#LAST bar post i swear lmao

[nihilismtrcit]

if there’s one thing about this girl, she’s gonna play darts

[pretty-little-mind33]

Tom Ryder x fem!reader

Summary: You're Tom's makeup artist for a movie he's shooting and you absolutely hate him. However, one round of karaoke later, your feelings temporarily shift.

Genre: Fluff, smidge of angst, Enemies to Lovers (very one-sided lmao)

Warnings: Tom is a stupid asshole (but he's also just a mess), swearing, reader is described as shorter than Tom, light misogyny, slapping, alcohol, being drunk/high.

TOM RYDER MASTERLIST

The bar is dimly lit and the loud music resounds in your ear as your knee bounces. You stir the straw around your drink, sighing as you turn to Vanessa, your co-worker. "He left me another post-it note on the desk yesterday telling me he wants a new lip oil because his now tastes weird!? His last one is only from last week and it's the same brand he always uses! I'm so sick of his bullshit, V," you drop your head in your arms and then peek up at Vanessa again, "He's such a dick."

Vanessa laughs, sipping on her margarita, as she shrugs, "Didn't you know that when you took the job, honey?"

"I mean, sure. But those could have been rumors," you pout and sit up, moving some hair behind your ear as you look around the room, where other crew members have gathered around the karaoke machine.

"Listen, don't think about Tom Ryder. You're off the clock and everyone knows he's a world-class asshole—a pretty world-class asshole, I will let him have that," Vanessa hums and also turns her attention to the rest of your friends and co-workers as she claps her hands. 

You look down at your drink, your cheeks feeling warmer than usual. Not thinking about Tom Ryder was easier said than done when you had to work on his face 5 days a week. He was so infuriating most times, either talking down to you when you worked or wouldn't cooperate with anything you told him to do because he was on his phone. Sometimes he really makes you want to stab the mascara stick into his eye. 

Still, you can't deny he's extremely handsome and that just annoys you more. 

Suddenly, you hear a bunch of cheers and hoots from outside, directly accompanied by the sound of the door slamming open. When you hear an all too familiar voice, your eyes widen and you snap around to make sure you hadn't just imagined it. 

Tom Ryder coming to one of the crew parties? No fucking way. Obviously, he's always invited to them but in a very arrogant fashion he never shows up—which is one of the reasons you do, because he never does. 

Only this time he did and he's not alone. 

Tom is dressed in another one of his boisterous outfits, his shirt loosely unbuttoned to reveal his chest and a peak of his toned abs. Pink-tinted sunglasses sit on his nose and his dirty blond hair curls messily around his face.

He looks drunk, or high, when he walks in and you can't tell which one it is because he's constantly moving and laughing. He's accompanied by a few other low A-list actor friends he has and a pretty blond model hangs on his arm, her giggles instantly infuriating you. 

How can she stand to be near him for more than a minute? Even less hold his arm and be his eye-candy? 

You turn back around, desperately attempting to calm the bile rising in your throat. God, you hate him. You feel even worse when he leans beside you at the bar and orders a drink from the bartender, snapping his fingers as he does. He doesn't even address your presence beside him and your blood boils. 

Your anger immediately turns to disgust when you hear the man hosting the karaoke scream out Tom Ryder's name.

"Tom Ryder everyone! I loved your new movie, man, it was awesome! How about a song?" the man asks, eyebrows wiggling as the crew clap (mostly out of politeness) and his friends make loud, drunken noises like a bunch of animals. 

"C'mon! One song—for all the pretty ladies in the crowd!"

Tom seems intrigued when the man mentions the girls. You roll your eyes and your hand tightens around your glass as he walks up to the host, raising his hands in surrender and feigning humbleness. "Alright, alright, I have to give the ladies what they want, don't I?" Tom boasts, winking at one of the camera girls he never looks at otherwise. 

Someone put you out of your misery now.

The host seems ecstatic to have someone this famous next to him and asks Tom for a quick photo, which Tom obviously doesn't turn down. You pretend to gag when Vanessa turns to look at you and smirks at Tom's behavior.. 

"How about a duet, Ryder?" The host asks as he hands him the mic. 

"Nah, I usually sing solo," Tom says, his words slightly slurred, and then he leans in to whisper something in the host's ear—which probably goes something like, "Unless she's got a nice rack, then by all means invite her up here." 

You lean in and whisper into Vanessa's ear, "Ten bucks he takes home the girl he ends up singing with," you say with a frown, your voice a little strained. Vanessa laughs and then the worst thing happens.

"You," the host shouts and you look up alarmed. Your eyes are wide when you realize everyone, including Tom, is staring at you. "The angry-looking girl in the back. Why don't you come up and join him? I doubt he'd bite." 

Laughter, including some nervous ones from your friends, resounds around the room as Tom's smirk widens. You'd be surprised, you think. You find your voice again and say, "Um, can't you ask one of them?" you point to the group of eager fangirls swarming around the small stage as they ogle Tom. 

"C'mon, sweetheart," Tom slurs, squinting at you, "One song won't kill you." 

But you might just kill him.

Vanessa, the traitor, nudges you again and you stumble from the stool. You glare at her but when all your friends, including Tom's more obnoxious friends, chant encouragements you feel completely trapped. 

The walk to the small stage feels eerily similar to a walk of shame as you look to your co-workers in hopes someone will save you. No one does and you ignore the stares from all the girls who wish they could take your place. 

You're blinded by the lights as you step on the stage and approach the host. "Atta girl," the man smirks patronizingly as he hands you the second mic. You scrunch your nose at him and then look up at Tom, expecting him to be ignoring you like he usually is, but instead, he's staring. 

His cheeks are pink from being intoxicated and he tilts his head, watching you clutch the mic nervously. 

The host doesn't warn you when the song begins to play and he walks away. You realize too late you and Tom are now alone and everyone is watching you as dread slowly fills your stomach. 

You don't even know how to sing! This is so humiliating. 

 The familiar melody of, "Don't Go Breaking My Heart," fills the air and you feel the heat rise in your chest and up to your ears. Your heart is pounding so loudly you can only faintly hear Tom start to sing the song. He sounds fairly good and you aren't surprised considering he's an actor. 

Your voice catches in your throat and you feel tears rise. You don't sing when it's your turn and the crowd is silent. 

Suddenly, you jump when you feel a strong hand on your hip and you snap your head around to look at him. Your hand finds Tom's hand immediately, gripping it, and just as you're about to pull it away, he leans in and whispers, hot against your ear, "Baby doll, you're making me look bad," he states, his tone as condescending as it always is, and your heart does a somersault in your chest.

He looks down at you this time, his blue eyes lock with yours for a moment and his hand falters on your hip. For an actor, Tom Ryder has surprisingly no poker face because when he sees your distressed state, his demeanor shifts, and instead of frustration, he takes on a different approach.   

He takes your hand, suddenly twirling you around and you make a small sound as you stumble. It's been a few seconds since anyone has sung the song, so he sings again and this time, his eyes stay on yours as he sings your lyrics.

"You know this," he mouths, encouraging you as he does this weird, clearly drunk-induced shimmy that makes you laugh despite your better judgment. He points to the small screen where the lyrics are displayed.

You take a breath and then sing, focusing on him instead of the crowd and your head feels light. You would have never guessed there would be a day when you'd find comfort in Tom Ryder. Your friends clap with amusement and laughter swirls around the bar as you both continue to sing and dance. 

Occasionally, Tom will pull you in closer but you'll move away, flustered, and when the song finally ends, you move back and almost trip on the mic's cord. 

With a gasp, you expect to fall flat on your ass but instead, Tom wraps his arm around your waist and pulls you into him as your palms press on his chest. You're breathing heavily and so is he, his hand is still on your back as his eyes roam over all your features until you push him away and walk down the small stairs and back to the ground where all your friends are whispering and clapping. 

You feel like you can't breathe, your heart beating so quickly. You mumble a quick "excuse me" to Vanessa, snatch your purse from the bar counter, and open the door to outside. The cool air calms your burning skin and you lean against the building. 

What the fuck was that? Why was he looking at you like that? 

"You know, it's normal to be nervous around someone like me," Tom's voice interrupts your panic and you spin around, not expecting to see him. "But running from me? Now, darling, that's truly a first," he finishes with a chuckle and an obnoxious smirk. 

"You're so full of yourself," you whisper automatically but then your eyes round as if you've realized what you'd said. 

Tom looks surprised but he also remains cool as he strokes a hand down his jaw and puts it on his hip. "Mm, I assume you're not a fan then." 

You cross your arms and look anywhere but directly at him because fuck, why did someone so incredibly stupid and pretentious have to be so darn hot? "You could say that, sure," you shrug. "Not everyone likes you, Tom Ryder." You shut yourself up as soon as the words leave your mouth. This isn't exactly something you should say to someone who you work with.

However, Tom's expression sours and he lifts his eyebrow. "You don't like me?"

You turn to him, eyes locking with him this time. "That isn't what I said."

Tom's eyebrows crease and he squints at you, removing his stupid sunglasses and they push back his blond hair. "You're confusing me." He sounds genuine. 

You can't help but chuckle at his idiocy and surprisingly for you, your laughter makes him smile. He leans in and you lean away, eyes round when you realize how close he's becoming. "You have such a sexy laugh," he says cockily, "Bet I can make you do it again."

You hate to admit this but your heart does flutter at his words. Can anyone really blame you? It's Tom. Fucking. Ryder. You try to remind yourself how much of a dick he is—and always has been—but as you look into the blue of his eyes, his reassuring touch burns imprints on your skin and you feel dizzy. 

Shit. 

"You look familiar," Tom straightens himself, "Have I seen you somewhere? You been in any magazines? You certainly have the look."

You ignore the so-called complement and stare at him. He has to be kidding. You've been doing his makeup for over six months now and he supposedly sees you almost every day. You worked on his face every single day—how could he not recognize you? You open your mouth to ask if this is a joke but he interrupts you.

"Seriously, I must know you from somewhere. Gimme a hint, baby,"

Your stomach sinks and you feel so so stupid. Tom doesn't sense your shift as he's still focused on whatever fleeting emotion may have been between you before as his hand finds your hip. 

Instantly, your palm connects with his cheek, and the sound cracks into the air. "Don't touch me," you say harshly, ignoring how shaky your voice is.

Tom looks at you, his hand over his bruised cheek, "You hit me?!" he says in disbelief, "What the fu—" 

You don't stick around to hear his whining as you turn around and run from him. 

Again. 

"Hey–wait!" you hear Tom's shout but why would you turn around now? Tears of frustration brim your eyes as you hastily walk down the empty sidewalk.

There is no way you're fucking crying over Tom fucking Ryder right now, you tell yourself and pinch the inside of your eyes. 

No way. 

You ignore Vanessa's incessant calling and her worried texts when you arrive at your apartment. You scream in frustration, throwing your heels across the room and scaring your poor cat, Pumpkin, as she sprints into the living room, her claws against the floorboards.

Quickly, you follow her and scoop her into your arms, "'M sorry, baby," you coo and nuzzle your nose into her fur. "I'm sorry Mommy scared you."

You hear Vanessa's fifth call from your purse but you're too exhausted to deal with her and the fallout from what had happened tonight, so instead you sit on the couch and cuddle with Pumpkin, scratching behind her ears. 

* * * 

When you pull into the parking lot of the new set the next morning, you haven't slept well and you feel like shit—it doesn't help that they're filming outside today, in the summer heat, and grainy sand infiltrates into your Converse. 

You groan as you walk over to the makeup trailer and see Vanessa waiting for you. You almost called in sick this morning until you realized how guilty that would make you look, so you sucked it up. 

"Y/n?!" Vanessa shrieks and pulls you behind the trailer. "Where have you been?! I've called you a hundred times, why haven't you answered any of them? I was worried Ryder somehow took you home and that I'd lost 10 bucks—" 

"Gross, why would you think that?" you say with disgust as if you weren't surprised to hear that after you left Tom hadn't returned to the bar. 

"I mean, for one, Ryder was missing and no one knew where he went. And second, are you shitting me? Girl, the tension was more than palpable! You were practically dry-humping Tom Ryder in front of everyone!" 

You feel like someone has just punched you in the stomach and your voice comes out high and nervous when you exclaim, "I was not! It wasn't like that, V! Is that what everyone thinks?" Vanessa nods as an answer and you want to scream. 

"I swear, I- nothing happened—even outside—I- funny story I slapped him because he's a jerk and I- I don't like him!" you ramble and your heart thumps quicker when Vanessa looks behind you and her mouth curls into a devious smirk.

"Don't look now, sweetie, but your boyfriend just arrived," she pauses and checks her watch, "An hour late. As usual." Vanessa looks you dead in the eyes and then she teases, "Chop chop, time to put makeup on your man." 

Your eyes widen and you pull Vanessa further behind the trailer so Tom won't see you or her. You hold her shoulders. "Please switch with me for today. He won't even notice the difference, and Allie doesn't need to have her makeup done until noon so that way I don't have to see him! Please, V, I'll do anything!" 

Vanessa crosses her arms, "Nothing happened with him, hm?"

You look at her, your eyes round and pleading, "Please."

"Fine, but you're paying for my lunch later," she says and taps your nose, "and giving me a detailed rundown on what happened with Ryder."

You nod reluctantly, whispering a small thank you under your breath as she turns to walk into the makeup trailer behind Tom. You let out a breath, leaning against the trailer. You know you'll have to face him at some point—just not now.

The day drags on and on as the heat is becoming almost unbearable. You stand to the side, your makeup kit secured to your hip as you watch the scene from under a tent. It's another action sequence and it's very obvious Tom's makeup is fading from the warmth and his sweat. 

Shit, you realize, he needs a touch-up. Vanessa didn't use the correct primer. 

You look around, hoping to see Vanessa and tell her Ryder needs a touch but the director's voice cuts in and you tense, "Cut! Someone come to fix his face!" Jody turns to you, her eyes kind as her voice becomes a little less stressed when she sees you're prepared for this, "Can you fix his makeup?" 

Shit, shit, shit. 

This is your job, you can't say no so you walk out onto the set where Tom is leaning against a prop rock. He straightens himself and when he turns, he doesn't have the chance to process your presence as you guide him down and fumble with your kit. 

He's taller than you so he's leaning down so you can fix him up properly. You put your hand on his jaw, near his ear, to steady him as you touch up under his eyes and near his cheekbones. 

He's staring at you and you know he recognizes you this time, his blue eyes wide and puppy-like. 

Silently, you add some powder on his cheeks and nose so the product sticks better this time and when you let him go, Tom opens his mouth to speak, but you shake your head no, and then you turn your head and hurry back behind the camera. 

Your ears are burning from embarrassment as you walk directly to the makeup trailer, without looking back at anyone. 

You've barely closed the door when it slams open and you scream. You spin around just as someone tries to hold onto your arm and on instinct you grab the hairspray that's in your kit and spray it directly into… Tom's eyes. 

He screams too, his voice high-pitched and very un-sexy, as he clutches his eyes. Seeing him only causes you to scream again. "Ryder?!" you exclaim and immediately take his arm, pulling him inside the trailer as he wails like a child and rubs at his eyes. 

You slap his hands away and push him down under the faucet, pouring water into his eyes and in the process drenching his blond hair and ruining his mascara. 

"Fuck," he groans as he sputters out water as he jerks away from you. You move closer to him and without thinking hold both of his cheeks in your hands, looking directly into his, now slightly irritated, eyes. 

"Does it hurt?" you whisper, clearly concerned. 

Tom rests his hands on yours and pulls them away, "What do you think?" he groans and blinks a few times. "You're the girl—" he mutters and pinches his nose, "at karaoke. I remember you now."

You realize how close you are to him now and, overwhelmed, you step back. "Lucky me," you mumble sarcastically and take his arm, pulling him to one of the seats. "I have to fix your face again or someone is gonna fire me." 

He's weirdly docile as he looks at your work as you dry his hair. Once you're done, he speaks up, "Why'd you run from me? I mean, c'mon, the way you looked at me with those fuck-me eyes—" 

Tom has no shame and of course, he wouldn't. He's probably never really been rejected in his entire life and women have most likely let him speak to them like this. You pause and pull his chin harder so he's looking at you as you continue with his mascara. 

"Tell me honestly Ryder, do you even hear yourself when you speak?" you ask, your voice strained. 

"What?" Tom asks, sounding genuinely confused. 

"You're an asshole. That's why I ran from you." You drop his chin and your word vomit comes out without you being able to help it as you cross your arms, "I mean—I have been doing your makeup for months! And you've only ever left me your stupid post-it notes when you have a demand! No "Hi," "Good morning," "How are you?" No. Nothing like that. And I tried! I really tried in the beginning because like everyone else on this fucked up planet I thought you were awesome."

Tom opens his mouth to make a snide comment but you instantly press your finger to his lips. 

"I really thought, "I'm so lucky to be Tom Ryder's makeup artist!" and then I found out Tom Ryder is a shit person that doesn't—"  

"I'm not a shit person," Tom deadpans and stares at you as if your words have hurt him. 

You tilt your head and drop your arms to your side. You don't even know what to say to him anymore. 

"Okay, okay, I'm sorry I made you feel shitty, okay?" Tom defends and his cheeks are pink, "I just—I am really bad with faces—and I-I was completely shit-faced and high on–" 

He pauses, stands, and wraps his hand around your jaw, his thumb stroking your bare cheek as your eyes widen and you tense. Something about his charm makes it impossible for you to move and because his touch is gentle, you aren't too worried. For now. "'M sorry. I am. Can't we call it even since you hit me and sprayed me in the face with whatever that fucking was?!"

He continues, "—listen, I liked karaoke with you and I was shit-faced so I know I must have been a dick."

"You're always a dick, Ryder," you comment, your tone less mad than earlier.   

"Then, you don't know me very well," Tom shrugs, "or like at all." 

"So—you're saying all this dick-ishness is a persona?" You sound very skeptical and Tom just shrugs as his thumb strokes over your skin once more and then he drops his hand, putting some distance between you and him. 

"No. Not entirely. But, you know, that doesn't mean I'm incapable of genuine feelings, Y/n."

You're surprised when you hear your name fall from his lips. Tom sees your expression and another one of his smirks curls at his lips, "As I said, I remember you now. Always did—my hot makeup artist—ask anyone—ask Gail, I mention you a lot. I was just hammered, you know? High out my mind—and it heightened all my fucking senses that I couldn't get your laugh out my head for hours." 

"If you're joking," you say and glare at him, "it isn't funny." 

Tom puts a hand on his heart dramatically, "'M not. Scouts fucking honor." 

You look at him and for once, you can't read him. "Well, either way, that doesn't change how much of an asshole you've been to me. You never said "hi" but you told Gail about me? Sorry, but that doesn't impress me."

You walk up to him and tilt his head using his chin, examining his make-up once more, and then you take his arm and try to pull him out of the trailer, "Now, c'mon, you have a job to do—go do it," you hiss.

"But—" 

"No," you start but he won't move. He turns around and stares at you. Fuck, he's strong. "Why won't you leave?" you ask, breathless as you step away from him. 

"Do you hate me so much that you won't even consider that I genuinely find you interesting?" he asks with a hint of insecurity in his voice again. "That I liked spending time with you and I think you're pretty."  

Your chest tightens and you sigh, "I- I don't know," you admit and you look up at him. You can't deny that your feelings have shifted and a little voice in your head screams that this is a trap and he'll eventually break your heart. 

"Here," Tom fumbles with the pants of his costume and pulls out a pen and a post-it note. 

"You seriously just carry those on you?" you crack a smile, finding that weirdly endearing. 

Idiot. 

"Yeah," Tom says like it's the most normal thing ever and then he writes down something on the paper. When he hands it to you it's the name of a restaurant. You frown, it's your favorite restaurant. He'd written a time beside the name. 

"How do you know this is my favorite restaurant?" you ask. 

Tom looks up, his smirk turning into a smile. "I didn't—it's mine."

Your frown deepens, "Hm, I didn't take you for a low-priced family-run Chinese restaurant kinda guy—don't you have a personal chef or something," you say and look at the time he's written down, "What is this anyway?" 

Tom shrugs and adjusts his hair. "I do but I like this place. The family who owns it never tells anyone I've been there, it gives me some privacy," he sounds serious and he walks closer to you, "Don't tell anyone, it might ruin my reputation and then your favorite restaurant might be swarmed by a bunch of fangirls," he smirks, pleased with himself. 

You can't help but chuckle. 

"And this," he points to the time, "is where I'll be tomorrow evening if you'd like to join me," he says nonchalantly and then opens the trailer door. Just as he does, he takes his phone and takes a picture of the time so he remembers it and he sends you a wink. "I won't wait long but if you do come, it's on me." 

You stare at the paper and realize Tom Ryder has just asked you on a date. You look up but he's gone and your heart does about ten thousand summersaults as your brain screams in agony. Your cheeks feel warm as you fold the paper up and put it in the pocket of your jeans. 

You're so very screwed.

You hear a ding and then a text from Vanessa saying, "Ryder's mic was on—crew heard absolutely everything—we didn't wanna interrupt your moment," she adds a mocking winking emoji but you don't care. 

That's the least of your worries now that you have a date with Tom Ryder.

[urfavlarry]

hi!!! can you write joost x fem!reader

where joost and reader are on the tour together, so many people are shipping them, but them themself are too shy to act on their feelings, when finally during the concert joost performs friesenjung (while reader does some back vocal or shit) and when it comes to the part "Motherfucker, ich küsse deine Schwester" he randomly takes courage to kiss the reader!?!?!?!? 🫶

Have to get this off my chest, I’m telling you today

Joost Klein x fem!reader

warnings: not proof read, swearing

A/N: this is a bit short and the ending is so baad but I tried to cook something up for you cuz I havent been posting that often lmao

｡ ⋆ ⋆ ˚｡⋆ ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆ ⋆ ˚⋆⋆ ｡

╰┈➤ ⋆｡‧˚ʚ 🐦 ɞ˚‧｡⋆

It was a long day. Your whole body was sweating and you were almost out of breath, the hot hair in the bar you were performing in making it hard to grasp even a small amount of air. You were a DJ of sort for Joosts concert, playing his songs, some backing vocals and overall just made the experience just a tad bit livelier. It was amazing, the people singing along to every possible song, even Joosts new song “Luchtballon” which was surprising how people already knew the words after such a short period of time. It was time to play one of his classics, Friesenjung which you yourself adored and Joost knew that. He smiled at the crowd, that beautiful, silly smile that managed to light up the room.

The flash of the phones making you barely see the crowd but their excited voices could only make you imagine the looks on their faces. The song was slowly coming to an end, only about a minute left and you could finally go home and have a fun weekend with friends.

“Motherfucker, ich küsse deine Schwester.”

You felt soft lips on yours, the world around you stopping as you collect your thoughts. The voices, screams, music were muffled, everything blurry except one person, and that person was Joost. He eyes you for the rest of the song, your stomach turning and knees weak. The song finally ended, thanking all the gods, before quickly going backstage and gathering your stuff, speed walking out the front door and look for your car in the dark parking lot. When you did find it you heard footsteps behind you, fast ones at that. You knew it was Joost, no fan would be crazy enough to chase you in a parking lot when you looked like you just had the worst nights of your life. Ever since that kiss, you got terribly aware of yourself. Your body was sweaty, hair sticking to your forehead and your clothing clung to you in a very uncomfortable way making you squirm. Before you could shut the door of your car, Joost stopped it and opened it once again, letting the cool air hit you like a truck.

He gently pulled you out the car, pulling you into a hug you didn’t return. You still felt disgusting, the awareness not leaving you so Joost awkwardly pulled away. He looked you in the eyes, it looked like he was desperate to know what you felt in that moment. “Liefde I.. I’m so sorry I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.. I really didn’t.” He said, but you just stayed silent, looking down at your feet hoping for this very awkward situation to end. You loved Joost with your whole heart, but all of this was very sudden and you didn’t get time to gather your thoughts.. making your voice get stuck in your throat every time you wanted to say something. Joost looked hurt, it was like you but a dagger through his heart but he put on a soft smile. “Yeah I get it liefje.. I’ll see you next Friday yeah?” Right, you were supposed to perform again next week, how exciting. You nod before getting inside your car, giving him a small wave before driving away leaving him to stand alone, heartbroken in the empty parking lot.

Friday came by faster then usual, you felt more happy and confident then you did last Friday. You were wearing one of your favourite outfits you felt good in, feeling clean and pretty.. everything goes as planned so far which was how most good days started so you were more then confident to perform that night. When you got to the venue, Joost wasn’t there yet which was odd since he was always there to greet you with a hug and smile on his face, sometimes even a small gift like a coffee or sweet treat. It felt lonely without him but you decided to wait patiently, setting the stage up when he finally showed up looking very upset. You ran up to him, pulling him into a hug which he returned. It looked like the hug lightened his mood, making you smile. “We got this yeah? We’ll talk after the show I promise.. Do your worst.” You tease making him chuckle and walk on stage along with you, the crowd screaming.

The show went by smoothly without any complications, which was relieving but now you had to talk to Joost. Suddenly everything you practiced you would say left your mind, your knees going weak and hands go cold and shaky.

Joost stood there backstage, waiting for you when he noticed you and eyed you closely. You hyped yourself up before walking towards him, cupping his cheek and pulling him into a loving kiss. Joost smirked into the kiss, his hands trailing down to your waist, pulling you closer. It was a long kiss, air slowly leaving your body but even after Joost had the energy to kiss you. He slipped his tongue into your mouth, swirling it around and tasting every corner of your mouth. By the time he pulled away you were breathing heavily, lips swollen and your whole body weak. “Missed my touch so badly, hm?” He asked with a smirk making you look away, cheeks hot and head fuzzy. He put a finger on your jaw so he could make you look right back at him. He smiled and kissed your forehead, bringing you into an embrace. “I’m so glad you came back.. I was literally going mad without you.” You smirk and look up at him. “Missed me that bad, hm?” He chuckled opening the back door and walked you to your car, this time hand in hand.

You turned to him, the moons light shining into his beautiful blue eyes making him look angelic. “Thanks.. for tonight. You were great.” You say, awkwardly scratching your head and he nods. “Yeah, thanks. Well.. see you tommorow?” He asks and you raise a brow, your next show was next week? Did you have plans for tommorow you forgot about? The confused expression on your face amused him, laughing it off and whispered in your ear. “Just get ready for 7pm. Nothing too fancy but dress nice for me.. ‘kay?” He says and kisses your cheek before walking off. “Slaapwel mijn lievered.” (Sleep tight my sweet.)

[joonieskinks]

drabble: "work together" knj

1930s scholar!namjoon x scholar!reader | mostly just flirty tension | 1.2 k

*inspired by Oppenheimer lmao

warnings: seggsual tension, swearing, flirting in a professional setting, kissing and dry humping

"Do you really think you're all that, Kim?" You scoff irritated, pushing your falling glasses up your nose.

"Oh, I know so," he declares. "That and then some, y/l/n." He smirks down at you.

Namjoon takes in your appearance, your white blouse tucked delicately into your green skirt that framed your body oh so nicely. Your soft but tight curls that hugged against your face, your brilliant mind that constantly pushed him to do better in his own research. He frankly couldn't get enough of you, even though you two were meant to be rivals in this set of circumstances, competing for the same post-doctoral position with the great Dr. Oppenheimer. As you are both aspiring physicists, the two best in the country, naturally you're both stuck competing. You did the same through your undergrad, graduate and even through your doctors. Always together, ever trying to out-do the other academically.

However since the start, Namjoon has always acted better than you, it drove you rather mad, but deep down - he knew you were that much more intelligent than him. Still, he couldn't bare to admit it. No, that would hurt his ego too much. Instead, he takes to going back and forth with you, hopefully flirting his way into your heart. A rather silly way to go about it with you maybe, but this is as confident as he could be right now. You're just so - intimidating perfect to him.

Not to mention so gorgeous, he would gladly rip the clothes off of you in an instant and place you on the lab counter to have his way with you any day of the week.

So- a gorgeous, wicked-smart, threateningly charming doctor of physics in which he sees every single day?

Of course you'll creep your way into his heart-

But also him into yours.

Something endearing about him, you couldn't quite place your finger on it. Not really, but you've always been drawn to him. Although perhaps you two have never been outright friends, but you two interact everyday. You know each other well, you work together and you share the same working livelihoods. You'd consider it bonding, so perhaps you do know him after all.

However he's also incredibly smart, witty and attractive. Something about a rather built man, strikingly tan and so handsome in his glasses with his eyes that are currently locked on you?

Yeah, one could definitely get distracted from their research.

"God, you're incredibly irritating." You roll your eyes and begin to walk away from him. You two were the last to leave the lecture hall once again. Everybody knew to exit when you two were arguing, even Dr. Oppenheimer had had enough, leaving you two to yell it out in the empty lecture hall for an hour or so every other day. You two would argue circles around each other regarding theory, experiments - but also politics, grades and even the best bar in town once.

"And you're incredibly stubborn. You don't know when to concede and admit that my maybe my methodology is superior to yours." Namjoon rebuttals, taking a step closer to you, grabbing your arm to get you to hear him out.

You glance at his grip on your arm, then glare up into his eyes, causing Namjoon to swallow nervously. He definitely didn't mean to react like that, nor for you to see that. You smirk slightly at the sight of the great, cocky Dr. Kim Namjoon crumpling before you.

"Is that all you've got to throw at me today, doctor? I seem to recall hearing that one before... Have you really nothing else?" You tease, taking a step closer to Namjoon's face, almost to the point where you two are chest-to-chest.

He immediately chokes at your proximity to him, seizing up and he can feel his heart beat in his throat. Namjoon's at a lost for words when his eyes shoot down to catch a glance of your lips.

He hadn't even realized he was waiting for this moment his whole academic career, not until it was finally shoved in front of him.

Is this what tension felt like? Lust? Adoration? Love? Whatever it was, he felt it with you in this moment. Well, perhaps he always has but now it was quite tangible. A desire was building up in his stomach, his throat, his mind and body.

Forget the bloody research for a moment, he just wanted you.

"Y/N," he started. "Can I- I mean, can we...?" He stumbled, unable to form the words and courage as he looked into your eyes, down to your lips again. He was clearly a panicking mess, but you knew exactly what he wanted, exactly what you've been thinking about too. However you had the courage to act unlike your shy, gorgeous fellow academic.

Your books recklessly drop to the floor as you wrap your arms around his neck, attaching your lips to his. Namjoon stands their stunned for a couple moments before he drops his books too. His hands immediately land on your waist, digging his nails In and then inching down to your ass. You feel him confidently palm the skin and squeeze it around your skirt, attempting to hike it up.

"Namjoon!" You exclaim against his mouth, pulling back to look into his eyes in surprise.

"I'm sorry, I should slow down. I don't know what's come over me, I've just wanted to do it for so long, I-" you cut him off by bringing your lips to his again. He can feel you smiling against his lips and your hands begin to unbutton his shirt, showing it off and leaving him exposed in the lecture hall.

"Shit, Y/N, someone could walk in-" Namjoon mutters in between kisses.

"Don't care, just want you." You purr, your hands running through his hair, down his shoulders and chest. Fuck, he feels good, solid, yours.

"Oh God- Okay." He utters, hands moving to take your glasses off and place them gently on a desk beside you two. You could almost swoon at how gentle he is being in this moment, however you need him. Now.

Your hands rip at your blouse buttons, shooting them across the room and your bra is then exposed to him. Namjoon can do nothing but oggle you, your skin, how bold you are. You push him back onto Dr. Oppenheimers desk, straddling his legs with your own. Gently, your core rests upon his aching length, you can feel him below you, painfully strained against his pants.

"You can have me, Namjoon-" You start, your hand coming up to cup his chin, and get his eyes to focus on your own instead of your body for a moment.

"But only if you admit that my methodology is superior." You tease, smirking down at him, completely dominating the physicist.

Namjoon huffs in frustration, but its quickly followed by a moan as you begin to rock your hips against his. You then slowly tilt your head to the side, smiling as you are winning him over.

"Fuck, fine. Yes, Dr. y/l/n, your methodology is superior, okay?. Happy?" He surrenders and you reward him but kissing him on the mouth again. You can feel him melt beneath you and his hips buck upwards your heat.

"Very." You hum, lifting your skirt and Namjoon fumbles to undo his zipper in tandem.

Meanwhile your great mentor walks by the lecture hall door, expecting to hear another screaming match - Only to hear nothing for once. Odd.

He reaches for the doorknob only to hear moans and the creaking of wood from within. He hesitates, both a little disgusted at the choice of setting, but relieved.

"About time." He mutters to himself and then walks off with his hands in his pockets.

//

[coffeeghoulie]

forbidden fruit

or Swiss takes Aeon out to the orchard for an impromptu date.

heavily inspired by this post by @crimsonclergy (I have been thinking about that post nonstop for a month and a half lmao)

Contains they/them for Aeon, t4t ghouls (dick, folds, and pussy used to describe what Aeon's working with), outdoor sex, and just 3.6k of two ghouls being sappy as shit for each other (seriously, it got way sappier than I intended)

Aeon stumbles into the kitchen well into the morning, the sun almost at its zenith. Their mismatched eyes are heavy with sleep, their stomach growling. Swiss is already there, leaning back against the counter in his sleep clothes, a black tanktop and a pair of sweats that sit low on his hips, exposing the softness of his stomach, the trail of coarse dark hair leading down. The sight makes Aeon's heart flutter like a trapped rabbit's, mouth watering a little.

"Morning, stickbug. What's on your docket today?" Swiss asks, hands wrapped around a mug of something steaming that smells of coffee and cinnamon.

"Morning," Aeon stretches, groaning and eyelids fluttering as they grab a granola bar, one of the batch that Mountain made with dried fruit and chunks of dark chocolate. "Polishing the silver in the chapel," they say, garbled through a mouthful. "Boring."

Swiss hums thoughtfully, taking a long drink from his mug. Aeon watches unashamedly as his throat works when he swallows. "How do you feel about playing hooky, then?"

"Play hickey?" Aeon makes a questioning noise, finishing chewing. "I've never heard that before," they say, raising an eyebrow at the turn of phrase. "Explain that one to me?"

"Not hickey, bug, hooky," Swiss grins, and it's as bright as the first time Aeon saw the sun. "Though I wouldn't be opposed to that." He leans forward, mug set down on the counter next to him. "It means skipping chores to go do something a little more fun," he says easily. "I'm supposed to sweep and mop, but really, think about it. The silver gets polished and the floors get mopped every day. It'll be fine if we skip out for one day."

Aeon hums, swallowing the last of the granola bar. "You sure we won't get in trouble?" They ask.

"Bug," Swiss hums, setting one of his giant hands on their shoulder. "If you were scheduled for a shift in the infirmary, or kitchen duty, or practice, or something that needs to get done, I wouldn't have asked. Besides," he says with another bright grin, "If Papa actually gets angry for us skipping one day's worth of chores, I'll just tell him we were honoring the Old One with the sin of sloth."

Aeon laughs, leaning into Swiss's touch. "You can sweet talk your way out of anything, I swear."

Swiss waggles his eyebrows, leaning in and giving Aeon a peck on the lips. "You know it, buggy." Aeon leans into the kiss, tries to deepen it, wants nothing more than to taste the coffee he's been drinking, but Swiss pulls away teasingly. "Meet me in the gardens in, say, half an hour?"

They nod, leaning in for another quick kiss, rubbing their cheek happily against Swiss's stubble before darting back to their room. They change, throwing their pajamas into the ever-growing heap of their laundry (they swear they'll get it done, just not today) and change into a pair of black jeans and an oversized hoodie, one of Swiss's that smells like chai and spices.

The air is cool, a breeze rustling through the autumn leaves, yellow and orange and brown. Aeon meets Swiss outside, the multighoul flicking open and shut his utility knife, the metal making a soft noise as he plays with it. Aeon swallows hard, and Swiss glances up, gold gaze softening as he sees them approach.

"Hey, buggy, I like the hoodie," Swiss grins. Aeon rolls their eyes, even as a soft violet blush grows on their cheeks.

"Hi, Swiss," they say, leaning in for a kiss even though it's been less than an hour since they've seen the multighoul. "What's with the knife?"

"We're gonna need it," he says, his brow furrowing as Aeon's expression turns a little apprehensive. "I'm not planning on using it on you, not gonna shank my precious little quint in the gardens," he laughs.

Swiss tucks his utility knife into his pocket, reaching out to take Aeon's hand. They take it eagerly, delighted at how their hand seems to vanish in his. Their hand's not small by any means, but Swiss's are giant. He chuffs shakily at the younger ghoul, who leans in, rubbing their cheek against his tshirt, happily repeating the noise as they wind their tails together.

"Why am I still surprised you can chuff and purr?" Aeon asks as Swiss leads them through the gardens, surprisingly empty this time of day. The harvest is soon, and Aeon would imagine the place would be crawling with earth ghouls and Siblings.

Swiss grins, swinging their joined arms as he leads them to the orchards, the apple trees heavy with fruit. "I am a ghoul of many talents, my sweet little stickbug," he croons, taking them deeper and deeper into the rows of trees. "You know I'm a little quintessence too."

Aeon nods, still resting their head on Swiss's shoulder. "It's funny, though, you can do both. I just sound like a choked out squeaky toy if I try to purr."

Swiss laughs, the sound echoing around the empty orchard like the chapel bells. He lets go of Aeon's hand, just long enough to wrap his arm around their waist, squeezing them tight against his side. "My choked out squeaky toy," he laughs, pressing a kiss to Aeon's two toned hair before taking their hand again.

Eventually, Swiss hums, finding a tree he likes. He reaches up, snatching two shiny apples from the lower branches, and sits, back pressed against the trunk. He pats his left thigh, chittering under his breath as Aeon sits next to him. "Come on, buggy, get comfy," he says, coaxing the younger ghoul to lay down, using his thigh as a pillow.

Aeon hums happily, breathing in Swiss's smell, the fresh air, noticing with a twinge in their chest that he encouraged them to lay with their left side closest to him, their damaged eye shaded from the afternoon sun. Swiss ruffles their hair, cooing down at them, before polishing the apples with the hem of his shirt. "This is what we needed the knife for, bug," he says, brandishing the utility knife from his pocket. He selects one of the apples and methodically cuts a slice from the fruit, deft fingers working.

Even though they had eaten breakfast less than an hour before, the crisp sound of Swiss cutting the apple makes their mouth water, and they reach up, making grabby hands for the slice. Swiss clicks his tongue, batting Aeon's hand away. "Let me, bug," he says, feeding them the slice of fruit before cutting one for himself.

Aeon's eyes flutter close as the juice explodes with sweetness on their tongue, moaning softly as they chew, the apple perfectly ripe and crunchy. Swiss grins, trilling happily at Aeon's reaction. "Is it that good, sweetheart?"

"Mhm," Aeon moans affirmatively, nodding eagerly as they swallow, cracking their eyes open just in time to watch Swiss eat his own slice. They can't help themselves, their uninjured eye dilating as they watch Swiss's eyes grow half-lidded, a similar noise escaping his throat as he savors his slice. He cuts another slice off of the apple, pressing it to their lips. Aeon eagerly accepts it, chuffing gratefully as they take the slice from his fingers with their fangs.

Aeon can't take their eyes off of Swiss's hands, watching his deft, strong fingers work, Swiss cast in a gold light from the sun, splitting the apples between them both. "You look really pretty," they whisper, face relaxed and content as they eat. Their tail pads against the ground as they wag it.

"Not as pretty as you," Swiss snorts a laugh, popping another piece of apple into his mouth. "You flatter me, buggy."

"I mean it!" They protest, huffing and crossing their arms over their chest.

Swiss hums as he sets the cores aside, nose scrunching up as he seems to decide something. He licks the flat of his blade slowly, making sure to lock eyes with Aeon, staring up at him. His eyes flutter shut and he moans dramatically, but he's never been able to resist playing it up. He licks the juice off of the other side, smirking down at them as he watches the pupil of their undamaged eye grow, engulfing the violet iris in inky blackness. Aeon whines, hand reaching up to grab his wrist.

"What, buggy?" he asks, still smirking. "Can't put the knife away dirty."

"Swiss," Aeon breathes. Their cheeks flush as they feel their stomach flip, their dick kicking in their boxers. It's odd that a personification of sin itself feels things like shame, but Aeon feels it intensely as they get worked up over a little gesture meant to tease. They turn their face into Swiss's stomach, hiding, breathing in his scent. They're sure Swiss can smell them too, blackberry and ozone and need.

"Oh, buggy," Swiss coos, ruffling their hair. "Did I get you all worked up?"

"Yeah," they admit, muffled by the softness of his stomach.

"Hey, sweetheart, can you look at me?" Swiss asks, voice low as he bends down to get closer to them. Aeon whines, but rolls back onto their back to meet his eye. "There's my buggy," he says, trailing gentle fingers along their jaw, down their throat, tracing over a mostly-healed bite mark on the edge between patches of grey and lavender skin at the crook of their neck.

"Hi," they whisper, shivering as Swiss touches the bitemark. "Sorry I'm being needy. I've been Up Top for a while, I should be able to be in control of myself by now."

"Hi," Swiss snorts, leaning down further and kissing them sweetly. They both taste of apples. "Don't apologize for that, bug. I like how easily I can get you worked up. It's hot."

"Did you plan on this when you asked me to 'play hooky?'" Aeon asks, making air quotes. Their tail reaches over, wrapping itself around Swiss's shin.

Swiss shrugs, hand trailing up to cup Aeon's cheek. "Nah, just wanted to spend a nice afternoon with my sweetheart. But I'm more than happy to help you out with that little problem. You know me."

Aeon sighs, laughing a little as they nuzzle against Swiss's stomach, feeling his scent grow thicker as he reacts to Aeon's own. They sigh again, starting to clamber upright.

Swiss grabs their arm, gold eyes wide and scent tinged with distress. "Hey, hey, buggy, where you going?"

"Back to the Abbey? To one of our rooms?" They question, a surprised noise yanked from them as Swiss pulls them back down into his lap.

"What's wrong with out here?" Swiss teases, watching Aeon's good eye dilate further.

"People could see?" They whine, but it's really not convincing.

"No one's out here, bug," Swiss says, brushing their hair off of their forehead, pushing it behind a horn. "How about since it was my tongue that got you all worked up, I give it to you?"

Aeon bites their lip to stifle a moan, nodding eagerly, and Swiss laughs, sitting up and helping them rearrange until their back is pressed against the tree, Swiss laying on his stomach between their legs.

He unties Aeon's sneakers, setting them aside and pressing a kiss to their bare ankle. Swiss prowls closer, eyes dark and hungry, his big hands settling on the waistband of Aeon's jeans. "You want these off, baby?" he asks, voice low.

Aeon nods, throat working as they find their words. "Yes, please," they say, lifting their hips and helping Swiss pull their jeans and boxers down.

Swiss hums, shrugging before shucking his shirt, folding it and setting it under Aeon's ass as a makeshift pillow. "So chivalrous," Aeon giggles, honestly distracted by the miles of warm skin on display, covered in coarse, dark hair and only interrupted by the well-healed scars under his pecs. Aeon wants nothing more than to cuddle up with him, nuzzle against his chest, but then their dick throbs and they remember what exactly they're doing.

"Nothing but the best for my buggy," Swiss grins, locking eyes with them as he lays back down on his stomach.

Aeon whines, throwing their head back and wincing as they bonk their head on the tree behind them, and Swiss's hungry gaze turns worried. "Shit, 'm fine," Aeon laughs, blushing even deeper, rubbing the back of their head.

Swiss smiles warmly, grabbing their other hand and rubbing his thumb over their knuckles, leaning down and kissing the pudge of their stomach. "Don't want to have to take you to the infirmary, bug," he whispers. "You know Aether'll tear us a new one if he finds out we're shirking responsibilities."

Aeon snorts, stomach muscles tensing as Swiss kisses a ticklish spot. "Aether's told me all about the times he and Dew skipped out to go make out in some closet somewhere."

Swiss grins, trailing kisses down the line of Aeon's stomach, getting closer and closer to where Aeon's scent is the strongest, the dark curls there already damp and shining with slick. He scrapes his stubble against the sensitive skin inside of their thigh. "Sounds like the two of them, honestly," Swiss hums, burying his nose in the crease between Aeon's hip and thigh, taking a deep breath and groaning as their scent floods his senses. "Fuck, buggy, you smell so good."

They whine, reaching down and threading their fingers through Swiss's braids, not pulling or tugging, just grabbing on. "Shit, please, please don't make me wait," they beg.

"Of course, bug," Swiss whispers, locking eyes with them before licking a stripe up their folds the exact same way he licked his knife clean.

Aeon lets out a strangled little moan, fingers tightening in Swiss's hair as their eyes flutter shut on their own accord. "Fuck!" they yelp, hips jolting forward.

"Easy, baby," Swiss hums, groaning as their taste floods his mouth, stronger and sweeter than the apples they had shared. "Let me make you feel good."

Aeon nods, not easing the death grip they had in his hair. "Fuck, please," they whisper, trying to make eye contact with him, but Swiss's gaze is so attentive and hungry they have to look away.

He lowers his mouth down to Aeon's dick, jutting proudly from their folds. He sucks the nub gently between his teeth, fingers dimpling the softness of their thighs. Aeon's breath stutters, feeling more slick pool out from them.

"Gonna ruin your shirt," they huff, fingers moving from Swiss's hair to wrap around his horns, guiding him to where they need him. They yelp as his mustache scrapes against their sensitive folds, eyes rolling back into their head.

Swiss pulls off with a laugh, turning and nipping a little mark into their inner thigh, soothing it with his hot tongue. "You're not going to ruin it," he assures them. "I want it to smell like you."

Something deep in Aeon's stomach flutters, and they groan unashamedly. "Oh, fuck," they whisper. He chuckles and licks through their folds again, eyes flashing with delight as it draws another strangled noise from their throat.

Swiss laps at them like a man starved, like he hadn't just eaten, like he wanted to drown himself in Aeon's essence. Aeon tightens their grip around his horns, holding him against them as they lean back, groaning as their head makes contact with the tree again.

"Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck," they chant as Swiss moans against them, his eyes fluttering shut as he devours them. "Suck on it, please suck on it Swiss." They tug on his horns, drawing a moan from the multighoul's throat. He moves up obediently, desperate to please them, and wraps his lips around their dick.

"Shit, right there," they whine, hips jolting up as he laves his tongue over the sensitive nub. "Don't stop, Swiss, please don't stop."

And he doesn't, he keeps suckling and licking, eyelashes fluttering as he moans around them. "Fuck, buggy, you taste so fucking good," he groans, letting go of one of their thighs as he pants for breath. Something in Aeon's chest does a flip when they see just how shiny the lower half of his face is, slick coating his mustache and chin. "How do you feel about inside, sweetheart?"

Aeon swallows hard, nodding so enthusiastically they hit their head on the tree again, but they're so giddy it only draws a laugh from them. "Can I have your fingers, too? Couldn't stop watching them while you cut the fruit for us."

Swiss grins, fangs flashing bright in the afternoon sunlight, dappled through the leaves like Aeon's skin. "Anything for my squeaky toy," Swiss teases, laughing brightly as Aeon shoves at his forehead.

"Shut up," they whine, but they're grinning too. True to Swiss's newest nickname for them, Aeon lets out a strangled noise as he pushes his ring and middle finger inside of them, petting at their inner walls.

"That's it, bug, just feel it," he whispers, kissing their stomach again. They whine, yelping as he presses firmly against the spongy spot just behind their dick, drawing little circles there with the pads of his fingers.

"Fuck!" Aeon wails, legs falling open wider. They don't care if their voice carries, if someone hears them. It's too good, the pleasure rising in their body like the tides. "Swiss!"

"That's it, sweetheart," Swiss coos, licking his lips before kissing their dick, fingers working inside of them. "Taking it so good, such a good ghoul for me," he says, kissing the swollen nub into his mouth, rubbing his tongue over the head as Aeon wails.

Aeon pants and wails, chest heaving as Swiss's hoodie suddenly becomes too hot, even in the cool autumn air. They reluctantly release Swiss's horns, shoving his hoodie off over their head. They curse as it gets tangled against their horns, laughing as they finally get it off, leaving them in just a black binder. Once they get the hoodie off, they look down, realizing just how fondly Swiss is looking up at them.

"What're you looking at?" They try to tease, but their voice hitches as Swiss sucks a little harder at their dick.

Swiss pulls back, smiling warmly as he licks the slick from his lips. "I'm just looking at my buggy, thinkin' about how much I love hearing them laugh. Hearing them happy."

"You're a fucking sap," they whine, crossing their arms over their chest petulantly, turning away from him.

"I mean it," he says, the most sincere Aeon's ever heard him, thrusting his fingers slowly into their heat. "You don't know how happy it makes me to see you happy."

They huff a little laugh, reaching down and pulling him up to kiss him. It's heated, but not dirty, sweet and Aeon tries to put every ounce of their affection and gratitude into it. They moan loud into his lips as they taste themself on him. "Fuck, please make me cum, Swiss," they beg, and Swiss laughs, voice ringing like a bell, and even if Aeon were sent back to the Pit tomorrow, the noise would make them happy for the rest of their existence.

"Of course, bug," he coos, waggling his eyebrows as he dives back between their legs. He watches their expression as he doubles his efforts, drowning himself in them.

Aeon squeals, hands darting back down to his horns, to his hair, anything they can to hold on as the pleasure rocks through their body. "Fuck!" they shout, only the whites of their eyes visible.

Swiss groans into them, the vibration rattling something deep in their core. Aeon shouts, back arching as they hold his mouth against them, nearly gushing like a water ghoul when they cum. Swiss mumbles something unintelligible, clever tongue and fingers working them through it, drinking them down as they squeeze around him.

When their body stops shaking, their sensitive dick twitching against Swiss's tongue, Aeon pushes Swiss off of them. Normally, they like the overstimulation, how eager Swiss is to draw their pleasure out until they're screaming, but they're sated. "Fuck," they giggle, Swiss staring up at them with an almost goofy expression.

Aeon catches their breath, reaching for Swiss. "Lemme get you off now," they pant, and Swiss laughs again. He shuffles up, straddling their thighs as he presses his forehead against theirs.

"Bug," he says, voice full of so much love Aeon can almost taste it. His cheeks are warm, and Aeon takes a breath through their nose. Under the heavy scent of their own slick, they can smell.. shame? Not a lot, not overwhelming, but it's so odd to smell it coming from Swiss that their brow furrows, and they bring their hands up to cup his damp cheeks.

"Swiss? You okay?" They ask, genuinely worried.

Swiss laughs, eyes crinkling as he smiles. "I'm good, bug, but I don't need you to reciprocate. Came in my damn pants like a teenager."

Aeon's eyes widen in surprise and delight. "Shit," they giggle, kissing him again. "Pussy so good it made you cum in your pants."

Swiss pulls back, laughing. "We really need to get you off of the internet," he teases, wiping his face on his arm. Aeon rolls their eyes, but laughs along with him.

"Come here and cuddle me," they whine, making grabby hands at him.

He grins, laying down next to them and pulling them halfway onto his chest as they chuff happily, rubbing their face on his pecs. "Anything for my little squeaky toy."

Aeon smacks him playfully, and their combined laughter carries through the orchard, sweet like apples.

[indestructibleheart]

Hi, fam! Okay, so I'm going to be out at an appointment tomorrow morning, so I'm kicking this off a little bit early. It's technically Wednesday in several timezones and very nearly Wednesday in mine. I'm... also a bit eager to share this, ngl.

I know that I've shared a lot of angst lately, but I swear that's not all I'm doing. 😅 In fact, the actor/playwright AU decided to wallop me in the face out of nowhere after sitting in my WIP folder for months. I'm really excited about it, so I'm gonna share the first scene!

(Also, those of you who have been to New York with me will recognize my favorite brunch spot in this scene lmao.)

---

You probably didn't even know I was in the room, but I noticed you straight away. You were talking with your friends, happy and animated and fully alive—a person living in dimensions I couldn’t access—and so beautiful. Your hair was longer then. You were the center of attention, but you weren’t afraid. You had a yellow ipê-amarelo in your pocket. I thought, this is the most incredible thing I have ever seen; I'd better keep it a safe distance away from me. I thought, if someone like that ever loved me, it would set me on fire.

INT. MOM'S KITCHEN & BAR - HELL'S KITCHEN - LATE MORNING

"I'm telling y'all," Alex is saying, punctuating with dangerously large bites of his pancake burrito. "The dude's a dick." 

It's been two hours since the nightmare audition, but Alex has been on this tirade since June and Nora first slid into the retro diner chairs across from him (at least forty-five minutes ago).

They're at Mom's: a restaurant-bar in midtown that can only be described as millennial nostalgia incarnate. The trio fell in love with it two years back—post-karaoke, stumbling in right before closing—when Alex saw God in their Fruity Pebble pancakes.  Since then, it's been his favorite place to eat his feelings.

Mom's is just really fucking comforting in general, honestly; whether it's the televisions cycling through episodes of 'Rugrats,' 'Dexter's Laboratory,' and 'Hey, Arnold!' or  the rainbow straws and Lisa-Frank-looking menus, Alex can't be sure. It doesn't hurt that they've made friends with several of the waitstaff, including an eccentric bartender, Pez, whose pink hair and painted nails fit right in with the decor. 

Today, it's the combination of breakfast sausage, bacon, eggs and cheese wrapped up in a syrup-soaked pancake that's really doing something for him. It could also be the margarita the size of his face, which Pez placed in front of him before making himself uncharacteristically scarce. But it's fine. He's probably just busy.

Alex won't admit it out loud, but what really helps is having June and Nora here to talk to… even though Nora is scrolling on her phone.

"I'm sorry," June says. She pokes an ice cube with her straw, and Alex watches as it bobs around her mimosa like a buoy. "That sounds like it sucked, but if he's really that rude… maybe you didn't want to work with him anyway."

Nora doesn't look up as she pops a home fry into her mouth. 

"Several sources say he's difficult to work with," she adds, evidently reading about Henry on the internet. "Though, in his defense, his dad did just die, like, three years ago… and there was that whole thing when he came out after. Remember?"

Alex does remember. Henry's grandmother, Mary Mountchristen, runs a pretty major company that used to own half the theatres on the West End. When Henry came out last year, she tried blacklisting his shows from her properties to punish him—which totally backfired when it got around. At least a dozen other queer writers and producers started talking about how they were also denied the space, and Mary was stoned on the streets of the theatre district. Like, metaphorically. 

Alex, Nora, and June had just moved to New York, but between June's position at Newsday and both Alex and Nora on the audition circuit, it was all anyone in their new circles could talk about. They were some of the first to know when the Mountchristens were bought out of their properties and Henry moved to the States.

This show is the first of Henry's being produced here—and it's autobiographical, which Alex has to admit is pretty fucking baller. So, yeah, Nora's not wrong. He has reason to be standoffish. Still, it doesn't explain why Alex was only halfway through his audition monologue when Henry abruptly stood up and exited stage left as if pursued by a bear.

He shoves another forkful into his mouth. "It's just, like, they're the only people who let me into the room," he says, barely finishing chewing. "Nobody wants to take me seriously, and I really thought this was my shot, you know?"

June and Nora both know Alex is having a hard time landing serious roles after growing up on a sitcom—Nora more than most, as his former co-star. What they don't know is that losing this role, specifically, feels like a kick to the stomach. From the moment Alex saw the script, he wanted to be a part of it. He can't even explain why, and now he'll never figure it out. Henry wouldn't give him a chance.

"It wasn't your only shot, and you know it." Nora fixes him with a look. "Seriously, I get it—I do—but it's just one play, buddy."

June nods. "Something will happen for you, baby brother."

At that, Alex finally groans. "Okay, calling me baby brother doesn't help me feel better about the entertainment industry infantili—"

"—itty bitty, teeny weeny—"

Alex throws a home fry at her face. 

It bounces off her forehead and into the giant gauntlet holding her mimosa with a very unappetizing splash. Just as Alex throws his hands into the air with a victorious whoop, his phone buzzes on the table. 

A glance is all it takes for him to see that it's his agent, Zahra.

"Damn," he says, deflating. There goes that upswing. "You answer it."

June balks. "Me?"

"I don't need to hear how fucking badly it went. Trust me, I got the message." Alex blinks innocently, like he's six years old again, asking her to lie to their mom about that broken vase. "Please, Bug? Besides, Zahra actually likes you."

"Everyone likes me." June rolls her eyes, but she caves—answering the phone with a haughty, "Alex Claremont-Diaz's office," before breaking into a smile. "Yeah, Z. It's me… No, Alex is feeling a little sensitive today."

(He throws another home fry at her. This one misses.)

To her credit, June's face remains totally blank as Zahra no doubt tells her how Alex insulted Henry Fox's name and all of his inbred ancestors just by showing up, or whatever—which is extremely annoying and unhelpful—but, once she says goodbye and sets the phone back down on the table, her face breaks out into a grin.

"Guess you didn't suck too bad," she says. "They want you for the part."

He doesn't know if it's Nora throwing herself at him or the shock that knocks him onto the floor.

Tagging some lovelies. If you haven't been tagged and you want to be, consider this your tag!

@anchoredarchangel, @barbiediaz, @cha-melodius, @cricketnationrise, @guillermosfamiliar, @hgejfmw-hgejhsf, @hippolotamus, @inexplicablymine, @jettestar, @junebugclaremontdiaz, @kiwiana-writes, @lizzie-bennetdarcy, @missgeevious, @mulderscully, @myheartalivewrites, @ninzied, @nontoxic-writes, @notspecialbabe, @priincebutt, @rmd-writes, @rosedavid, @three-drink-amy, @treluna4, @vanillahigh00, @welcometololaland, @orchidscript, @ships-to-sail, @stereopticons

[thearchercore]

i know this sounds silly but could u give some comforting news, words, anything that is positive but also grounded in reality and logical bc i am pretty gutted for charles but that might be bc i am still in that post quali haze... i swear these past few weeks have been testing my mental strength as an f1 fan

a friendly reminder that it's not As bad, last year charles had one bad race after another because of sf23. just look at this quote i found from article from april 2023:

charles' goal around that time was to "finish a race with no technical issues or penalties". so we can already tell the bar is higher this year.

only carlos' unemployed driver of the year agenda puts more pressure on charles because then every minor mistake is a reason "they fired the wrong driver."

truth is, it's too early to tell. after singapore in 23, charles managed to jump multiple drivers in points (carlos included) in the wdc ranking. if charles can improve in the past 7 races of 2023 and completely redeem his season that was heavily impacted by the car he was driving, we can still fairly be calm about this year with still 20 races to go.

now the main goal is to analyse the quali tyre issues, and work on the solution because race pace currently seems like a little to no issue on charles' end.

other than that i recommend workout or a walk or a run after a stressful quali/race, i always joke after that that i hit "post race clarity" and am more collected with my emotions lmao

[bisnes-socks]

alright welcome to my ted talk about the drums on šbj

because both @novime and @me-sploh-rada-imas made the mistake of showing interest in the tags of my post, here we are and i'm sorry.

but seriously like i'm no expert, i'm not a drummer, so maybe someone who actually knows drumming very well or understands music theory etc could word this all better, my music education is all from early childhood and/or absorbed from being the child of a musician lmao. but really i'm just a lifetime enthusiastic listener of all music and spent all of covid years watching music analysis videos lmao, okay so like yeah i'm just rambling BUT the choices jure has made on this song are just so unexpected and cool.

like when the song first starts and the guitars come in playing the main riff, an experienced listener would expect the drums to make space for the guitars. for the guitars to be the lead in that section and drums to kinda blend in to let the guitar riff shine. so you'd expect a relatively simple beat with a lil closed hi-hat action on the offbeats to make it groove. 

but NO!! he plays over the guitars (but the guitars still lead! they still shine!) and the hi-hat is open (could be a different cymbal..? but sounds like an open hi-hat to me, i'll have to find live footage to check how he plays it) so it crashes quite loud and on the beat and then a quick lil pattern on the hi-hat more closed and then bam, open one more time, like it's just super unexpected in a section like that? 

and like. in rock music, hi-hats on the beat are usually on the 1 and the 3. well, if i counted right, he plays it on the 1 and the 3 on the first bar, but the second bar the quick lil pattern syncopates the bar and the second louder open hi-hat is on the 4, a beat later than you'd expect! and then it comes back for the next bar on the 1 and the 3, but then on the last bar of the cycle, it's on the 1, 3 AND 4. which works VERY well with the whine on the guitar. just brilliant composition.

and the hi-hat being open and ringing out the way it does makes the section quite heavy, like it's... stomping. (i think i saw someone else say the song makes them want to kick things and that's probably one of the reasons why. bc it stomps. severely.) while also being very groovy. and that's super cool and odd and amazing. oh and the minor key of the song also emphasises the sort of.. downward feeling of the stomp? but at the same time the whole thing is just.. dancable. that's amazing, that's skill.

and then in the chorus (?) bit (a ja samo čekam...) he's like switching between a more on the beat focused basic type rhythm, but with a very hard rock or even metal inspired naaasty snare drum sound, and then a more groovy beat, the exact one you'd expect in the beginning, where the hi-hat is grooving on the offbeat. like stoooop showing off (never stop).

and then towards the end, when the whole different instrumental section kicks in, i swear that part as a whole gives me like queens of the stone age, them crooked vultures etc. vibes, but the drums in particular, like it's giving dave grohl type energy, like he's going ooooffff. just very purposeful, massive drive, but suuuper tight.

like i've always liked his drumming bc you can tell he can very confidently just sort of ride any beat, easy, decorate it as he pleases, or he can go off with a lot of purpose and drive. and like. he just does all of the above in this one song. amazing.

and like don't get me wrong i could give a ted talk on every instrument on this song (nace i fucking see you i hear you) but jure is my star of the song <3

[fluttervee]

There once was a ship in limbo, of elven and draconic combine, but an anon so, heart full of woe, begs for headcanons that you can find. (inkblade crumbs? please?)

well, darling nonny, i have no idea why you have come to me for your crumbs but i will do what i can for you on this last day before we are well and truly jossed.

under a cut because i am completely deranged, this got so long lmao

sorry but I have to talk about this. dragonboy's death was hilarious actually. he was sooo confused about tbk killing his grandma. Were those dragons conjured/summoned/whatever and unrelated to him?? Or did he just not think about the implications of the bad kids showing up to the final confrontation?? What An Idiot. ok now crumb time i swear

I keep coming back to the fact that oisín didn't start missing at beer pong until after he spoke to adaine. obviously this takes on a WILDLY different cast post ep 17, but it's still so interesting to me. like, was he mad about her not remembering him?? that she didn't take his (definitely cursed) diamonds?? WHAT MADE YOU PLANT THE BOOBYTRAP BOY??

obsessed with the concept of oisín and ivy as cringefail loser meangirls. bitchy as hell, down in the first round of combat. icon behavior. they and aelwyn will get on like a house on fire

i like to think that oisín getting buff was part of some ragestar devil's bargain and not just a growth spurt. it would be soo funny if he sold his soul to Get Hot but actually adaine wouldn't care anyway. She just didn't notice you because you didn't talk to her, LOSER.

he would have to a) devour humble pie and b) Get Good, but I Still Believe In Canon Inkblade 🛸

i just love the idea of a bitchy wizard couple. Me and my girlfriend saw you from across the bar and we hate your vibe. we think your incantations suck.

I hope he saw her One Punch that dragon. I hope he was Scared and Horny

wait... sub oisín? Brat Oisín??? Ohhhh, now we're cooking

i like to think he was so caught up in his (her) Sick Burn that he didn't even CONSIDER how throwing that oracle line back at her would make her feel. i want him to lose his mind when he realizes. i want to him to beg her for forgiveness. grovel, even.

speaking of, have we decided how he knew that line to begin with?? someone floated the idea of adaine repeating it ad nauseum and i think that's so funny. Catty dragonborn hears elf girl make a sick burn one time, falls in love, decides to make it everyone else's problem

REMEMBER: if we don't have canon we'll always have fanfic. i will dip my toe into d20 fic for this with you, anon. hold my hand as we jump into the abyss

[raccoonfallsharder]

not an ask more paying respect lol, i did the ask abt showing rocket more terran references/ goth music and you did it amazingly thank you so much. i like how it made me think differently too! i bet rocket wouldn’t like too much horror thinking abt it now but stuff like supernatural/ creepy sound better than gore for him. i bet stuff like the toxic avenger is right up his alley lmao. i love how you included reality tv and video games and just showing rocket other genres. i loved what you did with it! i feel like rocket would like rupaul too for the drama and art. i feel like like they could make their own drive in/ outdoor theater on knowhere and can watch anything in the galaxy lmao😭. and i loved how you wrote rocket w music he is the definition of listens to everything <3. i completely loved this thank you <3

you are SO fucken kind (˃̣̣̥ᯅ˂̣̣̥) holy shit i will cry now. like, just how sugarsweet are you? thank you bby ♡♡ also i am going to just take a moment to cosign your drive-in/outdoor theatre idea! this was absolutely EXACTLY what i was imagining in the second bulletpoint on this #marvel critique post. i want a whole stupid disney+ show of this, mst3k style

also, you are so right about rocket loving drag and you should fucken say it.

that furry bastard is such a dramatic little punk in his own way. you just know he likes shiny gems and glittery shit far more than he says (i have a ton of headcanons about this but it comes down to — rocket craves lovely, luxurious things and also doesn't believe he deserves them. and also believes most people who have them don't deserve them, and thus, he has few qualms about stealing them. but also never trusts he'll be able to keep them. look, our lil guy is so conflicted.)

the first time you take him to a drag show, i hope you keep it a surprise. let him gripe and complain the whole way there until the uber driver looks like he wants to scream. look, it's not rocket's fault. he frickin told you he'd had a shitty three cycles since he'd seen you last, and now he just wants to crash on your couch with you and order in sushi and rewatch edward scissorhands (you're not sure how that last part's supposed to help — he always ends up silently crying into his fur two-thirds of the way through). he gets even grumpier when you have to wait outside in the relative cold. once you're finally seated at a small table house-left, he's still sulking and snarking, to the point that you almost wanna wring his furry neck yourself.

but then the music starts. maybe a little aretha franklin. gloria gaynor, or some classic cher. yeah, i'm guessing the show stars with cher. slow, silky, low notes pouring out over the stage. strong enough, maybe. when the first queen steps out, rocket's jaw actually drops. by the time the bright pop of disco-synth hits the song, you'd swear the mirrorball is reflecting little stars and hearts into his candied-apple eyes. he's drinking it all in: the drama, the sly and exaggerated winks that put his own oversized winking habits to shame — the gowns, the sequins, the feathers, the heels. the long lashes and sultry stagecraft, the pageantry, the snark, the fun. the music, the theatre of it all, the spotlights and the perfections and the imperfections — and the brightness, like staring into the spiritual equivalent of an anulax battery explosion.

you leave him at some point, just for a moment —making your way to the bar, bringing back the sugary tequila cocktails he's lately taken to liking so much — and he doesn't even touch it. maybe takes a sip, but forgets it's there. it's probably the first time you've seen rocket ignore an opportunity to get at least slightly buzzed (hey, he's made progress in recent years). but this time, the temptation isn't even present. he's staring at the stage, swaying and bopping to the lip-synced lyrics — completely glitterdrunk. he's fixated on the satin corsets and the braying laughter and the ribald jokes, the irreverence that somehow feels like coming home, and all the while he’s wondering what his own long claws would look like if they were painted that color.

it's not like rocket hasn't seen theatrical gender performance before. it's a common-enough phenomenon in deep space, where there are as many expressions of identity as there are stars in the sky. a lot of cultures are far more chill about crossing gender lines or leaning into extreme caricatures, for a kaleidoscope of reasons. some planets don't even have lines to cross, either because gender is a nonconstruct or because it's so extremely flux that it might as well be superfluid helium.

but there's something about this kind of performance that just hits different for rocket. he probably doesn't know enough terran history to understand what he's picking up on. sure, in the far-reaches of the galaxy, diverse gender expression may be the norm — but here on terra, there are conservatives and bioessentialists and police raids and worse. what rocket sees — folded in between the blade-sharp eyeliner and the spun-sugar wigs and the gunmetal-glint of sequins — is rebellion. it's the core blazing fire of demanding the right to be exactly who you are or who you want to be, even if only for a moment. it’s throwing fists when you have to and protecting your people when you can. it's the freedom to give an acrylic-tipped middle-finger to anyone who ever thought they had the right to reinvent you according to their idea of perfection.

it's a fuck-you to every high evolutionary out there, herbert e wyndham or otherwise.

and — maybe more importantly — it’s not just the struggle. in the face of every hostile neighbor and violent lawmaker, it’s taking back some fucking joy.

rocket can taste it.

which is probably why he doesn't want to leave, even after the show draws to a close and someone's yelling about last call. by the time you finally convince him to go out to the sidewalk and wait for your uber back home, a small number of the queens are departing as well — clustered on the sidewalk like gems snatched from taneleer tivan's jewelry box. you don't think you've ever seen this damn raccoon treat an adult-humie-stranger with anything softer than semi-polite suspicion — yourself included — but suddenly, he's turning up the charm, sidling up to the ladies to thank them for their performance.

the queens, of course, are immediately smitten. who's this handsome fucking dreamboat, and how’d he get those biceps, and does he want a selfie? rocket lets them coo over him with exaggerated, syrupy delight — not even snapping when one of them scritches his ears. he shrugs and juts his thumb at you and gives one of them your goddamn phone number, and they squish in for the aforementioned snapshot. he's got big ol' lipstick-prints in his fur already and when someone raises a paint-arched brow and comments suggestively on the many possible uses of his tail, rocket finally sinks into that familiar shit-eating smirk.

you breathe a sigh of relief when you see it. for a couple seconds there, you’d barely even recognized him.

the uber pulls up and the queens pout — how did the surly jackass who steals your pillow and eats all your lucky charms manage to dazzle them all in less than five minutes? — and when rocket gets in the vehicle, he immediately goes quiet in that way he does — suddenly pensive. thoughtful.

your phone buzzes. it's the selfie of him and the goddamn queens. you lean over and show it to him, and he nods, the corner of his mouth curving faintly. His tail flicks on the seat between you, and his ears twitch as he turns to look out the window.

thanks.

you startle when he speaks, despite the fact that you usually can't get him to shut up. but the quiet gratitude sits between you on the bench like a third passenger in the backseat of the car, studded with distant stars and the receding lights of the city.

no problem, you say slowly. i knew you'd like it — i just didn't know how much. you tilt your head. maybe trust me the next time i tell you i wanna take you somewhere.

he scoffs quietly, but the sound is only made of soft camaraderie and old habit. and then — slowly, like the words are hard to find between stoplights and midnight shadows — he adds, this was... special.

you can hear him swallow. his head is still turned to peer out his window, but you can see the ghost of his reflection in the glass: eyes red as lollipops and sour candy, sometimes turning flat-gold with the passing light. His eyelids flicker shut, then reopen.

some asshole once told me— he starts. stops. swallows again. clears his throat. some asshole once told me we all had this — this sacred fuckin' mission to — to take a cacophony of sounds and turn it into a song.

you can hear the words he's quoting, and his voice drips thick with disdain — and also maybe some uncertainty. some vulnerability. whoever it was who'd said this thing to him — it had cut deep, and put down venomous roots. but you don't respond. not yet. you've learned to wait in moments like this — to let the silence curl around you both, low and comforting as old quilts.

but this, he says finally, four blocks later. this was like... taking songs and turning them into a cacophony. but of — of good things. his brows crease in his reflection, and you an see his eyes flick back and forth, searching the darkness.

a cacophony of liberation, you suggest quietly. and of — joy, and reclamation, and — togetherness, i guess.

he lets out a breath so heavy that his shoulders drop when they're free of it. you stretch across the bench-seat, and you know he's watching your hand reach for him in the window's reflection — but he doesn't draw away from you, not even when you card your fingers through the soft fur at the base of his ears, tousling a soft cloud of pixie-dust sparkle into the air.

and of glitter, you add lightly. you hear the uber driver muffle a grunt of dismay.

but rocket just smirks out the window.

yeah, he says, and it takes a second for you to realize that even though he's agreeing with you, he's also confirming something he's been turning over in the privacy of his own head — all night, maybe. when he repeats himself under his breath, it sounds — it sounds like a soft new bandage, almost. like he’d gone to check on a wound he’d thought had turned to rot, only to learn the the scar’s looking clean and smooth and healthy, and healing up just right.

yeah. that fucker was frickin' wrong.

as per frickin' usual.

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raccoon & star dividers by @/thecutestgrotto support banners by @/saradika-graphics

gotg rocket

[final-milf-ratchet]

Hello again

Yesss, Predaking *needs* a Queen, and Magnus is perfect - beautiful and strong..

The idea of Magnus actually being easy took me OUT but you know.. i actually love it. No one knows about it because they just.. never try. And Predaking is charming anyway, so Magnus is opening up pretty quickly..

omg Ratchet being so done with Optimus' pining that he wordlessly thanks Predaking for giving him something to goad Optimus with, relieved when the Prime stomps to the ship..

Even if they weren't already determined to end the War (something that will be much easier with Predaking as a secret agent on the Nemesis, my god imagine Prime and Predaking teaming up, holy shit) they would be determined anyway once Magnus tells them "nothing's going to happen until the war is over anyway". I can imagine them waiting for things to settle down and then pinning Magnus between their bigger frames, smugly pointing out that the War is over now..

They're very understanding though, despite their *need* to breed him - giving him more time, until one day he bashfully tells them that he thinks he's ready now.. He's an absolute wreck by the time the sun rises again, definitely not getting out of berth for the foreseeable future..

Also omg. Imagine Optimus and Predaking playing with Magnus' refineries. His wells. His tits. They're so big, and warm, and soft.. It's so easy to mark them up as well, pulling on the little nubs and biting them, pulling the sweetest noises out of Magnus.. And when they finally spark him up, and his tits start leaking whenever they're being too rough...

Hiiiiiiiii!!!!!!

People always assume Magnus will just coldly shoot them down, so they give up before they even try. 😔😔 Poor fools don't know how close they were to ultra magnussy 😔😔😔 tragic

I think ratchet's been putting up with optimus pinning for TOO LONG. The first time Optimus and Magnus meets Optimus walked away like 😳👉👈 and went to bother ratchet about it, then every time Magnus showed up after that ratchet had to deal with Optimus doing the same thing. They may be friends but ratchet is SICK OF IT. He's tried many solutions over the years to get Optimus to act on it (Optimus' last relationship was with Megatron, who was more upfront in their relationship and usually initiated stuff. Rip Megatron u were a good one b4 u started doing space crack)

As soon as Cybertron recovers enough to have bars, Ratchets going to buy Predaking a cyberbeer, he swears it.

I probably worded that wrong earlier lol, the autobots are def trying their best to end the war!!!! but having a secret dragon turncoat that's infiltrated the nemesis helps a LOT lmao. I am now imagining a comedy of errors where Predaking keeps trying to bite Megatron's head off on the nemesis and various factors (starscream, well placed door frame, too many witnesses, starscream again, dark energon, starscream a third time, etc) keep stopping it from happening. There's gotta be some dramatic reveal too, Predaking and Optimus teaming up to fight would be SO COOL.

Mayhaps after their team-up is the first time they share Ultra Magnus, after gaining a new appreciation for each other in battle ☺️ (and maybe they fuck in the aftermath too☺️☺️☺️)

Oooooohhhhhhhhgggggg them working together to tease and grope Ultra Magnus' Megamilkers 🤤🤤🤤 2 titties mean one person can put all their focus on one boob... It's a good thing cybertronians have chest plates and don't wear actual clothes because I'm sure Ultra Magnus would always be covered in hickies lol

And I mean, they've all talked about sparklings one day being a reality... Maybe once they get to a point post-war where bots are starting to have sparklings again, Ultra Magnus goes and gets his birth control removed and then surprises Predaking and Optimus later that night, when they're all in bed together (the biggest bed in the goddamn world look at the size of those three)... Like you said, Ultra Magnus isn't going ANYWHERE for the next few days, his hips need to recover and his partners are taking every chance they can to fill him up again ;)

[jasntodds]

Caving In [16]

Pairing: Gar Logan x Fem!Powered!Reader, Jason Todd x Fem!Powered!Reader

Words: 11,998

Chapter Warnings: Swearing, angst, canon violence, blood, mentions of injuries (bruising, being shot with a tranquilizer), more yelling

Summary: ❝Tell me Atlas: What is heavier, The world or its people’s hearts?❞ You never expected your life to end up this way, turned upside down by an infamous Gotham villain. It’s been a living hell, every single day, until Dick Grayson brings you to Titans tower where you meet Gar Logan and Jason Todd.

A/N: We see Jason again this chapter, I promise!! Also, hi, next chapter is the last chapter of book 1 lmao there will be a 1 week break between this book and book 2 because I have chapters for book 2 done lol I am easily motivated to post more often when I get feedback 😂 You can add yourself to the tag list below, ask me to be tagged, or you can follow my library blog @jasntoddslibrary​​​ and turn on notifications if you prefer that!!

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After the next few hours, Gar and you keep up with city surveillance cameras but you haven't been able to spot Conner or Krypto. Your best guess is that they're probably in some secluded alley waiting for things to calm down before they start moving.  It's a bit disappointing and disheartening. You and Gar need to find him and bring them back to the tower. It's not safe for them out there alone.

With no luck at the cameras, you convince Gar to come to the kitchen to have a snack. Neither of you have eaten in a while and you won't be useful if you're hungry. Gar reluctantly agrees but he pulls up the news on a laptop as he paces back and forth, you rummaging for a few granola bars. Gar tries to call Dick again but still gets his voicemail.

"Why isn't he answering?" Gar asking, words steaming with annoyance.

"Guilt?" You question, tossing Gar a granola bar from the other side of the counter. "I have no idea. Call Bruce again?"

"Uh...right, um." Gar rubs the back of his neck and you narrow your eyes at him.

He neglected to tell you that he did not call Bruce when he said he would. He went to call but then hung up before the call went through. Conner was your best chance at getting the Titans back together. He just wants them back, they belong together. They’re Titans. But, he knew you would probably be mad if he told you. You and Gar had one job.

"Gar, did you not call him?" You blink at him, sucking on your teeth.

Gar shakes his head, wincing. "Conner woke up and I thought if we called Bruce, he'd take Conner away and then we'd never get the Titans back to together."

You stare at him and you can't believe he was that desperate to lie and then not do what Dick told him to do. You know the Titans mean a lot to him but he should have called. This was probably part of why Dick wanted you to call Bruce. The two of you are not equipped to deal with this and what just happened proves that. But, Gar is beating himself up enough for it and you aren’t going to beat a dead horse. Especially because it’s Gar.

“Okay.” You let out an exasperated sigh, rubbing your face with your hands. “Okay, I’ll call Bruce then.”

“But we lost him. How are we--”

“Gar,” You shake your head. “Look, it’s Bruce Wayne. He raised Dick fucking Grayson and took Jason fucking Todd in who was stealing from the Batmobile, okay? He solves riddles from the Riddler. Us losing Conner? That’s child’s play. Bruce will know what to do.” You swallow your pride admitting Bruce might be kind of helpful right now and he might not yell at either of you for it. This can’t be worse than anything Dick and Jason have put him through.

“I’m really sorry.” Gar's brows knit together with guilt and you hang your head before looking back to him. You can't let him beat himself for it.

“It’s fine, I get it.” You sigh. “I just wish you would have told me. But, it’s okay. I get why you did it. I’ll call Bruce and we’ll find him.” You walk over to the other side of the counter and put your hands on his shoulders. “We got this.” You give him a confident smile and it does make him feel a little bit better.

You take your hands off him and just as you’re about to walk away, the alarm system goes off for zone two. Gar glances to you before going to the laptop and pulling up the intercom feed from the front door.

“Hello? Who's there?” Gar asks annoyed, not seeing anyone. You look over his shoulder, just seeing the buildings across the street.

Krypto jumps up on the screen and barks. You smile widely, already making your way toward the elevator. Gar follows right behind you, feeling a little bit of relief. At least Krypto is back and he can lead you both back to Conner.

You and Gar follow Krypto through the city, keeping up with him at an even pace. You almost laugh to yourself as you walk because this is kind of like Lassie. You're literally following a dog to find someone who's lost. But, Krypto is cooler than Lassie. He's a superdog. Gar, on the other hand, is just relieved you'll be able to get Conner and come back to the tower. He swears he'll be calling Bruce when you get back. He should have done it yesterday but he can make up for it now.

After about a fifteen-minute walk, Krypto runs ahead of you and Gar, jumping on someone in a trench coat. Gar feels the weight immediately lift from his shoulders. That's definitely Conner. You’re a bit surprised it was actually that easy to find him. But, you’re definitely feeling like you got lucky that no one had recognized him from the news.

"Great, dumbest dog ever." Conner says, looking down as Krypto sits right in front of him.

"He can ring a doorbell with his nose." Gar smiles softly at Conner as he walks up, you right to his left. "I've seen dumber."

"He brought Eve to the tower to find you, came to get us, found you again. Give him a little credit." You let out a soft laugh as you walk over to Krypto, patting his head gently.

Conner deadpans at the two of you, clearly not in the mood for anything. "Stay away from me." Conner states before walking off.

You look to Gar as his face falls. How is Conner possibly mad at the two of you? Sure, you were not specific with the Titan's instructions but he went rogue. It's at that moment you get why Dick was so angry at you and Jason, twice. You swear that thought will never see the light of day.

You and Gar start walking after Conner, taking long strides to keep up with him.

"What you did to those cops...you messed things up for a lot of people, including us." Gar says as you catch up to Conner. "I think we deserve an answer. What the hell happened?" You look to Gar and you’re proud of him for standing up himself. He doesn't do it nearly enough.

"When you invited me to be a Titan, I told you what I was. But you didn't listen cause that's not what you wanted to hear." Conner’s voice sounds hurt.

"You're right." Gar moves forward, standing in front of Conner so all of you come to a stop. "I didn't listen. Being a Titan isn't about being perfect. I..." Gar sucks in a breath, his voice lowering. "I killed a guy once. And I clawed him to pieces."

You remember after Jerry, Gar has said something about how he had killed someone and that must be what he's referring to. You didn't really ask, it didn't seem like something he wanted to talk about but given the look of distress on his face, you’re thinking maybe you should have. But, Gar is right. None of the Titans are perfect, and Conner doesn't have to be either. Being a Titan isn't about being perfect, it's about helping people who can't help themselves.

"So, maybe we should both be locked up." Conner states.

"Hey," You chime in. "No, that's not how it works. We all fuck up." You state, moving to stand beside Gar so you can look up at Conner. "You hurt those cops because you didn't know any better but everyone is capable of learning from their mistakes. Gar did what he had to survive. I nearly beat a guy to death for torturing me. We fuck up and then we work through it with each other. That's how it works."

Gar offers you a kind and grateful smile before looking back at Conner. "She's right. When we mess up, we learn from it with each other and so can you." Gar lets out a breath. "What we do...other people count on us to help them."

"Well, they shouldn't." Conner fires back.

"Why not? If you wanna argue about it, I'll argue." You cross your arms over your chest. "We can help them." You haven't actually been able to given Dick not letting any of you but that's the idea. "We have these abilities that we choose to use for good. Who you are has nothing to do with who your parents are. That's all you and you can choose to be good."

"And you two still hurt other people by choosing to be good." Conner strikes back and your eyes narrow. 

But, before Gar or you can try reasoning more with Conner further, Krypto starts barking. The three of you look where Krypto is barking, seeing a dark grey armored vehicle show up with a CADMUS decal on the door. Those are the people who are looking for Conner and Krypto and you start getting a bad feeling about this.

"You guys have to get out of here, now." Conner states, lightly pushing Gar's chest before he starts walking confidently towards the vehicle.

You and Gar are quick to catch up to him. Gar runs in front of him, putting his hands on Conner's chest to stop him.

"No, no, no!" Gar's words rush together. "Do you really want to hurt someone else?" He asks as the three of you come to a stop.

"You can choose to walk away, Conner." You state.

Conner looks between you, jaw clenched. But, he doesn't start to move forward.

"Come on!" Gar taps Conner's shoulder and the three of you start running, Krypto running slightly in front of you.

The four of you run back to the tower, hoping CADMUS didn't notice you or follow you. You hope you lost them. You kept looking over your shoulder, checking but you’re pretty sure you lost them when you took a shortcut down an alley and cut across to a second one. That's the last you remember seeing them but there is a part of you that starts to worry about it.

They're looking for Conner. They're going to keep looking for him. Gar and you are not equipped to deal with that on your own. You’re worried for Conner. If anyone knows what it's like to be held against their will, it would be you. It's CADMUS and they made him which means it was probably torture. The anxiety creeps into the back of your throat but you have to swallow it down as you get out of the elevator. This isn't about you. This is about keeping Conner safe.

“Hey, you know they’re just gonna keep coming after me, right?” Conner asks as he sets his coat down on one of the table chairs.

Gar grabs three drinks from one of the shelves in the kitchen while you take a seat at one of the barstools.

“Let them try.” Gar states, putting the drinks down in front of you.

“We’re always gonna help.” You add in. You wouldn’t risk someone being subjected to what you were.

“This is my mess, not yours.” Conner states.

“This is what the Titans do.” Gar urges, leaning his arms on the counter, facing you and Conner.

“We protect people, including our own.” You give Conner a nod.

The words still feel a little sour in your mouth. That's what you're supposed to do but it doesn't feel like that's the case. You keep that to yourself though. It's not fair to argue that right now. Giving Conner this rundown of the shit that happened a few days ago isn't going to help anyone or anything or this situation. You decide just to back Gar up on this.

“Exactly, we have each other’s backs.” Gar smiles proudly before walking back off to the pantry.

“So, where are they? The other Titans.” Conner asks and you spin on your chair, facing away from Conner and towards Gar. That's all for Gar to explain.

“You know what,” Gar pauses for a second. “Maybe I should do what Dick wanted me to do in the first place.” Gar walks back of the pantry and pulls out his phone.

“Yes, yes you should.” You nod your head. This is gonna be a big mess if he doesn’t get ahold of Bruce. You cannot take CADMUS.

“Call in the big guns.”

“We’re gonna use guns?” Conner asks, a little worry in his voice.

“No, it’s just a metaphor. Calling Bruce Wayne.” Gar says with a smile.

“You are calling him, right?” You raise your brows at Gar and Gar nods softly at you, typing into his phone.

“Yeah, we need him.” Gar states and he starts to walk away but then there’s a security alert.

“Zone six, unauthorized access.” The automated voice says through the tower and Gar pauses, looking back at you.

“What’s that?” Conner asks.

“Zone six is the roof.” Gar's voice is filled with confusion.

"Why does it have to be roof?" You let out an exasperated whine. You’re really starting to hate rooftops.

The three of you look around, as if unsure what you should do but before you and Gar can check the security cameras, the floor-to-ceiling windows shatter. You lean away, dodging the glass. Gar takes a few steps further away and Conner flinches away from the windows. People in all black with guns start to storm the tower.

They repel through the windows and start coming in through the hall leading to the training room. You jump up from your spot, moving away from them, meeting Gar and Conner at the very end of the counter. Krypto starts barking as he runs in to join you. Gar puts his hands up, not knowing what the hell else to do with guns pointed directly at him.

Krypto starts barking and won’t stop while the men say to shut him up. Before they can act though, Krypto uses his superspeed and jumps onto one of the men, tackling him to the ground. Unfortunately, another man shoots a net with glowing green orbs at the ends right at Krypto and captures him. Conner jumps into action with the sound of Krypto whimpering.

This cannot be happening. The tower is supposed to be safe. It’s supposed to be secure but now you’re being stormed by fucking CADMUS. You feel your mouth run dry and this can’t be happening. They’re going to take Conner and probably kill you and Gar. How does this shit keep happening? But, now is not the time to panic so you watch them carefully, the throbbing hasn’t started yet but you’re sure it’s going to.

Conner punches two men at the same time, sending them flying backward and onto the floor. Two men start to walk towards you and Gar, Gar still having his hands up. You look to Gar and you’re thinking the same thing. Do or die. You nod at him and Gar attacks on of the men, grabbing his gun and then yanking him by his head, into the wall while you grab the other man.

You grab the gun, shoving the gun into him with all of your force before using it as momentum to swing him around into the kitchen area. You twist the gun around, as the man loses his grip and use the weapon to drag him further to your level. You bring your knee up to knee him in the face before landing a hit to the back of his neck, sending him to the floor.

You and Gar look at each other with pride before the throbbing starts kicking in, right in the front of your head. Your eyes widened and you grab Gar by his jacket, yanking him down behind the center counter and to the floor just as another man starts shooting at the two of you.

“Thanks.” Gar says, breathing heavily.

“Got you.” You offer a nervous smile. The throbbing has moved to the side of your head where more men have started shooting and Conner is still dealing with a few others. “Got a plan?”

“I’ll distract them so you can move.” Gar rushes his words, ripping his jacket from his shoulders while his face turns green. “Keep fighting.”

You look above you seeing the block with all of the kitchen knives. You crawl to the left of Gar so you’re right under where the knives are, Gar fully transformed now. Gar walks out from the counter, growling at one of the men before he jumps on him. You take that as your chance to stand up, and immediately start grabbing knives. The throbbing starts coming from the back of your head and slightly to right. In a swift motion, you spin, hitting one of the men whose gun is aimed right at you. You hit him right where his neck peaks out of his protective gear. He drops to the ground, holding the wound where blood starts spraying out of it.

You take the knives, moving towards where Gar is to make sure he’s doing okay. Gar still has a guy pinned as a few more men come in, all aiming guns at you, Gar, and Conner and the throbbing intensifies, right in the front of your head but you’ve been training for this. You start throwing the knives with everything in you, one right after the other, hitting two men and they go to the ground but the throbbing switches to the side and it's all starting to mush together as you catch a glimpse of Gar slowly moving away from the man on the ground and he looks hurt. Two men are moving to either side of the counter to surround you so you throw your last knife at the guy to the right, turning to fight the other one.

You take the first swing but he uses the gun to hit you away, the butt of the gun connecting with the side of your face. Before you can regain your footing, you feel a hard hit to your right leg. You try to fight through it, trying to grab the gun from this man as well but he yanks it away and the world starts spinning around you. You sway slightly before going to the floor with a heaving breath.

You drag yourself up against the counters facing the windows, while your heart rate starts to slow. Your vision is blurry and warped as you look in front of you. Gar is leaning against the opposite counter with a heaving chest, no longer in tiger form. They shot him, too and there's a bloody handprint right before his head. This can't be happening. It can't be happening. You have to save him.

You look to your leg. There's a dart sticking out of your leg and you know that's not good but there's no real panic happening. You should be panicking, getting an extra boost of adrenaline, but it's like your entire body is shutting down, the adrenaline won't kick in. You pick up your arm to pull it out and your arm feels like it weighs a thousand pounds. It takes you a few tries to get your arm to line up with the dart. It's like your brain isn't quite connecting with your body and it's frustrating but eventually, you’re able to pull the dart out of your leg.

Gar looks to you and you lost. He was shot with a tranquilizer and he can't do anything to help. He's stuck here and you are so in over your heads. Everything is so heavy and it's hard to breathe. Gar can barely keep himself up right and he's watching you struggle to breathe in front of him. He really messed up this time. And he's fucking scared. They're gonna kill you both.

A woman comes in with more men, they walk in through the elevator and her voice sounds distorted to you as your eyelids grow heavier. You’re wheezing with every breath, trying to look over to Conner. You get a hazy glimpse of him just standing there. You have no clue what the hell is going on but what you do know, is that you are so screwed. And no matter how badly you want to get up and keep fighting, your legs won't work. Your arms are too heavy to lift and it feels like you’re in a fever dream. Every second is a struggle as the woman keeps talking and finally, you’re body gives out to the tranquilizer.

You don’t come to until the following day. You’re in the same spot you were before and your head still feels heavy and foggy. At first, you just feel a little disoriented and confused. For just a second, you forget what happened last night, aren’t sure why you’re on the floor in the kitchen. Your right leg where you were shot with the tranquilizer is sore. Your breathing is ragged while you look around slowly. But confusion clouds your mind as you look around slowly seeing broken glass and blood around you. And that’s when everything starts to become clear.

Gar, Conner, Krypto. Tranquilizer darts. Guns. Fighting.

A sense of panic washes over you as you look at the spot in front of your where you last saw Gar, the bloody handprint staring directly at you. Your head starts to throb, but not for fighting, just from a normal headache. You know Gar wouldn’t leave you here if he were still here and your heart breaks. They took him. They took all three of them and left you for dead. But you can’t focus on that, you need to get help. So, you start to get up.

You place your hands on the cool floor beneath you and push up. Your arms feel like limp spaghetti but you push through it. Tranquilizers are just an anesthetic and you know the more you come to, it’ll start to wear off. You need to just find a way to push through it. You lean forward, grabbing the counter for support as you lift yourself up, groaning as your leg feels like it has the worst Charlie horse of the century. You keep pressure off it as you get fully to your feet, your heart thundering through your ears. The whole room feels off and it’s starting to make your nauseous. 

You groan and pull out of your phone from your pocket. Your vision takes a second to focus on the screen as you go to your recent text thread, hitting the call button.

“Hey, it’s Jason. Leave a message or don’t.”

“Seriously, Jay? Answer your damn phone.” You huff into the phone. “The fucking was attacked. I’m hurt and CADMUS took Gar, Conner, and Krypto. Call me.” You hang up the phone, rolling your eyes before you start texting him.

You: Gar kidnapped, hurt, check your voicemail shithead

You let out a sigh and pull up Dick’s contact whose voicemail is now full. You grit your teeth before letting out a scoff. You pull up Kory’s number and that goes to voicemail. What is with these people? Can’t anyone answer a phone? Everyone has their phone attached to their hip, constantly on it but now there’s an emergency, everyone conveniently can’t answer? You grow more annoyed as you start making your way through all of the Titans. Donna, Dawn, Hank. You even try Rachel and not a single one of them can answer the phone either.

You nearly chuck your phone across the room. What the fuck are you supposed to do if you can’t get ahold of anyone to help? The boys could be getting tortured or killed right now and you’re stuck here, no backup. You’re all alone and hurt. The panic sets in as your hands start to shake and tears burn the back of your eyes. Your nose grows warm and you have no idea what you’re supposed to do. Your breathing quickens as the room starts to spin. You can’t do this on your own.

But, then your phone starts ringing, Donna’s name appearing on the screen.

"Hey—"

"Where are you?" You rush your words, wiping your eyes with your sleeve. "I need help, Gar was kidnapped with Conner and Krypto. Dick isn't answering the phone."

"Slow down, what happened?" Donna stops, looking around the street.

"Gar, Conner, and Krypto were kidnapped. We were attacked last night by the people looking of Conner." Your throat feels raw like sandpaper.

"Where are you?" Donna starts walking quickly.

"Still in the tower, they used s tranquilizer on me? I guess I don't know. I just came to."

"Stay there, do not move. I'm on my way."

"Thank you." You let out a breath, the smallest bit of relief coming over you. At least Donna called back.

You pocket your phone and you need to get yourself straightened out. You'll explain everything to Donna but you want to be ready for whatever Donna will come with to help them. You have to be ready.

You limp over to the fridge and grab a bottle of water, taking a few sips of it to ease the cotton mouth. The water is cool and helps perk you up a little bit. It helps the panic subside a little as you take a few deep breaths before you start limping to your room.

You grab new clothes to change into, getting a look at the damage a tranquilizer dart can cause. There's a deep bruise covering the majority of your thigh and you wince at the sight of it, understanding why it actually hurts to walk. It sucks and it hurts, but you’re honestly relieved that's all there is. Tranquilizers used for wildlife, something like a tiger for example, can kill people. You’re not really sure what type they used or the dosage, but you feel lucky to not be dead right about now.

While you change and grab your knives, you can't help but feel the guilt seep into your bloodstream like an infection. It's there and tugging at every part of you. You had them. You were holding your own just fine and you got that glimpse of Gar. That split second and it made you pause. You should have been able to take the last two. You should have been able to help Gar. And the more you think about it, you should have used your powers.

You were just so scared to use them. A part of you think the only reason you’re even still here right now is because they didn't know you have powers. Gar does. He made it obvious and maybe that's why they left you for dead but not him. And you think you should have tried because trying is better than nothing. You could have made a barrier around you and Gar, around the counter of some sort, maybe. You could have done something to try and protect all of you. And the more you think about it, the more the anxiety creeps in like the reaper waiting for you to finally cave in. Because, you think they would have taken you, too if you used your powers and you would have been held captive three fucking times. You don't think you would survive a round three. And you should have been able to save Gar, regardless.

The guilt is suffocating.

Donna comes up the elevator two hours later. You’re sitting in the living room, an ice pack to your leg while your phone is glued to your hand. Your eyes are trained on the text thread with Jason, several of your messages fill the screen from the last few hours. You chew the inside of your cheek and flip to Dick’s text thread, it looks similar to Jason’s.

“Y/n?” Donna calls with hesitance.

“Here.” You call, your voice flat.

Donna walks over, looking around the tower and seeing glass, blood, and knives covering the floor. “Are you okay?” Donna gets a look at the bruise across the right side of your face as you look up at her.

“Yeah.” You nod, keeping it short. “We have to save Gar. And Conner and Krypto. I’m fine.”

“What even happened?” Donna looks to the windows, every single one of them shattered.

“They came in through the windows first, started attacking. I don’t know. We had the alert for the roof but they came in before we could do anything.” You shrug, grabbing the ice pack as you stand up.

“And they took them but not you?”

You shrug once more and you get a distant look in your eyes. “Guess so, I, uh, I didn’t use my powers. Maybe that’s why. It’s CADMUS, we saw them earlier when we were out.”

“You saw CADMUS and you and Gar didn’t call anyone?” Donna almost yells.

You narrow your eyes. The last thing you want right now is to be told you fucked up. You’re very well aware of that right now. “Does it fucking matter? They were here within ten minutes of getting back and none of you answer your fucking phones anyway.” You let out a scoff and you hang your head for a second. “We tried.” You look back at Donna and Donna lets out a sigh.

“Okay,” Donna runs a hand through her hair before putting a hand on her hip. “You’re positive it was CADMUS?”

“That’s what the truck said and some woman came in. I don’t know what she was saying. They shot me with a tranquilizer so I was out of it. But, we have to save them. Who knows what fuckshit they’re doing to them.”

Donna pauses for a second and if it’s CADMUS, the two of you are gonna need some help. The others aren’t answering your calls and to be fair, the last time you all spoke, you were screaming at most of them. But, that’s not an excuse and Donna knows something is up. She hasn’t been able to reach Dick either.

“You’re gonna think of a plan, right?” You ask and there’s a hopefulness to your voice as you knit your brows together. As upset as you are with the Titans, Donna showed up and she looks worried. You have no choice but to rely on her.

“Yeah,” Donna nods. “I’ll start calling and trying to get some backup, we’ll need it.” You give Donna a soft nod while Donna pulls out her phone.

Before Donna can start making calls, she gets a phone call herself. You watch her carefully as Donna answers. Her brows knit together as she says Rachel’s name and you nearly roll your eyes. Not because it’s Rachel but because by the way Donna said her name, there’s something else happening. Everything is really crumbling around you right now.

“Rachel?”

“I think she’s in trouble?” Donna questions. “Have you heard from her?”

You blink at Donna. “Nope.” You pop the ‘p’. “Haven’t spoken to her since that day.”

“Right,” Donna sighs. “Well, we’ll need backup anyway so…we have to go help her.”

You let out a sigh, looking up and then back to Donna. “What about Gar? We know for sure he’s in trouble.”

“We can’t just walk into CADMUS by ourselves. We need help. Come on.” Donna turns on her heels, walking towards the elevator.

You let out a groan but limp quickly after Donna, catching up to her. You aren’t a big fan of the idea but Donna might have a point. If the four of you last night were no match for CADMUS, you and Donna won’t stand a chance even entering the front entrance. You hate it because Gar is in trouble right now and you going after Rachel means that’s more time CADMUS has with Gar. But, you’re given no choice in this matter and all you can do is follow Donna to the car and hope you’ll have some sort of plan to save Gar.

You and Donna start your drive to some place called Elko Diner and the ride is quiet. You keep your stare out of the window, thinking. You replay last night over and over, picking apart everything you could have done better. It’s not making you feel any better, you’re pretty sure it’s making you feel worse which at this point, a part of you thinks you deserve.

Donna glances over at you a few times, the silence between you feeling a little unsettling. In the short time you were at the tower together before everything went to shit, she heard you talk a lot. You were always talking to either Gar or Jason but you’ve been silent for an hour. Donna gets it, beating yourself up over everything that went wrong.

“You know it’s not your fault, right?” Donna finally asks.

You snap your attention to Donna. “Mhm, yeah, just…” You let out a scoff. “Wasn’t enough again.”

“You guys didn’t stand a chance against CADMUS. There was nothing else you could do. We’ll get the boys back.”

“Yeah.” Your word is short and quick. “Hope so.” You chew the inside of your cheek and you aren’t going to talk about the inner workings of your head with Donna. This is a three-hour drive to this diner. You can’t sit in complete silence the entire way so you’re going to try and talk this shit out. You’re going to have to trust Donna which means talking and letting some shit go.

“You were wrong, by the way. About Jason.” You change the subject, putting the spotlight on Donna.

“You’re still going on about that.” Donna lets out a sigh.

“Obviously.” You roll your eyes. “It was Rose. Gar and me found the footage and it was her. Like I said, not Jason. And I needed you to know that.”

“Rose? How did she even know any of that?”

“Her dad, apparently. She’s been working with him the whole time so all of us got played.” You look over to Donna who looks completely lost. “It’s a long story but yeah, that’s a thing. We don’t know how he knew anything though but…ya know.”

“Guess I owe the more annoying Robin an apology.”

“You all do.” You state, rolling your eyes.

“Hey, who else would have been?” Donna tries to defend herself.

“Doesn’t matter, he went to the roof and was gonna jump off but you’re all so self-absorbed that none of you cared to even offer an apology. Dick hurt your feelings so you got mad, fine but you all should have been nicer to Jason. His feelings and innocence were never any concern of yours.”

“We aren’t self-absorbed.” Donna lets out a scoff. “You don’t know us well enough to even have that opinion.”

“You made it obvious. If anyone would have done that shit, they wouldn’t have deserved to feel the way Jason did. It hurt your feelings what Rose did and that’s valid, but it never should have led Jason to the roof. Even now, you’re defending your distaste towards Jason when I’m telling you how he felt. Self-absorbed.” You look over at Donna with raised brows.

Donna clenches her jaw and maybe there is a point to be made with what you’re saying.

“Okay.” Donna says reluctantly. “We all could have handled it better. We owe him an apology.” Donna glances to you who still looks displeased. “He’s not….that…bad.”

You let out a laugh with Donna trying to get the words out in a single sentence. “He isn’t, he kind of reminds me of Dick sometimes. I think that’s why they butt heads so fucking much. But, yeah, you should apologize and kiss his ass.”

Donna scrunches her nose at the thought. “I am not kissing his ass.”

“It would be funny.”

“To who?”

“To me. I need a good laugh.” You let out a breath.

“I am sorry. You’re not Jason but…I’m sorry.” Donna glances to you for just a second.

“Thank you.”

You look in front of you and you let it go. Gar comes back into your thoughts and you worry all over again. You hate worrying so much. It’s exhausting and it clouds everything else in your mind. You can’t focus on worrying about him when you still have a two-hour drive ahead of you. You don’t have a plan. You have nothing right now. So, you try your best to push the guilt down and the thoughts of Gar away and start asking Donna questions about missions and the rope. You figure that might actually be a good distraction and maybe one of the stories will spark some sort of idea to help you save the boys.

You and Donna finally get to the diner, exiting the vehicle. You both take a second to look at the outside. It's in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by farmland. You’re beginning to think this is the beginning to a bad Children Of The Corn movie. It's a bit unsettling and the diner looks rundown, old. But, Donna looks at you, jerking her head towards the diner before you both start walking and head inside. You're met with not only Rachel but Kory and Dawn as well. You look at everyone, already confused as to what the hell is going on here. How did they all know to meet up here?

"Is this real or am I going crazy?" Kory asks.

You look at Donna. "Am I still high?" You let out a huff, everyone snapping their attention to you.

"Tranquilizer, long story." Donna adds in.

There's a short pause before Dawn nods. "This is definitely real."

"Why are you following me?" Rachel's voice is snippy and annoyed as she looks at Donna. Now that's also weird. What the fuck is happening?

"Following—what? You called me and told me to come here." Donna states.

"No, I didn't." Rachel looks to you. "Why are you here?"

"Called Donna for help then you called Donna, I was there." You give Rachel a look of pure annoyance.

"My check engine light went out." Dawn states before looking at Kory. "Kory?"

"I'm just here for the donuts." Kory shakes her head.

Just then, the door opens again and everyone turns to see who could possibly be walking into this diner now. Your jaw about hits the floor as everyone else looks at the man who's dressed nicely.

"Bruce?" Donna asks.

"Holy shit, you're Bruce Wayne." You let out a chuckle. "I'm definitely still high." Donna gives you a disapproving look.

"I'm so glad you all could make it." Bruce says.

All of you gather around, taking seats at different tables. You sit on one of the tabletops behind Kory, just looking past her to see Bruce. You all take turns filling Bruce in as to what's happened over the last few weeks. You all fill him in about Dick and Deathstroke, the events that lead to you and Jason being held captive as well as the detail to that. Bruce sits with one leg over the other, carefully listening to everything the five of you have to say.

"This is troubling news." Bruce says. "And no Conner or Gar?"

"No." Donna answers sadly.

"CADMUS has them." You state. "They attacked last night."

"What?" Kory gets a look of sadness as she looks at you.

"Hence the bruise." You gesture around it.

"I am aware of what's happened to all of you. And I...I'm sorry." Bruce states. "Lies can tears a family apart and hope been living in the aftermath of that. And it's a...lonely place to be. But this was a...this is...a family of choice. Breaking apart was a choice. In the light of this news, I'm asking you to make another one. To come together. Walking away from bad feelings is easy. It's much harder to take the blow, and come back for more, but that's what a family does. If you can unite, you can face any threat. But if darkness arrives while you're still cast apart, I truly believe that none of you will survive.." Bruce pauses as he stands up, the whole room growing eerie. " If you won't protect one another, who will?" Bruce asks with a nod before grabbing a biscuit and leaving the five of you to yourselves.

"That was fucking morbid." You mutter, understanding why Jason and Dick are so pessimistic right about now.

"Did he just leave?" Donna asks.

"Yup." Dawn answers.

"So, let's get this straight. Bruce Wayne somehow miraculously arranged for us all to meet in this diner in the middle of nowhere to mansplain us into putting the Titans back together?" Kory asks.

"Yup." Dawn answers as she gets up and puts her coat on. "I think that's exactly what just happened." Dawn lets out an exasperated sigh.

You’ve never met Bruce Wayne, you only know about him. He's always seemed a little weird to you but right now, that proves that thought. He just organized for all of you to get together, somehow. Gave you some weird ass speech and then leaves. He doesn't actually offer any help or anything. Just leaves.

Suddenly, there's a sound of static coming from the front of the diner. All of you get up and head to the front. You see an old TV, static on the screen before it switches to a news report.

"Today's top story. Two men escape Kane Jail, apparently aided by imprisoned Detroit police detective Dick Grayson. More details on this story and more on our next news update."

"That sure explains a lot." You let out a scoff. "He left us to get himself arrested."

"I'm sure he didn't do on purpose." Rachel snaps.

You roll your eyes in Rachel’s direction before looking to Donna.

"You got to be fucking kidding me." Donna states, her voice annoyed. She shakes her head and jerks it towards the door. "Let's go, Y/n."

"Finally." You let out a breath and follow Donna right on her heels out of the diner, the other women close behind.

"Donna, wait." Rachel calls.

"Troy, where are you going?" Kory asks.

"Back to San Francisco." Donna turns around to face them, you following suit.

"To save Gar and Conner." You quip.

"No, we need to save Dick." Rachel argues, stopping Donna before she can turn around and keep walking.

"Dick's on his own." Donna yanks her arm back.

"What is wrong with you?" Rachel asks.

"Me? Look, I know Dick Grayson, okay?" Donna starts. "He put himself up on that cross. Nailed himself to it. Now he's gonna have to take himself down, too."

"Donnas right. Whatever Dick's doing, he's doing to himself." Dawn agrees with Donna.

“He saved your life, Y/n!” Rachel turns it to you, knowing she won’t get anywhere with other women.

“Okay?” You shrug. “And Gar is like, important and didn’t get himself kidnapped on purpose so? You’re on your own here, buddy.”

“He saved us!” Rachel grows angrier with your response.

“Who the fuck cares!?” You snap. It doesn’t matter that Dick saved you. Gar needs your help.

“You should. You want to let him rot away in federal prison?” Rachel’s voice is offended this time.

“Yeah, kind of, Rachel.” You state with ease.

“How can you say that!?” Rachel yells. “He’s done so much for us!”

You roll your eyes. Yes, Dick has done a lot for all of you. But, so has Gar. Dick saved your life but Gar is your best friend. Gar is there for you and you’re there for him. Dick did this to himself. The choice is easy.

“Okay, guys—“ Kory tries to break it up.

“Dude, I, from the bottom of my heart, could not give less of a flying fuck right now.” You nearly breaks out into a fit of laughter. You’re so flabbergasted that Rachel is actually choosing Dick right now.

“How can you say that?” Rachel’s brows pull together as if she’s hurt by what you said.

“With ease, actually.” You quip, shrugging your shoulders nonchalantly.

“We’re saving him, you don’t get a say,” Rachel crosses her arms over her chest and you’re done. This is ridiculous and you were already mad at her but this is the edge.

First of all, Rachel is not your keeper. Rachel doesn’t get to decide what you do or don’t do. And second, this isn’t her decision. Rachel doesn’t get to control what everyone else gets to do. Donna is with you on this one and you kind of want to see Rachel try to stop you.

You limp closer to her, getting in her face. “Fuck Dick Grayson and fuck you for being his fucking lap dog all the damn time. You know, I defended you a lot against Jason but I get it now.” You give Rachel a sinister laugh. “It doesn’t matter what Dick does because you’ll always be up his ass. He dropped us from a fucking skyscraper, he left me and Gar in charge of some random ass dude knowing people would be looking to hunt him down as if we had any business dealing with that alone. He got himself arrested on fucking purpose. Fuck Dick Grayson, got it?”

“Y/n, I think you need—“ Dawn starts, putting a hand on your shoulder.

You shrug her hand off. “Calm down? Fuck that. I’m sick of being calm about this shit. It’s always about fucking Dick.”

“As opposed to it being about you?” Rachel challenges.

Your eyes widen, shaking your head as if you can’t process what Rachel just said. What the fuck is she even talking about? “It’s not fucking about me, Rachel. This is about Gar!” Your voice echoes in the parking as you toss your arms out to the side. “CADMUS fucking took him! What part of that doesn’t seem urgent to you!? They hurt him and they took him and you’re so wrapped up about some guy that got himself arrested on purpose! That you left, may I remind you! None of it would have happened had he left Jericho alone but he didn’t. He started all of this shit. And now Gar is kidnapped and for all we know, they’ve killed him and your wounded puppy ass wants to help Dick!? They are probably torturing Gar right now because of his whole tiger thing. Over my cold dead body am I going to save Dick before I save Gar.” You huff in Rachel’s face.

This is insanity. It’s the last day at the tower all over again. Trying to get anything through Rachel’s head is worse than explaining rocket science to a brick wall. It is infuriating. You don’t get her at all. The whole time Rachel defends Gar and is on Gar’s side but when it fucking matters, it’s about Dick? You can feel your blood boiling and you’re already on edge. You’re not dealing with Rachel’s shit today.

Rachel stands her ground, unphased by you. “You’re saying I’m a wounded puppy?” Rachel crosses her arms, letting out a bitter laugh and you can feel yourself falling into the pits of rage. “You’re still mad about that stuff with Jason! That’s why you don’t want to save Dick. We’re going to get Dick and there’s nothing you do about it.”

“That’s it!” You bring your arm back, connecting your fist with Rachel's face as the other women jump in. Donna pulls you away while Kory checks on Rachel whose nose is bleeding. "Jason was fucking right about you!" You scream, fighting against Donna to let you go. "You're fucking nuts for actually siding with Dick right now!"

"You punched me!" Rachel screams, her nostrils flaring.

"Yeah, I fucking did! I punched you because I won't be telling Gar that you really wanna put him in last fucking place and I punched you for how you fucking treated Jason! You were the one that started that shit that led him to the roof! That punch is for my boys, so fuck you!"

“I didn’t choose Dick over Gar!” Rachel tries to take a step forward, Kory blocking her away from you. “You think because Jason helped you train behind Dick’s back that you take on anyone or anything.” Rachel snips. “You think you can do whatever you want, just like Jason! Look what happens when you do that!”

“First of all, it wasn’t behind Dick’s back. We were trying to be productive unlike you who took out your jealousy on Gar! Yeah, he told me what you said to him, asking if he growled at Dr. Light. I will defend those boys against the entire world. Dick has done a lot for us and while he pisses me the fuck off sometimes, I do like him and respect him but this was his choice.”

“Jason treats everyone like shit! Why can’t you see that!? He’s not even here! He left and you’re still defending him! Dick did what was best for us! How can you even stand her yelling at me!?” Rachel screams at you.

“You also left, Rachel! The irony is that somehow, amongst all of us standing here, I was the one that stayed! I chose to stay and everyone else bailed!” Sam screams past Donna, her throat growing raw. ”But I get why Jason left which is why, even when I wanna be mad, I can’t be. Because I get it. Gar and Jason are everything to me and I don’t know why that’s such a fucking problem for you. You're literally standing her talking shit about Jason when he's not even here and then choosing to get Dick out of prison instead of saving Gar's life! You're insane!"

“This is life or death! You should have used your powers! If I were there--”

“Here we fucking go. Round and round and round we go. Where we will stop on the Rachel has a fucking hero complex stop? Everyone deals with shit differently but the only way you can defend yourself is with your powers.” You glare at Rachel. “You have nothing besides your powers. Powers get you fucking killed and kidnapped, as has been proven in the last twenty-four hours. If you were there, you probably would have hurt Gar!”

“Fuck you!”

“Not even in your wildest dreams, Rachel!” You snark back.

“Gar deserves better than you! Okay, you wanna go find him and then what? You leave to hunt down Jason, right? You sound just like him, you train like him, you went through the same things. Both of you think no one likes you which is true! You guys put everyone in danger without ever thinking about anyone else! He left you! And for Deathstroke’s daughter!”

You let out a sinister laugh and it’s such a low blow. You don’t get how Gar is actually friends with her if this is how she treats people when she’s mad. And you hate to admit that comment actually hurt a little.

“We are friends, Rachel.” You grit your teeth and you’re done arguing about this shit. “I don’t know why the fuck you care so much about us. Is it guilt, maybe? That you aren’t going after Gar? Do you feel guilty so you’re trying to make me feel guilty enough to hunt down Jason instead of Gar so that way if Gar dies, you can again, point the finger at me?” You shake your head, disgusted with this whole argument. “Gar deserves better, you’re right and guess what. It’s why we’re friends. I chose Jason, despite him going with Rose but that’s none of your fucking business. We are friends, all of us. So, if you wanna keep throwing my feelings in my face, fucking fine. But I can live with my decisions, can you?” You let out a sigh as you stop fighting against Donna. “I’m done fucking arguing about this shit with you. It’s not fucking worth it. Do whatever the hell you want but I’m going to save Gar.” You turn away from her and start walking towards Donna’s car.

Rachel lets you walk away, letting the argument simmer in the air. It’s more than Dick being there for her and saving her. Gar has done that, too and she does care about him. Gar is her best friend, too. But, there’s more to it and she was hoping she wouldn’t have to come clean about it but it doesn’t look like she’ll get so lucky. 

“That was…” Donna start.

“Dramatic.” Kory mutters.

Rachel stands there with wide eyes and decides to come clean. “I’m having dreams again.”

You pause, turning around to face Rachel.

"I was at Dick's funeral. Deathstroke killed him. Look, I know that I sound crazy. I know that. But Dick needs my help. And I really need yours. Please." Rachel’s voice is pleading, almost breaking as she asks for help.

You put your hand on your hip because this is ridiculous. Rachel's demeanor might have changed and it's obvious she is honestly worried about Dick. You understand dreaming about someone and seeing them die. It is terrifying and Rachel's dreams sometimes mean something. But at the end of the day, Dick got all of you into this mess in the first place. That's still fact. Gar being in danger is still fact. You don't know about Dick, not for certain. And it seems Dawn and Donna are on the page.

"I'm sorry, Rachel." Donna says. "But Gar needs us more." Donna finishes before she walks back to the car and gets in, you follow right behind and get into the passenger seat. "Do you feel better?" Donna looks to you, sarcasm in her words and clearly annoyed by the whole argument.

"So, much, I didn't realize how much I had been holding in. I feel so much better now. Gar is right, talking about things helps."

"I don't think what you did there was talking but sure." Donna shakes her head and sees Dawn coming to the car. "Alright, backseat." Donna looks to you and you don’t protest. You do as told and climb into the backseat while Dawn opens the passenger door.

You buckle your seatbelt while Donna puts the car in drive and takes off. You lean forward between the women.

"Well, I would like to apologize for my ranting and airing out some of my dirty laundry, that was weird of me. Uh, yeah, so sorry for that." You nod at the two of them, offering an awkward, closed-mouth smile.

Donna can't help but let out a soft laugh and Dawn gains a smile.

"Just don't punch Rachel again, okay?" Donna asks.

"I will try very hard not to." You let out a sigh. "So, uh, what's the plan?"

"We're going back to San Francisco. And we're gonna get Gar back. We can look at the footage and run facial recognition. One of them has to be able to give us information." Donna explains.

"Sick." You nod, you’re just relieved you're actually going to be doing something to save Gar now.

You lean back in your seat, the adrenaline dump from your argument with Rachel starts to hit and the tranquilizer has some lasting effects. The exhaustion starts to hit you, slowly and then all at once. But you feel safe in the car with Donna and Dawn. It's getting late now so you decide to just rest your eyes, just until you get back to the city.

When you wake up, you're back at the tower. You don't have anywhere else to stay so the three of you make your way through the elevator. You didn't clean anything up before you left so there's still blood and glass across the floor. You were feeling a lot better after yelling at Rachel and having Donna and Dawn on your side. But that feeling fades as you look around the tower. It feels emptier now than it did that day everyone left. You don't like it. But you excuse yourself to your room and try to get some rest until the morning.

Sleep did not come easy. And when it did come, it was broken up between different nightmares. There was a nightmare about you being dropped from the skyscraper, one version Dick dropped you and in another Jason dropped you. Another nightmare was Gar being killed by CADMUS in front of you. Another was Jason killed by Deathstroke and the last one that finally convinced you to not sleep anymore, was both boys being killed. By Deathstroke. That was enough for you.

It worked out timing-wise because Dawn and Donna were both awake, and the tower had been cleaned up. That's when Donna fills you in on the plan. Donna found a guy with facial recognition and they're gonna go to him. You’re told to stay in the car because he might recognize you and they're guessing CADMUS only left you because they thought you were dead or would be. You aren't a big fan of the idea but you also get it. If he recognizes you, he'll know what's up and it could end worse for all of you and Gar so you go along with the plan. You grab a quick breakfast before the three of you make your way to the man's house.

Once at the man's house, Dawn turns around in her seat, looking at you. "Okay, what's the plan, Y/n?" Her voice isn't exactly asking but more looking for verification that you aren't going rogue.

"I promise I will not leave the car." You promise them. 

"Good, now stay here." Donna has a stern voice as the two older women get out of the car.

You let out a sigh and slide back in your seat, unbuckling your seatbelt. You take out your phone and go to your messages with Jason. You still haven't heard from him. So, you try again. You have nothing else to do while you wait for the women to do their thing and you’re actually getting really worried. There has to be something going on. Even if Jason is just trying to enjoy his new relationship with Rose, he would call or text given the entire CADMUS situation.

The line trills and you chew on the inside of your cheek. You think he won't answer. He hasn't in a few days anyway but you wait patiently, almost holding your breath. And then he picks up.

"What!?" Jason yells.

"Uh.....hello to you, too?" You question.

"What the fuck do you want?"

Ouch. You pause and it hurts with him yelling at you. You didn't do anything. Does he suddenly not care about Gar? About you? What is with everyone?

"Dude, what's going on?" You ask hiding the hurt in your voice.

"Nothing, what?" Jason huffs.

"You sound upset? What's going on, Jay?"

"Why the fuck did you call?"

This is not a good time. Jason is on his way to leave, to go somewhere else that's not here. Things, in his opinion, were going pretty well with Rose. He was making a solid effort and letting her in. They were doing some drug busts and it was fun. It allowed him to escape from the tower and all of that bullshit the other Titans put him through. But, he's just had a blow-up with Rose because as it turns out, she's been lying to him the whole time. He let another fucking person in and all she did was lie and use him. This is not a good fucking time for him.

"I've been trying to reach you for like three days." You drop asking him what's wrong, he's clearly not going to tell you.

"Bullshit, I haven't gotten a fucking call from you at all."

"I literally called you yesterday, hold on." You take the phone from your head and screenshot your call log, sending the screenshot to Jason and then taking a screenshot of the texts, sending them to him. "I just sent screenshots."

Jason takes the phone from his head and looks at the messages. There he can see that you have not only called him about a hundred times but you’ve also texted him at least, an entire page full of messages. He reads them over, seeing none of them in his actual message thread with you. A lot of them are question marks or begging him to call you back.

"What the fuck?" Jason yells into the phone.

"I told you." You state. "What? You didn't get any of them?" You furrow your brows and you knew something weird was going on. Jason wouldn't abandon you and Gar.

"Fucking Rose probably deleting them." Jason lets out a scoff ad he's not even sure if he's more mad at himself for trusting Rose or at Rose for lying to him.

"Ah," You nod your head. "She had your phone?"

"I wasn't with it the whole fucking time. She wanted us to spend time alone, without our fucking phones. Know why now, huh?" Jason's voice breaks and he's just so fucking mad. This is why he doesn't trust anyone, it's why he doesn't show anyone those parts of him. They use him and exploit him. They take and take and take but never give. It fucking hurts. And you’re unusually silent on the other end. "What?" Jason sounds completely exasperated.

You hesitate, almost debating on telling him but that wouldn't be fair. "Did you get our texts about her? Mine and Gar's?"

"Nope."

"Shit, I'm sorry, Jay. She working—"

"With her fucking dad? Yeah, she just fucking told me. She was using me and lying to me this whole fucking time!" Jason sniffles and you swear a part of your heart just broke for him. Why would anyone do that to him? He doesn't deserve it. That explains why he's so mad.

"I'm really sorry, Jay," Your voice is quiet. "We didn't know she had your phone." You pull the phone away and switch it to FaceTime. You figure maybe if you see each other face to face, it'll help calm him down. You can give him a smirk and a grin, he'll play along. Maybe it'll help. It would help you.

Jason goes along with it, seeing you in a car, a nasty bruise decorates your right cheekbone, the bottom of your eye socket a lighter shaded bruise. His heart plummets with the sight of you. He feels more anger start to flood his blood. He's going to find whoever hurt you. What the fuck did he miss?

"Not your fault." Jason lets out a huff and immediately drops it. He doesn't want to talk about it anyway. "What the fuck happened to you?" The worry creeps into his voice as he asks.

You see Jason's nostrils flare and a part of you definitely forgot the bruise. You shake your head. "Uh...right, um," Your brows furrow as you look down and Jason knows you do that whenever you don't want to tell him something. He's picked up on it. "CADMUS came and broke into tower. They took Gar, Conner and Krypto." You look back to the camera, letting out a breath.

Jason shakes his head, closing his eyes for a second and for just a fraction of a second, he feels relief because they didn't take you. He can’t imagine you getting taken three fucking times. That’s insane but you’re hurt anyway and now they have his best friend.

"What the fuck does that mean? They took them?"

"Uh-huh." You nods. "I was spamming the fuck out of you. They broke in, guns. Um...one of em, uh, ya know. I lost." You let out a scoff as the guilt floods your system again. "Donna and Dawn are trying to get answers from a guy now."

"What the fuck." Jason lets out a quiet sigh.

Rose had the idea yesterday to shut their phones for the day, and not be bothered by any outside bullshit. Jason went along with it, he kind of thought you and Gar weren't talking to him, he hadn't heard from you. Maybe you were having fun alone or something. But, apparently, it was all Rose and he feels so stupid for all of it. For not seeing through it.

"Are you okay?" Jason’s eyes scan across her face and he wishes he were there. 

"Dunno." You chew the inside of your cheek, your brows knitted together. "I tried so fucking hard but it wasn't fucking good enough, ya know? They just kept fucking coming, Jay. There were too many and I ran out of kitchen knives. They shot me with a tranquilizer and left me for dead. But, they...but they took Gar. He shifted into a tiger and maybe that's why. I didn't use my powers. I wasn't useful, maybe. I don't know but it fucking sucks. I couldn't--" You cut yourself off, feeling the lump grow in your throat. "I couldn't save him. It wasn't fucking enough and I wasn't fucking good enough." Your voice breaks.

Jason wants to personally hunt down every man from CADMUS that attacked the tower. For taking Gar and for hurting you and making you feel this way. That’s his best friend they took and it’s bullshit. And you fight like hell, he knows for a fact you tried your absolute hardest but it’s CADMUS. He doesn’t need to have been there to know whatever you did was enough.

"Hey," Jason calls. "Don't do that shit, alright? It's not your fault. I wasn't there but I know you fought like hell because you did for me. That's fucking enough." Jason pauses and you nods softly. "I'm fucking serious. You grabbed the kitchen knives?" Jason chuckles. "Smart, guessing you fought until the tranquilizer kicked in?"

"Still tried after." You let out a soft laugh. "My arms and legs just wouldn't move."

Jason lets out a soft laugh. "Exactly so it's not your fault." Jason’s face softens slightly and it does make her feel better.

Seeing Jason face-to-face is helping in general. His hair is messier than usual and his eyes are red, but there’s something comfortable about seeing him that you haven’t felt since he left. He knows exactly what to say and he laughs about the kitchen knives. No one else would but it makes you feel better. Not fully, but enough. And you do really miss him.

"Thanks." Your smile falls and you clear your throat. "You okay?"

Jason shrugs and starts pacing. "Yeah, I'm fine."

"It's okay if you're not. She fucking sucks for lying to you."

"Yeah, no shit." Jason offers a half-scoff half-laugh.

"I'll beat her up if you want." You offer Jason a smirk to try and cheer him up.

It seems to work because Jason gives you a laugh and a smile. "Yeah? Think you stand a chance of all sudden?"

"I punched Rachel, I could take Rose, now."

"You punched Rachel?" Jason lets out a booming laugh and he can't believe it. He would have loved to have seen it. "Why?"

You shrug. "She made me mad and I was exhausted. I just couldn't fucking do it anymore." Your eyes widen, as if to be mocking the situation.

Jason has a grin and he does feel a little better. "She attack you?"

"No," You shake your head. "She just yelled at me. Kory and Dawn held her back while Donna held me back. It was all very dramatic, you would have loved it." You give him a teasing smirk. "But, hey, we need you, Jay. Gar needs you. We can't do this alone." 

Jason's smile falls and it still hurts, the way the Titans attacked him for shit he didn't do. It's still an open wound and he's not sure it'll ever heal. They don't want him and he's tired of being in places he's not wanted.

"Look, they don't want me."

"Donna texted you last night." You state.

"Fucking seriously." Jason groans and he's so mad at himself for not seeing through Rose, for not knowing it was weird not to have heard from you and Gar, for not being the one to text either of you. Phones work two ways. Jason just thought you were kind of done talking to him, living it up as a couple or whatever. You weren't interested in him anymore since you and Gar had each other. He should have sent at least one more text when he didn't get a reply from either of you.

"Uh-huh. She said she would try and I guess Rose deleted that, too."

"What the fuck, man?"

"So, uh, you gonna come?" You ask hesitantly and Jason sees the worry across your face.

"Gar's my best friend but I don't—"

"Jay, he needs you, please." You plead with him and you pause for just a second. "I need you." Your voice goes quiet and you do. This whole thing would have been a little easier if he were around, even just to talk to.

Jason lets out a sigh. He can't say no to you even if he feels unwanted around the other Titans. You look desperate and you’re always there for him. You’re the one person who doesn't give up on him and he knows he can't let you do it alone.

"Alright, fine." Jason nods his head. "I'll help get Gar back and then I'm gone."

"Deal." You smile sadly at him. You know it'll be temporary but at least he'll come back to help. You all definitely need him.

Jason shakes his head. "Hey, seriously, you gonna be okay?"

"Yeah, uh....just...traumatized." You let out s scoff. "Shocker, huh?"

"Hey, look, fuck those assholes, we'll show them who they're fucking with."

"Thanks, Jay," You offer him a soft smile. "I don't know. Feel a whole lot better once we sort it out."

"I'll find a way, I swear. Text me where you need me and I'll be there. I'm not fucking staying but I won't let you do this alone."

"I knew I could count on you."

"Always, babe." Jason gives you his cheeky grin.

You almost hate to admit it, but you kind of miss him calling you that, too. You have to laugh, looking away from the camera.

“Shithead.” You mutter and Jason chuckles on the other end. He misses hearing you call him that. With anyone else, he’d be annoyed but not with you. "I'm still sorry about Rose." You look back to the camera, smile erased with a look of empathy.

"Eh, you were right." Jason shrugs a shoulder.

It hurts. Jason hasn't been in many relationships. With living on the streets and his home situation, it was never something he ever had time or energy for. He's had heartbreak, sure, but this one is different. He was in a stable enough place for something and it ended like this. Broken trust and more betrayal. It just really hurts a lot more than Jason really wants to admit to anyone. It feels a little embarrassing even.

"I wish I wasn’t though. That's not fair to you and you deserve someone who's not gonna treat you like shit and lie to you. You deserve better always."

He’ll never understand why you are the way you are with him. But, he’s thankful for you.

"Thanks."

You look to the window, seeing the women coming back. "Hey, they're coming back, I'll text you and call you okay? Just, uh, see if you can pull a string with Bruce and get on a flight."

"Who says I'm in Gotham?" Jason looks around him and he doesn't know how you know that but he can't say he's surprised. Of course, you would know where he went.

"It's home." You chortle. "Where else would you go?"

"Yeah, alright, fuck you."

"Mmm," You hum and decide you'll leave him with your game of chicken. "Maybe I'll get you lucky one day." You smirk at him and Jason shakes his head, eyes closing for a second before the looks back to the screen. The comment throws him off because shouldn’t you be...with Gar? You let out a laugh and seeing him confused and flustered never gets old. "Alright, get a fucking flight, Jason."

"Alright, don't do anything stupid until I get there." Jason nods at you, his cheeks a tint of pink.

"Course not, I only do stupid shit when I'm with you." You give him a wide smile. "See you in a bit, Jay." You hang up just as the women enter the car.

"Okay, we need backup." Donna starts. "No Rachel, no Kory. Nothing from Jason or Rose either."

"Jason's coming." You scoot closer to the women, the both looking back at you. "It's a long story, he wasn't getting our messages. I just got through though, he said he'll come to help Gar. I just gotta text him what we know."

"Okay, good, this is good." Donna says.

"Nice work." Dawn gives Sam a kind smile.

"I am very annoyingly persistent." You scrunch your nose.

"Let's get a plan together then." Donna smiles at the two of you before putting the car in drive and driving off.

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[foreveralwaysanauthor]

Hello from Camp Northfield! Well, technically, I'm sitting on a bench outside the Dickinson Memorial Library down the street from camp, but still. I barely have access to technology here since the camp has no service whatsoever apart from phone calls out of the office, so I had to walk 45 minutes to get to the library to post this, but I'm here, and that's all that matters! I got your post notification on the walk to the library, but I can't read it because it refuses to load up here in the middle of East Bumfuck, so I think next time I plan to come here, I'm going to have to start binding our stories as books so that I have some form of entertainment between teaching archery courses and meal times. I swear, sitting around in between groups is like a new form of torture with this heat. It's been straight 80s-90s with heat indexes pushing it into the 100-105 range. I thought I was tan, to begin with, but now I look like the afterpicture of some cheese-filled recipe you find online - crispy and golden brown. I swear, I'm going to end up melting out here.

Anyway, enough about camp and the blistering heat!

I didn't realize it would be so damn hard to work on one story at a time when I have ideas for two completely different stories bouncing around in my head. Now that I'm away from home and have nothing other than notebooks to write my ideas in, I'm realizing just how screwed I am, as ideas for everything under the sun have been vying for my attention. I swear, it's like a volleyball game with my last shred of a brain cell as the ball. STDP is obviously one with 33 pages of the next "episode" done while I'm still in the beginning stages of the chapter, but Camp Wanamaker 2: Electric Boogaloo has been bouncing around in the background like a child hopped up on sugar. That's probably not going to be the official title, by the way, but that's what I've been referring to it as, so that's what I'm calling it until I decide what else to call it 🤣

I'm also constantly pestered with ideas for three other stories - True Colors (Through the Valley sequel), The Mark of the Archer (Percy Jackson AU), and Unsinkable (a super long one-shot, Titanic AU I've talked about before). As these all require a lot of research (the last of the three being part of the birthday surprise I was going to work on for you as it's very Carrie/Miles-centric), they'll require more time to be worked on when I get home at the end of the month, but where I've already started on STDP and parts of CW2, I don't think they'll make an appearance for a while, especially not the multi-chapter ones.

In the meantime, I'm definitely going to be working on STDP as it's my primary story right now, but I'm working on CW2 in little bursts on my phone when someone with a hotspot stops to chill with me - writing down ideas and quotes and working on one chapter that's been gnawing at the bars of its cage for a long time now lmao. Like I said, I have notebooks, but carpal tunnel sucks, and I have to take a lot of breaks from writing STDP. Now, while you wait for me to get home from camp and write out more, I have a gift! Alongside my chapter title ideas (and a few of my side notes for a few lmao) that I plan on incorporating into a few stories when the time comes, I'm also giving you a random snippet I enjoyed writing that will go into CW2 further down the line and two other snippets - one from STDP and the other from CW2. None of them have been edited yet, and I think I wrote some parts more in the present tense than I normally do, but that's just how I do it sometimes when I'm scribbling things out, so I guess you could consider this your warning so you won't be too thrown off by that. Also, I left them a bit vague for a reason, and I won't say which one belongs to which story, but I'd love to see if you can figure out what belongs where. Besides, I'm always up for a bit of light torture, so enjoy!

Here are a few of my chapter title ideas to give you a good idea of how some of these stories will progress...

And now, I hope you enjoy these little tidbits of chapters you'll hopefully see soon after I get home!

[unfixablebabyyy]

pt 2 of the dennis You thing uh fair warning it's kinda all over the place but i had fun writing it (also gonna post it w the original but im a boomer and despite a decade on this site i still don't know how to work it properly lmao)

(nsfw, minors DNI)

There's something wrong with me. I haven't really been sleeping which is doing a number on the bags under my eyes. I keep getting these crazy headaches. I think I'm breaking out- I caught a blemish in the mirror last night and I'm certain it's gotten worse. Unfortunately, it's all your fault. The last woman I slept with was in and out of my mind faster than I was in and out of her, but you are driving me absolutely insane. Mac has started to notice, which is goddamn annoying. He keeps looking at me like I have some kind of disease, asking me stupid questions, constantly hovering. Maybe it's because I stopped eating. Or maybe it's because I stopped taking my meds. Either way, he knows something is up, but he can't find out, and neither can Charlie, and absolutely not Frank. You're too sweet to keep a secret from Dee and, no offense, but quite frankly, I don't think you could- you're not a very good liar. And if Dee knows we slept together, what if she told you about all the weird and horrible things I've done? She's been oddly quiet about the whole thing. I can't even think about it without feeling nauseous. What if she told you about the system? Or the binders? Or the tapes? Or all that stuff hidden in the side panel in the trunk of my car? I'm not stupid, I know that stuff is more than off-putting- it's incriminating. I need to calm down. I really need a Valium but I forgot to get my prescription filled- my mind has been occupied by one thing: you.

It's been about a week since we had sex. I made you dinner, and I did my homework- I knew exactly what to say, exactly when to laugh, exactly how and where to touch you. I like the music you listen to and the movies you watch, or at least that's what I made you think when I had it all queued up, with notes on your favorite parts. We're compatible, see? I drank too much, which was stupid of me, but you didn't seem to mind. It all happened so fast and intense and I was in control right up until I wasn't. As I watch the tape for the 500th time I swear I can pinpoint the exact moment you slipped into my brain and made a permanent home there. That night I did the unthinkable and actually allowed you to stay over and when I woke up the next morning with you lying beside me I was shocked to realize that I actually hated the thought of you leaving. And when you did finally leave, I felt so empty it made me sick.

Usually, once I've been with someone intimately, my desire for them fizzles into boredom within a few hours or so, but I feel like I want you more now than I ever did before. I need to feel your hands on my body, your breath against my neck, your lips on mine. I need to taste you again. I want to own you, put you on a leash or handcuff you to my bed and leave you there so that I know you're all mine.

I need to shower. I need to eat something. I need my meds. My hands are starting to tremor and when I stand up my head rushes and I almost blackout. Is this what it feels like? I'd almost forgotten. I need to focus. The last time I felt even remotely this way for someone, it ended in alimony and a murder accusation. I pick up my phone from my bedside table. 5:17 PM.

"Hey. Stop by the bar if you're out tonight, drinks are on me." Send. I groan. Get it together. I should really go and open the bar. Can't forget to stop by the pharmacy.

It takes me two hours to get ready because I can't decide what to wear or which cologne you might like more. The uncertainty is making me so anxious I forget to grab something to eat on the way out.

"Dennis! Can I come with you?"

I think Mac is yelling at me as I bound down the stairs, but I don't really care- I can't handle him right now. Outside the sun is getting low, painting the sidewalk with shadows. When I get to my car and slide into the driver's seat, I immediately feel a little better. The warmth of the day coupled with the smell of the interior lull the chaos into a low buzz. I inhale through my nose and close my eyes. Relax. I turn on the Range and the radio comes to life. I cringe, resist the urge to cover my ears with my hands as the chorus of "Hungry Like the Wolf" blasts at full volume. I snatch the dial and turn it down. Any other time I would've loved a little Duran Duran, but right now, it's jarring and abrasive. I pull out a Jimmy Buffet CD and stick it into the slot. As I back out of a parallel park, I begin to sing along, "I spent four lonely days in a brown LA haze, and I just want you back by my side." That's right, focus. Pharmacy. Bar. Pharmacy. Bar. Pharmacy. Bar.

I almost blow up at the pharmacist over the fact that it takes twice as long to get my prescription, except that she looks at me like she knows me, and not in a good way. She's tall, with dark hair and chocolate eyes, and I have to admit she does look a little familiar, but she's not you, so it doesn't matter. When she hands me my prescription and I still don't recognize her, she seems irritated.

Back in the Range, I pop open the cap and dump the pills in my hand. I pick out one and swallow it dry. The rest of the medication go back into the bottle, with the cap twisted tight, and I'm off to the bar, 20mph over the speed limit. When I finally turn onto Paddy's block, I clock Dee's car across the street from the entrance. I should have never given her that damn key. But then again, I've been so distracted lately, maybe I left it unlocked. Thank god the Valium is starting to kick in, otherwise I would be boiling over right now. Lucky her, I guess. I still slam the door when I get out, but before I enter the building, I roll the tension out of my shoulders and take a deep breath.

Inside, Dee is sitting at the bar, facing the door, with a heavy pour of wine in her hand and a smug grin plastered on her sharp face. Our entire lives, she's never bested me in anything other than being born 3 minutes before me, so her confidence right now is unnerving.

"Oh come on, really? Have you just been sitting here alone all day getting drunk?" a successful attempt at knocking her down a peg. Whatever you've told her (or she's told you) has inflated her ego dangerously.

"What?! Fuck you, I'm not drunk, I'm trapping you," she snaps back.

"Trapping me?" I can't help but laugh. It's so easy to get under her skin. I step behind the bar and take a clean glass to the tap, pouring myself a beer, preparing myself for what's to come.

"What do you want with my friend you little freak?" she blurts out, as clumsy with her words as she is with her lanky body.

"You have friends?" the drugs are doing their job. I feel like I'm beginning to even out, gain some control.

Dee, on the other hand, is seeing red, "You know who I'm talking about, don't play stupid with me. You couldn't just bang her and be done?" So then she knows I invited you.

"Honestly, Dee, I don't know who you're talking about," I take a sip of my beer and lean on the bar.

"Oh yeah? Then why don't I just text her and tell her not to come to Paddy's tonight?" Bitch. She smiles when she sees the mask come off and I glare at her.

"Whatever," my jaw clenches a little, but I try to maintain my posture.

"So? What are you planning?" she asks, and I roll my eyes.

"You always assume the worst," to be fair, she's also seen the worst.

"Yeah, because you haven't fucked the same girl twice since high school," that's probably true, "So what is it? You trying to prove some point to Mac? Did you and Frank make some gross bet about 'who could fuck Dee's friend first'? I mean what are you up to?" she squints at me, trying desperately to see inside my brain. I just shrug.

"Nothing," she should know I'm telling the truth- it's incredibly difficult to lie to your twin. But apparently I absorbed most of her brain in the womb.

"Dennis."

"Deandra," I mock, my patience wearing thin. Before she can open her big mouth, I say, "It's just drinks, ok? I had fun last time and I figured we could all hang out. That's all."

The longer the silence lingers, the more she begins to believe me until her eyes go wide, and she gasps, "Oh my God!" Suddenly, the door crashes open and in walk Frank, Mac, and Charlie. My stomach drops. I shoot her a pleading look, but she's ecstatic.

"Don't fuck this up for me," I whisper through clenched teeth, but it's too late. Dee turns to the gang.

"Dennis has a crush!" she shouts. The guys go silent. Mac's face twists as he cocks his head to the side.

"On a girl?" Frank doesn't look convinced.

"No he doesn't," Mac says incredulously. Good boy.

"Yeah, come on, Dee, what are you saying?" Charlie laughs.

"Shut up, Dee. If Dennis had a crush I would know about it, right Dennis?" Mac flashes his puppy eyes at me.

"Yeah, for sure," I reply, and Mac gives Dee an 'I told you so' look. The wind is absolutely sucked out of her sails.

"No, no, guys, do you remember my friend from the other day?" she desperately tries to hold their attention, but they've already stopped caring. We exchange glances, but that's the last of it.

"Dennis, pour me a glass of that slippery drink," Frank says as he climbs onto a barstool. My nerves are too fried for this shit.

"How am I supposed to know what that is?"

Frank waves his hand, "I don't know, Charlie always makes it for me."

"Oh good, I'm sure it's not something poison, then."

"No, no, Dennis, see, the Borax gives it this really nice sweet metallic taste-" Charlie begins to explain, but I raise my hand to cut him off.

"You know what, Charlie? I'm going to stop you right there because Borax is the stuff we use to clean the bar towels." I turn back to Frank, "I'm not making that- you're getting a beer."

"Oh, me too, please, Dennis!" Mac chimes in as he squeezes past Dee to sit on the stool beside her, nearly knocking her off her seat.

A few hours and a couple of drinks later, the door to Paddy's opens and in you walk with a burst of cool night air. There's the clatter of pool balls as Mac stands from his shot and I smile at you from the table, leaning on my pool stick, the medication and the alcohol bringing me right back down to where I need to be.

"Hey! Look who it is!" Charlie, who is drunk enough to be slurring his words, waves you over. "Wanna see something crazy I found in the alley today?" Before he can show you whatever it is, Dee pulls you aside and shoves some strong cocktail she made into your hand. I need to intercept.

"You want another drink?" I ask Mac to cover myself. I want to sprint over to you but I need to have self control.

"Nah," thankfully, he's busy lining up and practicing his next shot. As I make my way over I can feel my heart beating against my rib cage like a trapped moth.

"Hey," I hug you, kissing you on the cheek as I lean in. You're so warm and your hair smells like shampoo.

"Hi," your face feels hot against my cheek and when I pull away I can see that it's starting to turn pink. Dee looks like she's about to throw up.

"You wanna play?" I ask, motioning to the pool stick in my right hand, "Mac and I just finished a game."

"Yeah, sure," you look so cute and you don't even have to try- though it's obvious you have. It's reassuring. You want to impress me which means Dee couldn't have told you much.

"I'll be right over, I was just gonna grab another beer," I point to the abomination Dee gave you, "You want something else?"

You blush and look over your shoulder to make sure Dee isn't paying attention before leaning in, "A beer would be great," you whisper. God, you're so sweet, so careful about my sister's feelings. I nod and give you a little wink and when you brush past me to join Mac at the pool table I'm hit with a wave of your perfume and it's just as intoxicating as the first time.

"What did you tell her?" my face is inches from her ear, causing Dee to jump and drop her phone onto the bar.

She rolls her eyes and huffs, "Nothing, weirdo. Your stupid little secret is safe with me... for now."

Great. She wants to keep me nervous, like she's got me wrapped around her finger, but she never will. That information is all I need from her. I grab the beers and head back to the pool table, ignoring her glare. There you're bent over the felt, taking notes from Mac who thinks he's giving you good advice.

"Now when you go to hit the ball, if you put your hips into it, it's like an extra boost of power," he's saying as I step up behind you.

"I don't think that's right, Mac," you reply.

"Well then how do you do it?" he challenges. I cant stop staring at your ass.

You line up your shot and strike the cue ball. It hits a stripe that ricochets off the side of the table before missing the pocket by a fraction of an inch. "Fuck," you mutter.

"See? You needed that extra push!" Mac thrusts his hips as he tries to prove his point.

"Mac, you look and sound ridiculous," I finally weigh in, setting our beers on a nearby table. "Here," I prop my stick up against the table and pick up the cue ball, placing it in its original position. "Try again," I say, and you obey. You bend back over the table and aim your stick at a different stripe ball. Such a good girl. My fingers slowly press into your hips, tilting them forward as the heel of my hand presses gently into the small of your back. I nudge your feet apart so that you're standing square. I have to step back or you'll feel how hard I'm getting. You take another shot, and the stripe falls into the pocket with a satisfying crack.

"Whatever," Mac stomps over to the bar, leaving the two of us to start our game.

I give an approving nod that I know goes straight to your panties, "That was pretty good." You lean back against the table and cross your arms over your chest, which squishes your breasts together, and you wore something low cut like a little slut. I want to take you out back and pick up where we left off, "Why don't we make this a little more interesting?" You raise an eyebrow, "How about loser goes home with the winner?"

"Hm," you match my grin, your eyes dancing, "Fine. Deal." And I'm back on. You want me, and any doubt or fear I'd held onto despite the Valium and the alcohol vanishes instantly. I begin to gather the balls for the break.

"Just out of curiosity, what do you think my chances are here?"

Without looking up, I chuckle and reply, "Slim to none." I then lift up the rack and gesture, "After you."

Ten minutes later, you lose. Of course.

"Good game," I round the table to lean next to you. You're so close I can feel the heat of your body against me and if it weren't for my friends and the accusations this afternoon, I'd kiss you. "So, did you wanna leave now, or...?" You laugh.

"I thought you were buying drinks tonight?" you challenge. It's only 10:00- the night is still young and you want a hunt. I'm more than happy to give it to you.

"Fine," the words leave my mouth faster than I can catch them, "I suppose if you're willing to release your inhibitions, I'm not going to argue." That was a bizarre thing to say. I'm still off my game, unable to reel it in because every time I look at you I think about the way you made me feel that night. To my surprise, you just giggle.

"If you slip me something, I'll pretend I didn't see," you shouldn't joke about that- I just might.

"Hey you guys wanna do some shots?" Frank shouts across the bar.

"Looks like you're up, bartender," you bat your eyelashes at me before walking over to the bar to join the rest of the gang, hips swaying, making my mouth water.

As the evening wears on, one by one they drop like flies. Charlie is the first to go- passed out in the men's restroom, an open can of paint at his side. Next is Frank, of course, sprawled over Charlie's lap and snoring like a chainsaw. Dee and Mac last until around 2AM, but after Dee throws up into the ice machine, it takes every ounce of composer for me not to lose my mind on her. You might find that unattractive. Instead I suggest she goes home, heavily implying that it's not a suggestion at all. Mac is the last to go, but he doesn't leave without asking if I need help closing about a million times and throwing you an odd look. When the door shuts and the two of us are finally alone, you lean over the bar, and I can feel your eyes on me as I wipe down the counter with an old bar towel.

"So, Dee seems to think there's an expiration date on our... whatever you wanna call this." That dumb bitch. I bet she told you all about my penchant for fleeting affairs. I bet she told you I'm a womanizer or a misogynist or just a fucking asshole. I bet she told you you were too good for me, and maybe she's right, but fuck her.

"Dee doesn't think- if she did that would imply that she has a brain," that was too mean. I can tell because you don't respond right away and I'm afraid that maybe you think I'm annoyed at you and not my idiot sister.

"If there is, that's fine," you continue carefully, "I would just like to be in the know."

"My sister believes I'm incapable of having any kind of genuine feelings toward someone I'm sleeping with," I have a feeling you'd appreciate honesty over any lie I could conjure up, even if it's a good one. You're clever. Sometimes I feel like you can see right through me and it scares the shit out of me.

You pause. "Is she right?"

"No," I've never been so sincere with a woman and it's making my palms sweat. You hold back a grin and I feel exposed, my stomach clenches, and I have to take the wheel or I'm going to start getting all nervous. I bite down on the inside of my cheek. "Alright," I pick up my jacket from behind the bar and pull my keys out of the pocket, "You wanna get out of here?"

"Absolutely."

You wait on the sidewalk as I turn off the 'Open' sign and lock the doors. Tossing the jacket into the back seat of my Range Rover, I round to your side and open the passenger door for you. As you step up to slide into the car, you lean up and kiss my cheek and I feel my entire body go numb.

"What a gentleman," you grin and bite your lip and I want to spank you but I don't because you just called me a gentleman.

We share a cigarette on the way to the apartment despite my rule against it in the car- I can't help myself, I need to taste your mouth. You tell me all about the week you had and I react as if I don't know- as if I haven't been following you around this entire time. As I slowly pull up to the building, I look up at my window where I catch a glimpse of Mac as he flips on the kitchen light and walks past. Shit. As I park the car, I figure the best I can do is bring you upstairs and hope Mac sees it as an easy fallback- if I could get Dee's friend once, might as well get her again while she's around, right? That cover story would have to do.

You follow me into the building and up the stairs, pausing at the door as I sort through the keys. Just as I touch the key to the lock, the door jerks open.

"Oh thank God- I heard you coming down the hallway- hey can you help me-" Mac is breathless as he speaks, but when his eyes fall on you he abruptly stops. "Uh, hey." He smiles at you to mask his confusion.

"Long time, no see," you joke and he lets out a short laugh before glancing at me. I glare back at him, challenging him to choose his words carefully.

"Yeah... So what are you guys up to tonight?" Wrong. I clench my jaw. What do you think?

"We were just going to go watch a movie," I squint at Mac, hoping he'll get the hint to shut up and go away.

"Oh, cool, well... have fun," Mac looks for approval, but I deny him the satisfaction, brushing past him and pulling you along until we're both in my bedroom behind a locked door. The reality of having you alone in here is indescribable. It's all nerves and appetite in the dim blue light. It all feels so good in the dark.

I'm willing to behave, but as I move towards the television, your body collides into mine, your lips on my neck, teeth grazing my skin. I already like this game more than any other we've played.

"Are you gonna fuck me tonight, daddy?" your voice in my ear sends chills down my arms. Your generation is so needy, and I knew you were dangerous when you let me come close to choking you in the alley that night, but I've been looking through your laptop when you leave it at home, your phone when you were sleeping the night I claimed you. I've seen your search history, the things you watch at 3AM when you're lonely in bed and undoubtedly thinking of me. You're depraved.

"Oh yeah, kitten," my fingers weave through the hair at the base of your skull. I tug hard and you gasp, chin tilted upward, throat exposed. You shiver when I run my tongue from your collarbone to the curve of your jaw. I nip your earlobe before pushing you away roughly.

You stumble back and bite your lip, waiting for a command. It's been two weeks since we met, and one intimate encounter and you're already so eager to obey. God, you're perfect. "Take your clothes off," our eyes are locked, and I don't let you look away. It's almost sacrilegious that you're still fully clothed- here in my room, you belong naked. Always. You pull your shirt over your head and reach behind for your bra. "No," my voice stops you on a dime, "Slower," I demand as I step back and sit down on the edge of my bed.

From here, I watch the way your breath hitches when the cups of your bra brush your nipples as it slides down your arms and falls to the floor, the way you rub your thighs together before pushing your jeans to your ankles, the way you look at me- standing there, in just your underwear, exposed- like a fawn in the soft glow of the city night that filters through the window.

"Come here," you look like you want to jump into my lap, but you're being so disciplined with me. And why wouldn't you be? I'm your elder, I command respect, and it's my job to teach you manners. You slowly walk over and straddle my hips before planting yourself on my thighs, your hands pressed against my chest.

I wonder if you can feel my entire body buzzing beneath you. You've been waiting for this, too. I can tell. You're absolutely ravenous with it. Usually I would find this kind of behavior to be slightly endearing if not pathetic, but I want you so bad it's only driving me further down the rabbit hole. You're allowing me to control you and it's like it's the only thing I've ever truly wanted. I wonder how far you'll let me go. Not tonight. I want you to trust me- I /need/ you to trust me. So for now I'll play nice. If you want daddy to fuck you, then I will. I'll make you think I love you, princess.

I slip a hand between us and press my index and middle finger to your clothed cunt. It's already soaked through the fabric. I watch your pupils blow out as I push your panties aside and touch you, dipping both fingers into your soft, wet folds and sliding them up to meet your clit. You let out a soft mewl and I have to remind myself to breathe. Usually it's all about me, and why wouldn't it be? I'm the man after all. But I need you to know how good I can make you feel so that it hurts even more when I teach you what pain really is. I'm going to make you cum over and over again in every way I can possibly think of, and then, I'm going to deprive you. I can't wait to watch the light slip out of your eyes when you realize the fun is over, that you're mine, that your only purpose is to please me.

I can't help myself- without warning, I plunge my fingers into your tight little hole. You rise, yelp, jerk away at the sudden intrusion, but I'm much stronger than you, and an arm around your waist holds you in place.

"Shh," I swirl my fingers inside of you and you cringe, but this time, you stay seated like a good girl. You like it when I hurt you. I reward you with patience- pumping my fingers in and out of you slowly, gently spreading them as I go, stretching you out. You moan and slump into me, your face to my neck, planting lazy kisses as I work on your pussy. I feel like I'm going to black out. My clothes are suffocating. When I pull my hand away from your heat, you whine. I wrap both arms around you and flip you onto your back so that I'm on top of you, my knees between your legs, arms on either side of your rib cage. I sit up for a moment to remove my shirt, unbuckle my pants. You bite your lip and I reach down and run my thumb along your jaw. You lean in to my touch and when I get to your chin I gently pull your bottom lip from between your teeth. And then the pad of my thumb is pressing down on your tongue.

"You look so pretty," and you do- looking up at me through your eyelashes, sucking on my thumb, body nearly naked beneath me. Nearly. I pull my hand away from your face and nudge your hips. You lift them and I slide your panties down enough for you to relax back into the mattress. As I begin to work the thin fabric down your legs, something comes over me, and I back down off the bed and kneel on the floor. You sit up, watching me, eyes going wide when I grab your ankles and tug you closer. I haven't done this in a really long time. A really long time. I'm not nervous, but my heart is racing.

I pull you a little closer, and this time I'm more gentle. You inhale sharply when I drape your knees over my shoulders and the flutter of my breath hits your glistening cunt. When I look up at you, your eyes lock with mine, and I take the opportunity to slowly lower my head between your thighs. I watch your face as I press the flat of my tongue against your hole and drag it up. You taste so good, better than I'd imagined. Your fingers curl into my hair, and the dull burn in my scalp feels so good, I pull away a little just to feel your grip tighten as you whine and tug me back into you.

I hear you breathe my name as I relearn how to do this. I had been certain there wasn't a thing about sex that you could teach me, yet here we are. And I want to make you feel good. I want to be the best you've ever had. I need to be. So I take it slow, I pay attention to the way your body moves, the sounds you make, the pace of your breath, the rate of your pulse against my mouth.

I pull away for a moment for air, turn my face into your inner thigh and close my teeth around your soft flesh and you gasp and pull my hair so hard my head feels like it's on fire, so instead of letting go, I leave a dark purple hickey in the center of the indentation my teeth made on your skin. You moan and it rattles through me and I'm back to devouring you. I add a finger, then two, then three, and the sounds you're making are absolutely obscene and I think I'm getting you closer.

You squeeze down on my fingers and I swear to god I feel it on my dick. I groan into you and the vibration makes you flutter around me again and I touch myself with my free hand. I might actually cum from this. Your legs start to shake on my shoulders, and I focus on doing everything right as you whimper and moan and white knuckle my sheets.

"Dennis," your voice breaks through our syncopated panting and makes my dick twitch in my hand and if my eyes were open you would see them roll to the back of my head. The pressure is building- I feel your thighs tense against my ears, and I'm beginning to lose my pace on myself- it all feels so overwhelmingly good. I open my eyes to see your chest rising and falling quickly. Like a trapped rabbit. My teeth graze against your flesh and I nip at you lightly, shove my tongue inside of you, replace it with my fingers once again as I suck and bite at your clit. You let out one loud scream before remembering where you are, and sob as you teeter on the edge of climax.

"Daddy, c-can I-" you clench your jaw and knit your brow and it's so cute that you can't even use your words, and it's so cute that you call me daddy, and I'm about to cum, too, so all I can say is:

"Yeah, princess," and you're cumming around my fingers, against my open mouth as I spill out over the carpet and think vaguely about the stain. I thought you tasted good before, but now, I'm ravenous, and I love the way you tremble as I refuse to let up.

A few seconds later, you're cumming again, and if it wasn't for the alcohol and my medication, I would be ready for round two. Instead, I clean you up with my tongue and you scratch my head in sweet little circles as you come down. When your fingers find the space behind my ears my whole body tingles and it's like you've hit some sort of off switch. You giggle when I moan and close my eyes and rest my head against your thigh.

"I always catch you doing this," you take my earlobe between your thumb and forefinger and rub it a little, "What's up with that?" I hum at the familiar feeling coming from unfamiliar hands.

"I've been doing it since I was little," I mumble as you continue to make my brain short circuit, "I do it when I'm nervous," I'm not sure why I told you that part.

"You were doing it at the bar tonight," you comment, and despite the pleasure, my body tenses a little, "Do I make you nervous?"

When I open my eyes and look up at you, you're looking right through me, into my soul. I can't lie.

"Yes," and it makes me crazy. You smile.

"Good. That must mean you really like me."

I roll my eyes and sneak a quick nip to the inside of your thigh where my cheek was resting. You yelp and sit up to smack at me but I'm faster and I'm on top of you, pinning you by the wrists as you laugh. I hate how vulnerable you make me, all twisted up and trapped inside, and I feel like I need to contain you, but my hands on your wrists and my weight on top of you isn't enough. You have invaded every part of me, and it's too much.

"Well?" I can hear the smile in your voice even though my face is buried in your neck.

"Yeah, yeah," I feel like I'm in high school. You're younger than me and here I am blushing into the crook of your shoulder.

"Cool," your fingers slip through the hair at the base of my skull, "I like you, too." And even though I know that, the wave of relief that rolls over me makes me physically relax.

"Then you're staying," it's something between a question and a statement because the adrenaline is still making my head fuzzy. With my ear against your chest I can hear the methodical beat of your heart behind your sternum. I can't remember a time I was this intimate with someone. I want to get up, wash my face, grab you some of my clothes to wear, but my skin feels stuck to yours and your fingers in my hair is turning me off again. The air conditioner hums to life in my window and I feel the goosebumps pick up on your arms, your legs, the cool breeze ghosting over the thin sheen of sweat on your body. I sigh as I pick myself up off of you. I walk over to my dresser and tug open the top drawer, pulling out one of my Penn sweatshirts and toss it to you.

You bring the ball of fabric to your face, close your eyes and inhale. "You know this is mine, now," you say as you pull it over your head and hug yourself. I wish you weren't joking- I would love to see you in my sweatshirt every day for the rest of your life. I hope you wear it home tomorrow. I hope you don't go home at all. Next I throw you a pair of my boxers and when you stand and shimmy them up your legs, they hang so loosely off of your hips that I can almost see the v of your pelvis before you smooth the sweatshirt back down.

You hop back onto the bed and burrow under the covers, and I go to the bathroom to wash my face and brush my teeth. By the time I get back, you're sound asleep, your head on my pillow, filling my bed with the smell of your shampoo and body wash and lotion and perfume and you. I'm careful not to disturb you as I make my way into bed, as if you might leave if you wake up. When I wrap my arms around you and pull you into me, you murmur in your sleep and relax into my chest. I probably won't get much rest tonight, so I just enjoy the feeling of your warmth against me and the sound of your breathing as I think of how I'm going to explain this to my friends.

[sisterofficerlucychen]

Hi there, its me again here to vent 👋🏼

I totally agree with you, in spite of some moments, it was super funny. One thing i love about the show is that is like Brooklyn 99 but lasting 45 minutes and a lot more of police stuff. The scene where she invites everyone to the party and its seen by the bodycams? THAT IS FUNNY.

What we asked for is here, those glances of I HATE YOU but I LOVE YOU from Lucyyy omggg or Tim trying to reach her not knowing how? S1 Tim being all I dontgiveafuckmywifeisanaddictidonttalkaboutit but this time dontgiveafuckbrokemygirlsheartdonttalkaboutit? THE PINING 2.0 IS COMING PEOPLE!!!

I see everyone got stuck in London and the face she makes when she close the door and Tim going there afterhours. But what I can't see bad about it. I mean sure this shrink is quite sketchy BUUUT I see a therapist that worked all day in building trust with a potential patience and is proud that got him to open up and say that need help. AND I also see Tim completly broken... the scene where he talks with Lucy you can see him about to cry and doesnt know what to say, aknowledging he can't give her what she wants (and adult talk) while she tells him he needs more help... Is that what pushes him to go and say Dr London this is URGENT.

Also I read other post where someone states that all this drama with Blair is because she is just a young pretty female AND I COULDNT AGREE MORE. If the therapist was a man or and old lady everyone would be 'ohh yes Tim finally'

Also I will die on this hill → the writers are not idiots, they wont make something so dark like hooking them up and screwing chenford being at risk of loosing the fans and for instance loosing the show, its what feeds their families lol

I gonna trust the process, Melissa's and Eric's sneak peaks, and thats all.

Also thinking about the 'OFFICER DOWN' in the promo thats Tim voice and last week here was a bts video where you can hear OFFICER DOWN ITS CHEN so IM PREPARING MY SELF FOR LUCY HURT TIM PANICKING AND BEING THE FIRST STEP FORWARD (or to become a professional clown)

My vent Is over, see you next week haha

hello, friend! pls vent away! ♡

adlkfjsdas omg yes! it definitely gives b99 vibes when it’s leaning into it’s comedic side~~ especially the funny cold opens remind me so much of it lol. THAT WAS BRILLIANT — i think the choice of filming it through the body cams and the security cam added to the chaos and awkwardness. lucy was so real for that but i will forever cry at tim not being there because he was there with lucy when they met and he practically lived with them.

yes! 😭👀 that first scene with them in the hallway was so angsty but what made it hurt that much more (than what we saw in the promo) was how lucy had just caught smitty in the middle of a betting pool about the break up like no wonder she just bolted and shook her head. THE ANGST WAS ANGST-ING. it hurt but i kind of loved it??? because it highlighted once again their struggle to communicate and be on the same page with one another (the “you know me so well” is fake news atm 😭. YAY ♡ so excited for angst and pining 2.0 eras.

i am definitely said people with the look she gave lmao. i swear as she closed the door there was something in her eyes that just felt off? personally for me it’s just how she’s treated aaron at the bar and then ended up with a hidden recording? especially the latter like that’s the only answer i can come up with because it’s clearly important for them to have added it into the scene but to me, when she turned it off, it didn’t struck me as her covering her ass because she had a moment with her client and she needed to put a stop to it - it felt malicious~~ OMG BUT YES. sketchy or no, dr. blair wasn’t lying when she told aaron she knows what she’s doing because she read tim without hesitation and said things he really needed to hear. tim is so broken rn 💔 yeeeees! the way he tried (and epically failed) at making small talk bc he was so off base but i think that was the first time in the day he actually smiled?? that scene was the angst i was expecting for the entire episode and i’m so glad we got it at the end of the episode because it was so important. i definitely agree with you like i think that was the final push he needed to seek immediate help.

oooh~ that’s a good point, i can see that! i mean for me it’s def just the sus vibes she gave with that video recording. like maybe this is one step past delulu but to the point you just made about how it’d be so different if the therapist was a man or an older woman (agreed), it makes me wonder what the casting call for the therapist was because i feel like that could be telling of the purpose/intention of the character? 

1000000000% - that theory has me a little confused, ngl. like maybe if it were grey’s anatomy and he was owen hunt? but it’s not and that’s absolutely not who tim is even at his lowest and most vulnerable. nothing about that would absolve him from his guilt, it wouldn’t be a way for him to punish himself, and he didn’t break up with lucy because he stopped loving her. i don’t think he’s hooking up with anyone any time soon because this man has completely lost himself and doesn’t think he’s worthy of anything but even if he did, she’d probably be the last person not the first. for sure on them knowing better like they know, they might be tugging at our heat strings but they aren’t going to do something that far-fetched that would add nothing to anyone’s character growth or progress any storyline. 

same ♡ they have yet to give me a reason not to believe them and if they’ve both said this is a needed thing and good things are coming then i’m gonna take their word on that.

YES, YES, YES, YES!!!!!! it’s so interesting that they layered that voiceover in the promo with what’s happening at the hospital because of that bts video eric shared. it’s definitely lucy and celina who get hurt because of how all the bts content lines up (and the synopsis) BUT OOOOH~ THAT’S GONNA HURT SO GOOD. like it’ll be the first time where she’s hurt and he likely can’t comfort her the way she needs?? because dod, he never moved from her bedside; and then with the shooting, he was also by her side reassuring her and ready to help support her. i am curious to see if he full on panics or panics, rushes to her side, and then once he knows she’s alive/okay, retreats? (but i’ll grab the make up and join you if we don’t get hurt lucy and panicked tim lol).

thanks for sharing! appreciated hearing what you had to say! see you next week ♡

[latenightsimping]

THE EDGE

“...There is no honest way to explain it because the only people who really know where it is are the ones who’ve gone over.” - Hunter S. Thompson, Hell’s Angels

Summary: A part of the deal to freedom included a stay at Pennhurst. It’ll take everything to keep the hope that one day the locked doors will open, the windows will no longer have bars that block the view, and that one day, the name Eddie Munson will be synonymous with the word ‘innocent’. The hope, he never realised, would also come to be synonymous with your name.

Chapter: 1 / 2 / 3 / 4

Pairing: Eddie Munson x reader

Word count: 6.6k

Warnings: angst, heavy themes of inpatient treatment/hospitalisation, heavy themes of mental health, institutional deprivation of liberties, body injuries, mentions of suicidal ideation, themes of institutional abuse, can be a dark read (continue with that in mind, look after yourselves), canon divergence, Eddie survives the demobat attack, post-S4 timeline, slow burn romance, eventual smut, 18+, eventual fluff

Chapter warnings: angst, hurt (no comfort), bittersweet feelings, it's a difficult one ngl but I'll make it better I swear lmao, reader is described as having scars but no specifics, story tags still apply

AN: Ayy another chapter done. I'll try and find time to keep updating, but bear with me as I switch between this, other oneshots, and my own personal work. To those who follow along, thank you. This is such a passion project, and I'm loving the story so far.

October, 1984

It all still feels like one horrific nightmare. You’ve still got blood in your hair, staining your skin, with no idea who it belonged to. For a while, the pain had vanished, as you clawed your way to a nearby road. Perhaps a leftover survival mechanism passed down the generations. But now, now you couldn’t ignore the agony that your wounds created. The gashes that would forever disfigure you, a reminder that would become apparent every time you looked in the mirror. For now, covered with clean white bandages. You had no idea what it looked like beneath them, and you weren’t ready to look anyway.

 Everyone had looked at you with such vitriol that made you want to wither into nothing. The doctors and nurses were doing the absolute bare minimum for your care, giving you minimal pain meds and spending as least time with you as humanly possible. The steel handcuffs that clasped your wrist and secured you to the hospital bed were starting to chafe, but you knew better than to say anything. Not like anybody would care, or even do anything about it. You knew the police officer that sat outside your door from high school, someone that had graduated when you were a sophomore. Harmon, you think his last name was. Either way, he hadn’t said anything to you yet. Not even made an appearance, just sitting himself down and reading the newspaper. You couldn’t see it, but you wondered if your name was in the news yet. Unlikely, considering everything had only happened a couple of hours ago. You prayed for it never to happen, but it was unlikely anyone up there was listening anyway. 

Someone came through the door and stopped by the end of your bed, a small notebook in one hand and pen in the other. Horned rimmed glasses framed eyes that bore into you, a squint that conveyed the disgust he had for you. He was dressed in a police uniform, the Hawkins P.D badge on his chest slightly glinting under the fluorescent lights. Callahan, the name badge opposite it said. You’d seen him around town, but had never crossed paths with him until tonight.

He said your name with a tone that told you he’d rather be anywhere else than here. You nodded in affirmation, as he looked down at the notepad, pen tapping against the pages. 

“Wild night you’ve had,” he drawled, a slight sneer as he shook his head. “Wanna tell me what happened?” 

For a moment, you said nothing. How could you possibly begin to explain it all? It was all such a blur, time doubling in rate with no hope of slowing. Your gaze lowered to the thin blanket that covered you, free hand picking at the off white fibres. “I don’t know.” Your voice was quiet, far away. You didn’t sound like yourself. 

A scoff. “You expect me to believe that?”

Another pause. No, you didn’t. You expected absolutely nobody to believe you. 

“We’ve found two bodies so far,” he continued. “Are we going to find any more?” 

You shook your head. They’d found Cynthia and Scott. Cynthia was your friend since Kindergarten, your neighbour that you grew up with. Your best friend, who never judged you. Scott had started dating her when you were all sixteen, and you actually liked him. Thought he was good for her. Thought they’d end up the childhood sweethearts that actually stuck together through life; would get married, have 2.5 kids and a white picket fence. Get a dog, and live a boring but fulfilling life. 

Where had it all gone so wrong?

“Done any drugs tonight?” Callahan asked, though he sounded like he already knew the answer, and way just testing you to see if you were going to lie about it. 

“I uh, smoked some weed,” you admitted, rubbing the heel of your hand into your eye. You still felt fuzzy around the edges, but it was wearing off all too quickly. “Drank some beers.” 

“Nothing else?” he asked you. “Hallucinogens, PCP, anything like that?” 

“No.”

You swore you saw an eye roll, though his glance away was helping to conceal it. “We’re going to be testing your blood, you know. Easier to just admit everything now, rather than it coming up in court later. I’m tryna’ help you here.” 

No, you aren’t, you wanted to say. You’ve decided I’m guilty. And you want to lock me up to rot. 

You could barely remember the rest of the interview. A lot of “I don’t know,” and “I can’t remember.” You can remember being sent to the place that terrified you as a child, though. Family horror stories of a great Aunt who went in and never came back out. You remember crying every night for the first six months, only for nobody to comfort you. You remember having to clamp down on your emotions, to bury them deep and hope they never resurface. 

You can’t remember your parents ever visiting you. 

August, 1986

The sweltering heat of Indiana summers were finally starting to break, cooler air filtering through the iron bars of the gaps of the slightly opened windows of the dayrooms and cutting the thick scent of sweat and cleaning products. You and Eddie had engaged in small talk during the countless games of cards, and you’d learned quite a fair bit about him. You learned he liked pickles on his burgers. His favourite album was still up in the air, citing that “you just couldn’t do that, it’d be like admitting you have a favourite child.” His favourite colour was red and black, leading to a couple of hours of heated conversation about black being technically a shade, not a colour. He missed being able to play electric guitar, but there was something about the ward’s battered acoustic that he appreciated. 

And in return, you’d shared the tiniest amounts that you hoped sated him. Safe little facts that couldn’t be used against you. And to his credit, he never pried. Instead, he did what he was best at. Talking enough for the both of you, when your social battery wasn’t at its fullest. 

“I swear man, Miller’s got something going on at home,” he mumbled under his breath as his eyes bounced between the project in his hand and the Doctor that seemed to be in the middle of an under-the-breath argument with an orderly on the other side of the dayroom door. Time had been allotted for arts and crafts, or rather, whatever shit they could throw in a box that could vaguely be suited for the occasion. Dried up glue and mangled pipe cleaners, a box of googly eyes that Eddie had pocketed for ‘later use’, and egg cartons that were probably older than you. But you’d found some lengths of different coloured string and a pair of the bluntest craft scissors known to mankind, and had decided on weaving them together to make bracelets. Eddie had decided to join in, and after a crash course in the most basic braids you knew, you were both winging it in trying to make something that wouldn’t just fall apart. 

You looked up from the strands of black, red and white that you held in your hands to follow his eyeline, shaking your head as you spared a glance at the man opposite you. “She still givin’ you shit?”

You knew full well about the meetings he had with her, from the venting he always did afterwards. Apparently, medium security was a privilege, not a right. As if Eddie was capable of doing any harm with what little means he had in here. Fuck, you saw him shed a tear when you watched Bambi together not last week. It had only been a month, but you were absolutely positive of one thing, given you’d had enough time to make your own conclusions. Eddie wasn’t capable of his charges. Not for a second. 

You expected him to frown at your question, but instead, a lopsided smirk played upon his lips. “Same as always, but nah. I’m talkin’ about what I overheard one of the nurses mention about her.”

You couldn’t help but snicker as you continued braiding. “Really, Munson? What’re you, a housewife at a damn Tupperware party?” 

“Hey, I’d look fuckin’ fantastic in a pair of heels and a flouncy dress, thank you very much sweetheart,” he playfully chided, pointing at you with faux accusation and making you chuckle. “But seriously. Apparently, someone found a bottle of vodka stashed in the filing cabinets in the records room. And apparently, there’s only a handful of people that have access. She’s one of them.”

Finishing the last knot of the makeshift bracelet, you looked up to give Eddie your full attention. You had to admit, he was pretty. The long hair, full lips and rounded eyes were a given, yes. But it was the way that he looked at you, how much kindness he gave you, that sealed the deal. The way he would duck his head to make eye contact with you when your eyes felt glued to the floor. When you felt like all hope was lost, stuck in your own misery with no way out, a large hand would be felt on your shoulder, a slight touch that didn’t push your comfort levels. His shit jokes that cheered you up, and the fact that he seemed to know just what to say to make you feel better. In another life, you might have asked him on a date at one point. Maybe to get milkshakes, or to see a movie. But those ideas were bitterly shoved back down, when you remembered where you were. That’d never be an option. Not again. 

You rolled your eyes as you leaned back in your chair, fiddling with the length of woven bracelet as you raised an eyebrow. “So you think she’s drinking on the job?” you asked, pulling the conversation back to something nonchalant. Before you had a chance to think of him in any way other than a friend. 

“I think she’s doing a lot of things on the job, and caring for people ain’t one of them,” he muttered with a slight sneer. His demeanour seemed to change with the final touches of his own craft project, a triumphant look crossing his face as he held it between his fingers. “Here, gimme your arm.”

You shot him a look of confusion as you crossed your arms instead. “Why?”

“So I can yank it out of its socket and use it as an improvised weapon,” he drawled, sarcasm heavy on the words. “Just trust me, alright?”

You did trust him. Or at least, trusted him better than anyone in the whole building. “You’re a sick puppy, y’know that?” you chuckled, holding out your arm on the table. 

“So I’ve been told,” he answered, tone ever so slightly taking on an edge of bitterness that you noted. Calloused fingertips brushed the sensitive skin of your inner wrist, and it took everything within you not to shiver at the sensation. The softness averting your eyes to the window past his shoulder, your inner critic beating down whatever sticky feelings got caught in your ribs at a deep inhale. Get it the fuck together for Christ sake, he’s just-

“Aaaand done.” You looked back to see that lopsided grin of his, though his eyes betrayed him with a slight sense of panic at what you guessed to be the impending sense of rejection. “You like it?” 

You finally allowed your eyes to dip down to your arm, twisting it to get a better look. Purple, blue and lilac threads had been twisted haphazardly into what could technically be considered a braid, though on every fourth or so knot, it twisted at the seams and knocked all uniformity right out of it. But a part of you hoped it was made with intention. The same intention that middle school girls gave them, when they swore up and down to be best friends forever to the other girls they’d bonded with at summer camp, only to forget their names in the next couple of years. The same that still rattled around your old jewellery box back at home, buried under tacky hoops and cheap pendants that teenage you liked wearing. You still remembered the pale pink half of a heart that you kept there, on a chain that’d seen better days. The other half at Cynthia’s house, hanging on her notice board underneath a picture of you two together, smiling at the lake five summers ago. 

Friendship. A word that up until now, had lost all meaning to you. Something that was beginning to spark, though the rockiness and unease of having it for a long time was throwing you off balance. Something that was being offered, and you were so starved for it, you let yourself believe it. Even if it was fake, you’d take it.

You let the smile that graced your lips grow wide, as you nodded your approval. “Bit of a bold colour choice, but I dig it,” you shrugged, your tone taking any malice out of the words. 

“Yeah well, I’m not exactly in a position to waltz on down to Hobby Lobby to get the perfect shades or anything,” he snorted, now idle fingers seeking stimulation by opening a new pack of cigarettes. “Cut it off if you don’t want it.”

And there it was. That slight drop to his smile, as his eyeline averted. No doubt already trying to soothe the sting of assumption, to protect his dignity. Laugh the pain away, don’t let anyone see into it. This was about more than a seemingly simple act of kindness, and you knew the feeling well. God, you wanted to soothe it. Make it go away for him. Because it would be a damn sight easier cheering him up than the sheer amount of effort it’d take to try and do the same to yourself. 

But it needed to be carefully done. Replied to with the same jest, play the same game right back, otherwise the raw vulnerability would cause him to clam right back up again. “Nah, I’m keeping this sucker. Really makes my eyes pop, don’t ya think?” 

You both shared a look of amusement, before your hand darted out before thinking. You noticed the way he flinched, and again, the inner critic was back with the whip to flagellate yourself with at the ready. You willed it away by turning your hand around, an open palm rather than a grasping claw. “My turn?” you offered, hoping the look on your face didn’t give off the desperation you felt. 

You noticed the way his expression morphed, brows furrowed and lip darting out to moisten his lips, as he usually did when he was thinking in rapid motion about something. It relieved you to see his arm come into view, elbow to the deep gouges of the wooden table, an offering of his scarred wrist. You noticed the way his muscles tensed if the pads of your fingers brushed one of them, and you were careful not to make too much contact in securing the bracelet, pulling away when you were done to a respectable distance. Letting him bring his limb back to assess the new adornment, wrinkles around his eyes fading slightly and crinkling into a smirk as he picked at the fibres. A hum of acknowledgement, of endearment, rattled around his chest as he looked back up to you. “Same colours as Hellfire.”

Hellfire. You remembered that name, and you rattled your brain for the memory. “That’s the club you had, right? The one you had with your friends?” 

“Yeah.” He fiddled with the smooth braids, rubbing the tip of his thumb back and forth across the length. You noticed how his voice had taken an edge to it as he shrugged, seemingly to shake off an intense emotion. 

You wondered if the memories of the group was sinking him back into the realisation that he’d most likely never have a meetup with them again. Never have that sense of normalcy, of feeling a part of something. You knew full well that remembering could be a dangerous thing. Something that should be avoided, lest you fall trap to the longing of your freedom, sending yourself mad with the knowledge that things would never indeed be normal again. 

You were still thinking of something to say, a distraction, when Eddie’s name was called from the hallway. His neck nearly snapping with the force of him looking over with a shocked expression, as the orderly grimaced at him as he beckoned him over with two fingers. With a glance at the clock, you noted the time, and something uncomfortable settled in your stomach as you waved the orderly in the room for a lighter. You’d seen a couple of people over the years be summoned around this time, to a part of the building you knew you’d probably never see. You didn’t want to give Eddie the heads up, just in case you were wrong, and this was all just mere coincidence. You bolted that heavy mask to your face as you swung your chair on it’s back two legs, a balancing act as you waited for your turn with the sacred lighter. 

“Better hope Miller hasn’t picked up on your suspicion about the records room,” you smirked as you waggled your eyebrows, a sarcastic laugh volleyed back your way as he got up to cross the room. You spared him one last glance as his shoulders slumped, head down and eyes glued to the floor as he trailed behind the staff member. For all his bravado that he was slowly getting back, you knew that was the true Eddie. A man caged against his will, and the strength long since stripped away from him. A husk of a person, just like everyone else in here. Just like you. 

You just prayed that for his sake, your assumption was correct. 

~

In Pennhearst, knowing where you were going wasn’t exactly something that got shared often. An orderly would begrudgingly call out a last name, and with a jerk of the head, you were just expected to follow behind. At first, it had scared Eddie something fierce. Long were the days of coming and going where he pleased; in school, it was common for him to just wander out of the building for a smoke, and classes were optional in his mind. Part of the reason he could never graduate. Why bother going into a room where you’d be belittled? Where a label was instantly placed on you, and where it stuck no matter how hard you tried to shift it. He’d practically had ‘troublemaker’ stamped on his head since his Junior year. So why even bother? 

A trick he learned was to look at the signs, commit them to memory. Try and figure out a map in your mind, and follow it. The orderly in front of him had passed left at the laundry room, and past the West wing bathrooms. He’d lost track of where he was since the right hand turn by the low security ward doors, and he was going down the corridor blind. Asking wouldn’t help. He wasn’t expecting an answer anyway. 

The sight of a battered sign that seemed to be straining free of the plaster caught his eye, craning his head back to see it. The two words seemed foreign to him. A feeling that he knew them, knew the meaning, but hadn’t seen them put together before. The two words that both made his heart skip a beat and his stomach to churn in anticipation and excitement. 

VISITOR ROOMS 1-5

It ached how much he was wanting them to stop at one of the doors. How much he needed them to. He started praying to anything and everything, things he didn’t believe in, right up until the man in front of him stopped at the door with a number three painted on the front. His hand stayed on the handle, and over his shoulder, Eddie could just make out a window that most likely let staff keep an eye on the patients without having to enter. He could just make out the fabric of a deep blue denim jacket in the bottom left corner, before it shifted and moved out of sight. 

“You’ve got five minutes,” the orderly growled through gritted teeth, finally making eye contact with a venomous glare. “Any funny shit, and your ass is getting thrown into solitary so fast it’ll make your head spin. Am I clear?” 

Eddie’s tongue darted out of his mouth to moisten cracked lips, nodding fervently as his hands clawed at his issued shirt to ground him. It took the raised brow of the man in front of him, a sign that he was quickly losing patience, to make him respond verbally. “Y-yessir. I understand.” 

With one last glance into the room, the door opened, and Eddie was ushered inside. His breath getting stuck between his ribs as he took in the sight of two faces he thought he’d never see again. 

Dark blue eyes, and a gruff face marred with wrinkles and tanned from the sun. A face with the expression that reminded him of being ten years-old, when he was just a kid with a bruise on his cheek and tears that wouldn’t stop falling. The hand of the social worker on his back doing nothing to comfort him, but the look of ‘I get it kiddo, I understand. You’re safe now’ that was worn by a man that looked so similar to his Dad but didn’t have any resemblance at the same time. And like the kid he once was, a sob bullied its way out of his throat as he rushed into the open arms of the one parental figure that never beat him, bellitled him, or expected anything more of him than trying as hard as he could.

The hug was crushing from both parties, with how Eddie clung to his Uncle Wayne, and how those solid arms around his chest added the pressure he so sorely needed. Gave him a reminder of just how much human contact he’d been starved of for five months, and how much he needed it more than oxygen. If Wayne was bothered by the way he buried his face into the older man’s neck and wracked out stifled cries, he never said anything. The large palm that cradled the back of his head seemed to encourage it, as if he knew this was what his nephew needed.

It seemed like an eternity, time suspended in the air, until firm hands carefully grasped his shoulders and tenderly pushed. Eddie relented, a hand flying up to wipe away as much snot and tears as he could. He recognised the next look that he was given, too. A look of pure worry, as Wayne’s eyes flitted from feature to feature. Eddie wasn’t stupid, he had access to some sorry excuses of polished metal as mirrors in this place. Dark circles practically tattooed onto heavy eye bags from the lack of sleep, features getting gaunt as stubble tried to force itself through the skin. Eyes no longer shining like they used to, now replaced with a soulless stare. Once, when he stomached a flash of eye contact in the mirror, he was reminded of his Mom. The way she looked after a blowout fight with his old man, when she lay in bed and cried for what seemed like hours. 

“Eddie… You uh- you look good man,” another voice said quietly from his right, causing his head to snap violently towards the noise. 

Dustin’s mop of curls were hard to mistake for anyone else's, the fondness in his facial features still the same as they were before. That certain look about him that occasionally glimmered underneath it all, the one that gave away that he’d grown far too fast for a kid his age. Had seen too much, and had to deal with far too much burden for a grown man to carry, let alone a fifteen year-old. The comment made Eddie gargle a sort of chuckle, hesitantly pulling away from his Uncle to wrap the kid up in an iron grip. He was happy to feel it returned with fervour, rocking his friend as he swayed with each bounce on the ball of his foot. 

“I look like shit,” he weakly responded, making Dustin laugh as he squeezed even tighter. How long had he waited for this moment? To see someone from the outside, and to know that they were as happy to see him as he was to see them. That they wanted to hug him, and show him tenderness, even when he felt he didn’t deserve it. 

Eddie jolted away as soon as he heard the latch of the door forced open, as if his friend was made of blistering coals. Eyes habitually returning to the faded and torn excuse for carpet, as the harsh words of the orderly that had brought him here made him flinch. “Hey, no contact in here,” the voice barked. “It’s against the rules-”

“Now you listen here,” another voice hissed, though through the venom, it sounded so much louder than it actually was. A southern drawl that Eddie was familiar with, but only when Wayne was riled up to the point of fury. Sparing a glance upwards, he could see Wayne’s finger pointing towards the door with an accusing jab. “It’s the first time I’ve seen my boy in God knows how long. If I wanna give him a damn hug, if his friend wants’ta give him one too, then we’ll do as we damn well please. Y’hear me?” 

He could hear the orderly start to splutter, as if it was the first time he’d ever been refuted. Knowing that the staff around here liked to elevate themselves above all, as if they were some kind of capricious deities, it was likely to be true. “I’ll be letting my supervisor know about this,” was his answer, a thinly veiled threat. Wayne’s short burst of laughter was devoid of all humour. 

“Go ahead,” Wayne replied. “I got my numbers t’ call too, if I think Eddie’s not gettin’ the help he needs. Wanna see who wins the little pissin’ contest ya got goin’ on here?” 

For a second, no reply. Then two. Another look showed both men in some sort of stand off, before the orderly finally sneered his final taunt. Door slamming shut behind him, making Eddie jump out of his skin. Dustin’s gentle guidance got him to sit on one of the uncomfortable plastic armchairs, his fingertips finding the bracelet on his arm to fiddle with. Back and forth, stroking the braid and focusing on his breathing to try and even it out. He heard the two other inhabitants take a seat, Wayne’s clasped hands just in view as his elbows rested on his thighs. His voice now gentler, as if coaxing a frightened animal to come closer. “How’re you holdin’ up, son? They treatin’ ya decent in here?” 

Eddie didn’t mean the bitter laugh to escape his lips, as he swiped the back of his hand across his face to try and clear his face. Finding the bracelet again, studying it as if it was the most interesting thing in the world. Normally, he’d make a joke about it all. Call this place a five star hotel, but make a comment about how they could use better pillows. But he couldn’t find the words, no matter how hard he tried. Resigning himself to the truth, as he shrugged. “S’fine.” 

“Did uh… Did you get moved to medium security?” Dustin asked, and the puzzled look Eddie gave him in return as he looked up to see the boy must have prompted a further explanation. “Hopper put in a call. Well, several. Explained to the right people about what happened. He uh- he sends his best, by the way. Everyone does.”

Hopper? He thought the old chief of police had snuffed it in that Starcourt fire. More questions than answers given, and Dustin sighed wearily before explaining it all as best he could. As best as anyone could, given they had such a short time period to meet. 

Hopper was alive, something about being in Russia for a while. El was back from California, and shit was still going south with the upside-down. Hawkins was still in trouble, but they were on the case. Some sort of higher ups were working on Eddie’s case, but it needed to go through proper channels to keep an illusion of normality. Evidence to be hidden, to be planted, to clear his name. They were waiting on Max to wake up, so she could give her statement and have all charges officially dropped. All of it barely sticking in Eddie’s brain, no doubt the meds he was on still keeping his neurons dulled. 

But one thing stuck out. They were working on clearing his name. It was a shot at freedom. Not much, but it was there. In the darkness, came a small glimmer of hope. Like seeing a seam of gold in a coal mine. Something to cling onto for dear life, to keep putting one foot in front of the other for. 

It was hope. 

“You’re gonna get me out?” Eddie questioned, timbre cracking on every other syllable. Daring to look up to see the two people who probably cared about him more than anyone else on this Earth, and being met with a soft smile in return. 

“Yeah, we’re getting you out,” Dustin echoed, voice soft as he rubbed his palms on his jeans. He reached over to retrieve a plastic bag, leaning over and placing it by Eddie’s feet. “But for now, we’re allowed to come and see you every two weeks. And we’re allowed to bring stuff, too. I mean, it’s something, right?” 

Eddie felt too full of emotion, an experience he usually wasn’t fond of. A big reason he liked to get stoned, or listen to heavy metal music, or play his guitar. An outlet always helped, and right now he had nothing. Nothing but three pieces of string circling his wrist, and his leg bouncing a fast tempo. Peeking from the bag, he could see a book and a carton of Camels so far. Something he’d previously took for granted, but not any longer. He’d sworn to himself an oath during his two month mark in this place; if he ever got out of here, he’d never take the little things for granted ever again. 

He nodded along to the words, unlatching the harsh grip his teeth had on his lower lip before answering. “Yeah, it’s… It’s something. Thank you.” 

“Don’t sweat it man,” Dustin replied. “If you need anything, just… Just tell us, alright? We’ll see what we can do.” 

It took all the self restraint he had not to openly laugh, instead scrubbing his palm down the length of his face. He needed a lot of things. He needed a good night’s sleep, and a shower with water more than lukewarm and to never again smell carbolic soap. He needed to be able to take a long drive, maybe to the woods, avoiding lover’s lake to not have to remember those frightening and isolating days of hiding. He needed a good ounce of bud and his record player. Lots of things were needed. None were likely to actually be received.

“So, uh… Where’d you get that from?” Wayne asked after seconds of silence that went far too long for his liking. He knew better than anyone what a downward spiral looked like in his boy. 

It took Eddie a moment to realise what he was talking about, before clicking all the pieces together when his uncle stared at his arm for too long. He said your name, softly at first. Like a secret that wasn’t meant to be shared. An eyebrow raise prompted him to clear his throat and explain. “She uh… She’s helping me out around here. Someone to talk to.” 

Wayne didn’t seem impressed in the slightest, arms folding as he leaned in his chair. “You sure you can trust ‘er?” he asked, head slightly tilting. 

Eddie’s head nodded erratically, sending split ends and frizz flying. “She’s like me, Wayne. Innocent.” 

“And you believe her?” 

“...Yeah.” 

He did believe you. He couldn’t explain it, but there was a sort of gut feeling to be had around people that meant others harm. He’d felt it a couple of times in his life. Hairs on the back of his neck standing up, a nausea that couldn’t be replicated by an illness, a sense of unease paired with an urge to run. He first remembered it when his father would come home drunk, the front door slamming open and shut with heavy footfalls. He’d felt it when Jason and his lackeys were chasing after him that night on the boat. Hell, he felt it when that patient with the missing piece of his ear came a little too close for comfort, before you’d come to his rescue. 

He could trust you. He had to. The only other option was doing all of this alone.

He watched the wrinkles in Wayne’s face to deepen for only a few seconds, before they relaxed to his natural frown. The Munson men had a habit of speaking without words, knowing each other well enough to be able to see slight gestures and eye contact to mean something that nobody else could pick up on. This particular eyebrow raise meant ‘I believe you’. Eddie’s slight nod was a thank you. 

It was all over before it felt like it truly began. The sense of normality, of a conversation between three people who knew each other well, was cut short by an orderly opening the door and barking Eddie’s last name. With the faded grocery bag in hand - after yet another check of the contents, as if a shiv would magically appear after opening it for the fifth time - he was led back to the common room to engage in the mind-numbing routine that never changed. 

But at least you were sitting there, waiting for him. Lounged in one of the threadbare sofas, flipping through a magazine that he’d seen you read at least a half dozen times. You looked up, the ghost of a smile playing on your lips as you nodded towards the other side of the couch. No judgement, no questions barraged at him as he crossed the room. Just patience and a slight eyebrow raise. Thank God that won’t change, was his first thought. The smallest bloom, like the first of springtime, got caught in his ribcage. Swallowed back down, bitter as whisky, before it could cling to his heart and not let go. 

“Visitors?” you asked as he leaned over the armrest, your eyes not leaving the freshly turned page. He could sense something in your voice; something that caught his attention. It wasn’t anger. It was deeper than that, hitting at a lower emotional register. He noticed an ever so slight furrow of your brow, eyes ever so glossy. Then it hit him. Visitors. 

Something that not once, he had ever seen you leave for. 

He recognised that feeling. The feeling of always being left out at the playground, never allowed to join the other kids. Of being dumped at a doorstep you didn’t know by your piece of shit father, the memory of the back of his jacket exiting view through a haze of tears. It was being called names, or worse, being flat out ignored. He knew it all too well. And he’d always hated seeing it in others. 

But there was no point lying about it, either. “Yeah,” he nodded, plucking the carton of cigarettes from the bag and beginning to unwrap them. “My uncle and a friend. Hadn’t seen ‘em since…” He trailed off, shaking his head as he grasped a few packets from the sleeve. If you noticed his choice of words, you weren’t showing it.

 He placed them by your feet where they were half tucked underneath you with a wry smile. “For all the ones I stole when I first got here.” 

“You don’t have to do that,” you frowned, finally tossing the magazine to the floor. He noticed the way you seemed touched by the gesture, though. “This place gives ‘em out like fucking candy.” 

“Yeah, but you hate the brand they give out,” he chuckled, remembering how often you complained about it first thing in the morning, still half asleep and grumpy from the medications used to sedate you. “Just take ‘em. Save them for special occasions.” 

For a moment, he expected more of a fight. But to your credit, you took them with grace. Opening a pack and handing him one, you motioned for the lighter as you nodded your head towards the bag. “What else you get?” 

“Uhh… Good question,” he shrugged, finally taking everything out to inspect. The Colour of Magic by Terry Pratchett, and from the looks of it, it was secondhand. A quick inspection of the first page gave him the name of the previous owner.

D. Henderson. 

“Love that little shit,” he mumbled under his breath, a fond smirk as he plucked the last item. Well, items. There were various envelopes, already torn open and no doubt already read, bundled together by a rubber band. He recognised the one on top from the character sheets he’d had handed in over countless times. Lucas’ neat handwriting spelling out his name. Already, a lump formed in his throat as he hastily shoved them back. Not here, he reminded himself. 

“Good haul,” you said quietly, no doubt well aware of his sudden shift in mood. It was strange, how two people adrift could find equilibrium. He could sense your fluctuations, the small changes in behaviour, that let him know to tread carefully. And now, it was happening in reverse. 

All he could do was nod. Allow the static of the silence to wash over you two, and to your credit, you never pushed.

He was thankful for that. 

~

Small stacks of paper surrounded his silhouette on the bed, the one he was trying to read gripped tight in his fist whilst the other hand muffled his sobs. Eddie hadn’t had many good words heard about him over his short life. Words were usually spat with venom, and he flicked barbs back. But now, it was there, all in black and white, and in various calligraphy. 

“Be strong man, you got this,” wrote Steve. 

“We’re fighting for you as hard as we can out here, just hang tight,” Robin scrawled. 

“I’ve always known you didn’t do it, son. I need you to know that.” In a font he remembered the most. 

His ribcage broke with the force of how much his heart hurt. The grief, the sadness, the shame. It was washing over him like waves, threatening to drag him under for good. He grieved for Chrissy, and he grieved for himself. It just kept pouring, like molasses sticky in his throat, and he couldn’t breathe. It didn’t stop until dawn broke, when he finally managed to put a lid back on everything and shut it away. Close the door and refuse to look, for fear a monster is in the closet. 

Hide it away, so it doesn’t hurt. Hide it until it’s safe to come out, if it ever does. Hide it, conceal it, consume it until it’s as dense as a neutron star. And if you did hear him crying from across the hall, you didn’t say anything. God, he was so thankful you didn’t say anything.