hold your own when fake sparring against Dutch, only meant to be a teaching lesson.

Instead of letting you try and strike first, the man cocks you in the first hit. Your head knocking back as you take a right jab straight to the nose, causing your eyes to water. Your form curling into itself as you whine in pain. Your nose dripping blood down your lips and chin. The crimson liquid staining your hands.

Not giving you time to brace yourself, the man takes you by your shoulders and knees you in the gut, knocking the wind out of you as your knees give out. “Your daddy would be disappointed. You ain’t a man. Might as well become one of ‘em two dollar whores.” he scoffs a laugh, glaring down at you as if you’re the scum of the Earth.

All you can do is clutch your stomach with your entire forearm as your other hand clasps over your mouth. The blood from your nose dripping down the back of your hand and hitting the train platform with a near silent splat. Looking up at the man through watery eyes, choking back tears.

The man pays you no sympathy. Palming your forehead and shoving you backwards, causing you to land awkwardly on your back. Groaning quietly from behind your blood stained hand. He stares down at you coldly for a long moment before stepping away from you. Bending down to pick up his newspaper from off his spot on the bench before taking his seat again, acting as if nothing happened. “Get outta here, kid. If you know what’s good for ya.”

As soon as you regain the ability to breathe properly, you scamper to your feet and run off with your tail between your legs to go lick your wounds. Fat tears rolled down your cheeks as you retrace your steps through the town and back into the woods. Blood staining your face and shirt.

You’re reluctant to go back to camp. What were you supposed to say? That you were jealous of their new favorite and decided to go get your ass kicked? You stumble slowly through the woods, massaging your sore abdomen. Each time you sniffle due to your tears, only swallowing more blood than you should.

Staring at the empty clearing around twenty feet away, signifying the entrance of camp, you stop. You’re a mess. You feel completely emasculated, hurt and jealous. Wondering if the stray boy they call Arthur could’ve done better than you. You’re mostly silent. The only thing heard from you are small sniffles and pained whimpers.

Hearing a cacophony of different, yet familiar, voices all calling your name into the void of the woods, you feel even worse. You don’t want to be seen like this. Your face stained with blood and tears, dripping down the front of your shirt.

Before you can even consider heading inside on your own, you hear two sets of footsteps rapidly approaching you from your left. Quickly turning, you spot Arthur and Hosea– both seem terribly worried about your sudden disappearance, only made worse when they see the state you’ve been left in.

Arthur is the first to get to you. Gawking at you as if you’ve grown three heads, only causing you to turn away from him. Your tears continuing to shamefully roll down your cheeks. He’s the last person you want to see right now. Hosea, however, is a different story.

Hosea sighs heavily as he approaches, reaching forward and pulling you into a tight hug– just like he used to when you were younger. Resting your bloodied chin on Hosea’s shoulder, you wrap your arms around his frame tightly. Your fingers balling tightly around the back of his shirt.

“What happened to you, son? You know you ain’t s’posed to run off like that..” He chides gently, running a hand up and down your back soothingly. You mumble a meek “‘m sorry, papa” in response. Sounding more like a timid boy than a young man.

“It’s alright, boy.. You’re okay..” Hosea murmurs into your ear, letting you try and compose yourself despite the soreness of your body. A much harder task to accomplish with Arthur’s bright eyes on you. “Where’d you go? Why’d you leave?” he questions, not wanting to force you to respond.

“Th- The town.. Just nearby. I–” you pause, swallowing the uncomfortable concoction of saliva and metallic blood pooling in your mouth. “I- you just…” you’re not sure if you want to be honest or not. On one hand, Hosea could help with what’s weighing so heavily on your chest. On the other, he could ridicule you for getting into trouble over something so stupid.

“You ‘n Dutch got along with Arthur so well.. ‘n I got scared that y-you were gonna leave me for him. Wanted to prove I was strong so you wouldn’t think he’s better..” you sob, feeling it all come crashing down at the admittance of your envy. Arthur is taken aback by your statement, but Hosea seems unfazed. Only focused on making you feel better.

“It ain’t a game of favoritism, son. Dutch and I care for you boys equally. You’re real damn stupid for runnin’ off ‘n getting your ass beat, but that don’t mean Arthur’s any greater or lesser than the man you’re growing up to be, you understand?”

You nod slightly with another small sniffle, slowly pulling away from the hug. You wipe your eyes with your fingers on your clean hand, not keen on the idea of getting blood near your eyes. Hosea sighs as he inspects your face. You’re grateful he’s not upset with you, but you still feel guilty. You hadn’t even considered what a fuss you would’ve caused.

“Arthur,” Hosea starts, looking over towards the other boy, prompting him to look at Hosea with a quiet hum of acknowledgement. “Take Y/N back to my tent. Clean him up a bit, will you? I’ll let Dutch know he’s back” He lays out, leaving no room for disagreement.

Arthur copies you and nods, shuffling around you awkwardly and beginning to make his way back to camp. Tentatively, you follow behind. You’re not sure how you feel. It feels like a weight has been pulled off your shoulders, only to be replaced by a heavier weight of guilt for your jealousy.

Not a word is spoken between you two as you follow the younger boy back to Hosea’s tent. Your boots scuffing against the ground below until you slink down onto Hosea’s cot with a heavy sigh. Arthur wastes no time soaking an old washrag in alcohol and approaching you again. Carefully wiping the blood off your face.

“Sorry for..y’know- makin’ you jealous ‘n whatever. Never meant to..” He mutters quietly, focused on getting the dried blood off your skin. “It ain’t your fault.. Was just- scared, I guess..” you respond quietly, trying not to speak too much so as to not disrupt his work.

It felt uncomfortable to be getting cleaned up by the younger boy, but you can’t complain. Your leg mindlessly bouncing against the floor of Hosea’s tent. Sighing heavily from your nose as you let your sore body actually relax under Arthur’s care.

“You still up for that dominoes game?” You mumble quietly, a small smile spreading across your blood stained lips as you look up at Arthur hopefully. He stands up a bit straighter at your question before he rolls his eyes and gets back to helping you. “I thought you’d never ask.”

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finished this on 2%

Hope you like it !! :3

#rdr2 x reader #rdr2 x male reader #dutch van der linde x male reader #hosea matthews x male reader #arthur morgan x male reader

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corroded-hellfire · 9 months ago

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Prompt Day 10: Pride

Word Count: 998

Rating: G

Pairing: None

CW: Language

Summary: Corroded Coffin plays a gig at a fundraiser in Hawkins and Eddie understands what it's like to really make it. Part of my As You Wish universe!

@corrodedcoffinfest

[As You Wish masterlist]

“Jesus, have we ever played in front of this many people before?” Gareth asks as he shakes out his wrists to loosen them up.

“Have we ever performed in front of kids before?” Jeff questions in response.

“Have you guys ever played in front of your own kids?” Frank follows up, being the only one in the band who doesn’t have any children yet.

“Not like this,” Eddie says, fiddling with the knobs on an amp.

Somewhere out in the crowd of around two hundred are Ryan and Luke, anxiously awaiting their father’s rock star moment. They’re standing somewhere with Brittany and Wayne, and more than likely, Gareth’s and Jeff’s families too.

At first, Eddie was surprised that Brittany actually followed through on this event and didn’t invent a last minute excuse. But then it occurred to him—this is a family event, this fundraiser for the Hawkins Police Department. If she didn’t show up, then it wouldn’t look like the Munsons are the idyllic white-picket-fence family that Brittany likes to pretend they are to those who don’t know any differently.

Brittany probably felt obligated the moment Jeff’s wife Nicole, an officer with the Hawkins PD, asked Corroded Coffin if they’d perform at the fundraiser. Eddie wasn’t dumb enough to believe she was here out of the goodness of her heart or because she wanted to see her husband play music onstage.

“I can’t believe after all the times I had to deal with you guys as punk kids, I’m now about to introduce your band onstage.” Chief Hopper shakes his head and tosses his stub of a cigarette down on the ground, the toe of his boot digging the bud into the dirt.

“Aw, come on, Hop,” Gareth says, letting his hand land heavily on the taller man’s shoulder. “It was just a few noise complaints when our rehearsals went on too long.”

Hopper flicks the brim of his hat up and raises his eyebrows at the drummer.

“Yeah, with you. Caught Dawson here speeding almost every other week,” the police chief says, nodding towards Frank. “And Munson…well, shit, there’s not enough time before you guys are due on stage for me to get into that.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Eddie mumbles, a small smile on his lips, “Jeff’s the golden boy. Still is.”

“That’s because his wife has a gun,” Gareth stage whispers, making Frank and Eddie laugh.

The applause coming from the crowd out front signals that whoever was entertaining them has finished, meaning the guys are up.

“Ready boys?” Hopper asks, looking around at the band members. Once he’s satisfied with their nods of confirmation, he heads out onto the stage to make the introduction.

Feedback crackles before the chief’s deep voice booms over the speakers.

“Up next, we’ve got a band that’s been playing together in Hawkins for well over a decade now. You may recognize them from The Hideout or have even called into the station with a noise complaint about them.” There’s a rumble of laughter from the audience. “And one of the members is married to our very own Officer Nicole Samuels. Please welcome, Corroded Coffin.”

Hearing their band’s name being announced still gives Eddie a thrill, the blood in his veins buzzing with excitement, even after all this time.

The moment his boots hit the stage, Eddie can hear two particular cheers above all others.

“Yeeeeeah! Corroded Coffin!”

“Yay, Daddy! Go Daddy!”

It’s by far the best welcome he’s ever gotten whilst making an entrance.

As Eddie adjusts the microphone at the front of the stage, his eyes scan the crowd, and he sees a cluster of familiar faces. Two with extra enthusiasm make his mouth spread into a wide grin.

Ryan is sitting on Wayne’s shoulders, small black Corroded Coffin t-shirt on, throwing his fists in the air and cheering for his father. Luke is in Brittany’s arms, squirming around like crazy as he waves to Eddie on stage. To Brittany’s credit, she’s grimacing against all the movement Luke is doing, but she’s still holding him up so he can see.

Around them are the other guys’ families, along with Steve, Nancy, Max, and Lucas.

Eddie gives a wave to his boys as his bandmates get situated behind him. It’s impossible to wipe the smile off his face as he takes everything in: being back on stage, having a crowd of more than five, most of them actually sober, and having so many people he cares about in the audience. Especially his sons.

A surge of warmth crashes over Eddie and he can’t explain it any other way than pure happiness and pride.

“Hello, Hawkins,” Eddie says into the mic, receiving another round of applause in response. “How we doing tonight?”

“GOOD!”

Luke’s sweet, loud voice echoes above everyone else’s and Eddie can’t help but chuckle into the mic.

“We’re Corroded Coffin and we hope you’re ready to have some fun.”

They open with Metallica’s version of Whiskey in the Jar. It’s his boys’ favorite song of the iconic band’s because of the fun lyrics that sound like nonsense when you sing along. Eddie knew right off the bat that this is the song he wanted to kick the show off with.

As the part of the song that the boys like comes closer, Eddie finds them in the crowd and keeps his gaze locked on them.

Yeah, musha rain dum a doo, dum a da, ha, yeah

Whack for my daddy-o

There’s whiskey in the jar, oh

The joy on Ryan and Luke’s faces brings Eddie a sense of rightness that he’s never felt before. It’s like something clicked into place within him that’s been waiting all these years to find where it belongs.

I’ve made it, Eddie thinks to himself. Fuck a record label or a world tour. They don’t mean shit when his playing draws so much joy out of his sons. Nothing can top that.

This is what making it feels like.

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #corrodedcoffinfest #older!eddie #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson fan fic #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fic #CCF #AYW #AYWS

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bytherosebushlaughing · 5 months ago

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one fine star away

Chapter 19/50

Rating: M

Word Count: 96,000

Summary:

The relationship between Emma Swan and Regina Mills has been subject of much speculation since hit television series "Once Upon A Time" ended abruptly in the 80s. No one knows for certain what happened between the two actresses. Rookie journalist and writer Henry has loved "Once Upon A Time" for years, and like the rest of the world, has been dying to know the truth behind the end of his favorite show. With rumors of a cast reunion for the first time in decades circulating, Henry is thrust into the opportunity of a lifetime—a chance to write an exclusive tell-all article about Emma's time on the show and the truth about her relationship with Regina.

SEASON THREE: 1987

“I’m kind of surprised that you’re not hanging out with Regina this afternoon,” Ruby admits curiously. “You two were attached at the hip last season but it seemed like you couldn’t bear to be around each other back there.”

Emma shrugs.

“There’s nothing going on between us. It’s just been awhile since we’ve seen each other and I wanted to give today my best. It’s work, not a social hour.” It’s a weak defense and Ruby seems to notice, but she doesn’t dare say anything to Emma about it.

They’re interrupted by the sound of the bell dinging, announcing the arrival of someone else.

“Speak of the devil,” Ruby says, a smile spreading across her face at the sight of Regina and Emma feels her heart sink.

She’s waving her over before Emma can protest or think of some excuse as to why she doesn’t want Regina to come over.

Unfortunately, Regina is not alone. The blonde man from earlier is holding her hand as they approach the table.

“Looks like we all had the same idea,” Regina muses with a laugh, eyes not once leaving Emma’s, and Emma can’t force herself to look away.

“Who’s the new arm candy?” Ruby asks, always wildly nosy.

“Rob Locksley, at your service,” the blonde man introduces himself with a smarmy grin and posh English accent, and Emma can’t help stop the hatred from bubbling up inside of her.

Ruby’s eyes glow with interest, studying the interactions between the three of them carefully before adding, “And where did you happen to meet Mr. Locksley?”

Regina finally breaks from Emma’s gaze, narrowing her eyes towards Ruby.

“That would be none of your business, Ms. Lucas,” she says tightly, sounding more like the Regina that Emma loved.

“We met while Regina was filming overseas. We were in the same film together and next thing you know, sparks,” Rob answers with a grin, pressing a kiss to Regina’s cheek as Emma tries to fight off a grimace.

If Regina is displeased by this public display of affection, her face does not give it away. In fact, she ignores it almost completely.

“I didn’t realize that you had been seeing someone this summer,” Emma says sharply, unable to hide the bitterness in her words.

“We were keeping it private,” Regina replies quietly, eyes locking with Emma in a silent apology.

“Well it was lovely running into you folks, but m’lady is starving and we are supposed to be meeting Cora and Zelena for lunch. We’re just here to pickup, I’m afraid, otherwise we’d have offered to stay and chat,” Rob cuts in, whisking Regina towards the counter to collect their order before either Emma or Ruby can say goodbye.

“You didn’t know about him, did you?” Ruby finally asks her once the happy couple have left the building.

“I told you, it’s been awhile since we last talked. I don’t know her as well as you all seem to think. We’re just workplace acquaintances.”

The words sting as they leave her mouth. How foolish she had been, to believe that things would work out, that Regina would actually want her. It was clear that Regina had made her decision; that being close to Emma was not safe.

“I’m sorry, Ruby, but I’m getting a migraine.” Emma excuses herself lamely before Ruby can protest, leaving the restaurant behind to go to her apartment and mourn the loss of her relationship before it had even really begun.

Read more on AO3

#swanqueen #swan queen #sq #swanqueen fanfiction #ao3 fanfic #80s fame au #fame au #emma x regina #once upon a time #ouat #emma swan #regina mills #swen #ouat fanfiction #bytherosebushwrites

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kcnevijay · 2 years ago

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JJBA Fan Fiction Post-Golden Wind and Pre-Stone Ocean

I wrote this March of 2022, but got discouraged because well, fan fiction is fan fiction right? Everyone writes it, because we're all so passionate about our shows/manga/etc. Anyhow, here's an idea I had in my head. If you think I should continue, let me know.

Part I: Title TBA

May 2007

Morioh, Japan; Rohan Kishibe’s residence, 10:30am

“It would appear that I’ve stumbled upon something quite bizarre.” Rohan rifled through two months worth of mail; he’d been away in Italy investigating some recent events, and had just returned home the night before. A particular letter in the pile had caught his attention. “A round envelope? I’ve never seen something like this, and no postage or return address, how odd. Someone must have dropped this is my mailbox. It’d better not be from that damned Josuke... though I doubt that. I’m not even sure if he can read or write. Hmmm... Well , let’s see.” Rohan perused the outside edge of the envelope for an opening. “A round envelope with no visible openings, how truly bizarre, oh here it is... and I see it opens into an origami of a crane. How traditional, and... unsatisfying. Hopefully this actually leads to something worthwhile” he groaned as he opened up the crane into a rounded flat sheet of paper. “Ah, here it is, after 5 years of wading through endless folds, we’ve finally reached the POINT of this letter. Let’s see what it says”

Master Rohan,

I hope this letter finds you well. I am reaching out because I need your help! I can’t reveal much, but I am a profound admirer of not just you work as an artist, but your part in the exposure and demise of Yoshikage Kira. As I’m sure you’re aware, his death and villainous reputation are by no means public knowledge, so hopefully this is enough to get you to meet me tomorrow at Cape Boing at 2pm.

Regards,

Godspeed

“Godspeed? Who the hell is this? Originally I thought this was some kind of prank, but those two knuckleheads Josuke and Okuyasu Nijimura couldn’t put two sentences together even if I gave them the words with Heaven’s Door. No, this is someone else. Alright, whoever you are, you’ve peaked the curiousity of the Great Rohan, I’ll meet you at Cape Boing. But first, I need to see an old friend, it would be unwise to meet some rando on the fringes of town without some sort of backup.”

Church of St. George; Eastern Ain Shams, Cairo. A group of nine Heliopolitan Priests gather in a hidden basement room, dimly lit by torches, wearing ritualistic robes.

“It is not without knowing the gravity of our power that we gather our flock here, in the place where Rameses once stood; in the land once cursed by the 10 plagues, and yet we stand; alive after all these centuries. It is for this that we gather here, nine priests, one for each god of the Great Ennead. And it is with us that we ask them to show themselves as we say their names”. The group chanted in unison “the sun god Atum; his children Shu and Tefnut; their children Geb and Nut; and their children Osiris, Isis, Set, and Nephthys. We call to you, oh great gods, so that you may bless our priesthood with your knowledge, wisdom and power.”

The room shakes. One by one, the torches brighten, until there are nine bright flames, lighting every crevice and hole in the ancient brick that line the room. It is here when a booming voice proclaims: “WE ARE THE ENNEAD, AND IT IS ATUM WHO SPEAKS. WHO IS SPOKEN FOR AMONGST THE BELIEVERS?” The lead priest responded, “It is I, Asim”. “HIGH PRIEST ASIM, WHAT IS IT YOU REQUEST?”. “Great god Atum, as you know, almost two decades ago, your offspring Horus was killed in a deadly battle, enslaved by the vampire Dio Brando, who was masquerading as a god himself. It is also known that your offspring, Anubis, was banished to the bottom of the Nile under similar circumstances. Several other men brought shame to the Ennead, using the names of the nine to represent Dio’s campaign of evil, despite not having even a mere endorsement from the great gods”

“WE KNOW THIS, WHY REPEAT IT?” “My god, it is our genuine concern that this campaign of evil was only paused for a time, but there are clear indicators that it has begun again”. “AND OF WHAT CONCERN IS THAT TO THE GREAT ENNEAD? ANUBIS AND HORUS MET A JUST FATE FOR THEIR TRANSGRESSIONS” “My god, it is not a requirement, but a humble request that you help us bring balance back in the battle against these evil doers who have risen again.” “AND WHAT, MAY I ASK, IS YOUR REQUEST?” “On January 16th, 1989, a man was reported dead to us, a great follower of yours, a true seer. He had been swallowed into a void created by the one who murdered him in the name of Dio, leaving only his arms behind, and though we know it is beyond your power to revive every soul lost in the battle between good and evil, we need this man. We need him to fight, and to win so that we may continue to prophesy and preach in the name of the Ennead”

“HMMMM. MANY KNOW THAT MY GRANDSON OSIRIS IS THE GOD OF RESURRECTION, BUT AS YOU KNOW, MY GRANDDAUGHTER ISIS WAS THE ONE WHO RESURRECTED HIM WHEN HE WAS SLAIN. SHE SHALL ADDRESS YOU NOW”. A woman comes forth to address the nine high priests “YOU HAVE MADE YOUR REQUEST SO I AM SURE YOU ARE AWARE OF WHAT THIS ENTAILS?”. Asim gestures to one of the other high priests who then retrieves several items wrapped in sheets, “Yes my god Isis, we have brought the bones from the two arms we recovered” “BRING THEM TO ME” The priest in charge of the bones hurriedly rushes to the center of the circle and unwraps them. “ASIM, HIGH PRIEST OF HELIOPOLIS, FOLLOWER AND TRUE BELIEVER OF THE GREAT ENNEAD, TONIGHT WE GRANT YOUR WISH TO RESSURECT THE SOUL OF OUR FALLEN DISCIPLE, MUHAMMAD AVDOL, SO THAT HE MAY FIGHT ALONGSIDE YOU AND DEFEAT OUR ENEMIES ONCE AGAIN”.

The flames start flickering slowly, picking up speed like pistons on a train until they flicker so fast that they almost burn in unison, and it is here where they begin to spiral to the center of the room, as if they were being sucked into a black hole, while not burning a single high priest. Faster and faster and faster, the room is a engulfed in a Kaleidescope of light from the flames, and then... darkness. Silence fills the room. The presence that was felt before is gone. Asim reaches for his lighter, and clicks it on. He looks around, to see that all eight of the other priests are knelt in prayer and astonishment, and there, at the center of the circle is a single pair of eyes staring back at him, flickering with distinction in the flames. The eyes of Muhammed Avdol.

Jotaro Kujo and Josuke Higashikata sit mid-flight in a Bombardier Global Express, w/ Okuyasu Nijimura in tow.

“Josuke, I was pretty explicit that you be the only one to meet me, so why is Okuyasu here” Jotaro said annoyed. “Jeez man, honestly I didn’t think it’d that big of a deal. Plus, it’s not every day you get to skip school and ride on a private jet” Josuke retorted. Okuyasu, “Yeah Jotaro, just relax. We’re just a couple of kids, taking in the good life”. “Be that as it may” Jotaro said, “This trip isn’t a social call. Josuke, the reason I wanted to talk to you alone and in person is because I have some bad news.” “Huh?!” Josuke said, “What do you mean” “Well, if you’d let me tell you” Jotaro said, seemingly more annoyed. Okuyasu is playing with the seat controls and the tray function. Star platinum intercedes. “Like I was saying, I have some bad news, and now that both of you are here, you’ll both have to bear witness... The old man is dead” “WHAAAAT?!” Josuke and Okuyasu exclaimed in unison. “He died suddenly in his sleep last night. To be honest, the old man wasn’t in the greatest shape to begin with, but the Speedwagon Foundation was keeping an eye on his health, so his sudden demise seems anything but ordinary to me.” “Seems kinda bizarre” said Okuyasu. “Yeah, I mean I just talked to the guy last week” said Josuke, “he seemed fine to me, even said he was coming to visit Morioh soon”. “Glad you both agree” Jotaro said, “And that’s why we’re on our way to New York to investigate.”

Morioh, Japan; Koichi Hirose Residence. It’s 10am the following morning and Rohan Kishibe is waiting impatiently for someone to answer the door.

“What in god’s name is taking him so long. I mean I know he’s married now, but is it too much to ask for someone to answer the door?” Rohan thought. The door opened, it was Koichi’s wife, Yukako Yamagishi. “Ah, Rohan, Ko told me you were coming over. Sorry for the delay, but you know, kids.” She says as her hair stand Love Deluxe holds a 5 year old upside down by his ankles while his 3 year old brother clings to his mom’s leg. “Come on in, Koichi will be right down. Now, as for you two” she gestured to her children, “Today is not the day to run mommy and daddy ragged, now go in the other room and play with your toys. PLAY NICE PLEASE. You know what happens when mommy catches you misbehaving”. Rohan passed the threshold, “You know I’m not surprised you’re such a good mother, that mean streak is a sight to behold”. Yukako laughed “Oh, they have no idea about that, but maybe one day they will. It’s nice to have Love Deluxe to help me though. It’s like having a free nanny. Anyways, how are you Rohan? It’s been a while”.

“I suppose It has, and especially as the older one’s Godfather, what’s his name again?” “It’s Rohan” “That’s right, well I’m sorry to say I don’t visit as often as I should, but these Pink Dark Boy deadlines don’t exactly hit themselves. With that being said, once I get this business solved with Koichi, I’ll definitely come by and spend some time with the boy. Does he draw?” “Well he’s five Rohan, so he draws like a five year old.” “I see, so not very good, but maybe if I use Heaven’s Do-” “You will NOT use your stand on my children Rohan, we already went over this the last time you baby sat” “Yes yes, you’re right, ok well I guess his mediocre drawing abilities will have to do. God forbid someone named Rohan can’t draw”. “Yes... God forbid” replied Yukako, “KO! Are you coming downstairs or what?!?!”. A voice echoed back “Coming!”. A small slight man bounded down the stairs and met his wife’s gaze at the landing. Yukako remarked, “If you weren’t so cute, I’d be incredibly annoyed right now, so fair warning, don’t let Rohan do anything that may risk you harming that handsome face, or you’ll come home to divorce papers”.

They kiss, “Love, you know you fell for way more than just my looks” responded Koichi. “That may be true” Yukako replied, “but nonetheless, PLEASE BE CAREFUL! Also, if any of this gets serious, I want in! It’s been too long since we got to go on an adventure and my mom’s long overdue to take care of the boys”. Koichi glanced at Rohan “Rohan Sensei, hope you have room for 3”. “Yes, yes” Rohan uttered, “we’re all one big happy family, solving crimes and riding around in a ugly colored van w/ ascots and a great dane. Fine, fine, Yukako, I will go investigate this letter with Koichi and when we return, IF, and I mean IF it turns out to be something, you may come along.” Yukako exclaimed, “YES! I can’t wait! I’ll be sure to make us all bento boxes”. “Yes, yes, bring a buffet for all I care. Koichi let’s go, I want to figure out who the hell this Godspeed is before we do anything” “Yes sensei, let’s go! Ok, bye my love! Bye kids”. Koichi kissed his wife and waved goodbye to his sons Rohan and Jotaro.

Koichi and Rohan walk through Morioh, making their way to Cape Boing for the 2pm meeting with the mystery man

“So I did some light reading. Godspeed comes from the middle english “God spede”, a phrase uttered between 1150 and 1500 AD to wish success as a result of God, specifically “May God cause you to succeed”. Now Godspeed is a part of the modern lexicon with hardly any religious connotation, and it just makes me wonder. What kind of person would write such a thing as their pseudonym?” “Well-” started Koichi, but Rohan kept on, “It would stand to reason that this is some sort of code, so perhaps we should separate the words and disregard all this middle English nonsense. Hmmm, unless the person IS english? God, speed, possibly english. What does is mean Koichi?” “Well, I think that-” Rohan interrupted again, “Perhaps this is a cult and whoever this is intends to use us as a blood sacrifice over the edge of the Cape Boing observation deck” “Well, I hope not. Yukako would probably kill whoever did that.” “Be that as it may, to get something like this out of the blue... And they know about Kira. No one knows about Kira” “Maybe they’re connected to Mr. Jotaro or someone outside of Morioh?” Koichi said. “Perhaps” retorted Rohan, “It would align with the use of middle english. If this person were Japanese, the word Shinsoku would suffice”. “Maybe” said Koichi, “I guess we’ll see”. “We shall, and if it’s that damned Josuke again, I swear, there will be a world of pain awaiting him”

Daniel K. Inouye International Airport, Honolulu, Hawaii, 11:30am

“PLEASE, can we stop for some poke?!” pleaded Okuyasu. “No, and I’m not going to repeat myself. We’re here to fill up, and then we’re on our way to our final stop”. “Please please PLEASE”, “Good grief, give me a second”. Jotaro picked up his phone and called an undisclosed number “Yes, sorry to trouble you, but I’m traveling with a couple of children disguised as grown men who’d like some traditional Hawaiian Poke. Can we get some delivered to the run way in the next 30 minutes? Yes... uh huh... sure... And yes we’re straight away to New York from here so have an escort at JFK ready for us... Yeah thanks”. Jotaro hung up “Ok, you satisfied”. Josuke and Okuyasu proceed to do a happy dance, to which Jotaro looks away, shaking his head.

Cape Boing Observation Deck, 1:56pm. Rohan and Koichi approach.

Rohan starts in, “You know Koichi, you would think that if you sent some creepy vague letter to someone with a specific meeting time, you’d at least have the class and dignity to show up early”. “I agree Sensei, but we still have no idea who this is. Maybe they have a good reason?” As Rohan and Koichi walked by a very familiar pay phone, it rings. Rohan and Koichi stop, Rohan looks around suspiciously, then reaches into the booth and grabs the phone, “You this this is a game Josuke?!?!?!?”. A voice on the other end responds, “Rohan Kishibe, this is the operator, please step away from the phone booth and await further instructions”. “What?! Who the hell is this? You bet-” The phone booth begins to rumble and Rohan back away. “What’s going on?!” yelled Koichi. “I guess we’re about to find out” responded Rohan. The ground shakes. Outside of Rohan and Koichi, the area is deserted since it’s not summer yet. As the ground continues to shake the phone booth lowers into the ground. A hole forms revealing several steps. The ground stops shaking. Click... clack... click... clack “Well this can’t be Josuke, he’s certainly a pompous ass, but he’s not one for grand entrances” Click.. Clack.. Click.. A man emerges from the shadows, an older gentleman. We recognize that upright bearing and that scar, but Rohan and Koichi have no idea. “I bet you don’t know who I am. Well allow me to elucidate ya”.

Queens, New York, USA; JFK Airport, 10pm EST. Jotaro, Josuke and Okuyasu exit their plane and enter a van chartered by the Speedwagon foundation.

“I’m soooooo hungry. You know, Josuke, Chef Tonio said New York has some of the best pizza and culinary delights, even though he said it’s not exactly the most authentic Italian food” “We don’t have time for that right now!” Jotaro retorted, “Driver, take us to the old man. We’ll get you guys a pizza once we do some investigating”. “Awww maaan” Josuke chimed in “I don’t know why we can’t at least get some grub first, it’s not like the old man’s gonna come back to life”. “No, we’ll get something to eat after. Now shut up you two, we have work to do”

London, England; Midnight, in the catacombs beneath a street so aptly named, “Ogre Street”. Cloaked individuals meet beneath the light of kerosene lanterns

As each kerosene lighter is placed, a circle of 12 individuals is formed. Each places their lantern on the floor, and proceeds to walk along the same path, in a circulatory motion. Murmuring ensues, but not from the souls who walk the path, but rather the souls who dwell in these catacombs. The murmuring gets louder and louder, the 12 cloaked individuals remain quiet, continuing their motion and pace. The murmuring has now turned to yelling, bickering and in-fighting, and then... a loud CLAP is heard. The pacing stops, each individual turns and faces the center of the circle. “Let’s begin.”

Back in Morioh, in an underground bunker just beneath the Cape Boing obervatory, a mysterious man with a pilgrim style buckled hat looks out through a one way mirror that gives the illusion of being a cliff on the other side.

“Would you two like some coffee, tea?”

“Sure” uttered Rohan, “but never mind that, so you are the world famous Robert EO Speedwagon? I thought I recognized you, but that’s impossible. You died in 1952 at the age of 89. That would make you... 140?! How is such a thing even possible?! The oldest person to ever live in the age of modern medicine was Jeanne Calment, who died at 122.”

“Well, in my defense” started Speedwagon, “I thought we’d have flying cars by now, but I suppose an artificial heart and the key to living over a century without becoming a blood sucking vampire was enough for me”. Anyhow, I didn’t come here to chat about the secret medical advances of the Speedwagon foundation, I-”

“ENOUGH TALKING, HEAVEN’S DOOR!!!” yelled Rohan

Speedwagon collapsed into a leatherbound chair. “Ok...” Rohan said perusing through the pages of the man’s soul “Yes, yes, oil tycoon... Born in London to a poor family... very Bohemian Rhapsody... Met a young Jonathan Joestar in 1888... mourned his untimely demise... It says here that he’s-” “NOW STOP RIGHT THERE, I forbid you from uttering any more of my personal information aloud!” Speedwagon uttered, the book in the middle of his face still wide open. “Oh, you’re no fun. FINE” said Rohan, “So if you’re not going to consent to me reading our reason for being here in the pages of your mind, perhaps you might tell us?” “Certainly” said Speedwagon, “Mr. Hirose, perhaps you could hit the lights?” “UM, sure!” Koiche said with a slight delay. “Don’t worry Koiche” said Rohan, “At 140, I have my doubts this man would have the strength to murder us or bring us all this way” “I have no intention of killing you two! Now if you could stop with the foolishness, time is of the essence!”

Flatiron Building, 5th Ave, New York, NY, Jotaro and company enter the penthouse suite where Joseph Joestar’s body was found

“You know” Jotaro began, “I know facts and trivia are lost on you two. You’re too busy thinking about your next meal, but you may find it interesting to know that the building we’re standing in was completed in 1902, and at the time it was considered one of the tallest buildings in New York City. In 1940, after moving to the United States with his wife Suzi Q and his mother Lisa Lisa, Joseph and his wife purchased this very property, and not long after that, my mother was born.” “Well, that’s cool” uttered Okuyasu.

“SHUT UP. Ever since we left Morioh you two have been on an unscheduled sabbatical, cackling about food and free loading. Now that we’re here, you need to listen to me” “OKAY” both said in unison, “Sorry Jotaro”. “Ok whatever, anyhow, this building had two architects, Frederick Dinkelberg and Daniel Burnham. What’s funny, this penthouse suite originally belonged to Daniel Burnham, but what’s most important is that his initials are D.B.” “D... B... I don’t get it” said Josuke. “Well” started Jotaro, “I wasn’t planning on teaching class today, but I suppose I also wasn’t planning on the old man being murdered” “MURDERED?!” Jotaro paused again, “...so I’ll just put it this way. There’s only one man who was the plague of the Joestar family for the better part of a century, and his name had the same initials. Dio Brando”. “But isn’t Dio dead?” said Josuke. “He was. He is. I mean, I definitely killed him, inherited his stand the World, me and the old man even watched his vampiric essence disintegrate into the morning sun”

“But it’s too much of a coincidence for the old man to have died so suddenly. That and, to be frank, I’ve been doing some investigating of my own lately. Here’s what I’ve found”

Morioh, Japan. Back to our friends and their new elderly associate.

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thebrotherscurtis · 2 years ago

Text

“Imposter”

Links: AO3. FF.net. Wattpad. Disclaimer: S.E. Hinton owns all characters. Summary: Two years after the accident, Darry still can’t reconcile his roles as brother and parent. Post-book, Darry-centric fic.

Don’t kill him, don’t kill him, don’t kill him.

No, death might be too merciful for whatever Pony’d done to get suspended an entire week. Worse yet, the secretary wouldn’t tell me why. Just said it was a conversation best had in person.

Well, here I was now face-to-face with Principal Brown for the first time since junior year. I tried to suppress the memories, but sitting across from that stoic face sent me back to age sixteen. Lord, was I a dumbass. Cutting class with Paul, hiding behind the football bleachers, passing a joint between us, taking swigs from his old man’s flask … We wasted two hours before a janitor caught us and chased our asses straight to the principal’s office.

Maybe I was meant to remember, though. Humble me. Remind me whatever Pony’d done couldn’t be worse.

“Always nice to see you, Darrel.” Mr. Brown flashed a phony smile. “I hope you’re doing well.”

He hoped nothing , the way his eyes widened real big when I walked in. He was anticipating someone put together, someone professional, someone who was going places, the very someone I was back in senior year. Anyone but me. Decked in a tattered uniform, reeking of tar and sweat, I’d aged a decade in two years.

“Doing fine, sir.” I forced a grin and extended my hand to shake his.

He grimaced, staring me down like I was some kind of disease, and kept his hands neatly folded atop his desk. “Glad to hear,” he said, phony smile returning.

“All right, what’d he do?” I demanded, no longer able to maintain a polite facade. “It’ll save us both time if you cut straight to the worst of it.”

“Darrel Curtis, I may no longer be your principal, but you will still treat me with respect.”

“Yeah, there’s a funny thing about respect.” I looked him straight in the eye, refusing to let him think he’d humiliated me. “It goes both ways.”

“Indeed, I’ve shown you respect, and now I expect the same in return.” He combed through a stack of papers for a few moments and glanced up. “For starts, should we ever need to conference again, show up in clothes that aren’t soiled. This is a school, not a barnyard.”

“Well, excuse me, your highness, for not having the time to change into a tuxedo,” I snapped. “I didn’t realize I was having a meeting with the king.”

“Cut right to the worst of it, huh?”

I nodded. “I’m missing an hour of work to be here. Make it worth my time.”

“Mrs. Morris caught your brother writing another student’s paper last week.”

"That all?”

“Surely, you understand the severity of academic dishonesty.”

“Of course, I do. Just seems harsh for one lousy paper.” The urge to defend Pony grew stronger and stronger with each passing second. “You suspended him an entire week for that?”

“Believe me, I wish it were one paper. Here.” He pushed a stack of papers in front of me—dozens and dozens of them. “Take a look and see for yourself.”

I glanced down and back up. “He wrote all of this?”

“Most of it, yes,” he explained. “His scheme involved many students, or should I say, customers. In short, your brother was making a business out of completing other students' work.”

“C’mon, this ain’t even his handwriting.” I sifted through the so-called evidence and held up a paper with penmanship worse than Soda. “This.” I shook it and slapped it back down on the desk. “This proves nothing.”

"Mimicking handwriting was part of his business plan."

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

"No, I have it on good accord he was advertising his ability to forge handwriting.”

“Look, I mean no disrespect.” I meant all the disrespect in the world. “ It just sounds far-fetched, like something out of a movie.”

“Believe me, I know,” he acknowledged. “Let’s just say in my twenty-five years in education, this is the worst case of plagiarism I’ve ever seen. We’ve been investigating it all week. Must’ve been quite the lucrative business given a grand total of twenty-nine students admitted they paid him to do their work. Well, twenty-nine that we know of. I wouldn’t be shocked if we uncover more.”

“So that’s your schtick—encouraging kids to nark?”

He snatched the papers back from me and tucked them in a folder. “We interviewed several students, and yes, out of necessity, we offered a plea deal of sorts. In exchange for information, a chance to redo the plagiarized assignments.”

“That sounds shady,” I concluded. “If I were failing a class and you told me I could redo the assignment, I’d throw a kid under the bus, too.”

“I don’t think you understand how serious this is,” he rattled on. "The English department is having a heck of a time cleaning up the aftermath, and I wish I could tell you English was the only department impacted. He was writing lab reports, history essays, you name it."

"Christ, that’s ridiculous." I raked a hand through my hair, fighting the urge to storm right out of the office. “I know plagiarism ain't a laughing matter. I know you could justify flunking him if it's true, but we’re talking about a kid who can barely remember to brush his teeth or put on his shoes before he leaves the house. There's no way. You expect me to believe he single-handedly pulled this off?”

“I’m not sure what to tell you other than all fingers point back to him.”

“Because you bribed everyone to rat him out.”

“We had to,” he insisted. “With so many students implicated, we had no other choices. Now you can chew me out all you want, but it won’t matter. He already fessed up this morning.”

“Probably only because you had him framed. What kind of plea deal did you offer him?”

“Suspension instead of expulsion.”

Expulsion. Fuck. The word settled in my stomach like a bolt of lead and knocked the bravado right out of me. “So, suspended a week?” I sat up a bit straighter, wishing I were dressed more like Paul’s father than my own. “This ain’t gonna affect his grade or nothing?”

“We considered failing him for each class in which this occurred, but when we did the math, it would amount to failing two grades of high school.”

Might as well expel him at that point. I swallowed the remainder of my pride and spat out the sincerest apology I could muster. “I’m sorry, sir. I shouldn’t have lost it with you. I’m sure you have his best interest at heart.”

He didn’t and never would, but if my outburst tipped him over the edge, if my outburst dared him to flunk Pony, I’d never forgive myself. Pony would graduate. I might fuck up parenting in every other regard, but I wouldn’t fuck that up.

“I assure you, we all do,” he told me, tone anything but genuine. “His teachers are furious, but none of them, not a single one, wants him to flunk out of high school. We’re making an exception. Suspended one week starting today and a month’s worth of detention upon his return.”

“So his grades won’t be impacted? His As will remain As?”

“If he had As, then yes,” he agreed. “Completing everyone else’s assignments doesn’t leave much time for your own.”

“Thank you, sir. I mean that. Thank you for not flunking him.

“I couldn’t justify it when he has such a bright future ahead of him, and thank God for that, considering what he came from.”

What he came from. God, he’d said the same thing to me junior year—that I had a chance, one I shouldn’t squander—and I’ll never forget how he read me the Riot Act and let Paul off with a light tap on the wrist. Out of concern, he’d claimed, concern my old man didn’t care about my academic future.

“I’m worried about him,” Mr. Brown continued, voice oozing in feigned concern, “and what kind of home environment he’s coming home to.”

“You don’t have to worry about that. He’s in good hands, I promise.”

“I want to trust you, but you hadn’t the faintest clue this was happening. What else are you missing?”

“You don’t have to worry,” I repeated. “If anything, I’m too hard on him.”

“Not hard enough, I’d say.” He shook his head firmly. “If he were my kid, I’d put the fear of God in him before it got worse.”

And here came the unsolicited parenting advice.

“Keep closer tabs on him, and do something about that attitude,” he suggested. “Pony was anything but remorseful with me this morning, and he’s been lipping off to his teachers, too.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll take care of it,” I assured him. “I’ll shape him up so good you won’t even recognize him when he returns.

“I hope you will.” And with that, Mr. Brown stood up and shooed me to the door. “That was all we needed to discuss today, Darrel. Now if you’ll excuse me now, I have a meeting in five minutes.”

“I’ll handle it,” I reiterated as he closed the door. “Don’t you worry. I’ll handle everything.”

I’d handle it all right, but how?

“Thank you for coming in on such short notice, Darrel,” Mr. Brown’s secretary said. “I’ll call Ponyboy down to the office, and you can take him home.”

I said nothing. Just gave her a slight nod, so she’d know I’d heard her.

My mother used to tell me if I had nothing nice to say to say nothing at all, and I should’ve followed that advice with Mr. Brown. One call to the state would land us in hotter water than we’d ever been in. I knew that, and I knew our caseworker would believe any lie from his lips before she’d listen to me.

I knew that, and my temper still got the best of me.

xxxxx

The drive home was dead silent. Mom used to fall quiet like that when we’d really pissed her off—keep us in suspense until the punishment felt like mercy. Maybe that was what I was going for, but truth be told, I didn’t know what to do, or what to say, or how to punish him.

“Go to your room,” I ordered the moment we set foot in the house.

“Ain’t you gonna yell at me?”

“I dunno yet.” I shrugged and stabbed a finger at his door. “Go. Now.”

“Fine.”

“And wait for me,” I added, trying to sound intimidating, but that brat still slammed his door three times. “I heard that, you little shit.”

“Good.”

“Jesus, what happened?” Soda asked before I could even sit down.

“None of your business.”

“What happened?”

“I said none of your damn business.”

“Look, if you won’t tell me, I’ll march right into his room and ask him myself.”

“I’ll tell you later.” I hurled myself facedown into the couch. “Let me take a nap first.”

“Or you could tell me now.” He took a seat on the coffee table and poked my arm until I sat up. “I ain’t bluffin’. You wanna tell your side of the story first, you better start talking.”

“For the love of all that’s holy, little buddy,” I hissed. “Give me a break. I don’t even know where to begin.”

“How ‘bout the beginning?” he pressed on. “Seems as good a place to start as any.”

“Sometimes you piss me off even more than him.”

“Right back at you.”

I gave his shoulders a light shove and tried to walk away, but he pushed me back into the couch twice as hard. “Start talking, Superman.”

“Fuck this.” I chucked both throw pillows across the room. “Fuck him, fuck you, fuck everything, but fuck you especially. Go ask him. I’m tired.”

Soda retrieved the pillows and hurled them at my face one by one. “Too bad. I’m only asking you now.”

Fuck off, I muttered under my breath yet relented. “He’s suspended a week and has detention for an entire month after that. Happy now?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“And you’ll never guess what he did,” I said. “Not in a million years.”

“Well, If I had to guess, I’d say shit finally hit the fan on that business he and Curly were trying to run.”

“Curly?!” I scoffed. “I mean, yeah, they nailed him for plagiarism, but I didn’t hear shit all about Curly.”

“Yeah, he recruited the customers,” Soda stated as if it were front-page news to everybody except me. “That was their agreement. Curly found the students, Pony did their homework, and they split the profit 50/50. I told ‘em both it was a stupid idea.”

“And when were you planning on telling me this?” I demanded. “I can’t believe you knew.”

“I thought I’d convinced him not to go through with it,” he continued. “Told ‘em it was dumb and Pony agreed, but then he started staying up later, claiming he had all this homework. He said it was all his, but I knew better. For a smart kid, he’s kinda a dumbass sometimes, huh?”

“Nah, not this time at least.” I sighed, finally admitting I was impressed. “It’s brilliant, honestly. Damn, I could’ve made a killing if I’d dreamed up something half that wild. You know how many football players would sell their left kidney for someone to write their English paper? I don’t know if I should kill him or congratulate him.”

“Y’all talking about me?” Pony piped up from the corner.

“I thought I sent you to your room.” I shot him a stern look and pointed back at his door. “Get your ass back in there.”

“Yeah, well, I heard you hollering at Soda and had to see what was up.”

“Nothing’s up,” Soda lied. “Go back to your room.”

“If you’re both gonna yell at me, you might as well do it now.”

“Fine,” I said. “Tell me about Curly.”

“Soda already explained it,” Pony replied. “I told Mr. Brown it was all my idea, so he’d lay off him.”

“Jesus Christ,” Soda laid into him before I could even open my mouth. “You should’ve saved your own ass and told him it was all Curly’s idea. I thought he dropped out anyway.”

“Nope. Tim made him go back. Figured it’d keep him on the straight and narrow and out of juvie.”

“Hey, not a half-bad idea.” I glanced at Soda. “I oughta send your ass back to school. Keep you out of trouble.”

“Shut up,” Soda growled and turned back to Pony. “Look, I know you ain’t the type to rat out your friends, and I respect that, but I’m begging you just this once…”

“Nope.” Pony shook his head in staunch refusal. “Not a chance in hell. Besides, I couldn’t blackmail him if I did that.”

“Blackmail him?” Soda asked.

“Yeah. I told him he had to give me half his portion of the profits, or I’d tell Tim.”

“Tell Tim what?” I asked.

“Beats me.” Pony shrugged. “Just said I’d tell Tim, and that’s all I had to say.”

And what I wouldn’t give for him to fear me like that. What I wouldn’t give to live in a universe where I’ll tell Darry meant something to him.

“Don’t get too excited,” I said. “You’re putting all that cash in a college fund. Every last cent.”

Without a word, he rolled his eyes and started walking toward his room.

“I’m talking to you, Ponyboy Michael,” I called after him. “Get back here.”

“We ain’t even close to done,” Soda added.

“You both sent me to my room, so I’m going there.” And with that, he slammed his door a fourth time.

Soda stared at the door for a moment and turned back to me. “You asked me if you should congratulate him or kill him … I say kill him. Definitely kill him.”

“Yeah, whatever.” I planted my face back into the couch cushions and shoved the pillows over my head. “Tomorrow,” I mumbled into the fabric. “Tomorrow, I’ll kill him.”

#the outsiders #outsiders #outsiders fanfiction #fanfiction #fanfic #darry curtis #ponyboy curtis #sodapop curtis #curly shepard

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bishopsbelova · 2 years ago

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I have literally sat on this for about 18 hours (and spent the entirety of my work day thinking about it. I’m impressed I got any work done or that no one asked me what was wrong).

At first, I hated that apparently Liv and Amanda haven’t talked. I mean, we can at least assume that they have physical seen each other in a while considering Amanda is obviously pregnant and Liv didn’t know (course though Amanda was probably like 5ish months when she finally told Liv about Jesse and who knows how far along with Billie bc that whole timeline is just a mess that I don’t want to dig through). I refuse to believe they haven’t at least texted or talked on the phone.

But atlas, if we’re to believe that they really haven’t spoken since Amanda left or if they have, it was probably terse and short. To an extent, I can get it.

These are two women who have been through so damn much, taken advantaged of by men, groomed in Liv’s case, assaulted (Amanda was raped by her fucking boss), kidnapped, shot at (actually shot twice in Amanda’s case and probably actually shot in Liv’s case if that promo says anything), had crappy childhoods, toxic family environments, had everyone walk out on them (parents, partners, relationships) and they’re fucking traumatized and don’t like to deal with the root of their traumas with their therapists. (I need Lindstrom and Hanover to stage an intervention or something)

Amanda and Liv are easily one of the most, if not the most important relationships in each other lives and is one of the strongest and realistic portrayals of female friendships that I’ve seen in media. They care so deeply about each other but it wasn’t always like that; they had a rocky start and have come a long way since season 13. Sure things may be rocky again right now; but that doesn’t change the fact about how loyal they are to each other at their cores.

We’ve seen how Liv reacts when people leave her; she’s shuts down, closes herself off and doesn’t reach out. So yes, she’s happy for Amanda and understands that Amanda had to make that decision to leave; but it doesn’t change the fact that it was just another person who walked out on Liv (and then didn’t reach out when she said she wouldn’t just disappear).

Shit, Stabler walked out on her, didn’t even have the balls to tell her he was leaving (she found out from Cragen) and then he shows up a decade later and blows up her life, they spend the next year and half in a weird fucking whiplash nonsense. Liv never dealt with Stabler leaving - she as much as tells Amanda that in the hotel room and then he shows back up and things are weird. Liv doesn’t reach out, doesn’t make contact because a part of her still thinks she’s gonna open up to him again, get close to him again and he’s gonna leave again.

I can see Liv at first not reaching out to Amanda to give her time to settle cause even Liv knows Amanda doesn’t like change; but at the same time, Liv is still an NYPD Captain and has an entire precinct to manage - communication is probably gonna be slim pickings; but a few weeks go by, maybe a month. Maybe, just maybe, Liv is transported back to that June day in 2011 when Cragen told her Elliot put his papers in, she goes back to those days, weeks, months, years following of no contact.

Liv roughly knew Elliot and Amanda for the same amount of time before they left (the only major difference in how they left is that Amanda told her) and maybe Liv thinks she’s re-living that same thing again and she can’t do that again.

And so in true Olivia Benson nature, she closes off and doesn’t reach out. Doesn’t make that first move because she can’t be hurt again by another person she cares about even though she wants to and she misses her best friend but there’s also something that won’t let her break the communication barrier, so Liv does the next best things and asks/gets updates about Amanda through Carisi - still waiting for Amanda to make that contact.

Similarly, we know how Amanda deals with trauma - she closes off and she deals with people leaving her by lashing out. Choosing to leave SVU was probably the hardest fucking decision Amanda Rollins had to make - because this squad, these people, became her family over her tenure there; Liv and Carisi were the ones who broke down her walls and are the reason she started letting people in. When you let people in, you get attached and then change is a bitch.

There was nothing keeping Amanda in Altana, so leaving there was probably easier; but Fin and Liv and the familiarity - they are reasons to want to stay at SVU - but Jesse and Billie and Carisi are the reasons to leave. There’s gonna be a pull about what’s the right reason and what’s the wrong reason and even now, especially now, Amanda probably feels guilty about leaving; because she feels like she abandoned Liv.

Hell, barely a month after Amanda left, Liv got jumped in the fucking street. (And you know Amanda heard about that from Carisi)

There’s no doubt in my mind that Amanda wanted to reach out to Liv - she was just so scared of letting Liv down, this woman who she looked up when she first came to svu and who has become such an important part of her life and is her children’s godmother. She loves and respects Liv’s so damn much and I think it terrifies Amanda that she could be letting her down by doing what’s best for herself - (even if Liv would never hold that against her)

Amanda is also probably busy as hell what with a new job and new baby on the way, maybe even apartment/house hunting - and then time goes by and suddenly it’s been too long and reaching out probably feels like the wrong decision because you waited too long. Maybe Amanda also tells herself that if Liv cared, she’d reach out herself.

Also Amanda’s spent her entire life knowing that being independent and not relying on people is the only way to live. Yes, she’s been working past that - but a couple of years of therapy are not gonna just undo decades worth of trauma and damage that go as deep as Amanda’s. There’s gonna be back pedals too. A lot of them.

That scene at the end of Organized Crime says so damn much even beyond the words that Amanda and Liv say and Mariska and Kelli play it so fucking well. You can tell they still love and respect each other, you can tell Liv’s happy for Amanda (and Carisi) but still hurt at the lack of contact, you can tell Amanda fells guilty for not reaching out. (And you even have clueless third wheeling Stabler)

So that leaves Amanda and Liv in this weird limbo of what do we do now. And it’s gonna take some effort, but they’ll get back to where they were because at their core that love and respect isn’t going anywhere.

#svu #svu spoilers #amanda rollins #olivia benson #rolivia

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twistedtummies2 · 1 year ago

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Year of the Bat - Number 20

Welcome to Year of the Bat! In honor of Kevin Conroy, Arleen Sorkin, and Richard Moll, I’m counting down my Top 31 Favorite Episodes of “Batman: The Animated Series” throughout this January. We’ve reached the Top 20 of the countdown! TODAY’S EPISODE QUOTE: “Why couldn’t you just let me make-believe?!” Number 20 is…Baby Doll.

I had a hard time deciding between this classic episode and “The Clock King,” our previous entry. Both are episodes that debut new villains for the show, and in both cases, they were villains with very few appearances, but who have developed a noticeable following in years since. However, I think Baby Doll – in regards to both the character and the story – hits harder on an emotional level, which is why this takes precedence over the Clock King. The plot focuses on Batman trying to stop a series of mysterious kidnappings going on across Gotham. The perpetrator of these crimes is a childlike supervillainess called Baby Doll. It’s eventually revealed that Baby Doll is one Mary Dahl; a former child actress. Dahl suffers from a condition called systemic hypoplasia; while she ages mentally, emotionally, and so on, her physical body forever remains trapped in the form of a little girl. Mary got her start in a sitcom, where she played a character called “Baby Doll,” which made her a star. Since she couldn’t age, she was able to play this adorable little girl for a full decade…but things changed when a new character was brought onto the show, and ended up upstaging Dahl’s own.

Jealous and infuriated, the fame having gone to her head, Mary quit the program. However, her childlike appearance, combined with her being typecast as Baby Doll, led to her being unable to find a stable career, and her whole life fell into a downward spiral. Her mind eventually snapped; she could no longer fully distinguish fantasy from reality. As the supervillain Baby Doll, the name taken from her old character, Mary tries to rebuild the fantasy life she always wanted and loved so much, kidnapping her co-stars and trying to recreate the perfect world she believes she once had.

While I can’t prove it for certain, I feel this episode MUST have been inspired by the horror film “Whatever Happened to Baby Jane?” That film’s titular antagonist was a former child actress. Her career tanked at some point, and her younger sister became a bigger star than she was, leaving the once-spoiled-with-success Baby Jane jealous and bitter. Over the course of the film, Baby Jane’s sanity deteriorates due to various things, as it becomes harder and harder for her to separate fantasy and reality. It all sounds disturbingly close to Baby Doll in this episode; even the name is similar! About all that’s difference is the twist about aging: in the movie, Baby Jane is depicted as an old hag by the time she becomes the villain. Baby Doll’s plight, however, is partially the result of her being UNABLE to physically age.

Regardless of inspiration, Baby Doll is an episode that combines so many great elements together, particularly when it comes to the matter of tone. There’s a lot of different levels and layers, tonally, to this story: as you might imagine from its title, and from the basic setup of the title character, there’s a nice big dollop of campy silliness involved in the story, and it does take full advantage of the humor that come from that. However, the episode can also be quite creepy in places, with the visual and story-based motifs of innocence lost and being trapped in an endless childhood, two wonderfully clashing ideas. On top of that, it’s really quite a heartbreaking story: while Mary’s fall from grace was at least partially her own doing, you can’t help but feel sorry for her. Through no real fault of her own, she’s trapped in an inescapable position in life, and it’s easy to sympathize with someone whose entire scheme stems from a place of wanting to go back to happier, simpler, better times.

This is also another episode – much like the two Riddler stories I covered earlier in the countdown – where a big part of what makes the story great is how it ends. The climactic finale to Baby Doll is widely regarded as one of the most disturbing and sad in the entire series. It’s a big part of why the character is so highly revered, and why the episode is a fan favorite. It’s genuinely surprising that, with the following Baby Doll has, she’s never been adapted into comics. Unlike the Clock King, the DCAU is where she got her start…but unlike characters such as Harley Quinn and Lock-Up, Baby Doll never really went anywhere after the fact. She’s made a few cameos and been homage in other media and mainstream comics, but this and her other appearance in B:TAS (“Love is a Croc,” where Baby Doll teams up with Killer Croc, of all characters) remain her only major stories of note. Considering how strong this particular episode is, maybe that’s not such a bad thing: sometimes, one great story is all it takes.

Tomorrow we move on to Number 19! Hint: “Hit me, Riley! Maybe I’ll wake up and be a millionaire, too!”

#list #countdown #best #favorites #new year's special #year of the bat #top 31 btas episodes #btas #batman: the animated series #dcau #dc #batman #animation #tv #number 20 #baby doll #mary dahl

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reiding-writing · 1 year ago

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HI LOVE UR WORK ESPECIALLY COLD READER IVE BEEN BINGING THEM AND I NEED MOREE

Soo speaking of i think prompt 15 could be a really cute cold reader prompt for something and I WOULD LOVE IT

HOMETOWN [CLIMACTERIC]

/ˌhəʊmˈtaʊn/

15. “I can’t believe you remembered.”

WARNINGS: fem!reader, mentions of spencer’s bullying, made up childhood bully (sorry spence <3), swearing as per, typical cold!reader antics

s7!spencer x cold!reader fluff?? 3.0k event masterlist!!

main masterlist!! ⋆｡°✩ cold!reader masterlist!!

a/n: great minds think alike huh? the fact that both these requests specified for it to be cold!reader as well is insane to me 😭😭

There’s that saying that the worst people in school always end up going into jobs that provide for others; The idea that petty school bullies take up careers in hospitality or community service despite all of their obvious social flaws.

Honestly, Spencer always found the idea ridiculous. They had just as much of a chance as going into a hospitality job as they did a 9-5 office job.

Their attitude didn’t have any causational impact on their future career whatsoever, people just focused on the people that did end up in those fields and then generalised it to the larger population with no reasonable backing.

But he’d be lying if that wasn’t the first thing that ran through his head when he walked into station 14 of the LVMPD and ran right into somebody from his middle school.

Somebody who fit that god awful false idea to a T.

“We’ll get you set up asap, Robinson, DeGaris, show the agents to 22B will you?”

Spencer knew the second he turned around. Some people’s faces never really mature through puberty. The bone structure doesn’t change and they just end up looking like a taller version of their child self.

“Would you look at that? Looks like we’ve made it to the big leagues,” Officer DeGaris nudges his partner with a raise of his eyebrows, and Robinson shakes his head with a short laugh in response.

“More like we’re doing such a bad job they had to call in the big leagues,” Robinson pushes DeGaris’ head away with the palm of his hand before clasping his fists together at his waist. “Welcome to Las Vegas, land of casinos, neon signs, and… serial killers apparently— Uh I’m Caleb, this is Will, chances are you’ll see a lot of us over the next however long you’re here,”

“Pleasure,” Hotch holds out his hand to shake the two officers’, who promptly move to shake hands with the rest of the team afterwards.

By the time the two reach you and Spencer stood at the back of the group he feels like he might throw up his heart from how fast it was beating, and he swerves the shakes with all the awkwardness of his usual evasions as he excuses himself to walk ahead of the team.

It was stupid really. It had been almost two decades since what had happened, yet even just being in his proximity was making Spencer sweat like he was a final girl in a horror movie.

“Excuse us,” Your words hold no social grace as you slide past the two officers to follow after Spencer. He wasn’t the best with meeting new people, but he never left the conversation before it could even start. “Reid-”

Although mildly confused, the two officers don’t seem all that disheartened as the two of you disappear into the meeting room, their attention turning back to the rest of your team.

“Well,” Caleb claps his hands together with a politely awkward smile. “We’ll let you guys get settled in, if you need anything at all come and find one of us and we’ll do our best to get it for you,” He gestures between himself and Will stood next to him, gazing half-blankly into the open shutters of the window into the room with furrowed eyebrows at yourself and Spencer like he’s trying to put puzzle pieces together in his mind.

“Thank you officer, we will,” Hotch gives the two a small nod before gesturing the team into the room and leaving the two policemen outside.

—

At least the station had a coffee machine. Spencer’s one saving grace in the fact that he was not only working on a case in his own home city but also in the same town he grew up in, a town with some very familiar faces.

The scent of the caffeinated beverage was enough to bring him back to his right mind a little as it hit the ceramic mug with a burst of steam, and Spencer watched the liquid flow aimlessly as he waited for his drink to be made.

Coffee solved all his problems.

“Hey,”

Most of the time.

With a slow breath and his eyes shut to compose himself, Spencer turned around slowly to greet the voice, hit lips pressed into a straight line as his eyes opened once more, greeted with an all too familiar sight.

“I thought I recognised you Spencer, or sorry, it’s Agent Reid now right?” Will raised an eyebrow slightly, his hands stuffed in his pockets.

There was no real malice behind his tone, no sarcasm or taunting, no twitch in his facial expression that could make Spencer think he was trying to get under his skin. But he did. And it made Spencer feel like a 9 year old all over again.

“It’s uh, Doctor Reid actually,”

Will gives a short laugh and a nod, like Spencer’s title was something he’d expected. “Right, right, of course, so you’re not an FBI Agent then?”

“I am,” Spencer answers shortly, hands wringing together behind his back as he leans against the kitchenette counter. “But the title of Doctor outranks the title of Agent,”

He could see that familiar glint in Will’s eye as he explained the reasoning behind his official title, like he was looking at some puny know-it-all rather than a person of his own age.

“Very impressive,” Will gives him a slow, almost animated nod, and Spencer has never been more grateful for the shrill beeping of an automated coffee machine as he tears his eyes from Will to pick up his mug, cradling it between his to hands.

“Well, it was uh, good— to see you again Billy I’m glad you got where you wanted to go in life—“

“I don’t go by that name anymore,” Will crossed his arms over his chest with a shake of his head, his expression cordial despite the way his fists clenched like the mae had caused physical discomfort to him. “I go by Will now.”

“Right, Will, I should get back to my team now,”

“I’m sure they can wait a few minutes, we should catch up, for old time’s sake,”

—

“Where is Reid?” You exhale exasperatedly, biting your tongue to keep yourself in check as you turn towards Morgan and Emily with a show of your hands.

“Maybe the coffee machine was broken,” Emily shrugs nonchalantly as she sorts through the scene photos, occasionally passing one over the table towards you to hang up on the board.

“As if I needed any more reasons to hate those pieces of shit,” You groan exaggeratedly, dragging your hand down your face.

“Calm down lover, being away from the pretty boy for an extra few minutes won’t kill you,” Morgan rolls his eyes at your attitude with a short laugh, tapping his fingers against the table.

“Oh shut your mouth,” You scoff as you walk down the length of the table, pushing the heel of your hand against Morgan’s temple as you pass him as an extra form of chastisation which he promptly laughs at you for as you leave the room in search of Spencer.

“Oh to be young and in love,” Morgan laughs to himself as he clasps his hands together, leaning his head backwards over the chair to look at Emily with a knowing look.

“$50 on less than a year,” Emily doesn’t even look up at her proposition, and Morgan laughs with a shake of his head.

“Oh no no, they’re playing the long game, it’ll be at least another two,”

“Deal,” Emily holds her right hand out in Morgan’s direction, and he grasps it in his own with a firm shake.

“Deal.”

—

Spencer is still standing by the coffee machine, a steaming mug in his hands. It does not take eight minutes to make a single cup of coffee.

Well it wouldn’t if he wasn’t stood talking to one of the local police officers.

More like the officer was talking at him.

And if the way he was fiddling with the cuff of his sleeve was any indication, he was not enjoying the conversation.

If it weren’t for the harsh fluorescent lighting, the furrow of his eyebrows would be imperceptible from where you were standing, but the way he rolls his ankles and shifts his weight onto the balls of his feet would be noticeable from a mile away even in pitch black darkness.

Time to go and save Spencer Reid from his own social ineptitude. Again.

He doesn’t acknowledge you as you approach despite you clearly being in his eye line, his sole focus on the man in front of him even as you near close enough to be able to hear their conversation.

“…were quite the character weren’t you Pick?”

Spencer purses his lips together uncomfortably at the nickname, and you take the break in the conversation as an invitation to get between the two.

You clear your throat with crossed arms, eyes flickering between the two of them as they turn their attention away from each other and towards you instead.

“You’re needed back in the meeting room,”

Spencer nods at you a little too eagerly, clearly ready to rid himself of his new companion. “Right, good bye Bil- Will, sorry,” He doesn’t make eye contact with the officer as he all but power walks past you to head towards the meeting room, and your eyebrows furrow ever so slightly as your glance wanders from Spencer to the almost smug expression on the officer’s face.

“Is something funny?” Your question is enough to bring Will’s eyes away from watching Spencer scurry off with his tail between his legs and towards you with horribly feigned innocence.

The look in your eyes is less than savoury, and it’s enough that small glimpse of condescension simmers in his irises to break through his pleasant facade.

You don’t stick around to have to speak to him any further, and with a final look over you leave him by the coffee machine to rejoin the team in the meeting room.

—

“You can’t avoid him forever you know,”

Your voice stirs Spencer out of his focus, and he straightens himself up in his chair as he looks at you, an eyebrow raised in confusion.

You hadn’t really said anything since you re-entered the meeting room, not even bothering to defend yourself against Morgan’s musings about how much you were complaining about Spencer not being present to help you with the profiles, yet less than a minute after Morgan and Emily left, your conversational battery had suddenly returned.

“I— What do you mean?”

“Officer DeGaris,”

Spencer looks at you like you’ve read his diary without his permission.

He forgets just how observant you are sometimes, how easy it seems to be for you to distinguish between Spencer’s general dislike for small talk and meeting new people and when his discomfort is specifically aimed.

You look through the meeting room’s glass window with roaming eyes, Spencer presumes it’s to find the Officer in question. “He acts like a glorified man-child so I can’t blame you for resenting him,”

“Did he say something to you?” He sounds almost afraid at the idea that Will might’ve said something distasteful to you, his face scrunching up in concern, but you dispel the thought with a quick shake of your head.

“No, he didn’t say anything to me,” Spencer can physically see the moment that your eyes catch on Will across the station in the way that your micro expressions change, the way your arms cross tighter over your chest and your nostrils flare. “He was more than distasteful to you though,”

You sigh in mild frustration. “You’d think that people would mature once they reach adulthood, but there’s always a few that cling to their childhood relevancy like their life depends on it. Pathetic really,”

he doesn’t know whether he should even be entitled to being surprised that you knew Will was character from his childhood. It doesn’t stop him. “I never said I knew him when I was a child,”

“He called you Pick, and you called him Billy,” You deadpan like it’s obvious. “You’re not exactly hiding it,”

“I can’t believe you remembered that,” You can see the genuine befuddlement in Spencer’s expression as you relay the cluing details into his past, like he seemingly can’t comprehend that you were actually paying attention and storing Spencer’s divulgence into his childhood in your memories.

“Believe it or not Reid, I do actually listen,” You sound almost offended at how surprised Spencer seems, and he back tracks immediately with a surrendering wave of his hands.

“That’s not— I didn’t mean to insinuate that, I just meant—” Spencer sighs exasperatedly at his failure to string together a coherent sentence. “I only mentioned it offhandedly is all, it’s not something people usually dwell on,”

“It’s not difficult to listen when someone confides in you Reid, it’s basic human compassion,” You move away from the window with a start, stopping just shy of the door right as it opens.

“Can we help you?” The small amount of empathy in your tone vanishes immediately as you meet Will’s eyes, your head cocked in obvious impatience despite the fact that he hasn’t even spoken a word to you yet.

And although mildly deterred by your expression, he follows through nonetheless. “I need to speak to— Agent Reid, it’s something about the case.”

You’d wager it’s definitely not about the case.

“Doctor Reid is busy, if you have something important go and find SSA Hotchner,”

Spencer can’t see your expression as you stand with your back to him, but if he had to make a guess based off of the way that Will’s face falters he’d say you were probably glaring at him. That signature glare that you never hesitated to utilise when deemed a necessary reaction.

He’s half glad he can’t see your face, because it means that you can’t see his, and the way his cheeks redden against his will at not only your intervention between him having to have another conversation with one of the nightmares of his childhood, but also how casual you were in correcting his use of Spencer’s official title.

“I can’t find SSA Hotchner,” He responds like he’s got you beat, but you barely so much as acknowledge it at all.

“Email him then, your chief supervisor has the details.” You take a small step forward to motivate him to step backwards out of the doorway, and you uncross your arms only to grasp the edge of the door. “Now if you’d please excuse us, we do our best work without distractions.”

You don’t give him time to reply before you close on him, but there’s just enough time for Spencer to see the astonishment dawn on Will’s face at your dismissal before he’s shut out completely.

Your frustration is still present on your face as you turn to walk back over to the whiteboard, and Spencer presses his lips together in an awkwardly endearing fashion before muttering out a soft “thank you,” in your direction.

“I don’t tolerate bullies Reid, it’s nothing to be thankful for,” You shake your head to dismiss him, a much lighter—much friendlier— dismissal than you’d awarded Will.

”You didn’t have to do that though,” Spencer sighs softly, playing with the sleeves of his sweater. “Let me buy you a coffee at least? There’s a cafe a few minutes away from here that I used to go to when I was younger, and I think I need the break,”

You can’t really blame his sudden want for fresh air, and you’d rather not slave away on the profile without him to filter your thoughts through, so you don’t really have much option but to join him.

“It’s not one of those ridiculously expensive coffee places is it?” You raise your eyebrow at him warningly and Spencer shakes his head with a soft laugh, one your happy to hear as a sign that Will hadn’t knocked him off his game too much.

“No no, last time I was here it was $3.49 a cup, perfectly normal,” He brushes a strand of hair from his eye with a small smile. “So you’ll join me?”

You let out a small exhale and a shrug of your shoulders, and Spencer knows that you’re feigning more begrudgement than you’re feeling. “I guess I could do with a break,”

Spencer’s smile seems to get just that little bit brighter at your response.

“But I’m buying my own coffee.”

“Okay—” Spencer gives you a small nod, joined by a laugh, and you wait until he’s got his back to you before letting a small smile invade your mouth at the sight.

#✎𓂃climacteric。#cold!reader ᝰ.ᐟ #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds fluff #mgg

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heavenlyakin · 1 year ago

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Part 14: I Just Don't Believe You Have Got It In You

Summary: Your life is forever changed when your most trusted advisor arrives home with an engagement treaty. As Queen of your Kingdom, you knew there would be sacrifices but little did you know how much the cost of these sacrifices would be. What do you do when your mind wants one thing but your heart longs for another?

Characters: Reader (some descriptions may apply), Suguru Geto, Satoru Gojo, Haku (Reader's child)

Warnings: none! Unless you hate children and peace.

Length: 1k

Navigation | Prev Chapter | Next Chapter

Three years later

As you sit reading, Haku walks into your rooms. He’s grown up so quickly, you realize as he stands there in his new attire. He’s just returned with his father this morning, an unbelievable amount of clothes in tow.

“Momma, what do you think?” He asks, spinning once, his grace just as Satoru’s. “I have dresses for my sisters too. They all match, For our next big ball, we shall wear them.”

“My handsome boy,” you smile, caressing his cheek. You lean down, kissing his forehead. “I can’t believe how grown up you look.” He’s nearing double digits now, the next ball will be to celebrate his first decade of life.

“Father says I can have more if I like this one,” he laughs, tugging at the hem of his shirt.

“We mustn’t order too many. You’re growing too fast for that. But, I think you should get a few more. You can wear them as you begin to learn what it is to rule.”

You laugh, kissing his forehead once more. “Go, find your sisters and show them the gifts you brought them.”

“Even Momoka?” He asks about your youngest and most rowdy. She just turned three.

“Yes, just call for the nurses if she starts destroying your room again.” Last time she destroyed a painting of your mothers that Haku really loved and that you’d finally allowed him to have… the joys of motherhood.

He nods and runs out of the room, down the hall towards the other wing of the castle. Satoru begins walking down the hall where Haku just ran off. He must have been speaking with one of the girls.

“Satoru!” You call for him and he grins.

“Wife,” he smiles, kissing your cheek in greeting.

“Haku was showing me his new clothes. He looks more and more like you as he grows. To think I labored with him all for him to look nothing like me.” You tease as he laughs.

“At least we have a girl with your hair.”

“Ah yes, one of four. My consolation for years of discomfort!” He laughs, placing a hand on your shoulder. “How are things back home? Did Haku enjoy being alone with you for once?”

“He did. Things are going better. There have not been any raids in the northern villages since we’ve stationed more men to guard them.” There had been unrest two years ago, so sending forces seems to have worked. “I am grateful to be back here, honestly.”

The shared castle on the borders of the two kingdoms has been a joy. The court has dwindled to only those who lived closer to the castle, and those who are loyal to you and Satoru. You’ve only gone back to your castle a few times a year to show face. Everything else has been manageable from here.

“I’m glad to hear it was a successful trip.” You smile and then sigh. “Care to join me for tea?”

“As long as Sebastian brings those delightful lemon cakes, I’d do about anything you ask.” He holds his arm out for you to place your hand.

He guides you to the tea room, speaking to a few of the lords on the way. You also engage, but leave the decisions up to him since they are from his Kingdom. You have both learned to keep boundaries over the years, and only help when the other is asked.

Sebastian brings the cakes and the tea, giving you a short report of the dinner plans later. Something Satoru has requested is dinners together regularly with the children. He’s been such a good father to the kids, so much so no one has brought up the issue of their parentage to the court.

What they may whisper at home, you cannot control nor do you want to hear.

“How is Camilla?” You ask after the room has cleared.

Satoru smiles, the kind you remember from years ago. The light in his eyes is something you also recall. He’s found happiness for himself.

“She is well. She sent her wishes.” He pours himself some tea and hands you the pot.

Camilla and Namami, Satoru’s advisor, switched places after she had her child. Satoru wanted to protect her from scorn and you agreed. She may have become distant in the years you were having Suguru’s children, but that does not take away from how she helped you all the times before. You owed her this, her happiness and protection. So, when Satoru proposed she and Nanami switch positions so he’s been serving in your Kingdom.

“I would like to see her soon. Perhaps after she recovers from her labors. I miss my friend,” you tell him and he nods.

“I will write to her soon. She would like that too.” He tells you. “How is Suguru?”

“Well,” you smile, looking away. “He’s been well.”

He looks around, then smiles. “You have no reason to still feel guilty.” He places his hand on yours. “Truly. I am happy for you. If we could not have happiness together, we deserve it apart.”

You sigh. “I am truly grateful to have a husband as good as you.”

He smiles, one of the genuine ones that makes his wrinkles apparent. He has not aged much, but years of smiles have given him fine lines. He’s had a happy life despite the tragedy early on and the unsuitable match of a wife he’s had of you.

“We may not have the love story our Kingdoms believe, but we do live lives full of love. May we continue to be blessed this way.” He bites into a lemon cake and you continue to have a peaceful tea.

#📜.somebody else #suguru geto x reader #geto suguru x reader #gojo satoru x reader #satoru gojo x reader

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libertyreads · 2 years ago

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Book Review #91 of 2023--

Between Us by Mhairi McFarlane. Rating: 3 stars.

Read from July 18th to 19th.

Before I get into the bulk of my review, a quick thank you to both NetGalley and the publishers over at HarperCollins for giving me access to this ARC in exchange for an honest review. I read my first Mhairi McFarlane earlier this year and when this showed up as available to request I just had to. I enjoyed the other novel so much and this one sounded so different to me. In this novel, Between Us, we follow Roisin whose long term boyfriend has a show coming out that all of their friends are excited for. This is his second tv show as a writer and he’s been given permission to take chances in a way he didn’t get to with the first show. But Roisin is thrown when she realizes that Joe stole parts of her past, private and intimate things she’s shared with him and him alone, to make an exciting and risky show. She breaks up with him and moves back with her mom to help run the family bar for the summer. But help comes in the form of a close friend who she probably shouldn’t be getting these butterflies for. Between Us comes out on August 8th and is available for preorder now.

I want to start by saying that the premise on GoodReads and the premise I’ve given here are both somewhat misleading. I would say this is a Mystery novel about Roisin and Joe’s relationship and trying to find the truth buried in his lies rather than a romance between Roisin and her friend Matt. The romance is there, but it doesn’t really start until 71% of the way through the novel. It made it so the romance felt too fast when it finally did happen since no romantic feelings or attractions appeared in most of the novel. I wanted to feel more of the romance/attraction between Roisin and Matt since this is the couple we’re supposed to be rooting for in the end. But the author spends so little time discussing their relationship and their interactions with one another before the last 30% of the novel. I get that technically they were both in relationships at the start of the novel and Roisin takes longer getting out of hers. But once the romance finally started going I think we needed more romantic moments between the two of them to really feel it. And maybe it wouldn’t have felt so sudden if Roisin had voiced a thought like, ‘I can’t believe I’m feeling this for a friend I’ve know for a decade.’ Just some sort of incredulity from the couple that it was all happening so quickly. Because then we can all share some sort of disbelief before letting suspension of disbelief kick in. Am I fully making sense? Probably not. Let’s move on.

Things I liked: 1) the first part of the novel giving us a glimpse into Rich People Drama. I’m a girl who loves some Rich People Drama. Keep it coming. 2) When we got down to the nitty/gritty of who Roisin and Matt were, I could understand their coupling and how they could end up dating. I don’t know that I like the going from zero to ‘I love you’ in 6 seconds but with some more dialogue I could possibly accept it. 3) The fact that this feels new and fresh. We’ve all read the Romance novels where the main characters goes back home to hide from a fresh heartbreak/drama and discovers love again with a friend from their past. But this felt fresh and new because we had Roisin who wanted to get to the bottom of her deeply unhealthy relationship with Joe. It felt like a Mystery novel that turns into a romance when there’s 30% left. But that’s kind of also what I don’t love about it. I like the Mystery, I like Roisin finding ways to get answers, I just wish the author had managed to throw in a little more romance before the 50% mark? Also, this ends up feeling like the conflict is something between the two main characters we’re supposed to be rooting for where I usually like Romance third act breakups that happen due to circumstance. I want the two main characters to have to face an external conflict together in order to make the relationship work.

So, now I’m so conflicted because I enjoyed reading this while I was reading for the most part. I liked the mix of genres. I didn’t totally buy the romance. But also I read the whole thing (over 400 pages) in two days while also having work. So? I come in at a 3 for this one because I’m really torn about this book.

#I have to be up at 3:30 a.m. for an inventory tomorrow but I had to finish this one first #so I guess that's a testament to the book #but it didn't really hit the spot for me #it was thinking out of the box for sure though #I'm so conflicted #book review #book reviews #booklr #bookblr #bookstagram #bookish #books read in 2023 #2023 reading challenge #goodreads challenge #goodreads #books #book #romance #mystery

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bollywood143114 · 2 years ago

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People start calling Farah Khan an old lady, gets married at 40 and gives birth to 3 kids, gives befitting reply

Farah Khan Family and Kids: Farah Khan, who won the title of Bollywood's most popular choreographer and director, is 58 years old. Farah has contributed a lot to the Bollywood industry over three decades of her life. Farah Khan is very happy in her personal and professional life, which she often shows through her pictures on social media. In this case, did you know that Farah Khan had to face severe taunts from people for not getting married till the age of 40? People taunted him for never marrying Farah Khan didn't get married until she was 40 years old. In such a situation, Farah Khan had to listen to many taunts from people. She herself mentioned this in one of her interviews and said how people used to taunt her for not getting married till the age of 40. That time was very difficult for him, he faced many harsh words from people. Farah cried after seeing Samantha Prabhu's ad In fact, recently Farah Khan posted an advertisement of Samantha Ruth Prabhu on social media. In it, Samantha is seen saying – Big problem in the world with girls… After that, she is seen in the video as a bride. Seeing Samantha, the two women talk to each other and say – women should get married on time. While sharing this video of Samantha, Farah also told the world about her ordeal in the caption. In this caption, Farah Khan is seen addressing those who got married late and trolled her. Farah wrote - While watching this film I remember how many times bad things have been said about me. The comments attempt to denigrate me not only as a successful choreographer and dancer, but also as a woman. After this, Farah taunted them about their outfits and said- you don't dress like a choreographer, you are too young for this field… women can't do action films… He also wrote – People told me, you are old… you are not old enough to get married and have children… but whatever happened, I did it all. I did all... Please tell me that Farah Khan is 58 years old and a mother of 3 children. Farah got married at the age of 40 and at the age of 43 she became a mother of 3 children through IVF. Anupama 23 May Episode: Maya will again play a new trick between Anuj and Anupama, Banraj will be the father again DISCLAIMER Thanks For Visit Our Site www.bollywoodofindia.com . We’ve taken all measures to insure that the information handed in this composition and on our social media platform is believable, vindicated and sourced from other Big media Houses. For any feedback or complaint, reach out to us at [email protected] Read the full article

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duncneydivorce · 1 year ago

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This did NOT happen 😭😭😭

That’s what I get for putting so much faith in Orlando 🤦‍♂️. Instead we are getting more HOM revisionism, more character assassination and more scapegoating. Why are we regressing Pietro to a state that was never even in character in the first place? Why are we rewriting Wanda’s entire characterisation? Why are we straight up lying about their relationship with Magneto?

I don’t mind when the twins fight but it’s frustrating that half the time it’s not even in character and says absolutely nothing of value about them at all! They’re fighting over shit that didn’t even happen because for as much as everyone loves talking about HOM no one has seemed to have even read the damn story.

I don’t understand what Orlando is trying to say about Wanda here.. no she doesn’t think her brother is a manipulative sociopath, no she didn’t give a shit about Magneto and I find it hard to believe she would do something like burn the letter in the first place. It’s just so unlike her she’s never done anything like that before, I was willing to give the benefit of the doubt and thought maybe it could work but the writing completely missed the mark for me. Why are we adding flaws that are ooc to Wanda instead of talking about the ones she already has?

It’s not like Wanda doesn’t have flaws and hasn’t made hurtful mistakes with her brother but breaking a boundary like that is more in line with Pietro’s past tendencies. Doing something like this, especially after confronting Pietro over it and the two of them have meaningfully reconciled already, just makes her seem like an unnecessary hypocrite.

Wanda’s problem was that she would try to placate him and wouldn’t take his side when he was the one being wronged in the scenario and was rightfully critical of it.

This was a matter of projecting her self destructive and repressive coping mechanisms onto Pietro, whose restlessness already made himself into a social pariah and was a threat to the very precarious position they had assimilated into. Wanda’s history struggling with repression is the reason why she struggled the way she did with her powers, and why she often lost autonomy to greater mystical forces. Why did Wanda struggle with repressing herself? Because she was FORCED to in order to protect herself. While the Busiek run is flawed in its execution it shows that a Wanda who has the space and means to openingly celebrate her identity and grieve on her own terms is a Wanda who is confident, in control and fully capable of mastering her abilities against all odds.

If you want to talk about Wanda’s greatest character flaws, her struggle with her powers and her missteps with Pietro then you absolutely MUST understand this.

The most frustrating part about all of this is that we’ve already told this story. HOM set the twins backwards so badly that they have to go through character arcs they’ve already been through decades ago, and yet somehow, more than 20 years later people STILL can’t get it right.

The upcoming Scarlet Witch and Quicksilver series includes a promising bit in the preview that I have a lot of thoughts about:

“Above all, they are twins who look out for each other. So when Wanda receives a letter from the recently deceased Magneto that would upset Pietro, she burns the letter before her brother can read it.

But her choice drives them apart at the worst possible time”

It seems this series is going to take a more unconventional route where Wanda creates conflict between the two. Not that I think this is OOC, on the contrary, I think it’s a very interesting and often overlooked part of their relationship.

Pietro was always more imposing and vocal about it, but Wanda is equally as protective of her brother as he is of her. And she has made mistakes for this too just as he has.

But before I can go any further into that we need context.

After surviving a childhood of extreme racism and their saviour’s indoctrination (who also turned them into highly profiled criminals), the twins find themselves at the mercy of public opinion. Cap’s Kooky Quartet may have saved them from being convicted, but it’s not enough for them to simply do superhero work, they must earn the mantle of superhero (the idea of what makes someone a superhero and who get the be the verdict is already a very loaded notion that I won’t expand on but it’s worth being conscious of this here). In order to be accepted the twins are essentially marketed as the ‘American Dream’; a couple of impoverished immigrants who worked their way up to success, a pair of misguided misfits who needed the guidance of the all American Captain America. Their relationship with Steve IS meaningful and important to their ability to become heroes but it’s not because he ‘turned them around’, rather by simply giving them accommodation, resources and opportunities they’ve never had access to in their lives. But that’s not what the majority see, to them the Maximoff’s are a rehabilitation project that’s a testament to their society’s benevolence. It's a similar kind of rancid vibe as those mission trips in Africa. They are tokenized and tolerated only when the narrative forced on them feeds the white superamcist ego.

And most importantly, this tolerance is completely conditional.

While the two do have genuine fondness for their time on the team, their livelihood as Avengers cannot be divorced from this groundwork. In fact, multiple Avengers stories from their early days delve into the complicated relationship they have with this fact (and no this is not an ‘Avengers are cops’ rhetoric, joining the Avengers literally saved them from a more punitive judgement from the criminal justice system).

When Pietro voices very real concerns about this we see Wanda undermine him. When he learns of his wife’s infidelity her first reaction is to convince him to forgive her and move on. There’s another moment and for the life of me I can’t find the panel but after some brief reflection Wanda admits she may have been rash to dismiss Pietro as fanatic.

All of this does come from her love and protectiveness for her brother but it also comes from a very real trauma and fear.

Before I go on let me clarify, Wanda has never been a self hating minority. I mean the whole reason she called herself Scarlet Witch is because she was reclaiming a stereotype her persecutors used against her. Nor has she ever been an obedient damsel without independence. Since her very debut she has been a character with agency, while Pietro can be chauvinistic at times her relationship with her brother has always been the one of equals, and fighting for her autonomy (usually against literal demons) is one of the major recurring themes in her evolution.

That being said, it’s worth examining the conflicting self-repression that’s followed Wanda since the very beginning. She and pietro both understandably reacted in extremes and where he grew abrasive and restless, she could show a tendency to something akin to a model minority complex at times (remember her livelihood literally depended on advertising her as one at a certain point). There is room for a longer and more thorough analysis on this but to keep it brief and to the point I want to highlight specifically the way she has projected this onto Pietro. Again, the both of them have made their own mistakes, hurt themselves, each other and others for this, but while we have seen stories allow growth for pietro’s mistreatment towards Wanda over this, the inverse has been mostly forgotten. Until now it seems.

Wanda and Pietro have come a very long way and I trust Orlando to treat Wanda as a character who has made mistakes and who’s flaws lie in her compassion. His run was heavily dedicated to acknowledging the harm her actions have done to others in the past without letting it hold her back and acknowledging how she was victimised in those situations. What I’m more sceptical of is his understanding of where that trauma comes from, because there was no meaningful examination of this so far. Wanda is a displaced refugee with violent experiences of racism and poverty. The Avengers was more than a team to her, it was a sanctuary. An extremely precarious one. She was also like.. a teenager when this was thrusted on her. It’s completely reasonable that as she grew into herself she would struggle with respectability politics and would project this onto her brother who’s indignation often isolated himself.

I’m not expecting Orlando to write critical race theory or anything but since it seems an important part of the story will lie in addressing this particular contention between the twins then personally I feel what will make or break this series will be whether Orlando can communicate this. We know he’s AWARE of their heritage and origin and is consciously trying to include it in how they are represented in his work so I’m choosing to be optimistic but I guess only time will tell.

#wanda maximoff #scarlet witch #scarlet witch and quicksilver (2023)#I realise I’ve been complaining about this since it dropped but it never fails to annoy me #now we are gonna have to deal with clumsy attempts to ‘develop’ the characters that will say nothing of value at all because it’s so ooc #mind you they’re doing all this over MAGNETO 💀

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pedgito · 3 years ago

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𝐟𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐭 𓆩♡𓆪 𝐫𝐨𝐜𝐤𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫!𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐱 𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐫!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

summary: your career was built on luck and fortunate circumstances, but that was bound to run out at some point. enter eddie munson, rockstar extraordinaire, the reason for your life being thrust into chaos—but, fake it til you make it, right?

cw: 18+ (minors dni), fem!reader, small age gap (25/29), establish friendships with steve & reader (hints of musician!steve), enemies to…something, fake relationships, mentions of misogyny toward reader, awkward first meetings, mentions of substance abuse, social media posts inserted through the fic (texts), fingering and handjobs, drinking and messing around inebriated, use of rings for nefarious purposes, lots of teasing and cocky eddie. i might have missed something so lmk!

word count: 12k

The call happened on a random Sunday morning, following a long night of partying with not nearly enough alcohol, head still pounding from the music and flashing lights of the club. You buried your head further into your pillow, swiped the screen to answer, and muffled a gruff, “What?” into the air.

Thus thrusting you into the most ridiculous conversation you’ve ever witnessed, immediately pushing from your bed and snatching the phone between your fingers, staring at the black screen of your phone, the monotone voice of your agent boring through the receiver—this had to be a joke.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t—and it’s how you ended up standing in the office of your show’s executive team, arms crossed firmly over your chest as they laid out the plan. The fucking plan. The seemingly full proof, highly thought out plan that would not only boost the ratings for the premiere through the roof, but would also bring in an insane amount of attention to the other party.

Him. Eddie Munson, who stood on the other side of the small room, similarly positioned and not believing a single word of shit spilling out of their mouths. If there was anyone who you could care less about, or even despise the idea of having a fake relationship with—it was him.

Known womanizer, constantly getting caught with groupies after shows, one scandal after another, it was like putting a wrecking ball to a career you had spent a decade building. You didn’t care how good the money sounded, the benefits to it, none of it.

“Absolutely fucking not,” You reply snidely, earning wide eyes from your team, and an even more surprised look from the higher-ups seated at the table, all buttoned up their suits and poised to seem professional, “—not a chance, no.”

“Listen—“ One of the men starts, pen flipping nervously in his hand. He had to be new, less experienced in this world, his voice shaking as he spoke, “just hear us out.”

“No, I heard you,” You chuckle lightly, pointing vaguely in the direction of Eddie, “you want me to sign your stupid little contract and tie myself to a man who, just recently, was caught hanging out with underage girls after a concert—“

“Hey, that’s not my fault—“ Eddie defends weakly, “I can’t control what my bandmates do.”

“You’re literally the lead guitarist and singer,” You say defensively, “—that shit directly affects you.”

How he didn’t realize that was beyond you, his face caught up in a sudden realization, he stayed silent.

“The ratings will be record breaking,” It was one of the main producers, offering up a small morsel of positivity, “brand deals, appearances—this stuff has worked in the past.”

“How?” Eddie asks curiously, catching your pointed gaze, eyes narrowing in scrutiny. He shakes it off, turned toward the group of men seated at the table. “What do we have to do?”

“Public appearances, obviously.” They begin, “We’ll stage some candid pictures by tipping off paparazzi, maybe even some interviews, it’s all strictly professional—it just depends on how much you two want to sell it.”

“We’ve never been seen in public together before,” You say defensively, “how will that look?”

“I don’t think that’ll matter.”

“His band is covering the opening song for the show—isn’t that suspicious?” You ask, trying to find any reason to hope this plan would fall apart.

“People eat that stuff up,” Your agent provides softly, trying not to step on any toes, “I don’t think they’ll care.”

“I don’t think it’s a horrible idea,” Eddie says with a slight falter in his voice, just as unsure as you were, but still hanging onto the small glint of optimism, “but it can’t be one-sided—we both have to be all in or it’s going to crash and burn pretty quick.”

“It’s a terrible idea,” You add, “How the hell do you fake a relationship?”

“You do it on television, don’t you?” He asks with a hint of sarcasm, far too inappropriate for the situation at hand. “Is it really that hard?”

“With you?” You ask redundantly, “Yes.”

“This is pointless.” He relents, hands thrown up in defeat until they fall back to his waist, standing like a petulant child, annoyed at his inability to one-up you.

“Look, I get it—you two hate each other.” The producer interrupts, glancing slowly between you both. “It’ll be maybe a few months—that’s it. Long enough to grab some good ratings and bring in some press and then you two can have your dramatic break up. You two don’t even need to interact outside of what’s contractually obligated.”

There’s a long silence, neither of you answering or looking in the direction of anyone. Eddie didn’t have anything to lose—but you had just about everything. It was the perks of being America’s hottest rockstar; do whatever you want and get away with—also just the perks of being a man. For you, one wrong misstep and you were out, permanently.

“Look, you’ve had two failed pilots over the past year, right?” The producer inquires, slyly shoving the small stack of papers and a pen your direction. “Another one and you’ll probably be blacklisted—this is guaranteed success. You can’t pass it up.”

And you hated that it was the truth, heart pounding angrily in your chest. Maybe if you had time—time to really think it through, it wouldn’t be so bad. But, there wasn’t time for that. Your show was premiering in two weeks, Eddie was preparing to leave for a tour across the country, the only thing you two lacked was time.

“I can back out at any moment?” You ask hesitantly, glancing over at Eddie who remained mostly emotionless, ringed fingers gripping his waist still. “No problem?”

“You won’t want to,” The man tells you, “not after the media swarm picks it up. But—if you really want to, yes. You’re not obligated to stick to this relationship, but you have to make it seem believable.”

“As in?”

“A break-up, if needed. By signing this, you’re signing an NDA—this is private and if you intend to break it, there will be consequences.”

It sounded like a threat, Eddie picked up on it too—surprisingly interrupting the conversation.

“Like?”

“It’s basically signing away any rights you have to telling anyone about this outside of this room—if you break the rules of an NDA, suing is on the table, for either of you.”

You hated all the formal jargon, rolling your eyes at his drawn out, half threatening explanation. You snatch the pen, signing the paper lazily before tossing the pen toward Eddie. He’s startled for a moment, quickly recovering to grab the pen and do the same.

“I hope you realize how exploitative this is.” You remark, shoving the paper back at the men, grinning like the greedy sharks they were, already wet-dreaming over the amount of success and money they were bound to pull in.

“It’s just business, sweetheart.”

You grimace at the word, bile pooling in your throat at the tone and wandering eyes of a man who surely had a lot more power than you.

For your career, it was a mantra you’d repeat in your head until the day you died.

The elevator ride down is long, silent, and awkward—a lack of either of your teams as you stood beside each other in the small confines of the four glass walls, descending down the several flights at a snail's pace. Eddie speaks first, much to your dismay that he even decides to speak at all.

“I really didn’t know.” Eddie says to you, eyes trained toward his scuffed up sneakers, “The girls—I didn’t know they were underage. I didn’t—I’m not like that.”

You chuckle quietly to yourself, “You don’t need to explain yourself to me. I don’t care.”

“I just—I didn’t want you to think I was some creep.” He says defensively, voice soft despite his hardened features. “The guys—they let it get to their heads, they make stupid choices.”

“And you haven’t?” You counter.

“I have—but not like that,” Eddie replies, fingers fiddling idly with the ring of his left hand, “I went to rehab—I’m clean now, but I’m not like that. I promise”.

Eddie never meant for the drugs to overtake his life for that short, brief amount of time—but it did and he regretted it daily. It wasn’t him anymore, though. Eddie could say that proudly. He enjoyed his life, his career—he cherished every moment of being on stage and performing, meeting fans, it’s what drove him.

And you don’t want to pry, so you leave it be. Your hands shuffle behind your back, posed on the silver handrail as the elevator shook gently, you tensed.

Eddie notices but doesn’t say anything, figuring you’d probably bark another insult his way. He could manage the semantics though—faking a relationship, how hard could it be?

“We should exchange numbers.”

You look at him weirdly, eyebrows pulled up in confusion.

“You realize I have your number already, don’t you?” You ask.

Eddie pulls back slightly, head tilted up in thought. It didn’t make sense, he’s never even spoken more than a few words to you outside of work, mutual friends, it didn’t seem possible.

“You’re unbelievable.” You scoff lightly, pulling out your phone to send him a quick text, one simple emoji, middle finger poised in an effort to send a very clear message. “Steve introduced me to you two years ago.”

Still wasn’t ringing a bell—though most of that time was blurry.

“You tried to ask me on a date,” You explain with amusement, “I said no—so you proceeded to ask me if you were down to ‘just fuck’,” You mock with dramatic air quotes, “I never deleted your number, but that’s only because I give it out to the guys that try to hit on me now.”

It dawns on him then, the absurd amount of phone calls from strange people—sometimes the unassuming person you could give a fake name to, sometimes not, Eddie never pieces it together, not until now.

“Are you fucking kidding?” Eddie asks with a slight disbelief, “That’s why my phone is constantly blowing up? I thought it was just a bunch of spam bullshit. God, you’re evil.”

You shrug, a devious smile spreading across your face as the elevator pulls to a stop in the parking garage, you step out first.

“Watch your back, Eddie Munson.” You warn, “You try to destroy my career and I’ll take yours down twice as fast.”

It’s an empty threat, but Eddie knows you're capable.

“There’s no way this is going to work.” You grumble, hands shoved deep into the pockets of your sweater, held snug under the arm of Eddie, who’s trademark leather jacket stretched over your back—it made your neck itch, shoulders wiggling slightly in discomfort. His sunglasses tipped over his nose, eyes scanning the surrounding streets, catching glimpse of a few poorly sneaking paparazzi, cameras posed at the ready.

Eddie wasn’t approached often in public, mostly because he’d kept up a reputation that it wasn’t a good idea—he liked to keep his private life separated from whatever this life was, and it was clear; to his friends, his family, and anyone who knew who he was. People respected it to a degree, but by agreeing to this, it felt like he was throwing that all away. He didn’t even know why—the potential benefits sounded nice momentarily, but what was he really gaining from any of it—other than eternal misery from having to deal with your constant negativity toward the situation.

“I’d think twice about that.” He motions sneakily toward your left and you see it too, instantly freezing at the sight, like you’d been caught—which you had, but not for the reasons you were feeling. “Chill out,” Eddie says quietly, “just walk.”

You fisted your hands in your pocket, chill air stinging your face. You weren’t nearly as famous as Eddie—but enough to be noticed, it was weird to not be approached, in fact, it was almost like people were avoiding you. Eddie really did have a presence about him—maybe it wasn’t a terrible idea to keep him around if he repelled everyone so easily.

“Remember what they said,” Eddie comments into your hair, lips pressed against the shell of your ear, subtly posing for the photo as the camera clicked in the distance, “one kiss for the shot and we can go, but it has to be good.”

“This is ridiculous.”

Eddie laughed at your pessimism, stopping at the crosswalk. You couldn’t bare the thought of making the first move, too riddled with nerves to pull it off believably, so Eddie takes the lead, nudging your face with the hand draped over your shoulder.

Your face tilts toward his, his fingers tilting your head up slightly, lips pressed against his in a chaste, formal kiss—nothing different from the kisses you’ve had on screen. It wasn’t all the bad, actually—and if things remained like this, maybe you could handle it.

“Hold it.” Eddie mumbles against your lips, your eyes fallen shut as he stills—surely they’ve gotten the picture by now, but you hear the familiar click of a phone camera and you quickly realize why; Eddie really planned to sell it and it was working.

You pull back with a fake, sweet smile, eyes riddled with a restrained amount of disgust that only Eddie could see—his eyes returned the sentiment, pulling back with a toothy grin, tongue peeking out between his teeth slightly. The act continues halfway down the block—light touches, looks of endearment as the cameras push in now, less restrained, questions being thrown at you haphazardly.

The hold Eddie takes on you is real, sturdy—it felt protective and safe, and truly he felt that way. He knew how vicious and bizarre paparazzi and people could get, keeping you close by and away from grabbing hands and eager flashes of the camera. It all ramped up quickly, a crowd gathering down the busy road of the shopping mall. Eddie ignored it all, leading you toward the designated black SUV at the end of street, gently shoving you inside to follow after, breathing a sigh of relief when you were both finally inside.

He taps on the window—it’s his driver, because of course he had one. “We’re good. Take us back.” He says simply, hands squeezed together in his lap as he fidgets again, something you couldn’t help but notice. He did it often.

“God, that was horrible.” You complain under your breath, head resting back against the seat, eyes pulled up toward the roof of the car. “And super fucking overwhelming.”

“Never dealt with that before?” Eddie asks curiously, eyes glancing up toward you for a brief moment. “Look—I was trying to make it seem real enough, sorry.”

You roll your eyes, looking over at him with a blank gaze, his expression just as unreadable. “I have dealt with it—but not on that level. It's almost like inducing a panic attack almost, feeling like you can’t breathe.”

You pause for a moment, feeling a slight tinge of guilt.

“It was believable,” You admit, “I didn’t mind it, it’s like kissing a co-star, I guess.”

“It is acting after all,” Eddie shrugs, “you’re pretty good at it, I assume.”

“Have you never—“ You linger on the question, not wanting to sound too self-centered, but you feel obligated since you know so much about him, whether by force or by your own guilty self-indulgence.

“I barely have time to relax.” Eddie admits. “I eat, sleep, do my work and it repeats. I haven’t taken a vacation since I started.”

“What?” You ask with an immense amount of shock, “Are you serious—“

There's a ding of a notification on your phone. A few seconds later, another. Then Eddie’s, his hand pulling it from his pocket roughly. Your eyes lock, fingers swiping at the screen simultaneously as you hold your breath, not entirely sure what to expect.

“Well,” Eddie begins.

Met with a similarly toned, “Oh my god.”

Both of you glanced at the article, smack on the cover of one of the biggest celebrity publications in the online word, headline reading—

INFAMOUS ROCKSTAR EDDIE MUNSON HAS FOUND NEW LOVE IN STARLET ACTRESS?

The article is plastered with picture after picture, but the one that really mattered, the kiss—it was right there, front and center. It was gaining traction quickly, the sudden influx of your social media being bombarded with notifications.

“You might want to turn them off,” Eddie suggests, scrolling haphazardly through his phone, like it was just another day, “otherwise your phone is gonna be unusable.”

You scroll through the list of trending tags, eyes practically bulging out of your head at the number one spot. Albeit, it was just Eddie’s name—but every post was a picture of both of you, snuggled up close, people wondering and listing off a mountain of questions.

To be fair, you weren’t nearly as well known as Eddie—so most of it was geared toward finding out exactly who you were. But, the other questions revolved around how long this had been going on, how it had managed to fly under the radar, and just how serious you two were—it was all comical, in retrospect, knowing what you knew.

“How are you so normal about this?” You ask with a pitch to your voice, dealing with the increasing flurry of texts from friends and family suddenly interested in your personal life. “These people are fucking quick—holy shit.”

“It’s incredible how quickly things change, isn’t it?” Eddie asks knowingly, having been at the brunt of it multiple times. “Give it a few hours, it will die out a little—not by much, but it’ll be more manageable.”

“I didn’t really think everything out this far.” You admit, trying to think up responses to people you care about, people you never planned to lie to. Your fingers hover, but nothing comes out. In a moment of vulnerability, you look at him.

“What do I do?”

Eddie smirks softly, tossing his phone to the side. He motions with his forefingers, beckoning your phone toward his hand. You hesitate for a half second before handing it over, letting him work away at the keyboard, typing furiously.

“There,” He says with finality when his fingers finally come to stop, placing the phone back into your waiting hands, “that should work.”

‘I’m fine. Don’t worry. I’ll talk more when I’m ready.’

You drop your phone, giving him a defeated look, face pulled down in a frown.

“My family is going to think I’m hiding a pregnancy if I send that,” You tell him honestly, “I need something less serious sounding.”

“You’ll figure it out,” He assures you, “Act it up, right?”

“But, this is my life.”

“Not when you’re with me,” Eddie counters, proving a point, “we’re just playing an exaggerated version of ourselves, if you think about—you know, maybe I could take on acting after this, depending on how believable I can make it.”

He’s joking, but you can’t be bothered to laugh.

“Shit—maybe even a guest spot on your show.”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself.” You smile meanly, writing out a quick dismissive text to the eagerly waiting recipients in your phone, “I’d never let that happen.”

“I can be very persuasive.” Eddie responds, much to your ultimate dismay, wishing he’d stay quiet. “I mean, you’re kinda mimicking my life in a way, although there’s no way you could handle that lifestyle—actors are always entitled.”

Your mouth falls open, an offense taken by his line of conversation.

“It’s a good story line,” You reply defensively, “I can play it up better than you ever could, regardless of it being real.”

Eddie’s eyebrows raise slightly, as if proving his point by your response.

You side-eye him with annoyance, arms crossed over your chest as you recline back, suffering through the long, bumpy ride back to the office, dying to be out of Eddie’s presence.

“I’m not entitled.” You say softly, “I don’t think you understand how hard it is for women—we can’t even try to defend ourselves.”

And he doesn’t know, he can’t even compare—he’s always gotten off relatively easy, a gentle slap on the wrist. He wouldn’t even be able to imagine half of the problems you’ve had to deal with. But, that’s just it—they weren’t his problems. Just as similar as his problems not being your own; you couldn’t be more polar opposite, at this point.

“I have this weird feeling.” You tell him after a long silence, hesitantly.

“Like things are about to get crazy?” Eddie answers for you, feeling that impending tension and doom of yours and his reality.

You nod slightly.

“Me too.”

Unfortunately, it was only the beginning of a dangerous, winding road that would upend your life, career, and everything you had left to hold onto.

The media does swarm significantly, overwhelmingly.

It’s two weeks post kiss picture and the growth on your accounts and attention in your life had turned into a frenzy, some sickness that you weren’t prepared to handle. But, it’s the big night of the premiere for your show—the cast, producers, huge names in acting, and more importantly, all of Corroded Coffin would be in attendance. As far as you knew, Eddie hadn’t told a soul, neither had you.

But, neither of you had talked much to each other in return, aside from the occasional ridiculous headline that gave you both a good laugh —unfortunately, with such a big appearance tonight, you took the initial leap and texted him first.

Eddie calls you then, his contact name showing up on your phone, awaiting a tense FaceTime. You swipe to answer, catching the dizzying fury of hands as they worked around him, plucking at his well-formed hair, curls more defined than usual. He fiddles with his sleeve, alerting you to the fact that he wasn’t even holding his phone. He had a well-oiled team working behind the scenes, making him look presentable. Meanwhile, you sat curled on your bed, still shuffling through a small selection of appropriate outfits; it felt ridiculous.

“How are you not ready yet?” Eddie asks with a lilt of annoyance, despite his notorious mark of being late, whether on purpose or accidentally. “We have to be there in an hour.”

“My hair’s done—my makeup,” You motion toward your face obviously, “I’m just stuck on trying to pick out something to match.”

“Where’s your team?” Eddie asks, “Like, your stylist and shit?”

“Eddie,” You deadpan, “I don’t have one. I do this stuff myself.”

“Why?” His face pulls up in confusion, unable to grasp the concept of it. “Nevermind—show me what you’ve got.”

You glance at the phone with a fair amount of shyness. You didn’t have anything, nothing that would work well enough. A black, slick suit over a sheer shirt, the smallest sliver of his chest peeking through—trademark rings shoved on his fingers; he never took them off.

“Is it too late to cancel?” You ask with a grown, Eddie eyes turning up in frustration, nearly rolling back in his head. He laughs, pointing off camera somewhere.

“Do you still have that rack with you?” He asks an unseen person, “Yeah—no, further down. Not that one—no—yeah, that’s it.”

You watched with apt attention, his mysterious mind at work. He yanks the phone away from whoever was holding it, pulling at the cigarette tucked behind his ear, shoving it between his lips. There’s a lot of shuffling and then an eye-blinding brightness as he steps outside, hair windblown as he squints to stare at his screen.

“I’ll send you my location,” He tells you, a familiar flick of a lighter as he leans down to light the end of his cigarette, a slow drag as his lips pucker around it, “don’t be late—we have to arrive together, so we’ll leave from here.”

“You’re really bossy,” You grumble, shoving yourself from the bed and toeing on your shoe—Eddie smirks, “stop that.”

“Just hurry.” He tells you lightheartedly, swiftly ending the call.

The ride to his place is short, but grueling—stuck in the middle of some of the worst traffic you’ve ever experienced, it didn’t help that he wasn’t far from the venue, the chaos was evident and only made you panic further.

When you finally make it into his long, winding driveway, it’s like a small moment of peace, sitting in the driver’s seat of your car, one deep breath after another. The silence is quickly interrupted by a text from Eddie, another impatient reminder.

You sigh audibly, making the quick trip to his front door and pressing on the doorbell with a poorly manicured finger—it was something you overlooked, but you didn’t think it would matter much—all anyone really cared about was Eddie Munson.

You weren’t expecting to be face to face with him, waiting for one of his assistants to answer the door, but now he’s standing there, a smile plastered over his face.

You pull your face up in subtle disgust, “Don’t look at me like that.”

“I’m trying to get into character,” Eddie replies with a soft chuckle, motioning a grandiose wave to lead you inside, “—you should too.”

“I will after I see what you’re making me wear.” You comment absently, glancing around his home curiously.

Home was…generous. It was a mansion, a massive step up from your downtown apartment—you couldn’t even imagine the amount of rooms, expensive furniture, pointless items.

Eddie noticed, “I’d give you a tour.” He tells you honestly, trying carefully not to crease his suit, expensive loafers tapping against the intricate tile, “But, we don’t have a lot of time.”

You make a small noise, Eddie can’t decipher it. He’s handed the dress during your distraction—a sheer dress with a black bodice covering your more intimate parts, long sleeves cuffing at the wrists, nearly floor length as it led a slit up the side. You turn to look, eyeing it suspiciously. The heels are just as intimidating, a mess of lace that you were bound to get tangled up in.

“Trust me.” He says, eyes glancing up at you pointedly. “They’ll help.”

He nods at the small team of people—stylists and assistants, primed and ready to go.

“So, you’re dressing me then?” You ask with a soft laugh, “I didn’t know you were into fashion like that.”

“I’m not,” He shakes his head, “not really—but I’ve learned what works—now go, seriously.”

And for once, you don’t put up a fight, letting the strangers lead you off to an enclosed room.

They work quickly, managing to somehow fix your half-assed attempt at hair and makeup—you weren’t used to being grand or extra, just barely making a statement, it’s how you skated by so easily, never drawing attention to yourself when it wasn’t needed. But with Eddie, that wasn’t possible.

There’s a soft knock on the door after the fury ends, things finally calming down, “Yeah?” Your voice is soft, nervous.

“The driver’s here,” Eddie says behind the door. “Is she ready?”

You huff to yourself in amusement at his lack of addressing you, “She’s ready.” You reply snarkily, hearing the faint turn of the doorknob, his full figure coming into view.

Eddie looks smug, proud of himself. “Don’t say it—“ You begin, taking his outstretched hand hesitantly, letting him do a slow turn to take in the full outfit.

Eddie shakes his head in indifference, “I wasn’t,” He tells you, “These lips are sealed.”

You weren’t seeking any type of approval, but you couldn’t ignore that nagging feeling of hearing his opinion, wondering how loud his thoughts were—if they were as harsh as the things that fell from his mouth.

And the reality doesn’t hit you until you’re pulling up at the event, an overwhelming crowd already gathered along the guardrails—it wasn’t your first time experiencing it, but that attention felt magnified, every single movement being analyzed. Eddie seems calm, as expected, and you hate it.

Eddie speaks to your nerves, watching you scoot near the edge of the seat, squeezed in beside him in the backseat as you peered out the window.

“You don’t have to answer any questions you don’t want to,” He reminds you softly, arms slung over the back of your seat, “they’re like vultures—but they’ll only take what you give them.”

You avert your eyes away, pushing back in the seat until you hit his arm, jumping slightly at the contact. He pulls away, trying to respect your boundaries. Despite your mutual friends and awkward run-ins, you two were practically strangers. He didn’t want to overstep where he shouldn’t, even if the situation was unorthodox and special, he still had enough self awareness.

“I’ll stay with you, if you want.” He offered—he wasn’t sure if it was necessarily allowed, given his obligations to make appearances with his bandmates, but he didn’t care too much. “Just say the word.”

You nod slowly, “Okay—okay, yeah.”

You weren’t prepared for the magnitude, the door opening to a flurry of flashing camera lights and loud noises, it was a storm of rapid media attendees and celebrities. But, you mask it somehow, by some goddamn miracle, and push on.

Eddie leads you down the carpet initially, arm hung loosely around your hip, rings grazing the inside of your wrist. It jerks you back to reality, forcing a joyful smile on your face—you play into it, fingers hugging over the outside of his own hand, dancing along the jewelry carefully. You could fake a smile easily, but words—you were at a loss.

It was the last thing you two cared about, a backstory. But, it was also the most important—and while Eddie may be an expert at bullshitting his way through life, you were terrible.

Eddie fakes a small kiss against your temple, nose burying into your hair as he speaks loudly, still barely audible over the noise.

“Still with me?” He asks.

You turn to him with a sickly sweet smile, nodding with a force.

Eddie scoffs in amusement, hand dipping down to your back slowly. “Good—get ready.” He instructs, not giving you much of a chance to prepare before he’s dipping you slightly, leg pulled up around his waist, fingers held carefully along your thigh as he pulls you in, kisses you deep, and you feel like you can’t breathe.

Eddie lifts you up just as quick and you’re forced to hide your shock and abhorrent disapproval at his antics—it was fully his personality, wild and shocking—but it worked, the crowd cheering with even more intensity.

“You’re dead.” You smile kindly, still reeling from your racing heart, “Never do that again.”

Eddie laughs tensely, arm finding its place around you again, leading you toward the line of interviewers with haste, ready for the assault of obligated professional and personal questions.

You’re great at talking about your work—it surprises him and all he can do is watch in stunned silence, praising not only the show but his work; it didn’t take much research to gather up most of his discography and background, it was work after all—and you were damn good at it.

But, it inevitably hits you.

“So, the world is curious; how did this become a thing?”

This being you and Eddie, together, as a couple—a thing.

“We’re trying to keep things private,” Eddie offers nicely, a stark contrast to his abrasive manner, “but we met a while back—and stuff took off from there. I don’t want to speak for my lady, but we’re happy—that’s all that matters.”

You take a silent breath of relief, quickly recovering to add, “Really happy.” You say, voice filled with a fake sense of adoration, grasping tightly at the jacket of his suit.

The rest of the night is filled with the same monotonous questions, repeating yourself constantly, but it’s your job and you can deal with it—but to say that you weren’t relieved when you finally stepped foot into the theater adjoining the event; well, that would be a lie.

It all seemed believable enough, and you weren’t feeling hostile toward Eddie in the moment, despite his outrageous act of kissing you for the public, bound to make headlines the next morning, if not already—it was all easier than you expected and if things kept up like this, it would all be over in no time.

“I’m getting weird deja vu right now,” Eddie speaks absently, following closely behind you into the packed theater, “—this is—“

“The same place you met me in two years ago,” You tell him, turning haphazardly over your shoulder to look at him, loose ringlets curls following over his face as he leaned in to hear you, “—and then tried to turn me into a random hookup.”

“Oh, like you’ve never done it,” He bickers in response, defending his previous actions steadfast—frankly, it was a little embarrassing that he thought his game was that good, “why are you so bitter about it?”

“I’m not,” You laugh slightly, “you were hammered and couldn’t even look at me straight—I ended up going home with someone else that night.”

Eddie balks slightly at the admission, earning a dramatic eye roll from you in return.

“Women can have casual sex too,” You remind him, head still thrown over you shoulder as you looked at him, “it’s not just me—“

Eddie was too distracted by you to witness the collision at first or even prevent it, bodies colliding harshly as he reached out to grab you, pulling you to him.

The unassuming victim in this situation isn’t even you—it’s the opposite person who crashed into you, a man—younger, meeker, clearly intimidated by Eddie’s presence as he backs away quickly, barking a squeaky apology. It isn’t until you turn to see Eddie’s face that you realize why, his face scrunched up in anger.

“Sorry,” You quickly apologize, pushing away from him to squeeze through the aisle and take your seat, he follows silently behind you, “I’m really uncoordinated, obviously.”

“It’s not you,” Eddie brushes you off slightly, “—kid’s been following us all night, he’s probably a journalist.”

Your eyebrows pull together in confusion, so Eddie elaborates.

“He’s either trying to get information on me,” Which seemed likely, “or you,” less likely, “or on our relationship.”

“I thought we were doing a good job,” You reply honestly, watching Eddie’s eyes linger out into the crowd, landing on something in particular, your eyes follow—Eddie was good at this stuff, it freaked you out too much. The younger kid was staring back for a moment, before averting his eyes in slight shame at having been caught, “I guess not.”

“People’s jobs are to pick at this shit,” Shit being—you and him, “you always have to be aware—always.”

You shuffle in your seat, attempting to scoot closer, lights turning down—you can barely see Eddie now, just a faint glow against the outline of his face.

“That’s good—I’m going to put my arm around you,” Eddie instructs softly, “look—when we’re out in public, we have to be on. There’s always going to be someone watching.”

“You make it seem like you’ve done this before.” You comment with a faint hint of snark, leaning into his touch with guarded weight, “how do you know so much?”

“I’ve never not had a relationship ruined by the public,” He says admittedly, “you pick up on things.”

You don’t press on the admission or let your eyes linger, face held steadily angled at the screen as you spoke.

“Well, at least one of us is a professional at faking it.”

There’s a deeper meaning to it all, something just below the surface, begging to be scratched at, Eddie shrugs it off. He gives a small head shake, a friendly laugh, and the rest of the night is spent in tense silence—he’s never been more eager to be cooped up in his home, away from the limelight and peering eyes.

Fortunately for you, that night is the best bout of sleep you ever receive, in the post bliss of a high note in your life and career—it’s like things couldn’t get better, but surely they had to level out at some point.

They do, sadly. Your phone buzzes off the bedside table, clambering to the floor with a loud slap, it startled you awake as you fished blindly for it..

Another call from Eddie—he clearly hated texting, calling you at nearly eight in the morning. You rubbed at your tired eyes and swiped to answer, greeted with the deep, gruff voice of his. It shouldn’t stop you in your tracks the way that it does, but you can’t help it.

“Why are you calling me this early?” You complain, shoving your wild bed-head hair out of your face, squinting at the screen. “Are you throwing in the towel?”

“No,” He says with annoyance, “have you not checked online at all?”

“Eddie—I just woke up,” You tell him, staring at his face through the screen. He was still in bed too, shirtless from what you could see, hair mussed and messy from sleep, “what’s happening now?”

“I’ll send you the link,” He says, voice muffled as he shifts around, you receive a message a few seconds later, clicking in the hyperlink that brings you to a page, headline plastered in large black text—

ALL FOR SHOW? DATING FOR RATINGS AND VIEWS, ROCKSTAR EDDIE MUNSON OF CORRODED COFFIN CAUGHT IN ANOTHER WILD SCANDAL.

“You’re fucking kidding—” You groan, scrolling down the page.

“Scroll to the bottom,” Eddie tells you, gaze boring through the screen as he watches you, you glanced up sparingly, “do you see it?”

It dawns on you then, “That fucking guy,” You shout excessively, sitting up in your bed, “what the fuck is wrong with people?”

“Do you understand why it has to be taken so seriously now?” Eddie asks, like a soft scolding. Your eyes narrow but he continues, “I don’t care if you hate me—but we agreed to this, we have to make it work.”

“So, what?” You ask flippantly, hand thrown down dramatically against your blanket, “Do I move in with you and start following you around like some pathetic housewife?”

Eddie makes a face of faux consideration, but he quickly wipes it away when he sees your face, scrunched up in frustration.

“I’m going on tour soon,” Eddie explains, “so, we won’t even be around each other much anyways and you’ll have an excuse—but—maybe—we might go on a date or something.”

“Or something?” You ask with an emphasis on the word.

Despite your obvious distaste for him, you didn’t agree to anything other than what was necessary—public appearances, interviews, that was it. Dates—absolutely fucking not.

“Something to cease the doubt,” Eddie explains, moving to prop himself up on his elbow, the phone shifts and is propped up against something, his chest shifting as he leaned over to grab at something—his cigarettes, you realize when he comes back into frame, “a date—or a sex tape if you really want to cut all the shit out.”

Your silence is deafening and Eddie chuckles loudly, lighting the cigarette tucked between his lips.

“I’m fucking with you, sweetheart.” Eddie says warmly, eyes squinting as he blew out the smoke, you tensed as if it would reach you, the small endearment making your stomach twist in annoyance, “I’m just saying a date might help, out in public, just us—“

“We need to figure out a backstory,” You interrupt, “I can’t keep basing everything off of your lame excuse of ‘not wanting to talk about’,” Your finger raises in air quotes, mocking his deep voice.

Eddie makes a soft noise, a silent laugh as his body shakes.

“Why are you laughing?” You ask, bothered by his lack of concern.

“Nothing,” He says lowly, “I’ll talk to you later—I’ve got a meeting in an hour.”

“Whatever,” You reply halfheartedly, “just figure it out.”

You hang up with a cold, brisk goodbye, forcing yourself to begin your day following the rude awakening.

It’s spent mostly in long, grueling phone calls—meetings with agents, adjusting your schedule, all the necessary boring stuff that you hated about this lifestyle—interrupted briefly by the occasional texts from Eddie.

The first one is fine, you’re not really bothered by it.

But then they’re more frequent, less pointed toward a certain objective, and maybe Eddie was just attempting small talk, but you really didn’t have the time.

You huff a loud sigh, placing your phone face down on the table, browsing through computer to answer emails, typing away furiously when another buzz comes through, breaking your focus completely.

“I’m going to kill him.” You mumble to yourself, flipping the phone over to glance at the message, typing out a snarky reply.

Okay, maybe it was a bit much—but you couldn’t be bothered to care, annoyed with the situation you’d wrapped yourself up in, even if it was partly your fault.

Eddie never responds and it helps you feel satisfied that you’ve finally gotten in the last word—unfortunately, it’s short-lived.

You sent your address to him earlier that day, knowing there was no way to weasel your way out of the date—it was all necessary, it’s what you kept telling yourself.

Your head is shoved in your closet, searching for a pair of shoes when the voice startles you from behind, causing you to bump your head painfully.

“Ow, fuck,” You wince, pulling away to peer behind you, face falling immediately, “Dude, what are you doing in here?”

“Your assistant let me in,” He answers simply, motioning with his thumb to the door, “—they said you’d be up here.”

“So you couldn’t wait downstairs?”

Eddie shakes his head, reaching in his pocket for something.

“Here,” He says, pulling the dangling chain from his pocket and placing it in your hand, fingers wrapped firmly around your limp arm, “put it on.”

“Eddie, it’s just a necklace—no one’s going to care.”

His face tightens but his eyes soften, almost pleading.

“God—fine,” You relent, pulling at the clasp to wrap it around your neck, fumbling with the chain as you tried to connect it blindly—it was more difficult that you expected, “fuck—I can’t—“

Eddie holds his hands up expectantly, awaiting your request for help. You sigh softly, turning your back to him as he reaches for the chain, your hand wrapping in your hair to lift it out of the way. His fingers drag along your skin gently, clipping the chain together with ease. He adjusts the chain slightly until it sits comfortably around your neck. You glance down, watching as the puck settles in the dip of your breasts. The pick is engraved with a small E, unnoticeable to anyone but you and him.

“Wait—is this one you actually use, like, when you perform?” You ask hesitantly, turning to face him.

His eyes glance down briefly—normally you’d feel uncomfortable with someone staring directly at your breasts, but it doesn’t bother you in the slightest and you hate that.

“Yeah, of course.” Eddie answers, “Why wouldn’t it be?”

“I figured it was just some cheap one you bought for show.”

Eddie huffs slightly, “That hurts, sweetheart.”

“Stop calling me that.” You mumble, turning away to reach for your shoes. “—and you can’t get mad at me if I lose this. I’m terrible at keeping track of things.”

“You won’t lose it.” He reminds you, putting a little too much hope in your abilities. “You ready?”

You slip on the converse, opting for something more casual and discreet—you could blend in quite easily, like a chameleon. But Eddie, he stuck out like a sore thumb.

“Have you ever thought about cutting it?” You ask curiously, flicking at a lock of hair that rested on his shoulder. “Maybe it would be easier to go unnoticed.”

“I’m known for my hair,” Eddie replies, leading the way down the stairs, “why would I do that?”

“That’s exactly why,” You shrug, “your life would be so much easier.”

“People would be heartbroken, you know.”

And as ridiculous as it sounds, they would be.

“Yet somehow, the world will go on.”

The drive is longer than you anticipated, not that you had much to go on to begin with—Eddie was being unnaturally secretive and he opted to drive himself, which felt even more intimate—it took out the professional aspect completely, but maybe that was what Eddie wanted.

Eddie noticed your watchful eyes, clearing his throat subtly.

“You can stop acting like I’m trying to kidnap you.”

You shake your head at the absurdity, replying kindly.

“I’m just curious where we’re going, that’s all.”

“Oh—well, it’s good, I promise,” He smiles slightly, “my uncle took me here as a kid, I know the owners pretty well.”

“This isn’t a real date,” You remind him, “we agree on that, right?”

“Obviously,” He offers a smug smirk, hand tightening around the steering wheel, “—I already know I’m not your type anyways.”

“My type?” You mock harshly, “I have a type?”

“Are you asking me to answer that for you?”

“I mean—I didn’t know I had a type, so I’d love to hear it.”

And just like that, that small moment of blissful peace is ruined. You two couldn’t even pretend that you liked each other.

“Nevermind,” He laughs airily, “it doesn’t matter.”

You stare at him heatedly, legs crossed tightly over the other as you stiffened.

“You’re so fucking annoying.” You bite at him.

“Likewise.”

Eddie turns it on like a switch, his act—as soon as he parks the car around the back he’s a different person entirely. You weren’t sure how the paparazzi found you, but it wasn’t completely unfathomable. They’d started camping outside of your apartment building, waiting for the opportunity to bombard you with questions and flashing cameras—you were smart to turn it on to, letting Eddie take the lead as he opened the door for you, grasping your hand to help you, wrapping his arm over your shoulder as he led you inside and away from the slowly growing audience of people.

“Eddie,” A voice booms down the hallway, a man dressed in a nicely kept chef’s uniform, “how have you been?”

Eddie smiles at the man, shaking his hand firmly. “Good, great,” Eddie answers indecisively, “I can’t complain.”

“And your uncle?” The man asks inquisitively, “I haven’t seen him in a few months.”

“He likes to hermit himself,” Eddie replies with a friendly chuckle, “I’ll bring him in next time.”

“Ah—no rush,” The owner answers, “—I see you’ve brought your lovely lady, it’s nice to meet you ma’am.”

The ma’am feels too professional but you smile anyways, shaking his outstretched hand. “You too.” You reply with the same intensity, glancing up at Eddie’s watchful eyes.

“I’ve got your table ready, follow me.” He instructs, your hand tightens around Eddie’s instinctively, allowing him to guide you down the hall and out into the dining area—it was mostly quiet, more high-end than you were used to and intimidating nonetheless.

You take your seats, order your drinks—and like Eddie suspected, you settle on a burger, hoping to maintain some sense of normality.

“I can’t understand half the stuff on the menu.” You tell him honestly, glancing up at him from where his face is buried in his phone. “You really used to come here as a kid?”

“It’s changed a lot,” Eddie explains, closing his phone and sliding it back into his pocket, “—I actually own half of the place, it’s part of some of the property I invest in, but yeah.”

“That’s a little—“ Your voice wavers, biting back a smug smile, “aren’t you obligated to think it’s good then, since you own it?”

Eddie laughs slightly, shaking his head as his eyes drift off to the side, glancing around the place leisurely. He’s so desperate to switch the topic that he can’t help it, “So, how did we meet?”

“Oh, right,” You smile, drumming your fingers against the table lightly, smiling at the waiter as they drop off your drinks, “you know—it wouldn’t feel that far off to just play up our first time meeting each other. I get that it was probably a super embarrassing moment for you—“

“It wasn’t—“

You ignore him, “—and maybe we could just say we met at one of your after parties, you asked me on a date, the rest is history.”

“One, it wasn’t embarrassing,” Eddie holds his finger up, “and two, I could’ve came up with that.”

You take a sip of the beer, foamed up in the pint glass. Eddie follows suit, eyes tense as he stares you down.

“It works though, right?”

Eddie shrugs indifferently.

“You’re impossible.” You sigh, trying to remember that you were definitely being watched and that your facial expressions were important, you fixed yourself accordingly, throwing on a fake smile.

“You act like you’ve never been in a relationship before.” Eddie counters, chugging half the beer in one go. It was going to be a long night, clearly.

“I haven’t.” You answer honestly, Eddie nearly choked at the admission. “I mean, I’ve hooked up with a few people, don’t get me wrong—but dating in this line of work, it’s horrendous.”

You had a point, Eddie was all too familiar with it.

“You’re, what—twenty five?” Eddie asks, a confirming nod in return. “Not even high school, college—anything?”

“I never went to college,” You admit, “and I wasn’t interested in dating in high school—I’m not interested in dating at all, actually.”

“Then why did you agree?”

“I didn’t have much of a choice.” You stress, leaning forward over the table with a hushed voice. “If I had said no, there’s no telling what could’ve happened when you left the room. I would’ve lost my job, I’m assuming.”

“They can’t do that.” Eddie replies with a thick tone of naivety.

“They can,” You nod, “and they will—let’s just hope the ratings were good enough that they won’t pull the show completely.”

Eddie pulls back slightly—he’s never considered your side, where you were coming from or feeling about the situation. His life was set, made, he had enough financial stability to last him a lifetime, but you—you were fresh-faced and new to all of it, an unwilling victim.

“Look, we’re in this together.” Eddie assures you, hand reaching across to intertwine with yours—you two were nestled by an open window, so you could only assume it was for show. “We can be friendly about it, at least. I mean—I don’t have any reason to hate you.”

“Other than me turning you down.” You joke, conversation stalling as your food arrived—it was like heaven, truly. Eddie had been right on the money about all of it. You moan at the first bite, the second, to the point where Eddie has to physically stop you.

“Are you okay?” He asks with a chuckle, having finished his first beer and now onto the second—you were nearing the same.

“I haven’t had food like this in a while.” You tell him. “Sorry—“

Eddie shakes his head firmly, “Nono—I’m glad you’re enjoying it.”

There’s a calmness that washes over you both, sharing small talk over your meal, meaningless conversation that neither of you would remember when you went to sleep that night—Eddie orders a third beer, a fourth, and you couldn’t help but pile them on too. You weren’t sure how sore the subject was of his stint with rehab and everything that came with it, but you trusted him enough that he had it under control.

You hum slightly, poking at the shared dessert.

“What?” Eddie asks with a mouthful of cake, covering his mouth haphazardly.

“Can I take a picture of you?” You ask oddly, Eddie doesn’t know where the inquiry comes from, but he agrees. You smile, pulling out your phone to focus on him—the camera flashes, bright light shining in his face as he squints, a half grin still plastered over his face. “Shit—sorry, I forgot I had the flash on.” You laugh lightly.

Eddie doesn’t question your motive, but it feels better to explain, even through your drunken, giggly haze.

“It’s for your contact picture—and for my socials.” You admit, “It’s not official until you post about it, right?”

And you hate yourself for the fluttering feeling that shoots through your body at his smirk, faint but noticeable. A lot of your anger and frustration was geared toward the tenseness that you felt around the situation—you didn’t hate Eddie, per day. You hated the position you’d been forced into and the way it had to be handled; Eddie was still overwhelmingly annoying at times, but the edge that alcohol took off made it easier.

Not that you wanted to be drunk every time you were around him, that seemed illogical, but it helped you realize that it wasn’t all his fault or yours, it was just the reality of the situation.

“Are you busy next month?” Eddie asks.

“Uh—not really, I’m wrapping most of my obligations up this month and that’s as far as I have planned—why?”

“You should go on tour with me.” He suggests and you nearly choke on your drink, liquid spilling down your chin. You cough harshly, covering your mouth. “—or not?”

“No—I’m just—what? Why would you want me to go with you?”

“We’re stuck in this situation at least until the end of the year, right? Visiting me on tour seems disgustingly loving enough that people wouldn’t have any doubt about us.”

You make a face of amused disgust, laughing at the idea but also hating that he was actually right—it was the perfect idea.

“What?” Eddie asks with a chuckle, poking at the small bit of dessert left, he lifts up with his fork, motioning toward you. “Do you want it?”

You shrug, letting him bring the fork to your mouth, lips closing gently over the utensil. If it was for the cameras, you couldn’t tell, your eyes glued to his as let the subtle art of intimacy happen, his gaze flitting down to linger at your mouth.

You pull back with a grin, chewing thoughtfully.

“It’s a really good idea,” You admit begrudgingly, “and I hate myself for actually wanting to do it.”

“Hey—my music isn’t that bad.” Eddie says defensively.

“I wouldn’t know—I’ve never listened to it.”

That seems highly unlikely, an act of absurdity, a crime against humanity. Eddie couldn’t believe it, but it was the truth. He looks offended as he sets his fork down, grabbing for the final sip of his drink.

“Oh my god—“ You gasp, “you really are conceded—Eddie, are you serious?”

“Not even one song?”

“No,” You answer seriously, “I mean—I know what you play and that you sing but I’ve never actually listened to a song. I told you—it’s not my thing.”

“I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that.” Eddie says petulantly, turning his nose up jokingly. “My own girlfriend, that hurts.”

You roll your eyes lazily, “Shut up.” You respond warmly.

It makes Eddie laugh—a genuine, deep laugh that you’ve never heard before; maybe the alcohol was getting to him too.

When you’re finally finished, Eddie leads you out the same way you entered, avoiding the mass of cameras awaiting you outside, managing to get you inside the car with minimal commotion, pulling off before things turn hectic. It’s the one thing Eddie has learned to master—that and he scared most people off.

“They never stop.” You say into the quiet rumble of the car, engine revving as he sped down the street.

“It’ll get better,” Eddie says, “—or more manageable, at least.”

You hiccup, “They camp outside my apartment most days—in shifts and stuff, there’s—there’s always someone out there.”

“Do you have security or anything?”

It was another luxury you weren’t accustomed to. You shake your head slightly, peeking up at his burning gaze.

“Are you sure you should be driving?” You ask hesitantly, “We were drinking a little more than we should have.”

“I wouldn’t have tried if I wasn’t sure,” He assures you, holding his hand out to showcase his steady fingers, rings knocking together slightly, “—see, I’m good.”

You weren’t sure how that was supposed to help, but you shrugged it off, grabbing at his extended hand.

“Do you ever take these off?” You ask with a short laugh, twisting the jewelry around his fingers, noting the tiny cuts along his fingertips.

Eddie huffs an offended laugh, “Yes.” He snatches his hand away gently, returning it to the wheel. “I shower and dress myself too, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

You nod thoughtfully, “Damn—you read my mind.” You reply smugly, silenced growing over as Eddie pulled into the parking garage to your building, coming to a gentle stop. You hesitate leaving, wondering if you should say anything—even a simple goodbye.

Eddie speaks first, sensing whatever emotion you were giving off—you couldn’t even put a finger on it.

“I can walk you upstairs if you want,” He offers, “if you’re worried.”

“Please?” You ask softly.

Eddie doesn’t even hesitate.

Eddie leads you up with a hand on the small of your back, the dip above your ass, and it feels like fire through your clothing, his touch burning hot. You fumble with the key at your lock, feeling the buzz spread through your body, eyes squinting to concentrate. Eddie never leaves your side, scooting even closer when someone passes down the hallway—their looks linger, but they don’t say anything, not with the stern gaze Eddie shoots back.

“Stop scaring people,” You mumble, finally fitting the key into the lock and turning it. Eddie follows in behind you, clicking the door shut silently, “—thank you, Eddie.”

Eddie slips your wallet into your hand, something you’d shoved into his hand earlier while you searched for your keys, almost forgetting about it. You snatch it without a word, pressing it down against the counter.

“Are you good then?” Eddie asks, nodding toward the door. “If you are I’ll just—“

“Do you want a drink?” You ask randomly, already sifting through your cabinet, reaching in for a wine glass.

It’s almost like Eddie was waiting for it, agreeing eagerly.

“Yeah—yeah, sure.”

You smile knowingly, reaching for another glass. You place them on the counter gently—Eddie roamed around aimlessly, taking in the space, glancing over occasionally as you sifted through your copious bottles of wine.

“This is cute.” Eddie says, holding up a small picture frame. It was you and Steve as young kids, young enough that you two weren’t even communicating in full sentences yet—Eddie could spot Harrington anywhere; it was a gift.

“Our parents are friends,” You explain without prompting, carefully filling up the glasses, “I taught him how to walk, according to my parents.”

“That explains a lot.” Eddie laughs softly.

“Here,” You nudge him gently, handing him the glass before taking a seat on the couch, shoes slipped off to the ground, “you can sit, if you want.”

Eddie moves slowly, still lingering about as he looks around, the cushion dips slightly when he finally takes a seat. You sip quietly, feeling more relaxed in the comfort of your own place. Your legs extend, pressed gently against the outside

of his thigh. Eddie doesn’t mind, glancing further around the homey environment you’d created.

“I’m really sentimental.” You tell him, nursing the glass in your hands. “It’s why I have so much stuff from back home.”

“Home being…” Eddie pushes further, curious.

“Hawkins—Indiana. It’s where Steve and I grew up before we moved to California. He went his way and I went mine but we’re still close. I just miss it, sometimes. So it’s nice to have small reminders.”

Eddie nods slowly. He didn’t care much for pictures or gifts or things from his childhood—his guitars were his babies, his records, littered and hung throughout his house like a museum, his own small collection.

“Oh shit,” You panic, placing the wine glass on the end table as you searched for your phone, grabbing it from your back pocket, “I almost forgot about the picture.”

Eddie chortles, leaning over to peek at your screen.

“Did you want to look?” You ask, tilting the phone toward him, “Before I post it?”

Eddie nods silently, setting his glass down too. You scramble toward him, lifting onto your knees to shift that way. His fingers wrap around the back of your hand, eyes scanning over your screen. It’s the same photo as earlier—he looks ridiculous, but you find it endearing. It’s nothing like the magazine covers or posed photo shoots you’ve seen of him; it’s a small glimpse of the real Eddie, unfiltered and raw.

“Is it okay?” You ask, not sure why you’re seeking his approval, but the question slips out regardless.

“Yeah—“ He pauses, considering a thought before he can’t help but speak, “but, maybe we should—like, take one together? Is that weird?”

You weren’t sure why you didn’t think of it before him, but it’s a brilliant idea, actually—you’re blaming it on the slight intoxication and the heat of nervousness that ran through your body around him. You couldn’t control it.

“Uh, sure.” You agree, shifting closer then, nearly falling into his lap as you do. Eddie catches you with ease, his hand resting against the outline of your hip bone as he adjusts you slightly, body angled as he lifts you over his legs. “Here—maybe I should—I’ll just turn this way.”

You’re fully settled onto his lap now, turned sideways as you lift the camera. It wasn’t hard to force a smile, no matter how fake, and that’s what you’re expecting Eddie to do, but instead he speaks.

“Can I kiss you?” He asks politely, almost comically. “For the picture?”

“Oh—uh, yeah?” You respond with a soft laugh. Eddie doesn’t hesitate, his fingers dragging under your chin to tip your head up, lips connecting with yours gently.

The camera clicks a few times, his lips held steady. You laugh slightly at the absurdity, pulling away gently to sift through the photos. Your head turns, swiping through your screen.

It’s astonishing how believable it looks from the outside eye, both of you caught mid-smile as you tilt the phone toward him to show it off. You glance up briefly, but Eddie isn’t even looking at the phone, eyes locked on you.

And you’re not naive, not in the slightest. You’re half guided by the alcohol, half guided by the unrestrained horniness you felt from having deprived yourself of connection for so fucking long. It’s just one time, you tell yourself. Just once. It doesn’t have to be anything—it was nothing.

Your phone slips from your hand to the floor, Eddie’s own fingers wrapping around your face, encompassing the sides and digging gently into the nape of your neck as he pulls you to him, but it’s you who kisses him, a small tinge of hesitancy as he glides his lips against your own—you couldn’t take it, skipping past every last bit of hesitancy you had and gliding your tongue over his bottom lip.

Eddie is just as intense like this as he is normally, giving into his urges just as easily. He can’t remember the last time he’s ever had a genuine, casual hookup—not that he expected this to turn into that, but it’s freeing, liberating.

His tongue dips into your own mouth, swiping against yours, you moan outwardly, shifting until you're more comfortably, thighs stretched over his own, straddling his waist. Your mouth never leaves his, speed increasing with fervor as you kiss him soundly, pulling away for a quick breath, the sheen of spit as you disconnected, a small string connecting your mouths.

“Take your pants off.” He breathed hotly, eyes half-lidded as he stared up at you. You stand clumsily, reaching for the button of your jeans as you wriggle the denim down your hips, Eddie assists the aid, yanking roughly until they pooled at your ankles, he leans down swiftly, helping you out of them fully.

His hands slip behind the fatty expanse of your thigh, squeezing gently to guide you back over his lap, sitting directly against the cold denim of his own pants.

Eddie’s mouth connects with yours quickly, moving with the kiss as you lean in forcefully, rubbing the front of your chest against his own, the tight squeeze of your thighs reassuring your movements as you delved into his mouth, tongue hot and flat as it mingled with his, all saliva and muffled groans as he consumed you, the tinge of cigarette hitting your taste buds, mixed with the faint subtleness of beer.

“We gonna regret this in the morning?” Eddie asks with a break to his tone, voice checked as he pulls away slightly.

You chase his lips, settling for the line of his jugular, mouthing at the skin, the faint beat of his pulse against your tongue.

“Depends,” You reply breathlessly, “Can you make me come?”

It was a feat not many could accomplish—and if you were letting things drag on this far, you weren’t going to let it be for nothing.

“Please,” Eddie scoffs, noise dying out on a groan as you nipped at the skin, head dipping to the other side, the gentle trace of his fingers following up your back, “what type of men have you been fucking?”

“If I’m horny—I’ll take what I can get,” You admit, “I’m not picky”.

“And right now?” Eddie asks hopefully, “Are you taking what you can get?”

“We’ll see.” You remark, lifting your hips slightly as his hands dipped under the black lace of your underwear, fingers spreading through the pooled wetness, slick coating them.

“Jesus,” Eddie sighs, “you’re so fucking wet.”

You nod dumbly, a faint smile pulling at your face. It’s like instant relief when he touches you, whatever earlier ache fading away in an instant at the heat of real fingers gliding through your cunt, something other than your own hand.

“Shouldn’t you take your rings off,” You think idly, feeling the cold metal against the inside of your thigh, “won’t they get messy?”

Eddie hums a noise of approval, pulling back to glance at your relaxed expression, jaw slack as his fingers rubbing through folds.

“Oh no, I wouldn’t dream of it.” He laughs deeply, turning his palm down so his rings pressed fully against your cunt, the outline of the skull ring catching against your clit. You gasp slightly, hand tightening around his neck where it rested. He nods knowingly, “Don’t worry—it’s really hot.”

Shamefulness aside, drunken haze filling your body, you give in, hips rocking gently against the flat of his hand, palm resting over his dick where it’s confined in his jeans, through your underwear. It’s the perfect angle, hips canting down as the ridge of the metal catches against the soft mound of your clit. He’s pulled you so close, you can’t even think about moving away now.

“Feels good, yeah?” Eddie asks, voice strained as his hand wraps around the length of your waist, your mouth falling open in a soundless gasp as your face rests against the side of his, buried in the curls of his hair, smelling like some expensive cologne and a odd mixture of leather, probably from the jacket thrown of his shoulders.

“Uh huh,” You respond deftly, whining softly as his hand flexes into a fist, pressing firmly against you, “—shit.”

“God—you’re soakin’ my fingers, sweetheart.” Eddie comments softly—you let the endearment slide, too caught up in your own mind to care. “Is it always like this?”

And lord does he hope it is.

You shake your head slightly, “It’s the alcohol,” You admit shyly, “—can’t help it.”

Eddie laughs gently, a small shake of his chest as you keen forward, hips searching for more, hoping for more.

“Can I—can you—“ You fumble over your words, but it isn’t hard to decipher what you’re asking, your free hand traveling between your bodies, over the hard tent in his jeans, dick twitching beneath your touch.

“Yeah—fuck, of course.” Eddie sighs, lifting you up slightly to reach for his buttons, flipping it open in one fluid movement, letting you pull at his jeans until they’re tucked under his ass, his underwear following suit.

If there was one thing you expected for certain, it was that Eddie had a nice dick—it wasn’t hard to find online, rather willingly or unwillingly, he wasn’t shy about it. It wasn’t up for you to judge, but it’s even more intimidating in person—everyone else is dull in comparison, you can’t even peel your eyes away.

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Eddie remarks, catching your expression—it feels teasing, but not in the way that makes you want to retaliate, “—here, give me your hand.”

And you do, letting his larger palm guide yours over the head of cock, down his shaft, fingers grazing the soft stubble of his balls as he sighs, head resting back against your couch.

His still slowly working hand flips, giving you a small amount of relief against your cunt, the pad of his middle finger pressing against your opening, fluttering around the tip. He doesn’t need to ask, he can see it in the look you give him, the subtle nod.

His finger dips in slowly, testing—it’s been far too long and it’s embarrassing how little of a touch can make you feel so good.

“I know,” He soothes, seeing the crease of your eyebrows, face pulled tight in anguish, “I know.”

Your hand moves slowly, dragging along the length of his shaft. He inhales deeply, the soft touch of your fingers sends a strong jolt to his dick, your thumb grazing over the tip gently. The friction can’t feel that good, despite how wrecked he already looks. You pull your hand away, licking a wet stripe up your palm—it’s something so visceral, hitting Eddie at his core.

Your hand returns just as quickly, and he moans out at the touch, wet and slick as your hand glides easier, up and down in firm, tight tugs—you didn’t know what he liked, but by the look on his face, you were doing just fine.

His slips his finger in fully now, forgoing the teasing pace, impatient and wanting to feel you clench around him—you do, gasping at the sudden intrusion of his thick finger, ring pressed hard against your entrance, he curls the digit and you gasp out softly.

“Jesus,” He moans, his dick throbbing beneath your touch. You can’t help but focus on anything but him, the calculated glide and twist of your hand as you work against his shaft, thumb dragging over the tip occasionally, mixing saliva with the small amount of precum pooling at his slit, “—can’t—can’t focus with you touching me dick like that.” He admits with a strained chuckle.

His fingers release you, sticky wetness gliding against your clit like magic, that familiar buzz filling through your body, pit of your stomach like burning fire as you cry out at the slightest touch.

“Fuck—it really has been a while, hasn’t it?” Eddie asks, voice soft and concerned. You nod weakly, mouth hung open slightly as your eyes fall shut. Your hand never stops moving against him, picking up speed with every quick circle of his finger against your clit, throbbing with need.

“Look at me,” He urges, hand finding the back of your head, cradling the weight of it, “open your eyes.”

You do, slowly, met with the same weak but intense gaze. You’ve never looked into someone’s eyes like this, not in such an intimate situation—there was never connection, just pleasure and release. This felt…palpable, real. You shoved the concerning thoughts aside and let yourself live in the moment, his pace quickening with determination, mouth falling open with each second that passed.

“That’s it,” He encourages, voice faltering as you squeeze at his shaft, “—want you to look at me while you come, okay?”

You nod, but it’s not enough.

“Say it.” He pleads.

“Yes,” You force out, “I—I will.”

“Good,” He breathes, grunting loudly as your pace overwhelms his senses, destroying his train of thought, “good girl.” He forces himself to say, voice shot.

His finger circles your sensitive clit with urgency and it hits you all at once, the sensation exploding from your core to your entire body, jerking at the high of your own orgasm, allowing Eddie to coach you through it, hand flattening against your cunt as your hips searched for more relief, satiating that lasting ache as he pressed firmly, giving you a chance to calm down, catch your breath.

“I got it,” He assures, swatting at your hand gently, “it’s okay.”

“No,” You grumble, forcing his hand away too, feeling steady enough to return to your previous pace, still breathless from your own orgasm, “stop acting like that.”

He grunts softly, his hips shifting on their own accord. He was close, it was so blatantly obvious. “Like you have to do it all yourself,” You snark at him, “just shut up and let me do it.”

Eddie laughs at your determination and clipped tone, bottom lip pulled between your teeth in concentration—but his amusement is short-lived, your hand tightening around his shaft with a feverish grip—it was too much, even for Eddie.

“Fuck,” He breathes out harshly, coming over his lap and your thighs in long spurts—the thick, sticky fluid coating your skin. You can’t even be bothered to care, his face so sweet when he does come, all scrunched up with focus, jaw clenched as he forces himself to say silent, much to your dismay, “—holy shit.”

You both take a moment to settle, catch your breath, before you’re reaching behind you and onto the table for a tissue, handing it to Eddie silently. He cleans you both up with no complaint, taking care to make sure nothing is left, before balling up the tissue and tossing it into the small trash can in the corner of the room.

You shift off of him, feeling the sticky, cold fabric of your underwear between your thighs—you grimace and Eddie laughs at the emotion you emit.

“Don’t say anything.” You tell him hotly, “We can act like this didn’t happen.”

Eddie holds his hands up defensively, “Like what happened?” He asks densely, shifting dramatically to shove himself back into his underwear, pulling his jeans back up his hips.

“Keep it that way.” You warn, voice holding no malice.

You didn’t want this to become a thing. It was all a weak moment of need, of wanting to feel good, and that’s all it had to be.

Eddie nods slowly, still lingering on the couch as you stand.

He wants to ask something, you can see it on his face.

“What?”

“Uh—I know this didn’t happen but—can I sleep here, on your couch or something?” Eddie asks, “I probably shouldn’t drive this late, not after that last glass you gave me.”

You nod kindly, disappearing down the hallway for a moment before returning with a pillow and blanket, switching him for your discarded jeans as you made the trade silently.

“I need you gone in the morning,” You tell him, “I mean it.”

“No problem,” Eddie agrees with you, “it’ll be like I was never even here—promise.”

You really, really hope that was the case—too ashamed to even look at yourself now, still standing half naked in front of him, telling yourself this would never happen.

But it did—and you hated yourself for wanting it.

#eddie munson smut #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #my writing #1kfic

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