#also sorry benny lovers

[datura-tea]

that's the ring-a-ding move, baby!

[writefightandflightclub]

Ride or Die (Santiago “Pope” Garcia x fem!reader): Chapter Six (of 11 - COMPLETED SERIES)

Series summary: Together, you and Santiago have been “soldiers” then “friends” then “lovers”; but will you ever figure out what comes next, especially when Santiago can’t (or won’t) stop running? 

Genre: a LOT of angst, (some) smut, best friends to… lovers?

Warnings: see collated series warnings, here. 

Series info: this is a COMPLETED SERIES. All chapters are written and queued. Posting schedule is here (includes series master list). 

Author’s note: Hope you like this one. Weirdly it's one of my fave chapters. (I love Frankie, you'll see.) Slightly shorter chapter this time. The angst continues (I’m so sorry... but also I'm really I'm not sorry at all, yk? :P)!  As always, I would be super, super grateful for any comments / reblogs / asks you may wish to send my way, and I'm so touched that anyone would even consider reading this far along in the story! ILY :-*

Word count: 3.7k for this part. 

Tag list info: will reblog separately tagging those on taglist. You can request to be added to taglist if you are 18+. Send me an ask, please, so I can keep track :)

Santiago watches you go. Feels the violence of you being snatched from his side like a wound. 

He feels lost for a moment. Paralysed as he watches you retreating, barging by Frankie and Will and Benny in the doorway; most of the boys - barring Tom- having mobilised downstairs. They are soldiers, after all, and so they can sense a conflict. They look like it too. They look primed: to assess, attack, defend. Defend you. Always was that way. That’s all Santiago ever wanted too. 

“Hey. Hey, hey. Come on. What is all this?”. Frankie attempts to soothe as you hasten your approach across the sand, towards the refuge of that doorway. As though Santiago is an earthquake and you must take shelter from him there. “Come on,” he calls out to the two of you, indiscriminately. And then, to Santiago only. “For fuck’s sake, man. You care about each other.”

Santiago can’t move. He desperately wants his feet to move after you but he can’t seem to get them to cooperate. Can’t seem to get any sound of protest to birth from his throat. Can’t seem to bring himself to stop you from walking away. Just like last time. Maybe he thinks he knows what’s better for you, and so he dare not try. 

Instead, he watches as Frankie futilely tries to smooth things -to slow you down - but on your approach he must see little chance of reconciliation in the folds and caving of your face, for he lets you barge right by him. You slip clean by Will on the porch too, and just past Will’s broad shoulders, Santiago can see his brother spinning on his heel. Launching himself to follow you back upstairs. To offer you the comfort you deserve after the wounds you didn’t. The wounds he has created by telling you the one thing he’d always feared himself. 

That there was no hope for the two of you. 

God. He had simply tried to love you, but how could he reach out to you softly when his hands are so lethal? How could he hold you, when all he ever did was hurt? 

He huffs a sharp breath out of his nose, cursing at himself under his breath. His heart is hammering in his chest. There is a ringing in his ears. Guilt. Fear. Adrenaline. Anger. Guilt most of all. Santiago watches dissociatively as Frankie beelines across the sands for him, not to comfort, he thinks, but to blame. It’s all he deserves, isn’t it? Maybe, but he feels exposed out here, alone on the sand, so he too mobilises towards the house. His head down and his pace purposeful, face locked in a grimace, as though perhaps he too could somehow slip by unnoticed, despite its guarded perimeter. Even though the whole squad is primed for damage control. Even though he’s flagged as the danger. The wrecking ball, the shell, the strike, threatening to bring this house to its knees. 

He’s done worse. 

He had wanted better for you.

“I’ve had enough of this bullshit, man,” he spits to Frankie - without looking at his buddy as he rounds on him, attempting to get in his way and slow him down. Santiago doesn’t like to feel caged in. To feel small. Vulnerable. He rasps the palm of his hand down over his mouth and chin. “Fuck.” 

Santiago reaches the porch, still ignoring Frankie, and moves to pass Will too. But, his old captain is having none of that. He pushes Santiago back firmly - heel of hand to shoulder. “Why don’t you leave it?” he warns, the words frothing between his teeth. Santiago still does not look up, his face a snarl, trying once more to shoulder barge and bypass his way into the house. “No, no way.” Will stands taller, knocking him back, practically looming over Santiago now. 

Santiago looks at him this time, in accusation. He squares off to him, tension writhing along his jaw, Will bearing down on him with all the weight of his bulk and presence and his track record. 

“Hey, hey, hey,” Frankie placates from behind him, and Santiago feels the man’s hands settle on his tense, packed shoulders. He quickly shrugs them off. “Let’s take a walk. Let’s take a walk.”

“You fucking kidding me?” Santiago bites, his breath raging through his nose. 

“Take a fucking walk, Garcia.” Will orders coolly. The shorter man’s jaw writhes, tension rippling through his body, but he doesn’t plan on going toe to toe with Captain Miller. He knows that wouldn’t end well. 

Frankie tries again, planting his hands once more on Santiago’s shoulders and twisting him away from the porch. Santiago still hasn’t looked at the man. He can only feel him there. This quiet, calming presence, reflecting the grotesqueness of own anger back at him. Forcing him to face himself in the mirror. “Let’s take a walk. Come on, hermano. Take a walk.” 

Santiago rips his gaze and head away from Will and with an unbecoming grunt begins pacing it down the long strip of beach, adrenalin still piping into his veins. His body shaking, tremoring, and fists clenched by his sides. “Can you believe her? I’m just so… fucking-” He growls. 

And still, Frankie is behind him, in his PJs and sliders and just shoving him forward, palms planted on his shoulder blades. “Walk, man. Just fucking walk. Don’t talk. Move your legs.” Santiago tries it one more time, tries to twist around but Frankie just shoves him onward again, keeping pace behind him. He sticks with him, despite the huffed breaths and snipes and everything else. He walks him like a fucking dog until the adrenalin has burnt off. Until Santiago feels only jitters through his weak legs. Until he feels a pit open up inside and swallow him. Until he can carry himself no further away from you. Until he realises that no matter how far he walks he cannot run from himself. 

“You cooled off now, huh?” Frankie manages to soothe, even with the bitter lime-wedge bite in his tone. “Okay. Okay.” 

Santiago crashes. 

“Fuck, Frankie.”It is as though he turns to sand, knees buckling and dropping to a crouch, burying his face into his gently tremoring hands. “Shit.” He scoops up a handful of sand, tossing a tiny grit storm into the air. “Fuuuuucckk.” He crests, and he sags back on to his ass with a sorry thud into the sand, his legs spread and knees drawn up. He rests his elbows on top of them, his head sagging down in between his legs and his fingers lacing behind his neck. He looks like he’s protecting himself from debris. From the aftermath.  

To his side, Santiago hears Frankie sigh deeply, and he plonks himself on the floor beside his buddy. Santiago squirms performatively to dismiss the circles Frankie’s broad hand smooth into his shoulder, but he is eminently glad when his friend doesn’t quit. He needs this. Someone who won’t give up on him. 

Frankie’s robust voice is a comfort too, yet he can still hear some judgement in it. Knows it is coming. Still, generously, Frankie allows Santiago a moment. A breathing cycle before he must face another onslaught. “Hey. Hey, come on.” He pats his back more firmly, and Santiago just sits, tears piping freely down his cheeks. 

There is a groan around a bitten lip, and Santiago finally looks. Finally looks to see Frankie softly shake his head from side to side. Something is coming. Santiago can guess what. It’s somehow always his fault, isn’t it, and so he should expect the onslaught? Frankie’s voice is deceptively soft, but he always strikes in stealth. That’s where he does his best work. He applies another couple of slow, forceful pats to Santiago’s back, before scrunching his hand into his t-shirt and jostling him, perhaps as though he could shake some sense into him once and for all. “I don’t get it, man,” Frankie intones. “Isn’t she everything you ever wanted?”

Santiago closes his eyes, the final smattering of tears beading in his long lashes. “I don’t know why I can’t…” His shoulders tug up as he sucks in a steadying breath and promptly releases it again, digging his closed fists into the sand before him. “I don’t. I just…” His eyebrows leap up in distress as he wrestles with the complexity. “I want to. I want to, but she’s better off without me. She doesn’t deserve all of my bullshit.”

“I don’t think she’s once tolerated any bullshit, hermano, least of all yours.” 

Santiago sees what his buddy is trying to do, but Santiago shakes his head forlornly from side to side. “I wouldn’t be good for her. Wouldn’t be good enough…” 

Frankie clicks his tongue. “She wants you. Don’t patronise her by thinking you know better.” 

“No. It’s too late. I fucked it. I… Shit.”

Frankie’s voice drops an octave. “I’ve been patient. But I’m tiring of your fucking excuses, man.” He does; he sounds tired. Everyone, always so tired of him. “Look ahead with me for a minute, alright?” Frankie gestures with a sweep of his arm through the air, as though Santiago could fix on a vision of the future before him. Instead, all he sees is a black, rolling sea, fringed with frayed white lace. A round disk of mellow light shining down through the night. “What do you see in your life? Christ - what’s your endgame? Getting shot in some fucking ditch?” Frankie swats Santiago’s arm with the back of his hand when he receives no reply, the man instead looking wistfully out over the water, his eyes as soft as the moon. “I asked you a question. So answer me. What’s your endgame? If you can’t even say it aloud, I can’t fucking help you.” 

“Her,” Santiago breathes, without looking away from the water. “Her. You know it is.” He scratches nervously over the stubble on his cheek. “I’m so in love, man. So gone for her I can’t fucking think straight.” 

“Right,” Frankie nods firmly, looking at Santiago unblinkingly from beneath his lashes. “So what the fuck are you going to do about it?” 

“I can’t just leave everything, Cat. Walk away and-” 

“-Can’t you?” Frankie smacks the back of his hand definitively against his own open palm. “I did. Tom. Will. She did.” 

Santiago actually scoffs then, as if something is funny. “Yeah. Yeah, Cat,” he concedes, pushing himself up from his hunched position in the sand, voice oddly taut. “You did.” Frankie stands with him, his chin raising as he defends from whatever low blow Santiago has brewing, a healthy dose of cynicism dripping from him already. “You did, and fucking look at you. You’re all a goddamn mess. A hot steaming pile of shit.” His eyes tighten with resolve, a solemnity shrouding his sharp features. “I can’t do that to her.” 

“Fuck you, man,” Frankie revs. “I’m good. I have a little girl on the way.” 

“Oh, please. Give me a break.” Santiago slices his hand through the air. “Tom’s eyes are fucking hollow. Selling fucking condos?” Frankie’s eyes flash with a rage and a sadness that seem to cancel each other out at first, and so he can all but listen as his buddy winds up his tirade. “Will - fucking Captain Miller - this burly bastard walking on eggshells because he’s afraid of flipping that switch and blacking out again. He choked a man out, no flag on his shoulder. Lost the love of his life. I thought those two were it, man. You’re scraping by on lines and don’t think we haven’t noticed.” Frankie’s head ducks down then, and he lets out an undone noise, something between a protest and a whimper. “Fuck, even Benny. The fucker gets beat to shit for fun. Do we sound fucking healthy to you, Cat? Is that how good it is getting out?” 

Frankie’s breaths are turbulent now. Santiago can see the familiar look of restraint on the man. Nostrils flaring, brow drawing down. The dark, formidable edge behind Frankie’s quiet exterior barely kept in check. He meets his gaze and he almost looks battle-drunk. On the offensive and ready to do whatever it takes to get off the backfoot. But, he reins it in. Swallows it down. Until all he delivers is a march forward, pacing Santiago backward, his finger jabbed into his chest and his words snarling directly against his cheek. “Fuck you, pendejo. You think you’re any better than us?” 

Santiago lets him have it. He’s not sure he has any fight left anyway. Isn’t sure he’d mind anymore if he got punched down into the dirt. 

“No. No, I don’t. That’s exactly my point.” Frankie searches his face, the knife in his keen eyes blunting to a wet sheen as Santiago lays it out in a small, fractured voice. “If you can’t do it, how in the hell can I make a go of it? I’m not the best of you. I’m so fucked up. I’ve got all this… fucking baggage. My mom. The nightmares. Lorea. The blood on my hands. I can’t be ‘it’ for her. I can’t. Because she deserves better. Deserves the fucking world, man.” 

Frankie clamps his hands down on Santiago’s shoulders, drawing back to look him squarely in the eyes. “Guess what? You’ll be fucked up in or out, trust me. But you may as well be fucked up with fewer bullets grazing your vitals daily, no?” 

Santiago shakes his head as if getting “out” is simply impossible. “I’m doing something, man,” he mutters, as if he can’t muster the strength to believe his own line anymore. As if all his old mantras are dead. Washed away in the sand. “I’m trying to do something down there.” 

“This mother’s homeland bullshit again?” Frankie really does sound eminently tired. Trust Santiago to hit on an argument within an argument, right? He can always twist just about everything. “Wake up call, Pope. You can’t fix it. You don’t even care if you fix it. You just want to keep fucking running.” 

Santiago tears away from Frankie’s grip, pacing in a small circle. “Fuck you.”

Frankie raises his palms in the air. As if he really is about to give up. What does he do if every one of his best friends gives up on him, Santiago thinks? “Fine. Whatever. That’s your shit, not mine. But look at it this way. You tell me you can’t walk away from that life. Look me in the eye and tell me this. You okay walking away from her?”

“She walked away,” Santiago spits, even though he scarce believes it any longer. Yes, you might have walked away. But he was the one who ran. “She was the one who-”

“-I don’t care!” Frankie yells, quickly losing patience, waving his palms of surrender around.  “I’m tired of this. Shit - I do not care about these little technicalities. Yeah. Okay. She left, right? She moved on, Santiago. Moved along the road. Life is moving on. Don’t blame her because you’re standing still, cabrón.”

Santi shifts his weight from foot to foot, swipes his palm back and forth over his mouth. “Fuck you, man, standing still my ass.” 

“Oh, what?” Frankie retaliates. “You can come at me but I can’t come at you?” Santiago’s expression is stark, all straight lines and angles and shadowed planes. “You stayed and for what? To spite her? To prove yourself right? Jesus, Pope. Lorea has you chasing your tail. You’re going round in circles. You fuck your problems away but you wake up and, hey, guess what? They’re still there. Still a big steaming stack of turds in the corner.” Santiago curses under his breath, spitting insults and deflections, but Frankie is undeterred. “And the worst thing is, you could fucking have it! You could have everything you want! What the rest of us wouldn’t give for that, pendejo.” 

“Right, yeah. Thanks for that assessment. I’m just a fucking chump, is that it?” 

“Hey, look. It’s you. I’m just saying what I see.” Frankie’s mouth curls into a tentative smile, yet the blow dealt by Santiago’s stony expression manages to dull it. 

“Asshole.” 

“Whatever. I’m done helping. You don’t want her? Fine. You don’t have to change a thing. Can drive her away all on your own, I’m sure.” 

A hard swallow bobs down Santiago’s corded neck, and he chews on some words before offering them up. “And if I do? Want her?” 

“If you do? Then, Christ. Stop moaning about it like a little bitch and do something about it.” Santiago’s face sours all over again, and Frankie holds his hands up once more in surrender. “I’ve tried the softly, softly approach, man. We’ve all got our own shit going on. It’s past time for a fucking intervention with you.” Santiago writhes his jaw, but there is no further protest from him. Eventually, he concedes with the barest of nods. Frankie braces his arm on his shoulder, his expression growing wistful. “I just want to see you happy, man. I gotta know that some of us can still be happy. Of all of us? She fucking deserves it. And, look. You deserve it too, alright?”

Tears ball in Santiago’s eyes. It’s been a long time since he felt like he deserved to be happy. A very long time. He concedes, with the barest of nods. “It’s… I’m….” He chucks out a breath, frustrated at his lack of ability to get his words out, his mouth and brows pinching together.  

“What? Spit it out.” Frankie gives his shoulder an encouraging jostle. 

Santiago looks him in the eyes, about to level with him. Perhaps upon seeing the vulnerability there, the pilot’s eyes soften. “I’m fucking… scared, man.” 

Frankie’s eyes tighten with a wistful mirth, and his hand slips up to curl around the back of Santiago’s neck in a brotherly embrace, emotion flooding the cracks in his grit-flecked voice, making it warm and robust. “Santiago. Idiota. The way she looks at you, man? You don’t have a damn thing to be scared about.”

Tears glisten in Santiago’s eyes once more, and Frankie draws him into a tight, enclosing hug. Santiago lets himself collapse into it, wrapping his arms around Frankie’s broad, slender torso. After a few moments, and an extra squeeze for good measure, Frankie draws back, still cupping the nape of his buddy’s neck. 

“Cool down and come back to the house okay?” Frankie encourages, eyes needling Santiago for an answer until he nods. “Look. You okay?” He nods again, more adamantly this time as Frankie soothes him, dipping his chin down and raising his brows to hammer home the seriousness of his inquiry. “Yeah? Not gonna do anything stupid? Santiago?” 

“Yes. Yeah. I’ll be okay.” 

Frankie drops his arms, evidently feeling somewhat reassured. Yet, with Santiago, the fact that he promises not to do anything stupid bears repeating. “What are you gonna do?” 

“I’ll take a walk,” Santiago nods, his face drawn down into stern lines. “I’ll come back to the house.” He regards his friend, his eyes still painted with concern. 

Santiago frowns. Scratches the back of his neck. “Listen. You okay?” 

“Yeah,” Frankie grins, an element of deflection in it. “I’ll be okay.” He bumps Santiago in the shoulder with his fist. “Fuck you though.” 

“Yeah. Sounds about right. Listen, we gotta talk soon, huh?” 

The smile drops from Frankie’s face as he contemplates being the one placed under scrutiny. “Yep.” 

Santiago shuffles from foot to foot. “Will you…”

“Yeah,” Frankie reassures. “I’ll make sure she’s alright.”  

“Love you, man,” Santiago calls, as Frankie turns on his heel. 

He calls back over his shoulder, walking a few backward paces. He comes to a halt a few metres from his friend. “Yeah, I know. Love you too.” 

“And… I’m sorry.” He had no right to drag Frankie’s shit into this. 

“Yeah. I know that too,” Frankie revs. “Not as sorry as you’re gonna be if you ever say shit like that to me again. I’m too old for this bullshit, man.” Still, Frankie shrugs, indicating no hard feelings. “Anything else you want to say for yourself?” He juts his chin up. Watches Santiago struggle with the words, but allows him the time to pattern them out.  

“She said she wants to fucking marry me. Can you believe that? But… I’m not that guy, Cat. I’m not the picket fence guy. I…” A frown layers over his already stern face, and he gazes intently at a spot in the sand, mid-way between them. “I don’t want to be the guy who… ruins her life.” 

Frankie inhales deeply, letting the whole gust of breath go in one, puffing it out through his pouted mouth. He looks far too tired for this. “Fuck, I don’t know man. You’ve got so many hang-ups I could use you as a coat rack. But that doesn’t mean you’re not loved. And that’s enough, no? Picket fence doesn’t suit you? I don’t fucking know.” Frankie shrugs, palms tipped up towards the sky. “Shit. Have whatever kinda perimeter you want. Just -for Christ’s sake - make sure you put her on the right side of it. Don’t keep shutting her out.” 

“That’s some deep shit, Cat.” 

“Not just a pretty face, cariño.” 

Santi grins. 

“Now, are you done? I gotta fucking sleep.” 

Santiago nods, and watches as Frankie begins to turn away again. But, there must be something in Santiago’s face which causes him to think better of it. Instead, he surges towards the man, cupping the back of his head in his hand and planting a kiss to the middle of his forehead. The frown lingering there disappears. “I love you, asshole.” 

There are several things which bear repeating when it comes to Santiago.

“I know.” Santi stares intently at his feet. 

And, finally satisfied, apparently, Frankie seems willing to leave his buddy to it - granting him a moment to contemplate things alone. To contemplate you. To contemplate his words of advice. 

Santiago feels grateful for Frankie. Even feels bolstered for a moment, until he realises that what he’d assured him might not be true. That even a love that feels too abundant to bear? That it is not always enough. After all, you’d told him as much, hadn’t you? 

His love wasn’t enough. He wasn’t enough. 

Frankie walks away. 

Santiago will have to decide if he’s going to do the same. 

Or maybe he’ll run. 

After all. Isn’t that all he’s good for?

[certifiedtrashmouth]

Oh gosh I don’t wanna repeat someone and I’m not sure about Xmas traditions but what about ridiculous stocking stuffers w Eddie? Fluff/humor.

oh, god. this one also got out of hand. started in light-hearted fun and ended in fluff that had me screaming into my pillow. i'm sorry for the length.

good for one kiss (eddie munson x reader)

warnings: none really. mentions of penis??? (eddie makes a joke about his dick and there's mention of a blowjob but no description lol), mentions of cigarettes, idiots in love. best friends to lovers.

“What am I supposed to do with a single piece of gum?” 

“What am I supposed to do with a single cigarette?” 

“Smoke it, idiot.”

“It’s broken, idiot.” 

“Oh.” 

You and Eddie sit cross-legged across from each other on his bed on Christmas Eve, partaking in your annual gift exchange. But there was a catch; each year, you exchanged stockings, only gifting each other what you could fit in the glorified, fleece-lined socks. There had only been two exceptions to the rule of the years - the year you’d gifted Eddie his first professional-grade amp and he’d bawled like a baby (once he’d dried his tears, he’d threatened you and Wayne both endlessly about ever letting the story leave the room. The two of you had exchanged a look, though, knowing neither of you would ever let him live it down.) and the year Eddie had bought you your first acoustic six-string with the promise of lessons from him (it was onyx black and shined with promise as Eddie explained the two of you needed to use paint markers to decorate it). 

It was going on five years of the tradition that had stemmed from both of you never being able to afford much for each other, but still wanting to show you care nevertheless. And as the years had gone on, the gifts had slowly found their rhythm. There was always a perfect mixture of cliche throwaway gifts, gag gifts, and gifts so sentimental that some tears were sure to be shed by one of the parties. 

“I didn’t think it would break,” you scrunch your nose slightly as Eddie holds up the cigarette, limp from the crack in the middle of it. 

“What did you expect, just throwing it in here like that?” Eddie laughs, not bothered in the slightest. He had a pack of Camels snug in the pocket of his leather jacket slung over his desk chair. It was the thought that counted, after all. 

“I expected it to be absolutely fucking invincible for how expensive the pack was,” you whine, and he can’t help but watch you with bemusement, “I spent my last dollar from my tips on that damn pack.” 

The mention of that softens the look in Eddie’s eyes. He knew the two of you struggled to come up with enough money to even keep up this tradition; he had hardly seen you due to how many spare shifts you’d been picking up at Benny’s the last few weeks. 

You catch the look, immediately straighten up, “No, no, no. Don’t even go there, Munson. I can see you going there. Come back to me, idiot.” 

Idiot. The term of endearment you’d coined for him since you’d first met in sophomore year of high school. He’d heard it in a dozen different tones - elated, annoyed, exhausted - but not a single one held an ounce of genuine negativity towards him. You made idiot sound like my love. 

He wasn’t your lover, though. He kicked himself in the shins every morning over it, always telling himself that today was the day and I’m going to tell her how I feel finally. 

Spoiler alert. He never did. 

“Sorry, sweetheart,” he offers up his own loving nickname for you, “I just know you’ve been busting your ass at Benny’s-” 

“Yes, I have, because I want to spoil you for the holidays. I don’t regret a single second of it. Even when those creepy old men tried to shove the dollar bills in my shirt rather than just hand them to me.”

You both laugh at the memory. It hadn’t been very funny when it happened, leading to you calling Eddie crying and him coming to your rescue, but enough time had passed to see the humor in it all. 

The rest of the gift exchange goes as expected for the most part. The gag gifts pull the appropriate amount of laughter, and the more genuine gifts pull a softness out of each other that nearly had each of your eyes’ pupils forming hearts. 

Eddie fawns over a pack of pics you’d had customized with Corroded Coffin’s logo, and you react just as bluntly as expected when you pull a long red candle from your stocking, looking up to Eddie blankly. 

“For when I finally sacrifice you in the woods,” he explains with a cheesy grin, “Gotta have candles if we’re going to worship Satan, sweetheart.” 

“Ha-ha,” you dead pan, tilting your head slightly as you keep a straight face, completely unimpressed, “You’re hilarious, Munson.” 

“Hey, I could have made a sex joke,” he throws up his hands in a defensive manner, shrugging his shoulders and looking to the ground in faux shyness. 

“Yeah, yeah - you could have made a sex joke,” you mumble as you shove the candle to the side, a smile still escaping the corners of your mouth. 

“As a matter of fact, I still can. Don’t think I didn’t notice the fact that you replaced my stocking this year, darling, and that it’s noticeably larger. Finally big enough to fit over my massive dic-” 

“You’re disgusting,” you interrupt, grabbing the candle and now whacking one of his knees with it, making him fall victim to an uncontrollable giggling fit, “Have you ever been told that? Let me be the first to tell you - you’re absolutely vile, Edward Munson.” 

You don’t mean it, and he knows you don’t. You’re both laughing too much over it. 

You’re starting to get to the bottom of the stockings now. You each have an odd arrangement of candy that had been included in each respective stocking - Eddie is socking on a blue jolly rancher, being sure to make annoying slurping noises to get a rise out of you, as you nibble on a miniature candy cane. There’s only one gift left in your stocking, a small box that you only reach for once you rewrap the candy cane in the plastic wrap it’d come in that you’d saved to avoid getting sticky fingers. 

“What’s this?” you ask, pulling it out and letting the empty stocking fall into your lap. 

Eddie looks up from where he was preoccupied with attempting to open another jolly rancher. His eyes light up from the present in your palm, “Oh, only saving the best one for last, sweet thing.” 

You look at him questioningly, but begin to slide your finger under the delicate edge of the small box regardless. It takes concentration to pry open the box without tearing it, but you do, you gasp. 

In a bed of cotton, there’s a necklace. 

It looks like a copy of Eddie’s signature pick necklace. But instead of the dark swirling black between clouds of burgundy red, it shines with pearlescent opal white and ruby red, glimmering on a silver chain as if it were made of jewels. 

When you gently lift it from the box, it’s clear it’s not a real pick. It’s heavier - Hell, it might actually be made of gemstones. 

“Eddie-” you gasp, cutting yourself off, mesmerized by the beauty. 

He’s nearly shaking with delight, “It’s a locket. Look, open it.” 

You see what he means immediately, realizing that the weight was from the thickness of the faux pick. There’s a subtle seam, with a silver lock on the side that clicks gently when you press on it. The locket swings open, and inside is a snug photo of you and Eddie. You can pinpoint exactly when the photo was taken; it was at your birthday party two years ago, both of you laughing with cake icing on the tips of your nose. The photo is in dramatic black and white, but you can still picture how obnoxiously red your cheeks were with Eddie’s arm slung around your shoulder, pulling you into him as you two lost it over God knows what. 

You feel yourself beginning to tear up, completely stunned, “I- Oh my God, Eddie. I don’t know what to say.”

“You can start with how I’m the best friend ever,” he cheekily grins, wiggling his eyebrows at you as you let out a breathless laugh. 

“It’s…God, it’s beautiful. This- This is too much, Eddie. I can’t imagine how expensive-”

“Nope,” he cuts you off quickly, waving his hands frantically, refusing to listen to your lecture. He didn’t care if it had cost him everything he owned, down to the clothes on his back - it was worth it to see that look on your face. “Don’t even start, sweetheart. One of Wayne’s friends at the plant has a wife who makes jewelry for a living. We got the family discount because she thought the idea was so dang adorable,” his voice pitches to mock the mystery woman, and it makes you tearily laugh some more. 

You look back down at the open locker, finger tracing over the opposite side from the photo. 

E. It’s engraved in cursive. As if you’d ever forget the initial of the boy in the photo - the boy in front of you. 

“You really had to choose the photo that made me look like a dork, didn’t you?” you softly tease under your breath, staring at the memory in unfiltered fondness. 

“Someone’s got to keep you humble,” he retorts. 

You ignore his comment, standing quickly and holding the necklace out to him, “Help me put it on?” 

He doesn’t hesitate to leap off the bed to your side, taking the chain gingerly before you turn and face your back to him. His movements are careful and deliberate as he brushes your hair off to the side, cold fingers skimming over your skin and sending shivers down your spine before he loops the necklace around the front of your chest. You can feel his warm breath on the nape of your neck as he fiddles with the clasp for a few moments before finding success. 

“Aha! Perfect,” he claps as you spin around, grinning giddily at the weight that sits naturally between your collarbones. It gives you a sense of security, a sense of comfort, a sense of home. 

“Thank you, Eddie,” you earnestly say, voice crumbling with emotions as your smile shines and you lift a hand to pinch the necklace between two fingers. The locket is smooth as you rub over it, “I love it.” 

His face reflects your happiness right back before you suddenly throw yourself forward, wrapping your arms tightly around his shoulders and pulling him into a bone-crushing hug. He returns it immediately, squeezing you back just as strongly. You both melt into the hug, comfortable as you eventually beginning to just-barely-sway in the middle of Eddie’s room, chests pressed together as hearts beat in sync. 

“Merry Christmas, sweetheart,” he murmurs against your hair before placing a chaste kiss on your temple. 

“Merry Christmas, Eds.” 

You finally pull away, both of you returning to your original positions on the bed. Gifts are scattered around you, mixing with candy and wrappers, as Eddie pulls up his stocking and begins to shake it upside down. 

“There’s not any more gifts, Eddie, you already opened them-” you cut yourself off, the smile that had your cheeks aching still fading when a piece of paper flutters from his stocking. 

Oh no. 

“No more gifts, you say?” he smirks in your direction, picking up the folded note, “What’s this, then?” 

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. 

You’d forgotten about that. When you’d been wrapping Eddie’s gifts the night before, Robin had joined you to keep you company. The two of you had broken into a few bottles of wine around the house when you had a bright idea (at least, at the time it seemed bright. Now, it was the dumbest idea you’d ever had. Ever.). Coupons for Eddie, ranging from redemption for kisses to redemption for more… explicit acts. To be fair, Robin had egged you on, knowing of your hopeless crush of two years on your best friend. You’d folded each ‘coupon’ and sealed them with kisses from red lipstick the two of you had dug out of your desk drawers. You’d chickened out when the buzz from the wine faded, and pulled all of the ridiculous notes out before properly filling the stocking with his actual gifts. 

Or at least, you thought you’d gotten all of the notes out. Clearly, you hadn’t. 

“Don’t open that!” you blurt out, lurching forward and attempting to snatch the paper from Eddie. It only makes his smirk grow, hand shooting out away from you, glancing wildly between you and the kiss-stained paper. 

“Now you’ve really got me curious,” he mocks, pulling a face at you as he brings the paper back to his face, beginning to unfold it. 

“No, Eddie, seriously, don’t read it. Please. It was so stupid, I- Robin and I were drinking, and I just…” you trail off in your explanation as he completely disregards you and his eyes trail over your scribbled words. 

You didn’t even know which one had been left behind. You could only hope it was one of the less vulgar ones. 

“Is this a joke?” he asks softly. You’re shocked - you’d expected merciless teasing. Not whatever look was currently in his eyes. 

“What?” you ask, trying to peer over to see what the paper said. Depending on which dumb coupon it was, your answer would change, “I- Sort of. Maybe. No. I don’t know.” 

You begin to wring your hands in your lap, waiting for him to respond. You felt so nauseated you considered escaping to the bathroom. Maybe you could die of embarrassment in the Munson men’s bathtub. 

But then you remember it’s the Munson men’s bathtub, and decide the better fate may lay here, Eddie glancing up at you with moving curiosity, eyebrows furrowed. 

Your cheeks burn crimson as you wish for the Earth to swallow you whole. 

“Yes or no? Is it a joke?” he asks again, a stern tone that manages to not come across angry. 

Your stomach and chest twist in sync, “No. It isn’t a joke.” 

Suddenly, Eddie is taking the note and thrusting it towards you, eyes blown wide and chest heaving. 

“Then I’d like to redeem it now, please.” 

You don’t realize it, but the room had started spinning the moment Eddie had read what was written down. It felt like a dream - a dream he’d indulged in with no hopes of it ever coming true for an embarrassingly long amount of time now. 

Your hands shake as you reach out to take the note from him, and you look down to see just how much drunk you had screwed you over in this moment. 

In your messy handwriting, it reads: Coupon for Eddie Munson - good for one (1) kiss. To be redeemed at Eddie’s discretion. 

You breathe out a sigh of relief, thankful it wasn't a vulgar one, before the reality of what Eddie had just requested hits you.  

“Did you just- did you just say you want to redeem it now?” 

Eddie nods, a determined look crossing his face, “Yes, please.” 

You both stare at each other for a moment, letting the emotions in the air sink in. It takes a moment before you both break out into withheld, shy smiles. 

“Okay,” you sigh. 

Before you can overthink it, you’re both leaning forward, Eddie’s hands cupping your cheeks as his lips meet yours tenderly. It’s just a peck, nothing more, but it sends your heart into cardiac arrest. You can still taste the jolly ranchers on his lips, and he tastes the sweet mint of the candy cane on yours. 

You both pull back slightly, his hands not leaving your face, knees pressing together. Your eyes had fluttered close, and you don’t have the guts to open them quite yet and face the consequences of what had just happened between the two of you. 

“I like you,” you admit quietly, your entire body tensing as you await rejection.

It doesn’t come. Instead, you’re met with the sound of Eddie’s gentle voice, “I like you, too.” 

Your eyes finally spring open to already find him staring at you with adoration. “You do?” 

“Of course I do, sweetheart. I let you touch my first sweetheart. I only give that privilege to the prettiest of girls,” he laughs, eyes flickering to your lips but still keeping his distance. 

“You’ve only let me have that privilege.” 

“Exactly.” 

He finally closes the distance again, lips slotting against yours as if they’re meant to be. Something clicks in the Universe, something that says that this is right and meant to happen. Two years of silent and hopeless pining, only to find out both your feelings were returned. It leaves the two of you delirious as you both deepen the kiss. Somehow, Eddie ends up scooting up his bed until his back meets the wall where his headboard would be if he had one, you straddling his lap. It’s all still so innocent; just the two of you, soft and sickly sweet kisses as you hold one another as if you expect the other to vanish. 

“Merry Christmas, Eds,” you repeat your earlier statement and reach up to his gifted locket on instinct now. It feels right. You and him this close, you and him kissing, the photo of you resting against your chest where it belongs. 

“Best Christmas ever,” he chuckles before he captures you in another kiss. 

He’s right. It’s safe to say the two of you struggle to ever top that Christmas. You make it a running joke to always include coupons in his stocking from that year on. Each year, the coupons get better, sometimes raunchy and sometimes just downright adorable. 

Good for one cuddle. 

Good for one blowjob (don’t waste it).

Good for one surprise date night. 

They’re always fairly clever, and each year, he thinks you get closer to topping that first note. 

But it’s not until years down the road, when the two of you sit across from each other in your now shared living room, in some big city you now call home, that he knows that he had finally topped that year. The look on your face when you dig into the bottom of your stocking, finding the small box that contains the diamond ring he’d been saving up for ever since that first kiss, tells him everything he needs to know. 

It’s still pretty nice when he hears you squeal yes out loud, though.

[munson-blurbs]

Hi! I love your Trope or Treat idea! May I please request a story with a Warhead OR an M&M (I love angst and friends to lovers, so whatever you feel like writing at the time) with a Butterfinger and Eddie Munson? Please and thank you 😊🍬🍭🎃

Unrequited love/Shy!Reader/Eddie Munson (also requested by @randomreader1999)

Warnings: angst, rejection

WC: 500

Divider credit to @saradika

He’s staring again.

You can see him across the cafeteria, nibbling on a pretzel while his eyes remain laser-focused on you. He’s been like this for the past week, ever since Mr. Ames assigned the two of you to be lab partners. Taking a deep sigh, you turn to Barb and Nancy.

“Can one of you tell him to stop?”

Barb offers a sarcastic chuckle, shaking her head. “Just…tell him you’re not interested.” She’s trying to be helpful, giving a straightforward and tactful answer, but you know it isn’t that simple.

“Ames told me that this is the first time he’s ever had Eddie show up to class more than two days in a row,” you point out. “And he said it’s, and I quote, ‘not a coincidence’ that it’s when he partnered us up.”

Nancy takes a brief glance in Eddie’s direction before looking back at you. “He’s really not a bad guy,” she reasons. “I interviewed him and his band for the paper once, and he was pretty nice. Intense, for sure, but sweet.”

“And therein lies the problem,” you counter, “I don’t do ‘intense.’ I don’t make tabletop cafeteria speeches, or confront Jason Carver at every turn, or tell teachers to ‘kiss my ass’ when they ask me to turn in my homework.” Your personality couldn’t be further from that if you tried.

“Incoming,” Barb mutters under her breath. 

Before you can scramble from your seat, you feel two fingers tap your shoulder. 

“Hey, partner,” Eddie says, giving a tight, awkward wave. “Did you, uh, wanna study tonight?”

Your brows furrow in confusion. “We don’t have a test.”

“Oh, right.” His cheeks tinge pink with embarrassment. “Would you wanna just grab some pizza? Or we can go get burgers at Benny’s?”

His little hopeful smile tugs at your heart. You almost say yes, desperate to avoid further conversation, but then you consider the prospect of him standing on a table at the diner. And what if you ended up in a relationship with him? Would he pull you up on stage at one of his shows? Kiss you in front of your locker where anyone could see your outright public display of affection? 

“Um, I don’t know if that’s a good idea.” You can’t even make eye contact with him, keeping your gaze trained on the ground. When you still see his scuffed Reeboks next to your chair, you indulge him with an explanation. “We’re really different, y’know? I don’t know if it’ll work.”

“Opposites attract, right?” he tries, biting his lip when you still don’t agree. “O-Okay. Sorry to bother you, or whatever.”

Your voice is barely audible, just a tiny squeak, when you ask, “I’ll see you in chem later?”

“Nah,” he shakes his head with a terse laugh, “not really feeling it today.”

You, Barb, and Nancy watch as he walks back to the Hellfire table, utterly defeated.

“Well,” Nancy says with a shrug, “you sure made him quiet that time.”

--

[hunn1e-bunn1e]

Hello dear Benny! I’ve been following your work for a long time, and I want to say that I’m inspired by you! I really like your works and I’m looking forward to new ones! If it’s not difficult for you, I’d like to see headcanons from you with Solomon, and M!Y/N who is the master for making magic weapons! If you don’t like this order, you don’t have to do it, I won’t be offended! **this is my first request, I’m very embarrassed.**

Solomon - With A Magic Blacksmith Male Reader

🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.

0rder up! 🌾Wheat anon, you have no Idea how hard it was for me not to just skip straight to this ask because I absolutely loved the idea you gave! I hope these are up to your standards. Also sorry it took so long. —Benny🐰

                                                                                                   

🌌•♡•🌌•♡•🌌•♡•🌌•♡•🌌•♡•🌌•♡•🌌•♡•🌌

⚒ To say Solomon thought of you as nothing special at first glance would be a bit of an understatement. He truly thought you were just some poor sap that the prince of the devildom scooped up from the realm of humanity. However, he was quickly proven wrong when sensed a peculiar magic within you that he had never encountered before. Consider Solomon's interest peaked.~

⚒ Though he lives in a different building and has different classes, Solomon made it a point to corner you in the hallways of RAD more than a few times to get to the bottom of your curious magical signature. But no matter how hard he pressed or how many conversational traps he set you wouldn't budge; keeping your cards tightly to his chest. It seems that you took Lucifer's warnings very seriously.

⚒ And so the centuries-old wizard and king reluctantly let his curiosity take a back seat as he got to know you better. Met you on the way to and from RAD so the two of you could walk together, walk you to your class, have lunch with you, and offer to study with you; all the while he was drumming up conversations about your day, your likes and dislikes, morals, ambitions, etc.

⚒ Soon enough he came to develop feelings for you, though it seemed to come out of the blue in his perspective. He confessed his love for you in his usual teasing dialogue and thankfully you accepted. And well, Solomon has himself yet another boyfriend to add to the already miles-long list of lovers. It seems though, that your newly romantic relationship has loosened your lips a bit so to speak; so Solomon shoots his shot, and boy do you deliver. 

⚒ A blacksmith that specializes in enchanted and magical weaponry? How intriguing. Would you be at all willing to show him a few of your works? Or perhaps you could let him see you in action? Please excuse him, Solomon is just excited is all. He's never seen magic be applied quite like this before and he wants to know all about it. Though, the ancient wizard will talk your ears off with all kinds of questions; he won't let you go until they're answered.

⚒ If you do allow him to see you in action he'll be over the moon. Watching you combine magic with iron and steel as you slave away over your anvil fills him with absolute wonder. If you're up for it, Solomon will commission you to take home a special weapon. Nothing specific, he'll give you full creative freedom and reign over decision-making; as long as it's from you he's satisfied.

⚒ Truly, Solomon often wonders how he found himself a boyfriend as talented as yourself and what he did to deserve you.

🌌•♡•🌌•♡•🌌•♡•🌌•♡•🌌•♡•🌌•♡•🌌•♡•🌌

🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.

Wanna see similar content? Check out my Masterlist!

[lacontroller1991]

Next Door Neighbor (Edward Teller x F!Reader)

Main Master List || MISC Master List

Requested by @mariedork : I don't know if you're still writing for the fandom/taking requests, but I'd love to request something about Teller and fem. reader. maybe something like reader is helping Teller with research at Los Alamos (I know the real teller was married but oh well) you're both into each other but trying to be professional, maybe use the prompt "we're in public you know"

Summary: You and Teller often butt heads until one night the tensions tip over and feelings are revealed.

Author's Note: This is clearly based on Benny Safdie as Edward Teller from the movie. If you do not like, do not read. Also sorry if I butched the Hungarian. I do not speak it and I tried my best with the translator.

Warnings: Smut 18+, p in v, penile penetration, enemies to lovers, language, orgasm, female anatomy, male anatomy, slight misogynistic tone

Word Count: 4.2k

----------

The car ride is long and boring. Even the cheerful music from the radio couldn’t lift your spirits, not when you are being more or less shipped away to Los Alamos from your home in Berkeley. You suppose you should be grateful for the opportunity to work in close proximity to some of the greatest scientific minds of your time, but you would prefer it if you could stay in Berkeley and work under your doctoral advisor. 

Seeming to sense your remaining frustration, Ernest Lawrence looks over to you, closing the folder in his hands and setting it in his lap. “You know, the more you frown, the more you’re going to get wrinkles,” he chuckles, poking your cheek causing you to frown even more.

“I still don’t know why you picked me over Lomanitz. Wouldn’t he be better at this?”

“Nah, I trust you more. Besides, you have better political ties than he does. You won’t be an issue.” He turns back to his dossier as you huff, looking out the window and watching as the brown landscape passes by.

After hours of driving, the car slowly comes to a stop, jostling you awake. Lawrence is the first to get out, moving towards his friend. Picking up your stuff, you manage to stumble out of the car, your legs miserably sore from the constant sitting. 

“Physics side New Mexico, huh? My God, what a trek.” Lawrence smiles as he shakes Oppenheimer’s hand.

“That’s why you need a liaison,” Oppenheimer replies while Ernest tilts his head toward you.

“I’m appointing (Y/L/N).” Oppenheimer looks at you and smiles softly before gesturing to the driver to get your bags. 

“You’re going to be okay.” You nod your head as Oppenheimer tilts his head. “Come now, we have much to discuss.” You and Lawrence follow Oppenheimer inside the building and you can’t deny how impressed you are at all of the different things going on inside. You watch in silence as Lawrence greets General Groves while Oppenheimer throws a couple of marbles into a glass bowl, causing the crowd to clap. Looking around the room, you note some familiar faces. Richard Feynman, who you’ve run into a couple of times. Of course Robert Serber, whom you’ve worked with and surprisingly Edward Teller, though you doubt he notices you. You remember bumping into him on a day that he was visiting Berkeley and then him immediately (and assumingly) exclaiming curse words in Hungarian before noticing you and shutting up. Gulping, you set down your jacket on a chair and hang in the back, out of site and out of mind.

“Well, here’s where you’ll be staying. I know it’s not much, but it does the job. Don’t mind your neighbor. We’ve gotten several complaints about him playing the piano late at night, so if it does disrupt your sleep, just let us know, we’ll figure something out,” the usher comments as you look around the bland room turning back to look at Lawrence in annoyance and even the ever so optimistic Lawrence looks like he shares some of your pity. The usher quickly leaves you and Lawrence alone.

“You owe me Ernest.”

“I promise. But you’re going to be fine. You have Oppie. He’ll help you!” Lawrence pats you on the back with a smile before looking around the barren room. “I think you can definitely spruce it up.” His comment isn’t appreciated and he can tell. Frowning, he slowly backs out of the room. “Well, do good. Don’t mess up and don’t make me look bad. Good luck.” He darts out of the room before you have the chance to say anything else. Dropping your bags, you let out a huff of annoyment. 

“Just be thankful. Just be thankful.”

—-------

The days go by faster than you initially thought. Work is hard, sure, but working with several of the smartest minds helps the work go by quickly. The nights, on the other hand, are a completely different story. Since the night you got there, you’ve been tossing and turning in your bed, slowly drifting to sleep only to be woken by the slamming of a piano. Each night this happens, and each night you only get a few hours of sleep. 

The piano slams again, causing you to let out a loud sigh of discontent. Throwing back your blanket, you swing your legs out of the bed and put on your robe, intending to give your neighbor a piece of your mind.

Walking out into the cold desert night, you stomp over to the house and knock sharply against the door, hearing the piano stop and chair scraping against wood, you tap your foot against the patio and wait for your neighbor to answer the door. What you don’t expect, however, is to see Edward Teller on the other side; and based on his reaction, he wasn’t expecting to see you too.

“What do you want?”

“I want to sleep, but your piano playing is preventing me from getting any,” you comment, your arms wrapped around your body as he raises an eyebrow in amusement. 

“And that’s bothering you? Tünj el!” You can tell that he is annoyed by your comment, but you frankly don’t care.

“No. It’s the slamming the keyboard that is annoying me. It’s not hard playing Bartók.” You can see his eyes widen at the mention of the composer, almost as if asking ‘you actually know him?’. “And for the record. I do know him.” Teller stiffens, looking more intimidating by the second.

“Alright, if you know so much about Bartók, why don’t you play.” His Hungarian accent is thicker than it was a few seconds ago. Not being one to back down from a challenge, you brush past him into his house and sit down at the piano, aware of the holes that Teller was drilling into your head. Reading the sheet music, you let out a little scoff as you turn back to him.

“What about this is confusing you?” Silence. “Well?”

“Just play.” Shrugging your shoulders, you turn back to the piano and place your hands on the keys. As if it was instinctual, your fingers dance across the ivory keys, playing note for note Allegro Barbaro while Teller watches on in amazement, though he will never admit that. Finishing the piece, you sit at the piano for a few seconds before turning around to face the physicist. 

“Satisfied?”

“Are you like this with your studies?”

“Naturally.”

“No wonder why they call you Lawrence’s protégé.” The comment causes you to blush. Of course you and Lawrence work closely together, and you guess you could say you’re one of his best students, but that doesn’t mean you’re a protégé. Nodding your head, you quickly stand up and fix your robe.

“Right. Well. Now that you know how to play it, please don’t slam the keyboard. It wears the piano down.” Teller furrows his brows and tilts his head, taking a step closer to you. Maybe it’s lack of sleep, or maybe it’s loneliness, but you feel a pull towards him and you don’t know what to make of it. He takes another step closer until you can feel his breath on your face and it causes your heart to race. “Well, I- I should probably get going,” you stutter out, dipping away from his body and rushing out the door, unaware of the way his eyes follow.

—-------

After finally being able to get some sleep, you wake up in the morning refreshed. By the time you get to your lab it is already bustling with personnel. If you thought that the Rad Lab in Berkeley was always busy, it really doesn’t compare to this.

“Ah, there you are,” you jump in surprise and turn around to Oppenheimer, hands clasped behind his back. “Lawrence called last night and asked me to pass along these measurements,” he hands you a piece of paper with writing on it. Clutching it in your hands, you nod in thanks, turning to leave but his hand reaches for your wrist. “Wait.” 

“Yes Dr. Oppenheimer?” He lets go of your wrist and leans back on his heels, rocking back and forth.

“How are you finding it here? I haven’t seen much of you around and Lawrence asked me to keep an eye out for you.” Smiling softly, you turn your body towards the physicist. 

“It’s alright. Nothing like Berkeley. I have finally been able to get some sleep.”

Nodding his head in response, he lights a cigarette and huffs it a couple of times before offering it to you, which you decline. “Good, well, keep up the good work.” He doesn’t say much else before skirting away. Shrugging your shoulders, you look down at the piece of paper, trying to make out what Oppie wrote before getting to work.

—-------

The sun has well past set in the sky by the time you gather your things. You suppose one of the good things about working here is that you can make your own hours versus the 22 hour days Lawrence would occasionally have you pulling. Shutting off the lights, you walk down the hall, noting that most of the staff has left by now, except for a room emitting a soft glow. 

Peering your head into the room, you see Teller standing at a board, chalk scribbles scattered across and his suspenders down with his shirt untucked. Assuming the lack of assembly in his dress, he’s probably not having much luck with his work. Setting your coat and bag on a chair, you walk over to him and the board, getting a much better view of the problem. 

Hearing your footsteps, Teller quickly turns around and lets out a stream of curse words at your presence. “Nice to see you too,” you quickly fire back, stopping at his side and crossing your arms, eyes gazing on the board.

“Now what do you want?” You can tell that he is annoyed, but you frankly don’t care. 

“I was planning on going home but I saw the light in here was on so I was wondering who is doing what. So, what are you doing?” 

“I’m trying to find another component to make this more powerful than Oppenheimer’s bomb,” you don’t know if it’s frustration or tiredness, but his accent seems to get heavier the more you hear him talk.

“What have you got so far?” He looks over at you and scoffs, turning back to the board.

“A student like you wouldn’t know.”

“Try me.” 

“Deuterium needs to react with something else to ignite the fusion process, but I can’t seem to think of one that would work.” He runs a hand through his hair and you can’t help but to notice how handsome the Hungarian actually is and it has your heart racing.

“What about deuterium AND tritium?” His head slowly turns to you as if saying ‘are you serious?’ “What? Try it.” He scoffs but still inputs tritium into the equation and after a few minutes, he leans back, his face red. “Well?”

“Don’t play smug,” he quickly grabs his stuff and pushes past you, rushing out of the door, leaving you to stare at the board.

“I didn’t actually expect that to work,” you laugh to yourself before grabbing your stuff and heading in for the night.  

—-------

The cyclotron hums softly in the background and if it wasn’t for people bustling around you, you’re sure you would’ve fallen asleep. Leaning back in your chair, you stretch your body with a yawn, cracking your neck from the stiffness. Scooting your chair back, you fix your outfit before heading out and walking down the hall where you know the coffee will be, but your name being said stops you in your tracks. Following the sound of the voice, you creep towards an open room, staying out of the doorframe and straining your ear.

“I can’t have her here. She is compromising my work!” Ok, so it’s Teller, but who is he talking to?

“It seems she’s helping you more than she’s compromising. Lawrence wouldn’t have sent her here if he didn’t have faith in her, and I trust Lawrence,” Oppenheimer comments as you creep closer. It’s pretty obvious that they’re talking about you, but why?

“A girl shouldn’t be working here, it’s too dangerous.” You jolt your head back in confusion. Sure, you knew that Teller probably hates your guts, but you didn’t think he would hate you this bad. 

“Edward, she is just as good, if not better, than half of the scientists here. I am not going to get rid of her just because she ‘insulted’ your work.” You can distinctly hear Teller cursing before he’s walking out the door and right into you. His hard features soften upon seeing your eyes, slightly glossy, but it’s clear that you’re hurt by his words. Instead of speaking to you, he just dips his head and moves around you, rushing away leaving you standing there with an empty coffee mug. “I wouldn’t take it to heart, he doesn’t think that 90% of the staff should be here,” Oppenheimer comments from behind, causing you to jump in shock. 

“It’s stupid, we’re all here for the same thing. We’re all here because we’re good enough AND smart enough to work on this project, no matter our gender.” Robert nods his head in agreement, inhaling smoke from his pipe. 

“Just ignore him. Works for everyone else here.” He pats you on the back before moving to leave 

“Hey, Robert?” He turns around to face you. “Thank you.” Robert nods his head before walking away.

----------

The clock reads 11:04 by the time you wrap up your work for the day. You knew that the days were going to be long before you came here, but you didn’t expect them to be this long. “God I’m so hungry.”

“It’s a good thing I brought some food.” His voice carries through the room, causing you to whip your head through the door only to spot the Hungarian physicist standing in the doorway, a paper bag in his hand.

“What are you doing here? I thought that you don’t want me here, let alone bring me food.” You can see his cheeks blush crimson ever so slightly as he makes his way over to you, sitting in the chair opposite of the control panel but still in your sight. 

“I wanted to apologize. I shouldn’t have said those things.” His apology has your eyebrows raising in shock.

“Edward Teller? Apologizing? What world am I living in?” 

“Don’t make me take it back,” he warns before scooting his chair next to yours, opening the bag and pulling out the contents. “I made some pörkölt. As an apology.” He pushes the tumbler towards you with a spoon and you’re not really sure how to react. After a moment, you take the spoon and bring a mouthful of the stew to your mouth. You don’t know what you were expecting it to taste like, but you definitely weren’t expecting it to be good. 

“This is actually prett-” you can’t finish your sentence before you feel a pair of lips against yours, causing your eyes to go wide. After the shock factor dissolves, you quickly push him away, confusion written all over your face. “What the hell?”

He pulls back in confusion as well, his bushy eyebrows furrowing over his blue eyes. “Have I been reading you wrong? Are you not into me?” You have to resist the urge to slap him. Instead, you rapidly stand up, pointing a finger at him.

“Do you seriously have the audacity to ask me that? You keep me up at night with your piano playing, and then get mad when I try to help you. Then you get mad when I help you with your project. Then you insult me, talking about me behind my back, and you think that I like you? Why on earth would I be into you?” He knows you’re lying. He can tell by the way your chest raises up and down and pupils dilate. Chuckling, he stands up from his chair and steps in front of you with slight hesitation. 

Grabbing a hold of your biceps, his blue eyes peer into yours. “I know you’re lying.” He doesn’t say another thing before he’s dipping his head down and pressing his lips against yours. You try to fight back, but deep down inside you can’t deny how right it feels. Giving in, your arms come up and wrap around his shoulders, anchoring him to you as you walk back until you’re pressed against a wall. It’s a minute before you break away, both of you gasping for air, his body heat radiating to you and it makes you nervous. 

“We shouldn’t, we’re in public you know.” He scoffs and looks around the room, especially the dark windows and dark hallway.

“No one is here,” he replies as his hands drop to your hips, his thumbs brushing your skin underneath your shirt. “If it’s that much of a problem, we can go back to my place.” His offer has you pausing for a minute, but if you’re being honest with yourself, you don’t mind getting down and dirty in the lab. Shrugging your shoulders, your hands push off his jacket as he lets it fall to the floor, his head slotted between your head and shoulder. 

“I think I’m good here,” you can feel the smirk of his lips against your neck as his teeth drag across your skin, causing your eyes to flutter shut. Pulling you into him, you’re completely enveloped by his warmth as his hands creep lower, one hand resting on the small of your back and the other on your ass, fingers flexing as if he wants to do more but there’s still some hesitation. “Teller…”

“Edward, please.”

“Edward, you know you can touch me,” the confirmation is all he needs before he’s hoisting you into the air and carrying you over to a desk, placing you down and slotting himself between your legs. You watch as he breaks away from you, shoving down his suspenders and loosening his tie. Reaching between your bodies, you pop the buttons of your shirt off and chuck it to the floor, exposing your breasts which catch his attention. Wasting no time, his hands find themselves on your breasts, squeezing firmly, causing arousal to pool in between your legs. It’s been a while since you’ve been with a man. Working in the Rad Lab under Lawrence doesn’t really give you much of a life, let alone a love life, so just having another man touch you is really enough to send you spiraling. “Edward, I can’t wait,” you whine, your hands finding his belt as he lets out a huff of amusement. 

“That impatient, hmm?” You nod your head in response, hopping down from the table to remove your skirt and underwear as he works on his slacks, pulling out his member with ease. Shoving his hand out of the way you take hold of his growing arousal and flick your wrist up and down in languid motions, causing him to let out a low moan. Despite the fact that your hand is jerking him off, it is odd to you to see the impersonal Edward Teller so vulnerable.

Deciding that enough was enough, Teller gently removes your hand and picks you up with ease, placing you down on the desk as he slots himself between your legs. “You ready?” Nodding your head, your heart races with anticipation. You can hear soft Hungarian coming from his lips as he guides the head of his shaft between your folds before slowly pushing in, him grunting softly and you squeezing your eyes shut, trying to relax your body as much as possible. “Are you okay?” His blue eyes peer down to yours as his thumbs softly run across your hips.

Swallowing down any pain, you nod your head, wiggling your hips as you stretch around him. “Yeah, I’m fine.” He hesitated but nodded his head, a strand of his dark hair falling on his forehead as he slowly moves in and out of you, his brows furrowed in concentration. After a minute of him holding himself back, pleasure starts replacing the pain and it has your toes curling. He feels.. just right, you think to yourself as your eyes find him as lust taking over. “You can go faster.” It’s all the instruction he needs before his pace picks up and it causes you to snort. Who would have thought that Teller can actually take direction?

“What’s so funny?” His voice stirs you back to the reality of him above you, hands digging into your hips and you don’t doubt that it will leave a bruise or two. Reaching up, you thread your hands through his soft hair and pull his face down to yours, your lips meeting halfway with his as the desk creaks underneath you. The already stiff room slowly starts to swelter as sweat begins to glisten both of your bodies. Breaking away from the kiss, Teller places his head between your shoulder and neck, biting down on your exposed flesh as he thrusts into you rapidly. Your legs wrap around his hips, bringing him in impossibly closer and it causes you to let out a loud moan and you can feel his lips twitch upward against your neck.

“That’s right, keep making sounds for me édesem.” You’re not really sure what he’s saying,  but you’d be lying if you said that it didn’t turn you on, and he notices. Straightening his posture, he looks down at you with a smirk as his hips rock against yours. “Does me speaking Hungarian turn you on édesem?” You clench around him, accidentally proving your point and you cringe before he leans back over you, his member hitting a deeper angle that has your eyes rolling in the back of your head. “Micsoda mocskos lány.” He whispers against your ear, one hand reaching down between your bodies and finding your clit causing you to whine. “Alig várom, hogy elélvezz nekem.”

“Edward.” Your moan echoes in his ear as his fingers deftly rub your clit. 

“Fogadok, hogy tetszik. Ugye, mocskos kislányom?” You hate to admit it, and you’ll probably deny it, but hearing him speak in his mother tongue has your orgasm nearing. 

“Please,” you beg, your nails scratching against his back. “I need to cum.” Nodding his head, his hips shallowly grind against your, his dick dragging against your velvety walls as his fingers continue to rub your bundle of nerves. 

“Cum nekem, Szerelmem. Cum for me,” the switch back to English sends you toppling over the edge and you clench around his member, your orgasm crashing through your body as he continues to thrust in and out of you despite his hips beginning to falter. “Bassza meg, olyan gyönyörű vagy.” He grunts, his thrusts becoming erratic. “Where?”

“On me.” Nodding his head, he quickly pulls out with a moan and shoots his spend all over your stomach, his chest heaving up and down as his eyes flutter shut in relief for a second. After he comes down from his high he looks down at you with a smile. 

“Olyan gyönyörű vagy alattam.” He grabs a couple of napkins from the bag and wipes your stomach as you prop yourself up on your arms, body glistening with sweat.

“What were you saying?” He smiles before helping you down from the table as the two of you start redressing. 

“Nothing important, édesem. We should probably clean up,” he gestures to the floor around you littered with papers. When did they get knocked off?

“Huh, I don’t remember them falling off,” you comment, kneeling on the ground with shaky legs and picking up the papers, Teller helping you before a throat clears in the hallway, causing the both of you to look up.

“If you guys are going to fuck, please keep it out of the lab,” Oppenheimer comments, puffing his pipe before walking away causing you to tilt your head in shame and Teller to quickly stand up, his face beet red.

“You do this too! Seggfej!” The room falls quiet as tension grows between you and Teller stand awkwardly across from each other. 

“So.” 

“So.”

“What did this mean?” You ask as you turn away, placing the papers back on the desk and fixing them, trying to avoid his gaze in case he rejects you.

Teller takes a step towards you as his hand cups your face and turns it to him. “It means that I like you. I know it doesn’t seem like that, but I do. You challenge me in a way that not alot of other people can do and I want that in my life. I want you in my life. If you want to be?” A smile graces your face as you nod your head.

“Yeah, I think I’ll like that.” Teller smiles in response, dropping his hand from your face and gathering his things.

“Good, would you like for me to accompany you home?” 

“We’re heading the same way, so sure,” offering him a smile, you flip off the lights to the lab and take his hand in yours, “next time though, let’s do it somewhere else.”

[bandnerdlevel43]

Day Three- Reunion (Modern)

Lu Legend x Ravio (Ravioli) 

Summary: Ravio has been off on a business trip with Hilda for a month now, and Legend has been getting lonely. Now he's coming back- right on the day of the chain’s jazz band performance.

Word Count: 6,911 (This is a long one)

Warnings: If you read my first fic, you know I don’t swear but it’s there for the vibe; Legend has anxiety, Legend has a flashback in a flashback involving non graphic stab wounds and a reference to his dead uncle, improper use of a trumpet spit valve, Fable is a menace, Four has to deal with her, author has several agendas and she is pushing ALL of them today, fluff at the end, super über long fic

A/N (Please read this, it's important): I'm back! I procrastinated this one for way too long, but I finally finished it! I somehow also managed to finish day four and five before this one, so those will also be posted with this. Go check them out here and here!

…Anyways, it's time for me to come clean. I'm a band kid. And a proud one, too. I saw this post and went absolutely nuts, so of course I had to write about a jazz band au. Give the post some love (since op is inactive) because most of it was the basis for this au.

Important part: The last song they play in this fic is “Want You Gone” by the 8-Bit Big Band, feat. Benny Benack III, and I suggest you listen to it! The lyrics are hilarious but if you don’t listen to it before the fic itself you’ll get lost very easily. If you see any music words you’re unfamiliar with, either throw me an ask or you can look it up on your browser. Sorry for the long note; I hope you enjoy!

----

Good news: We’re on our way back! We’ll be home by the twenty-third.

We have a performance that day.

I won’t see you.

I can drop in. Don’t worry! We’ll make it, I promise.

Alright. Love you.

I love you too, Link.

“Texting your boyfriend?” Fable chirped.

Legend jumped, shielding his phone and glaring at his sister. “None of your business,” he spat.

Fable grinned, toying with the reed in her fingers. “You sure you don’t have that message memorized?”

“Shut up,” he hissed.

Wind blew into his trombone, imitating a wolf-whistle while wiggling his eyebrows. Legend snorted. “Real mature, Sailor.”

Sky paused the plucking of his bass’s strings, his eyes flicking from his tuner to Legend as his brows furrowed. “Isn’t he coming back today?”

“Yep,” Fable trilled gleefully. “And Legend is beside himself with lovesickness!”

“Fable!” Legend growled. Great goddesses, could she be any more insufferable?

Well, apparently she could. “His lonely heart, separated from his lover for what seemed like years,” she sighed, swooning dramatically. “Tonight they'll reunite in a passionate embrace, proclaiming their love to-”

Twilight appeared from behind her and swatted her upside the head. “Leave ‘im alone,” he chided. While Fable scampered away, giggling, he tossed a tiny bottle to Wind, who snatched it out of the air. “Slide grease.”

“Thanks, Rancher.” Wind saluted. 

“Anything you two need?” Twilight asked, looking at Sky and Legend. Both shook their heads. 

“Hey, Twilight!” Four sauntered up to the small gathering, tenor sax slung over his shoulder by the strap. “We need cork grease over here.” He blinked at Legend and pointed out needlessly, “Your face is red. You okay?”

Legend didn't think his face could heat any further. He was wrong. “I'm fine,” he muttered.

“He's just madly in love,” Wind said mischievously. Both Fable and Sky snickered. He glared at them, Sky in particular. I thought better of you, bird boy.

Four's lips twitched upwards in a smirk. “Ah. This is about Ravio.”

Legend dropped his head into his hands with a groan. Fable, for some bizarre reason that Legend couldn't place, thought this was hilarious, and cackled.

“Reign it in, loverboy.” Four leaned against the wall. “You still need to warm up, and no one likes to hold a cold hand.”

Legend kicked at his knee. “Watch it,” he threatened, “Or I'll make your lifespan as short as you are.”

A chorus of “oohs” sounded around the room. Four chuckled, patting him on the shoulder. “Cheer up. You'll get your kisses soon.”

Fable howled hysterically, slapping her thigh. Legend could feel how red his face was as Four ran through the smuggest scale he had ever heard. It wasn't even that witty, but Wind was still squeaking like a chipmunk, and of course Sky snorted. Twilight at least was trying his hardest to appear indifferent, but Legend knew how hard it was to keep one's composure when Fable leans on you for support while wheezing directly in your ear.

“Ledge!” Wars hollered from backstage. “Get your sorry backside over here; I want to run through this song with you.”

Legend aimed one last petty kick at Four before standing. He hefted his case and stomped off, pointedly ignoring the way Fable pretended to faint into a scandalized Twilight's arms, crying, “Save me, Mister Hero!”

That shook him more than he'd have liked to admit. He bit his tongue to keep from throttling Fable for making fun of Ravio. Well, even if she hadn't mocked him, he still would've done it. And she still would've deserved it.

Wars watched him approach, his expression neutral. Legend thrust open his case aggressively and jammed the various pieces together. His jaw was tense and he avoided Wars’ gaze.

“Careful,” his brother commented. “You'll scratch her.”

Legend exhaled a controlled breath and quelled the ache in his gut that shouldn't exist in the first place. He suffocated it with thoughts of flats and sharps, of staccatos and tenudos, of the cool metal on his lips and fingertips, and of the notes both painted on the page and burned into his very soul. It was a familiar ritual that helped ease a bit of himself into the music, breathing color into the diverse melodies, rhythms, and even his brothers. It never failed, even when Fable did it with him.

Until today.

Somehow, his thoughts still circled back to his blasted boyfriend. His cheery grin had that same brightness as the sheen on his trumpet. His eyes danced with the same mischief that Sky eased from his bass. His arms would envelop him, soothing in a way that reminded him of playing with his brothers and sister. His tears spoke the same words as an instrument in need of care: always frustrated with himself and never anyone else. His hands- they shook before adversity. Just how Legend's own trembled right then, his mind's eye suddenly brimming with images of hundreds of people, Ravio in the midst of them, staring unsympathetically as his fingers stuttered. 

Legend cursed, his hands dropping to his sides. He flattened himself against the wall, sinking to the floor. Hylia, he could already tell he was going to mess up badly.  He had practiced these songs with the others for weeks, and it was about to mean nothing. To make matters worse, he had a solo. Not any old solo, either, but an improvised solo. Improvising solos was nothing new to him. This stabbing pain was new. It twisted at his heart like a common school bully to a poor victim's shirt. Loneliness (And yes, Farore strike him down, but Fable was right. He was lonely.) had him at its mercy. And now, Ravio was so close. Legend was going to fumble the solo in front of him, and that fear alone blurred his thoughts until he couldn't discern one tangled bundle of nerves from another.

Wars sat down next to him. He laid a hand on Legend's shoulder and asked softly, “Do you want to talk about it?”

Legend shook his head hopelessly. There was nothing he could say that Fable hadn't said already. Besides, with how Wars fixed him with those knowing eyes, he understood better than Legend himself did.

“Breathe with me, alright?” Wars let go of his shoulder, hand gesturing to his chest. Legend didn't have much pride to lose, so he complied. When Wars' chest rose, he breathed in. When it sank, he breathed out. In, two, three, four. Hold… Out, two, three, four. It didn't take much time before Legend grew irritated, thinking that this was taking too long. His time would be better spent practicing! He should be tuning, warming up, looking over his music again, anything! Not some barely effective breathing exercise that his brother only did when Wind was having stage fright, or when Sky struggled through an asthma attack. Or when Wild had a particularly bad flashback. Or when Rulie awoke, screaming, from a nightmare. Did… Did he really look that bad? That distressed?

Wars lifted his trumpet to his lips. “Tune me.”

With that, the sound of the instrument filled the room. Wild’s snare hidden in the corner rattled in complaint. He forced himself to block it out and focus on the note as it wavered in his ears, settling on something just a little off. “Pull it out,” Legend said, nodding to the tuning slide.

Wars adjusted the slide, and the pitch dropped. Well, now it's flat, Legend thought irritably. He pointed upwards. This time, Wars shifted the position of his lips on the mouthpiece, which finally sharpened the tone enough to satisfy the two of them.

“Keep playing.” Legend lifted his own trumpet to his face. He played the same note until they matched, then tested a handful of notes that harmonized with his brother's. There was not a single sign of dissention between the two. What he would give to simplify his emotions like that. 

“Ready?” asked the man beside him. 

“As I'll ever be,” Legend mumbled.

Wars patted him on the back and helped him up. “Remember, it's just like any other performance,” he assured him. “Just keep playing, and you'll do great “

“Thanks,” Legend grunted. 

“Don't worry about it.” Wars smiled. “Let's run through the program. Start on my mark: one, two, ready…”

Wild, Flora, Time and Hyrule returned with dinner. Those who remained behind joined them to eat. The meal was quick, consisting of a tray of sandwiches and a bowl of salad. Legend didn't feel like eating. Everyone, including him, was eager to get back to practice, now as a full band, and they wasted no time in getting to it.

Rehearsal flew by uncomfortably fast. Everything went smoothly, if by smoothly, one meant “absolute disaster”. Oh, everyone else was fine. Legend made too many mistakes. This only gave Fable and Wind more ammo to torment him with, and only after a harsh reprimand from Wars did they stop. He wanted to feel grateful for his intervention, but the seed had already been planted. Now it was performance time, and he couldn't help the sudden panic that attacked him. He hyperventilated. His hands were clammy and they shook uncontrollably. Only Hyrule's calm comfort prevented him from losing control.

“Shhh,” Rulie whispered, rubbing his hands gently. “It'll be okay, Legend, I promise.”

“I can't do it,” he gasped, feeling lightheaded. “I can't go out there.”

“Yes, you can,” Rulie told him forcefully. “You're going out on that stage and you're going to sound amazing.”

“I'm going to mess up,” Legend said, his voice wobbling. “I'm going to ruin the whole performance in front of him-”

“No, you won't,” he interrupted. “And even if you did, his opinion of you won't change. Ravio loves you no matter what.”

Legend didn't respond. Rulie squeezed him in a quick hug and guided him to where the rest of the band waited. “Breathe,” he reminded him.

Time nodded at the two of them. He handed Rulie his bass guitar, who accepted it graciously. “Are you two boys ready?”

“Yup,” Rulie responded confidently.

Wild bared his teeth in a grin, twirling a drumstick in his fingers. “Let's light ‘em up, boys.”

Fable and Wind both whooped, each bodychecking Four. Legend swallowed hard.

With that, they walked onto the stage. Applause immediately assaulted his ears, causing him to wince. He squinted into the spotlights, their dazzling beams glaring daggers into his eyes.  He searched the crowd anxiously, his heart thumping when he couldn't find Ravio. He wanted to slap himself for that. His head yelled at him to just focus. 

Instinctively, he glanced at Rulie. The freckle-dotted face smiled encouragingly, mouthing, “You got this!”

He had to admit, that lifted his spirits, just a little. He took his place at his designated music stand and stared it down, scowling at each note.

“You better not ruin this,” Legend whispered menacingly.

Wars, who had just joined him at the stand, shot him a funny look. “What?”

“Not you,” Legend muttered.

Time stepped up to the microphone. He started his usual introduction, and the crowd quieted to hear his words. Legend hardly listened. His mind was on his sweaty palms. He wiped them on his pants with a soft curse. Did his own body think wringing itself dry of any liquid was going to help him? Brushing his hair out of his eyes also resulted in damp droplets on his fingertips.

“Ledge,” Wars said in a hushed tone, “stop chewing your lip.”

Legend wanted to punch him. He was only trying to help, though, which of course made him want to punch him more. Still, he restrained himself, both from hitting Wars and from giving into his anxious habits.

Cheering announced the end of Time's speech. The old man dipped his head and swept his arm, gesturing at Wild. Wild smiled broadly, raised his drumsticks, and hollered with his typical unhinged energy the usual countdown: “ONE, TWO! ONE, TWO, READY, GO!”

A snap of wood on snare and a plethora of clicks on the hi-hat cracked through the air. Sky plucked an upbeat rhythm on his bass. Hyrule and Wind joined next, hopping from high to low, up and down, badum, badum. Fable’s entrance infused the band with her bright, energetic spirit. She swung and leaped from note to note while the bass drum thrummed in Legend's chest. Fable climbed a scale and Four came in to support her. She hit the top, held it, and cued the rest of the band. Legend was unwillingly swept away by the current of music that was too fast, too quick.

And, of course, thoughts of Ravio came unbidden into his head.

“Do you remember when we first met?” Ravio murmured. “That day in the alley…”

Legend snorted. How could he forget? “Of course I remember.”

He let himself be twirled beneath his partner's arm before once again taking the lead. The two swayed in time with the music amidst the crowd of people, their movements not quite in sync compared to the others. Frankly, he was surprised how natural Ravio made it seem, considering how stiff Legend was. They'd made progress since their first time dancing, and although Legend kept tripping over himself in self-consciousness, they were doing fairly well. 

“All those cultists. You took them out so quickly!” Ravio chuckled. “I wasn't sure if I should've been more scared of you than them.”

“I was sloppy,” Legend muttered. “Too preoccupied with finally looking like the ‘good guy'.”

“Link, I thought I was going to die,” Ravio said seriously. “You were my practical knight in shining armor!”

“A lot of good that did me,” Legend grumbled.

“Hey!” Ravio laughed. “I'm not that bad, am I?”

“I-I didn't mean you,” he said awkwardly. 

“Oh.” Ravio deflated, hesitating. “...Yuga?”

Yuga. Yuga with a knife in his back, pinning him to the wall and tugging at his hair so his ear was to his mouth. He whispered threats while Link strained to breathe through the agony.

“You're not making it out of here alive, little hero,” he hissed. “Say hello to your uncle for me.”

Legend kicked and screamed against the memories. They were choking him, like Yuga all those years ago. The result? He only managed to squeeze out a pathetic handful of right notes. He hid behind Wars’ far more confident sound. Wars sensed what was wrong and covered for his sudden inability to read music.

The only note he really hit right was the last one. No style or soul went into it. He was having enough trouble staying within the key signature.

The audience applauded. Time acknowledged them with a hand.

Legend tugged at his suit. Had it always been this hot? He was overheating. And lightheaded. Was that normal?

“Ledge,” Wars hissed, shoving something cold into his hands. Legend blinked, dazed, at the object- a water bottle. “Water. Drink.”

He didn't have much else to do, so he obeyed. The freezing water was like ice down his throat, shocking him back to reality. He shook away the dizziness and drank more. It burned but was real.

“Breathe,” Wars reminded him for what must've been the fiftieth time that night. “Just hold on. Only two songs. You can do this. Just breathe.”

Why was everyone telling him to breathe? “I have to breathe to play my instrument,” he snarked. 

Wars raised an eyebrow and smiled. “Just like that.”

Before he could come up with a snappy retort, his eyes caught Fable slipping past. She avoided his eyes. Wild handed her his drumsticks and she sat at the drumset. Wild stood by the marimba, casually twirling the mallets in his fingers while Four set aside his tenor for a bari.

Legend paled. Oh. This one, he had forgotten.

This song relied heavily on trumpet to start the band. Fable had no sax to carry the melody.

“Relax,” Wars said sternly. “I'll be here, playing with you.”

Legend pursed his lips and shoved the water bottle back into his brother's hands.

Time finished stalling. It took Legend a moment to realize that Time was not, in fact, waiting for him. He watched for Wild’s, Fable's and Four's signals that they were ready. There was no screaming countdown to start them off this time.

Legend was alone.

He regretted giving Wars his water back. His mouth was dry again. He couldn't seem to swallow. He tried asking for it but the words died on his tongue.

All he had to do was put his lips to the mouthpiece and blow. Din! It shouldn't be this hard!

Twilight waited for him. He was relying on him to cue his part.

Rulie waited for him. His note was essential to harmonize with his counter melody.

Wars waited for him. He only expected him to endure through what little they had left.

“Fight it,” Wars murmured. “Don't let the fear win. You hear me, Link? Fight back.”

“Link? Link, fight it. Wake up!”

Legend gasped for air, greeted by the sight of Ravio's worried eyes fixed on his. Hands were cupping his face, steady and sure. Legend grasped their wrists by instinct, breathing heavily.

“Link, are you alright?” Ravio repeated anxiously. “Can you hear me?”

Legend's eyes darted across the crowded room with the urgency of a frightened prey animal, but when his eyes locked with Ravio's again, his heartbeat slowed. He nodded.

“Do you need some fresh air?” asked the Lolian.

“I- No, I'll be fine,” he said shakily. “Just a flashback.”

“Are you sure? Because we can leave if-”

“No, it's over,” Legend interrupted. “We're not leaving unless you want to.” He inhaled deeply, ignoring his trembling hands.

Suddenly, Ravio's arms were wrapped around him. Legend's breath hitched, his internal screams needlessly reminding him that they were in public!

Legend laughed nervously. “Is there, uh… a specific reason why we're so sentimental all of a sudden?” he coughed awkwardly.

Ravio didn't respond, at first. He buried his face in Legend's shoulder and hummed, “I'm just glad you're here.”

Oh. Well, that was no reason for his face to get so red, was it? So why was his heart beating so quickly? And why did he feel so unreasonably giddy?

Ravio gave him another squeeze before pulling away and continuing the dance. Legend somehow managed to stumble even more than before, but Ravio's bright laugh lightened his mood every time. He supposed this whole dancing thing wasn't too bad.

He was happy to be with Ravio, too.

“Fight it…”

Legend clenched and unclenched his hands. He placed his fingers on the buttons and lips to the mouthpiece. He took one shuddering breath, pouring all he had into his trumpet- all his terror and loneliness and inadequacy. 

What rang out over the stage was a soft, mellow E flat. A single-toned lament. It resonated within his bell before slipping away, eluding his grasp like a hushed whisper of wind.

I miss you, Rav.

It was only when he released the note that he realized that no one else came in. His gaze flitted to Wars. The zeal he found startled him.

“Yes!” Wars’ eyes shimmered with enthusiasm and pride. “Again- C'mon, Legend, you can do it!”

Legend didn't give himself time to think. He hurled himself down the metaphorical leap of faith and howled into the trumpet. 

His brothers answered his call. 

Twilight hummed back, achingly familiar in its mournful cry. Hyrule took on the same tone, grasping it effortlessly but gently, like one would handle an injured animal. Wind's response was frustrated, like him. It was as much of a duet of music as it was a duet of feeling.

Legend released the note, and breathed. He sunk into the hopeful interlude led by Wild and Four. It felt much more real than himself. The sound wound its way into his ears and eased out a puff of air he hadn't realized he had been holding. 

It was startling, realizing that they were all mimicking what he had put into that note. Could it be that he was that obvious that he was pining? Four was the one who had made fun of him earlier. Yet here he was, weaving soft arpeggios of warmth and comfort. What was going on?

Wars poked him, jarring him from his reverie. “The Sailor’s trying to talk to you.”

Legend raised his eyebrows and shot a flat look the trombonist’s way. Really? the look said. In the middle of a performance?

There was a mischievous glint in Wind's eyes. “Solo battle?” he signed.

Legend almost laughed. Keyword: almost. “You mean a call-and-response duet?” he signed back.

“Whatever.” Wind rolled his eyes. “Are you in or not?”

Legend's eyebrows probably joined with his hairline then. “Isn't that in, like, three measures? Are you stupid?”

Wind flipped him off and stuck out his tongue. 

Oh, this twerp was going down. 

Fable jumped into action. Suddenly, the beat was moving at a relentless pace. The marimba perfectly channeled the devious smirk Wind carried. Legend found himself relishing the music again, tapping his foot along with Four's raw power. He bobbed his head in time with the vibrations he felt in his feet, most of which blasted from Time's guitar. He tossed the theme to Wars, who passed it to Four, who handed it to Wind, who promptly threw it to the floor and ground it into dust, laughing exhiliratedly. Normally, the rest of the band had to reel the dynamic in so the soloist could be heard, but most soloists weren't attention hogs like Wind. He would be heard, whether the audience liked it or not.

The Sailor moved with his solo. He tilted left and right, he stuck his slide into the air, and he bounced with each boom of the bass drum. Frankly, the drama of it all was rather obnoxious. It only charged Legend's eagerness to challenge him. There may be no winner in a solo battle, but he was determined to thoroughly beat Wind's ego into the dirt.

Legend waited for the perfect moment. He lifted his trumpet. He eyed the smug sailor out of the corner of his vision, a hint of warning in his posture. Secretly, though, he was excited to see the looks on the band's faces when he came in.

Now!

A visceral growl emitted from his instrument. Wind's head whipped around to face Legend, looking mildly offended. He barely restrained himself from snickering as the boy put a hand on his hip with an expression that looked hilariously reminiscent of Tetra's own pout.

As for the rest of the band… they were surprised, to say the least. Flabbergasted, as Ravio might've put it. Wind was given a fixed number of measures for his solos, and Legend cutting him off most definitely shook them. Four, the ever-reliable musician he was, was the first to regain his senses and improvise a good “backing track” for the others. Wars was ecstatic, and only Legend's lingering self-consciousness kept him from turning around and blasting in his ear. 

“I was just about- You interrupted me!” Wind pretended to look outraged, but frankly, he looked more like an indignant gerbil than anything else.

Legend shrugged. Wind puffed out his cheeks. It only encouraged the rodent illusion, which just added to the growing list of infinitely hilarious things that shouldn't be funny; what was he thinking? Goddesses, what was he doing? He shouldn't be stealing Wind's solo, he was going to make it worse, he was going to ruin it for the kid-

He stumbled. 

His blood had never drained so quickly from his face before. He scrambled to find a note that sounded right. Nothing sounded right! Why couldn't he do anything right? Why-

…Wind was covering for him. He covered up his mistakes by one-upping him, because that's how their solo battles went. Constantly improving on the last turn. Disguising his slip-ups by being better than him, all while pretending that was the plan all along.

Wars leaned over. He chuckled in amusement. “Are you going to just take that, Ledge? Gonna let him win?”

Legend snorted. “You wish this was your solo, pretty boy.”

He let the sailor have his little moment. Let him have his sly smirk and the roaring crowd, because while he practically owed the kid his kidney for saving him like that, it didn't mean he got to keep the spotlight. Even if it meant he had to strangle the butterflies in his stomach to keep them quiet, he would play.

Legend drew in a breath and blasted out the next note. Wind scoffed out a single “Dude!” but Legend overpowered that as well. He pouted again, and, to Legend's surprise, tried to play over him. Though, not really- he was harmonizing with him, forcing the dynamic up or down, and mixing his own energy in, one that Legend could not hope to synthesize. Not that he wanted to. It was a brattish energy, anyway. 

Four was getting louder. He was adding tension, and sending a message to the two of them: their time was coming to a close.

Wind heard it, loud and clear. He pushed against Legend’s melody. Part of him screamed at him to let him have control, to give him the finale, but his pride refused. He stood like a wall before Wind’s grabs at the spotlight. He had glissandos, grace notes, and pitch bends, but so did any half-decent trombone player. Not only could Legend do the same, he also knew exactly how to prod him where it hurt.

Let’s see how high you can go, sailor.

He blocked out the smithy’s warnings and began baiting Wind into a climb. He fell for it, hook line and sinker. B flat? Easy! C sharp? What a joke! He didn’t suspect a thing.

It was when they started to reach the higher portions of the scale that Legend detected some strain in Wind’s tone. He pushed higher. E. Running out of time, said Four. F, A flat. Wind didn’t follow. With a soaring sense of exhilaration, Legend landed the final high B flat. It was an easy victory, but a victory nonetheless.

At least, it was, until Wind hit an entire note higher.

Legend gawked at the cackling sailor. It was too late to make a comeback, the rest of the band had already moved on. Legend rolled his eyes. Just like him to get the last word. He had to laugh, though. Wind looked so proud of himself.

“Bet you aren’t thinking about your boyfriend now, huh?” he gloated.

Legend blinked. Had- Had that all been some grand scheme to get his confidence back? That rat! “I’ll think about wringing your neck!” he retorted angrily.

Unfortunately, he was right. Legend hardly felt any anxiety. Mental note: strangle him when we finish here.

It didn’t take long before the song was over and Wind was bowing theatrically. Legend was out of breath, dehydrated, and on the border of passing out, but he loved it. He felt alive again. He accepted Wars’ water bottle again. He practically emptied it, for how parched his lips were.

“Chapstick?” Wars offered, holding out a stick of his favorite brand.

Legend wrinkled his nose at it. “I’m not touching anything that has been anywhere near your lips.”

“What, like my water bottle?” Wars challenged lightly, waving the chapstick in his face.

“Fine. Gimme that,” he muttered, snatching the small tube from his brother’s fingers. He applied it as quickly as possible before shoving it back in its owner’s hands. He would never admit how useful it was, especially after so long arguing that it was for girls.

He only wished there was such a simple remedy for the ache that was beginning to form around his cheeks. That solo had really taken a toll on his embourchure.

Legend rubbed his face while Four walked by. The smith paused by him, his reddish-brown irises tinged by… guilt? Legend narrowed his eyes.

“That was a good solo back there,” he murmured. “You think you’ll be all right for this one?”

“I’m fine. Why do you care?” Legend responded tightly.

“Hey, look, I’m… I’m sorry. For teasing you.” Four winced. “I should’ve seen how badly it was affecting you. You’ll do great, okay? I mean, if I were Ravio, I’d be impressed regardless, but I know that’s not the reassurance you’re looking for.” 

Legend raised his eyebrows. An apology from the smithy? He knew it was bad, but not that bad.

…No, he shouldn’t make light of it, especially with how seriously Four was taking it. Or how seriously he took it, before the performance. That wasn’t fair.

“It’s not important,” Legend sighed. “I should be the one wishing you good luck. You’re singing.”

“Ha. So I take it we’re even now?” He held out his hand to shake. Legend took it, suppressing a smile.

“Thanks. Now, get lost, Sinatra,” Legend said.

Four chuckled and shook his head. He made his way to the piano just as Time finished up. Fable back on the sax and Wild on the drums, he raised his hand to cue the song.

He dropped it for the last time.

Wild tapped a smooth, bouncy beat on his hi-hat. Fable followed along, surprisingly mild for someone of her disposition. He’d never heard her handle the melody so… gently, before. Usually only Four had that kind of grace with the saxophone. Speaking of Four, the twinkling, playful piano notes complimented that laid-back style very nicely. Legend inserted his cup mute into his bell with a sort of contentment he hadn’t felt since Ravio left.

He had forgotten what it was like to actually enjoy music.

Four’s voice was glad to show him how much he had missed. If Wild and Fable were smooth, the smithy’s voice was like the outside of a fresh apple, ripe and shiny with morning dew. Warm, too, like pie crust.

Legend couldn’t wait to share another apple pie with Ravio.

“Well, here we are again

It’s always such a pleasure…”

Of course, this song wasn’t exactly meant to be cozy and reassuring. Legend was just getting restless.

Wind and Twilight, crescendo with a forte-piano.

An ebb and flow in Fable’s dynamic. Grow, pull back.

Wars counting rests under his breath. Legend felt an itch on the back of his neck. He was impatient, and his constant counting didn’t help.

“Oh, how we laughed and laughed!

Except I wasn't laughing…”

Legend could hear Four's smile. He loved this song. 

Soft falls muted by the cups in their trumpets. Mischievous, like a cat leaping nimbly from one bookshelf to the next. Or like the sailor, sneaking sweets from Legend's stash.

“You want your freedom, take it!

That's what I'm counting on!”

Wind crept into the lead, swaying from one note to the next gracefully. He treated the song like a waltz, but exaggerated comedically in its romance. Ravio swooning dramatically came to mind.

“I used to want you dead, but now I only want you gone!”

The whole band swung into action. Wild slammed on the snares, Fable sang into her sax with a dramatic volume worthy of Wind’s pride while the brass accented the offbeats, finishing with a flourishing trill.

The dynamic dropped. Four retained his eagerness, sounding just as smugly joyful as ever. The sax followed his lead.

“She was a lot like you-”

He chuckled. “Well, maybe not quite as heavy!”

That was Wind's favorite part. It took a considerable amount of effort not to snicker at the combined force of the lyric and the smithy's delivery.

Another band-wide crescendo, led by trumpets. Glittering piano notes followed, dancing daintily in Legend's ears. 

“One day they woke me up

So I could live forever

It's such a shame the same could never happen to you!”

Four's voice swelled brightly, leading the band from a mezzo-piano to a forte. Fable acted like this was her solo, announcing her counter melody to the whole audience. Wild mimicked the accents Wars and Legend made with a crash on the cymbals. He was having just as much fun as Four was. 

“I'll let you get right to it-

Now I only want you gone!”

The rest of the band dropped away, allowing the piano and the drums to lead as Four began his monologue. Legend bit his lip. His solo was just around the corner. He grabbed Wars’ water bottle again and stole a quick sip. 

At Four's “Take it away!”, his brothers took the lead. 

Legend hardly paid attention to the rise in energy. This was it. He promised Ravio a good show. After that trick Wind played on him back in the last song, he intended to follow through. 

Here!

He climbed into his solo. He imitated Four's languid ease with Wind's cocky eagerness to show off in the little slurs and tremolos he slipped into the solo. His heart pounded viciously against his chest. He went from note to note with little flourishes that were subtle but painted with just enough color to give it life. Thank Farore for Sky's bass, keeping him in time while his fingers itched to go faster than he had the ability to. But he kept it smooth and lilting as he repeated the melody of the chorus-

And just like that, it was over. His solo, finished. Audience clapping excitedly at the performance. Fable easing the band into a soft dynamic before dropping away completely. Before he knew it, Sky was playing his own solo while Four sang along:

“Goodbye my only friend…

Oh, ha, did you think I meant you?

This song really fit Four, Legend thought vaguely. Quick-witted, mischievous, and laid-back. Maybe  even a little arrogant. 

Had he really just done that? Had he really just pulled off that solo like it was just an everyday warm up scale, after all his anxiety just put him through? He snorted softly with incredulous indignance. 

It shouldn't have been that easy. But it was.

Wild's cue! Legend snapped dizzily back to attention. Neither he nor Wars were coming in any time soon, but he had to be ready. He listened in on Wars’ counting and quickly found his spot in the rest.

“Well, you have been replaced

I don't need anyone now…”

Again, Fable’s time to shine. Crescendo. Getting bigger, louder louder louder, play, support Fable, louder louder, howl out your part until you're faint from using too much air. Legend's lungs felt ready to burst, his lips burned. 

“Go make some new disaster!

That's what I'm countin’ on!”

He could do it. He could reach the end of the song. The light was at the end of the tunnel. The light was in his eyes, he had shifted too far to the left and now a spotlight was beaming directly into them, he kept playing.

“You're someone else's problem; now I only want you gone!”

Keep playing, it's almost done, just two more lines and he could see Ravio-

“Now I only want you gone!”

Ravio, had he seen the solo? Was he even here yet?

“Now I only want you gone!”

Focus, finish off strong.

“Now I only want you gone-!”

Four sustaining the note, steady, swing into the accent, hold hold hold, drop down low-

“I want you gone!”

With that, the band pulled back, Wars finished the song with a flaunting swing and grace note, Wild thumped his bass.

Done. Finished. Over. No more. He finished the song, and he hadn't messed up.

And the crowd went wild. 

Time bowed. He gestured to the soloists- him and Sky and Four. They dipped their heads, Four with significantly less humility. Legend licked his lips as he stared at his feet. He felt like he had just run a marathon.

A poke on his shoulder. Legend straightened his back. He followed Wars' outstretched finger, past Time's hand showing him off as a soloist, and- oh.

There he was. Standing in the middle of the audience, clapping his hands eagerly. His adoptive sister was beside him, but Legend's eyes never left the man for a second.

“Ravio,” he whispered.

He moved without thinking. He pushed his trumpet into his brother's hands. Wars gawked as he leaped off the stage and into the rows of chairs. Heart racing so quickly he feared it might escape, he ran up the aisle. 

There he was. Right there, grinning from ear to ear, calling out his name with a voice too soft to be heard over the crowd. Goddess d— him. That insufferable smile. It had no right to make him feel this way. So unfairly happy.

The rest was a blur. Ravio wrestled his way to the aisle, Legend only increased his breakneck pace; Ravio beamed, laughing his name, and they collided.

Ravio's arms squeezed him tight, twirling him around like the couples in those cheesy romance movies. Even as his feet planted on the ground, Legend didn't want to let go. He wanted to make sure this stupid rabbit never left his sight again.

Ravio pulled away, holding his face with the gentlest hands, grinning through teary eyes. “I take it you missed me, Mister Hero?” he chuckled.

By the Three, now he was crying. “Of course I missed you, you idiot!” he choked out.

“I missed you too,” Ravio breathed. 

He leaned forward and the last bit of Legend's restraint crumbled. His lips crashed against Ravio's before he could draw out the moment any longer, his hand reaching to tangle with his partner's smooth, inky locks. Ravio let out a tiny squeak of surprise before leaning into the kiss.

Legend's lips buzzed; he couldn't tell if the sensation came from his trumpet or Ravio. He couldn't care less. His mind was on Ravio's soft hands, on his tender touch, on the ghost of a smile he could feel through the kiss. 

Legend's heart had climbed up his throat by the time it was over. He noted vaguely that the audience was roaring and clapping, and that Fable's voice boomed over the speakers, hollering, “That's my brother!” Meanwhile, he couldn't decide whether to punch Ravio or let the tears flow. He swallowed hard, his eyes locking on Ravio's rupee-green ones.

“You kiss like you've been playing trumpet for an hour,” he teased.

Legend's face flushed red. “Shut up,” he grumbled.

“Aw, I didn't mean it,” he giggled, squishing him in another hug. “I just missed seeing your grumpy face.”

“You're the worst.”

“Don't get too sappy, you two.” Legend whipped around, greeted by Ravio's boss herself. Hilda, with a cocked eyebrow and folded arms, dressed in a blazer and skirt not unlike Fable's slightly more masculine suit. Her violet-painted lips twitched upwards in amusement. “You'll make the audience gag on their lunches.”

“I think I'm gagging on my lunch,” Legend complained.

Ravio gasped in mock offense, but Hilda shrugged. “Your sister does seem to be enjoying this…”

Legend glanced over at the stage and groaned. Of course she was. Of course she was hopping up and down in ecstasy, shaking poor, helpless Four back and forth while screaming with Wind. Of course she had to rope Sky and Wars into it- and was that Rulie cheering with them? Well, now Legend felt extra betrayed.

Warm fingers lacing with his drew his attention back to his partner. Ravio squeezed his hand and smiled. Legend had to wrestle his own into a disapproving scowl before he could see it.

“What do you say we put your trumpet away and go out for dinner?” he proposed. “That way we could get some time alone to relax and catch up some way other than over text?”

Legend folded his arms. “So, you expect me to forgive you, just like that? After being gone so long?”

Ravio laughed nervously. “If you wouldn't mind?”

“I suppose I can give you another chance,” he muttered. “And I'm paying. Yes, Hilda, I know you paid for everything back there.” He waved dismissively, then eyed Ravio out of the corner of his eye. “I'll let him hold on to his rupees just this once. Now excuse me while I go murder my sister.”

He dipped his head politely to the businesswoman before dashing off to the stage. He leaped up, much to Wind's delight and Time's resigned disappointment, and jabbed a finger at Fable. She squealed and hid behind Four, who sighed and stepped aside. 

“You!” Legend barked. “Get over here before I break your reeds!”

Fable gaped dramatically. “You wouldn't!”

“I will!”

“Whoa there, Ledge,” Wars said lightly. “Save the death threats for when the instruments are away, hm?”

Legend sniffed, swiping his trumpet from his hands and not-so-subtly emptying his spit valve on his foot. Wars yelped and jumped hilariously. “Legend!” he swore. “That's disgusting!”

“I bet it tastes like your lipstick,” he snarked.

Fable snickered. Legend brandished his trumpet threateningly and said, “What, you want some too?”

His sister screeched and ran off backstage. Legend made to pursue her, but Twilight gave him a look. He wrinkled his nose and dusted off his suit. She wasn't worth the trouble, anyway. 

He decided to make his way offstage to delicately take apart his instrument. He had a date to prepare for! Fable could wait.

Besides, he had plenty of time to daydream of revenge on the way out.

Legend grinned devilishly. She won't know what hit her.

He left the building whistling cheerfully.

----

A/N: Thank you for reading, but I do have to add a disclaimer. Please, please, please do not jump off a stage like Legend did. The last time someone did that at my school, they broke their ankle. I repeat, do not jump off a stage. 

Take care, all of you! ❤️

[romanarose]

Fic Recs

I'll admit I've been slacking. A lot. It was a high anxiety summer as you know, and I've finally been able to pretty much cut ties with an abusive friend who was causing a LOT of those anxiety and panic attacks. BUT I want to rec some of my fav writers and fav stories.

To keep the presure low on myself I am only linking ONE story per writer, whatever story that speaks to me. I do hope if you like the story you'll check out more from them!

Please remember to reblog their stories if you read them, and if you feel inclinded, leave a kind comment! Big comments are fantastic but even a short "Great story!" Means the world!

Dead Dove Do Not Eat and all dark fics will be in red. Might make a whole other dddne tag list on my dark blog on of these days lmfao

Moon Knight

Fractured Moon by @melodygatesauthor : DDDNE Yandere Moon boys x reader, non con, extreme violence but such good interpretations of the boys

Friendly Favors by @runa-falls best friend steven, friends with benefits??? friends to lovers??? yes plzzz

Rydal Keener

Oxford Comma by @whatthefishh : Collage AU, Rydall is cunty, serves cunt, and eats cunt. What can I say.

TLOU (Most of what I'm reading rn if im being honest)

Linger On by @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin : Pre-outbreak!Joel, angst, yummy smut, ft. my boyfriend, Tommy (Angela said I can be Tommy's gf)

Caught by @toxicanonymity : Inspired Keep Cry'n, Joel catches you when you try to run, masterbates onto your face. part 2 has TOMMMYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY

Maintainence Man series by @gracieispunk : Joel is a, well, Maintenace man in our building! He is married but that doesn't stop him from fucking you

Hungry Hearts @atinylittlepain : If ya'll know me, you know I love Bruce Springsteen. I have 2 fics named after springsteen songs, one joel one javi/santi/reader. I've fallen behind on the series but loved it enough to make fan art! terrible fan art but still! Pre-outbreak, takes place in two timelines- college age and then the 2000'. Joel has Sarah, reader is ellies mom which I think is fun.

Exit Wounds by @strang3lov3 : No fic masterlist so I tagged the main masterlist. Now listen. I love Tommy Y'all know I love tommy... but cheating on tommy? Im so sorry baby. But ur also an asshole lol. Had it coming.

Creep by @theywhowriteandknowthings : I- ugh just read it. darkish but nothing insane like the wrong way lmfao. pretty mild comparatively but use discression but THAT TWISTTTTTTTT

Only Daddy That'll Walk the Line by @millerscoffee Yellow istead of red bc its not like. dark but Joel's pretty mean

Not A Survialist Girl by @tightjeansjavi again yellow bc joel's a dick lol but THE DIRTY TALK?!?!?!?!?!?!?

Miguel O'Hara

Halo by @missdictatorme : Miguel O'Hara goes full Nathan Bateman and fucks his ai. Whore.

Only You Only Me by @astroboots : so im behind on this one too. What about it! Im terrible I know but like Hungry Hearts above I may be a slow reader but I didn't forget and also did stupid fan art of this great fic too. lol. Anyway plz read this, I cant give a great summary bc im only a few chapters in but if youre in the oscar fandon you know cici writes only bangers

No One But Me by @koshkamartell : You try to break things off with Joel and begin spending time with the hot librrian in Jackson. Joel does not like thi

Triple Frontier

Under Neon Lights by @campingwiththecharmings : sexy drunk sex with my baby boi, santi <3

Through the Scope by @ssuperficialspacecadett : Reader works for Benny and falls for frankie. Great relationships with all the boys, reader has sexual trauma so you knoooooooow i eat these fics up!!!! lovely to see all them be appriciated with special focus on FRANKIE my precious lol guy

Shared Breathes by @frenchiereading : DAD FRANKIE x teacher reader. Triple frontier may have forgotten Frankie has a baby (he deserved the money for her) BUT WE DID NOT!!!!!

The Story of Us by @pimosworld : You served in the military with the boys but they made a deal not to sleep with you. Years later after helping you escape abuse, one by one they begin to waver aka you fuck them all. FishBen as a bonus!!

Goddamn have I really only been reading TLOU XD lmfao makes sense bc thats mostly what Im writing. That and the Javier pena x reader x santi and then the will fic but im soooooooooo much of a TLOU whore rn its insane.

Im sure ill remeber some more amazing TF fics soon but for now here we are!

Gonna plug real quick my latest one shot tho bc it's a holiday and I can self promo if I want! Shana Tova, moon boys x non jewish!reader where the moon boys share a part of their jewish identity with you!

THANK YOU TO ALL WRITERS FOR YOUR HARD WORK, I APPRICIATE YOU!

If you ever seen my like and not reblog know its just bc I forgot and im sorry. If you ever tagged me in a tag game and i never responded its bc I forgot and again IM SORRY

If I didnt tag anyone and you think i didt think your fic was worthy THATS NOT IT im simply overwhelmed with how much ive read and how this summer was and i just havnt organized it all. Im sorry!!

[withlovewriting]

All I Ever Knew, Only You 1: Bye Bye, Benny

Chapter One.

You were riding your bike to the sound of ‘It’s No Big Deal’, And you’re trying to lift off the ground on those old two wheels, Nothing ‘bout the way that you were treated ever seemed especially alarming till now, So you tie up your hair and you smile like it’s no big deal.

Summary: Hawkins was your typical quaint, mid-western town where nothing ever happened. People were born here, lived their entire lives within the town limits and eventually died here, peacefully in their sleep. But one cold November evening in 1983 would change everything. 

Despite a child with psychokinetic abilities, and ravenous monsters that lacked faces, stranger things had definitely happened in the small town in Indiana. One of them being your reluctant and slightly imposed friendship with Hawkins High’s own King Bee, Steve Harrington.

Characters: Steve Harrington x Non-descriptive F!Reader (eventual)

Words: 4,983

Chapter Warnings: Strong language, alcohol abuse, child abuse, mentions of possible mental health disorders, typical season 1 mean-girl Steve and his little gang of assholes. An offensive term to specific religion, i guess. Also apologies, first chapters are awkward and just plot building but there ya go.

Series Warnings: Strong language, mentions of underage drinking, mentions of drug use, canon-typical violence, mentions of alcohol abuse, mentions of possible mental health disorders, child abuse, slow burn, kinda enemies-to-friends-to-lovers, I like to call it ‘two idiots who begrudgingly befriend each other only to realize... ‘wait a damn minute...’, eventual sexual content, canon-typical time-period bullshit. 18+. Minors DNI.

Next Chapter

Masterlist

(art)

Chapter One: Bye Bye, Benny.

Your legs moved faster than ever before, calves crying out in pain as your lungs burned, feeling like you hadn’t taken a proper breath in forever. But you still continued to push forward, dodging the oncoming vehicle and pedestrians as best you could. A car slammed on their breaks, horn blaring through the bustling streets during the late evening causing you to wobble slightly, hands gripping the handle bars of your bike so tightly you were sure you’d be able to pull them off completely.

Once you had regained your balance, you held up a hand, a silent sorry to the passing car as the driver shouted obscenities that you didn’t have time to be offended by. Just as you passed the coroners office, a loud whoop, whoop sounded behind you, the red and blue lights lighting up the ever darkening evening.

Shit, you mumbled to yourself, head darting around to watch as the officer stuck his hand out of the window, flagging you down. Well, you were definitely going to be late now.

Stopping alongside the side walk, one dirty converse perched on the curb to balance yourself, you waited as he slowly approached you, taking his sweet time. Of course, it wouldn’t be Callahan, the man gullible enough that you could easily spin a tale and get yourself out of this quickly, or even officer Powell, the man much more commanding than the former yet still not as assertive — or nosy — as the man in the unsightly beige uniform that was walking towards you.

“Kid, do you know how recklessly you were riding?”

Tilting your head backwards, face scrunched up slightly, you tried to suppress the annoyance that was bound to seep through your voice, “Hop, listen-”

“You almost caused two separate road traffic accidents, and don’t even think I didn’t see you almost wipe out Mrs. Lloyd.”

“Hopper, I-”

“I should take this damn thing off you, throw it in the junk yard where it belongs. Looks like this piece of shit is falling apart.”

“Are you gonna give me a ticket? Because if you are, can we speed this thing along and maybe save the whole responsibility talk for next time.”

Raising a brow, Jim sent you an incredulous look, “Next time?”

Rolling your eyes, you finally released the pent up, frustrated sigh, “ You know what I mean.”

Mumbling under his breath, Jim took off his slightly off-color hat before gripping his leather belt, hands firm on his hips, “Look, kid. You’re on a bike, which means you’re not gonna win any fight you decide to pick that day with a car. You might not give a shit, but I could really do without the extra paperwork. So stop riding like you’ve just robbed a bank.”

Nodding along with the man, you hoped your silent agreement would make this exchange go by at least a little quicker.

“I’m giving you a verbal warning, alright? If I have even one more complaint about a delinquent teenage cyclist bowling over old ladies in the street, I’ll personally arrest you myself and make you fill out the complaints paperwork. Got it?”

“Got it, chief.”

You couldn’t help but imagine how boring his job must be — especially since moving back from New York — to even bother with a cycling non-incident.

“Now, grab you bike and throw it in the back, if you’re in such a rush my car will get you there a lot quicker than that rusted piece of junk.”

Doing as he said, you then joined him in the car, the man glaring at you until you remembered to buckle your seat belt. Eventually, he pulled away, and you directed him towards Oak street.

“So, hows your Mom doing?”

His comment was meant to come off as flippant, uninterested in your actual answer and just trying to fill the silence. But you’d had your fair share of interactions with Jim Hopper since he crawled back to Hawkins in 1979, as had your mother.

He’d vehemently deny it if he was ever asked, but Jim Hopper — in all of his gruff, cynical glory — had a soft underbelly. He didn’t care about much any more. Not his job, not himself, nor any family, but in the few months he’d had some kind of relationship with your mother, he had unwittingly taken on a role in your life that had been missing for so, so long. So, what did it matter if he checked in every now and then?

Shuffling uncomfortably, you peered out of the passenger window, hoping he wouldn’t push too hard, “She’s fine. Got a cold, at the moment, so…Can’t exactly make it into work right now.”

“You’re covering for her again? You really shouldn’t be out late, and especially not on a school night-”

“She’s not well, Hop. A lecture won’t pay the bills.”

Despite reading between the lines, Hopper shut his mouth, even for just a moment before changing the subject, “No car tonight?”

“Mom forgot to get gas after work last night.”

“I thought she was too ill to work.”

Squeezing your eyes shut, you couldn’t have been more happy to see the shitty, run down bar you’d be spending the next couple of hours. Barely letting the man come to a full stop, you hopped out of the car before struggling to pull your bike out of the trunk without scuffing the police vehicle,

“Thanks for the ride, Hop.”

As if it took him a moment to realize you’d even exited the car, he quickly rolled down his window, “You’re not even old enough to be in there-”

It was safe to say your ride home from covering your mother’s shift wasn’t as fast paced, or exciting, as your previous journey.

You felt exhausted after a long day working at the arcade, revising for a stupid chemistry test that Mr. Kaminsky seemed determined to make half of the class fail, and then rushing like a mad man toward The Hideout, a long 6 hour shift bussing tables for old men who seemingly had boundary issues when it came to teenage girls. If it wasn’t for Thomas, the owner, you might’ve had another run in with the chief, certain you’d of stuck a fork through one of Mr Hanson’s wandering hands.

Turning down Morehead Street, you were almost relieved to be home. Almost.

All you wanted to do was shower off the smell of stale beer and greasy burgers and flop into bed. This wasn’t exactly how you’d wanted to spend your Sunday.

Your heart pounded in your chest, the lurking feeling of uneasiness crawled up your throat, the familiar, yet uncertain apprehension causing you to slow to a stop outside of the large, blue house that sat at the other end of your street. Hauntingly intimidating, the formidable house had sat abandoned since before you were even born. Children would often dare each other to play ding-dong-ditch, especially around Halloween, but nobody to your knowledge had actually made it much further than the path that led toward the rotten porch stairs. It had been boarded up since before you could remember, and nobody seemed all that bothered to disrupt it, the memories of what happened there more than two decades ago settled like the dust that was sure to line the floorboards inside.

Despite the desolate appearance in the daytime, the house only looked even more daunting in the shadows that lingered in the night, crawling their way over the house to leave it in almost total darkness.

Swallowing down the lump of uneasiness, you placed your foot back onto the pedal, ready to push off when you heard something. Your head swiveled back toward the large house, eyes wide and inquisitive, certain you’d heard voices.

Maybe the teenagers of Hawkins had finally become brave enough to step forth into the house, or maybe it was the ghosts of the slain family. Either way, you weren’t hanging around to find out, cycling home a little faster than before as you willed yourself to not peer back at the house for one last look, too worried about what, or who, you might find staring back.

Leaving your bike in the front yard — it was Hawkins, after all and the only thing more boring than the teenagers in this town, was the workload, or lack thereof, for the police — you quietly made your way up the creaky, half-rotten porch steps, all too aware of the television blaring so loudly from the living room that you could hear it from outside.

After taking a moment to prepare yourself, you finally pushed the door open, silently grumbling about how your mother always left it unlocked, regardless the time of day. Creeping toward the archway leading to the living room, you caught sight of your mother slumped on the sofa, eyes heavy from more than just sleep, but somehow still conscious. Stepping into the room, you called out for her, hoping she’d hear you over the loud laughter from whatever bullshit show she was half-watching.

“Mom?”

Her head turned, eyebrows raised as if she was surprised anyone had entered the house at all, before her glossed over eyes narrowed, pointing the empty bottle in her hand in your direction, “Where the hell have you been?”

It took everything in you not to release a frustrated sigh, telling her that you had in fact been covering her shift in order to guarantee you’d be able to keep the heating on this month. Winter in Indiana was a bitch and you were certain neither of you would survive another year without at least a mildly-warm house.

“I was working, Mom. C’mon, lets get you to bed-”

“Were you late? Cause you know they dock my wage by a whole hour if you’re even a fuckin’ minute late.”

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you shook your head, avoiding her eyes, “No, Mom. I wasn’t late. I-”

“Fuckin’ liar!” Standing, your mother wobbled on uncertain legs much like a newborn foal as she stumbled toward the telephone, where the answering machine blinked a devious, betraying red. Your mother almost looked too happy that she’d caught you in a lie as her clumsy pointer finger pushed hard at the button, playing the message out loud,

‘Rebecca, this is Thomas. You’re late for your shift, again. You better be on your way, I swear to god, this is the last fucking time. And you better not send your kid, again. I’m sick of it, Bec. So unless your face-down in your own vomit somewhere, you better be in work within the next 10 minutes, or- Oh, hey sweetheart-’

Bottle still in hand, your mother floundered toward you, nose scrunched in annoyance and distrust, as if you’d lied to her about something so much worse, like smashing up the car, or god forbid, pouring one of her beloved bottles down the kitchen sink.

Thankfully, by the time she reached you, she’d not only half forgotten what she was mad about, but wouldn’t be able to work out which one of you she saw to swing at. So instead, you took her gently by the shoulders, ushering her toward her bedroom. She collapsed onto her bed face-first and rather ungraciously her fingertips still gripping the empty bottle as if her life depended on it, and by the time you’d placed a throw blanket over her body, soft snores were already escaping her.

Despite your mother now being out cold, you still closed your bedroom door as quietly as possible, the fear that you’d manage to wake her up too ingrained in you to do anything but.

Keeping the light off, you sprawled out onto your own bed, deciding to forgo the shower and overflowing laundry basket that had been calling out to you most of the week.

Deciding to shower when you awoke in the morning, you didn’t have a choice but to drive your mother’s old Fiat Brava to school, knowing you’d be late otherwise.

Grumbling at yourself for not finding time to do the laundry, you dug deep into your drawers, trying to find something both suitable for school, knowing half of the clothes were creeping up on being too small for you. But money was sparse in your household, and an oversized jacket that you were yet to grow into had sufficed so far.

Pulling out a blue blouse that you absolutely knew was too small, meaning you would be pulling down the sleeves all day in an attempt to stop them ending up halfway up your forearm, you knew it would have to do. 

Leaving with barely enough time to fill up the coffee pot in hopes your mother would be drawn to the bitter smell rather than the temptation of the alcohol cupboard, you remained just under the speed limit, gnawing at your lip for the entirety of the drive.

School was dragging by, every minute feeling like an hour, and you knew clock-watching wouldn’t help, the gentle tick, tick, tick lulling you into a drowsy mess as you tried your best to keep your attention on your school work.

Making your way toward your locker, ready to dump half of your books out and enjoy your free period sleeping in the library, you saw Barb staring off down the hallway, her eyebrows pulled together as she watched Nancy turn the corner in a hurry.

“Everything OK?” You asked, causing her to jump slightly, head whipping toward you.

Relaxing as she realized it was you, she released an annoyed sigh, “It’s like he calls and she goes running. Literally.”

“You mean Harrington?”

“She’s still denying they’re even a thing.”

Your eyes remained in the direction of where Nancy had disappeared to, the hallways clearing out as people prepared for their next lesson, “Nancy’s a smart girl. She knows what he’s like.”

“That’s what I’m worried about,” Barb sighed, pushing her glasses to sit a little higher on the bridge of her nose, “He’s gonna use her, and dump her, and she’ll end up hurt. Just like every other girl he’s dated.”

“Dated is a very loose term,” you joked, Converse heel digging into the hard floor when Barb didn’t quite appreciate the joke, “He’ll get bored eventually, alright? He always does. But Nancy’s not an idiot. I highly doubt she really thinks he’s gonna be the love of her life, or even her date to prom if his reputation is anything to go by.”

When Barb remained silent, her top teeth worrying at her bottom lip you sighed, “Hey, if he hurts her, we can always key his car. Or set his hair on fire. God knows it’s got enough product in it to go up like a bonfire.”

That, at least, caused a smile to pull at Barb’s lips. Feeling satisfied that you’d at least kind of cheered the girl up, you left your friend with a reassuring pat on the shoulder before making your way down the long hallway.

Pushing the bathroom door open, you came to a halt almost right away, body colliding with the same person you’d just been shit talking for the last five minutes.

“Watch where you’re going-”

Scoffing at the boy, you pushed him away slightly, “This is the girl’s restroom, nimrod. You watch where you’re going.”

Rolling his eyes, Steve lent back against the wall slightly, hands grasped at his hips, “Nice shirt, but I think you’re shopping in the wrong age department of the Goodwill.”

“Says the person wearing a polo. Mommy pick it out at the GAP?”

Your stand off would’ve continued for much longer, had the second bell not have rung. Grabbing his yellow gym bag from the floor, he brushed past you with an annoyed glare, “It’s a vintage H R Robinson’s.”

God, he was such an ass.

Word about Will Byers’ disappearance had spread around town quicker than the time Mrs. Hunt’s husband had been caught balls deep in his receptionist at the local car dealership.

After returning home, your mother was nowhere to be found and to say you spent your night pacing around and doing absolutely anything to take your mind off the fact she was gone, was an understatement.

Your laundry was washed, dried and shoved back into your drawers, homework finished in record time and by 9pm you were certain you were a chemistry master. At least, you would’ve been, had any of the information stuck in your brain, instead using your notes as nothing more than a distraction.

So when the sound of shoes kicking up rocks and unsettling the gravel on your driveway roused you from your light sleep, you felt your heart finally settle back down to a normal speed as your mother carelessly stumbled down the path, slamming the front door shut behind her — still not learning to lock it — before making her way to her own bedroom.

Peering at your clock, the illuminating numbers spelled out 4am, causing you to release a long sigh before rolling over, hoping that you wouldn’t sleep through your alarm, less so for the fear of being late to school, and more-so for the fear of your mother’s hungover wrath if it woke her up instead.

Shoving a few books into your locker, you felt too mentally drained to even bother with the chemistry test, and if it didn’t count for half of your grade that semester, then you probably would’ve skipped.

The doors at the end of the corridor opened, the cool November wind slipping in behind a head of brown, scraggly hair, and you felt your heart plummet. Closing your locker, you heaved your half-empty messenger bag over your body and made your way towards the boy,

“Hey, Jonathan.”

The boy peered back at you, a strained smile on his face as he struggled holding everything in his hands and attempting to pin one of the papers to the board, “Oh, hey.”

Taking the papers from under his arm, you tried to send him a reassuring smile, “I, uh… I heard about Will. He’s a smart kid… He’ll be back soon, he’s probably just… hiding out, you know.”

Jonathan’s smile grew meeker, “Yeah… Yeah, I’m sure he will. It’s just not like him, you know? He’s not the kind of kid to just run off.”

“Yeah,” you nodded, eyes peering down at one of the many sheets you held for him, the boy’s smile wide and genuine. You didn’t know, though. You felt like you barely knew Jonathan, let alone Will. The eldest of the siblings, you’d met during your quick stint working at the cinema down town. You had similar music taste, bonding over your disdain for the popular kids in school, and he’d even taught you how to properly change the pump for the buttered popcorn. Your job there had only lasted a few months, but your friendship with Jonathan had lasted a lot longer. But it wasn’t like you two sat around braiding each others hair.

He was quiet and meek, whilst you were indifferent and aberrant. At least, that’s what your mother had always called you. You had perfected the art of acting like you didn’t care, and Jonathan seemed to not care at all. He kept to himself, and that’s how he liked it. You had bulldozed your way into his life, pouring flat half-cups of Coca-Cola and stale barely buttered popcorn and given him no real chance but to accept your sudden appearance. He took it in his stride, at least. But he remained quiet and shy, nonetheless.

“Hey,” a small, familiar voice called from behind you. Turning, you both send Nancy a small smile. Handing the papers back to the boy, you gave them space to talk, ready to make your way towards Kaminsky’s classroom in hopes of looking over your notes one last time.

Barb, however, had another idea, her arm halting you mid-stride before you could pass, “How is he?”

Before you could answer, you could hear the snickering of the three people to your left, “Yeah, hows he doing? Heard guilt can really tear a person down from the inside, out.”

Watching as Tommy’s face broke out into a large grin, the boy finding himself all too funny, your eyebrows pulled together in confusion, “What the hell are you talking about, Hagan?”

“He’s talking about the rumor that your boyfriend over there had something to do with his brother’s disappearance,” Steve explained, his eyes still set on his girlfriend, “Might wanna be careful. I wouldn’t be in any rooms alone with him.”

Scoffing, you crossed your arms over your chest, eyes darting toward Jonathan, Nancy, their eyes soft and sweet, and then back to Steve, an insolent smile tugging at the corners of your mouth, “I think if anyone needs to be worried, it’s you, Harrington.”

Steve’s dark eyes darted toward you, and you made a point of looking back at his girlfriend, eyebrows raised as the smile broke onto your face. Deciding you’d had enough, you strolled down the hallway, ignoring Steve’s confused calls of your name.

“Absolutely not,” you shook your head, sucking in a deep inhale of smoke, trying your best to aim it away from your friend as you blew it out, “The last thing I intend to do tonight is go to a lame-ass party at Harrington’s house. I’d rather fry my own eyeballs.”

Barb pouted, her eyes widening as they silently pleaded with you, causing you to turn your attention to the cigarette between your fingers,

“You have to come, please. I really, really don’t want to the the 3rd wheel tonight.”

Rolling your eyes at the girl’s dramatics, you sucked in another deep breath, the smoke burning your lungs slightly, “You won’t be a 3rd anything, Carol and Tommy will be there, too.”

“Ugh, 5th wheel, then. Please? I really don’t want to spend my entire evening there alone.”

“And I don’t want to spend even a second of my time there, at all. Why don’t you just tell Nancy no, for once? Put your foot down? I mean, she’ll be swapping spit with Harrington all night either way.”

Pinching the bridge of her nose, Barb send you an exasperated sigh, “You know I can’t do that.”

Your hand halted mid-way to your mouth, cigarette burning right down to the end, leaving you only faintly aware of the slight pain, but your eyes were focused on Barb. Of course, you knew Barb couldn’t — and wouldn’t — let Nancy go to this party alone. And you knew why, too. But that didn’t mean you had to be dragged along too, did it?

Dropping the butt of your cigarette onto the floor and crushing it with your worn sneaker, you frowned, forehead creasing as you sighed, staring off into the distance, “Oh my god, fine. I’ll go. But only for an hour, and then I’m out.”

Barb had never looked more grateful, pulling you into a strong hug and thanking you a million times.

Unable to not smile back at the girl, you shook your head, “Who even has a party on a Tuesday night?”

The plan was for Barb to pick you up at 8pm, along with Nancy. The girls had told their parents that you would all be studying at the library before sleeping over Nancy’s house. It was only a half-truth at best, and one that needn’t be repeated for your own mother.

Around 5pm you drove out towards Randolph lane, deciding to grab some burgers for yourself and your mother, hoping that it would at least sober her up whenever she wandered in that evening. Grumbling, you realized you still hadn’t topped up on gas, and decided that after you’d hit the gas station before heading home, hoping you still had some change in the car.

Pulling into the parking lot, a frown pulled at your features, dipping your brows towards each other. The lights were shut off, and as you approached the door, you almost bounced right off it, realizing a little too late that it was locked. Jiggling the door handle a few times, you knocked on the glass. Sure, Benny could’ve closed up early… But Benny never closed up early. Not even on week nights. He was always open for the evening rush normally fueled by hungry teens and loitering pre-teens.

“Benny? You in there?” Rasping your knuckles against the door one last time, you huffed, annoyed that your plan of an easy dinner and been thwarted. Before you turned to return to your car, something through the darkened window caught your eye.

It was definitely a figure at the table, but not quiet sat… More-so slumped. Backing away from the window a little too quickly, you stumbled off the deep curb, falling backwards onto the concrete. Eyes wide as you pushed yourself back, you managed to heave yourself up before taking off across the road, heading into the gas station.

The bell rang as the door bounced off the wall, hinges squeaking as the owner, Earl, turned his annoyed glare in your direction, “Careful with the damn door-”

Upon seeing your panicked face, Earl quickly made his way around the counter, brows pulled together in a frown as he held his hands out, “What’s wrong? What’s happened?”

“I think… I think something’s wrong with Benny-”

“Benny? Benny Hammond? I saw him yesterday, he’s fine-”

Shaking your head, your eyes whipped back toward the diner, “No, I… I don’t know. I came to get dinner, but it’s closed, so I looked through the window and I think… I think I can see him.”

Earl’s eyes darted between yourself and the diner, concern and skepticism evident on his features, “Right. I’m gonna go check it out, you get on the phone to the Sheriff. But I swear to God kid, if this is some stupid teenage prank-”

Perched on the wall just outside the diner, your leg bounced erratically as you waited for Hopper to return from inside. He’d arrived within 30 minutes, Powell to his left and Callahan to his right, and a face stormier than a rain cloud.

It didn’t take 10 minutes after his arrival for the fire department and ambulance to turn up, backdoor open as they carried out a stretcher.

“What happened, kid?” Hopper’s once dour expression had melted away, smoothing out into something slightly softer, though his frown remained. Maybe, after so many years, his face was stuck like that, you wondered.

Shrugging, your teeth worried at your bottom lip for a moment, “I came to get dinner. The door was locked and… Benny never shuts this early.”

Nodding, Hopper scribbled something down on his notepad before turning his attention back to you, swallowing uncomfortably at your tremulous voice, “Then what?”

“I thought it was weird… Knocked on the door a few times, but I didn’t get a response. So I looked through the gap in the curtains and… I don’t know. I saw someone leaning over a table. I didn’t know what was going on so I went and got Earl. He said to call you guys.”

“Alright. Look, I’ll have to take an official statement, but that can wait until tomorrow. Why don’t you-”

Before Hopper could finish his sentence, your attention was pulled away by the door opening, the familiar bell above it ringing like it always did. Two paramedics rolled out the stretcher, a large white sheet stretched across a white, zipped bag. A body bag.

Feeling your stomach lurch half-way up your throat whilst your heart dropped the other way, you couldn’t help the sharp intake of breath, body all but toppling off the wall and thankfully into the arms of Hopper.

Sure, he’d seen a lot of shit during his time in New York, but they had all been strangers and that seemed much easier to disassociate from and get the job done. But Benny… Well, they went way back. They were friends.

Despite Hop’s insistence to not look, you couldn’t help but turn your head, watching as they loaded the stretcher into the ambulance and carted off toward the morgue.

The last suicide in Hawkins had been in October of 1961, and despite not even being born then, you knew all too well about it. It had been your Grandmother, after all.

Crazy old Colette, the town had so lovingly referred to her as. Lost her husband in the war as well as her mind and never got either back. And, of course, instead of helping, the town simply ignored and gossiped, watching as she wandered around town at all hours, jittery and talking to herself, shouting that the ‘end was nigh’.

What was strange, however, was your family weren’t particularly religious. Your mother only worshiped the God she found at the bottom of a bottle, and you couldn’t even guess the last time you’d stepped inside the town’s chapel. Sure, Hawkins had it’s fair share of bible bashers — typically the overprotective PTA moms and their husbands who would frequently break their marriage vows whenever they headed out of town — but your family weren’t exactly known for their love of Jesus Christ. Or any other higher being, for that matter.

You had frequently wondered if that was the start of your mother’s downward spiral, the loss of her father and consequently her mother too, her drinking only exacerbated when your father headed out for a pack of Embassy Gold cigarettes one evening and apparently got lost on his way home, ending up in Georgia, or Colorado, or wherever the hell he was now.

Worse than that, however, was the torment that maybe whatever had caused your Grandmother to lose herself was hereditary, trickling down through the generations of your family right to the very bottom.

To you.

[musings-of-a-rose]

Would you consider doing a Benny Miller x gn!reader, friends to lovers oneshot, with “is that my shirt?”, “you look better in my clothes than i do.”, and possibly “i didn’t mean to say that but yeah, i love you.” (Ben would def slip on and say smth like that)?

My Clothes

Pairing: Benny Miller x gn!reader

Word Count: 670+

Rating: Nothing mature in this one, but my blog is rated Mature - 18+ ONLY!

Warnings: None, but I’ll leave my standard warning here. Just like ao3, “creator chooses not to use warnings.” If you click Keep Reading, that means you agree that you’re the age to handle mature themes. Also by clicking Keep Reading, you understand warnings may not be complete in order to avoid spoilers for the story. 

Notes:  I’m so sorry this took me forever to get to! Life and hurricanes happen sometimes. I hope you like it!

**If you want to be added to the taglist, join here or let me know!

Main Masterlist

Benny Miller Masterlist

Benny and I have been friends, best friends, as long as I can remember. He was always there for me throughout school, literally picking me up out of the mud when I fell flat on my ass in a giant puddle, and beyond, eagerly accepting all of the care packages I sent him while he was overseas, putting in his own special requests for certain snacks that I’m fairly certain he was using for trade. 

Whatever made his time there easier. 

When he came home for leave, he usually stayed at my place. It didn’t make sense for him to have a place of his own as he typically shipped out just a couple of months after he’d come back. It was either that or more training. He was always on the move. And I had no problem with him leaving his stuff there, often stealing one of his shirts or jackets because he has the warmest ones during those cold months.

And also because they smell like him.

This time, he was home for a month before having to leave for training and I’m making sure he has all the fun and relaxation he can stand. We’ve already done his favorite activities, mainly paintball, axe throwing, and going out on a rented boat, and eaten most of his favorite foods. Tonight was the last place on the list - takeout from his favorite pizza place. 

After dinner, he turned on a movie and got himself settled into the couch. I was feeling chilly so I went and grabbed the shirt off the back of my desk chair in my room, pushing my arms through the sleeves as I sat next to Benny on the couch. Several minutes pass of the characters doing something in the movie. I’m not sure what because I keep feeling his eyes on me but whenever I look, he moves them back to the screen. Finally, he spits it out.

“Is that my shirt?”

Shit. I’d completely forgotten this was his.

I look down at it and try to act innocent. “Oh, uh…yeah. I think so. Is that ok?”

His blue eyes study mine, flicking down to the jacket and back up. “You look better in my clothes than I do.”

He says it so quietly that I’m not sure I heard him right.

“What?”

He looks like a deer caught in headlights, eyes comically blown wide. “N-nothin’.”

“No, you said something about me looking better in your clothes than you.”

Red creeps up his neck and settles onto his cheeks, his large hand coming up to rub at his neck. “I..I didn’t say that.”

“Yes you did.” I slap his arm playfully.

“N-no. I didn’t.”

Turning to face him fully, I sigh with fake exasperation. “Yes you did, Ben.”

When he doesn’t answer, I pick up the couch pillow and smack him with it square in the face, laughing at his shocked expression. He retaliates, smacking me back and we escalate, smacking each other faster and faster until he gives in.

“Ok ok! I didn’t mean to say that!”

“I don’t believe you!” I pull my pillow back to smack him again.

“Ok ok fine I said it!”

I shake my pillow at him and he flinches playfully.

“Why would you say that?”

“Because I love you!”

“Well I love you too Ben. You’re my best friend-”

“No.” He sighs and I lower the pillow, my head cocking to the side at him as he fidgets with the pillow he holds. 

“I mean, I love you.”

Now’s the time to confess.

“I love you too, Ben.”

His eyes snap to mine, looking to see if I’m telling the truth. I nod, smiling at him and he chucks his pillow across the room, taking my hand in his, his thumb rubbing over the back of my hand.

“Say it again.”

“I love you. I always have.”

The sparkle in his blue eyes tells me he’s felt the same and that he can’t wait to make up for lost time.

--------

General Taglist:

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[onyxsboxes]

Brady, Benny how did they found out? (Wait, WHAT?)

That's a great question anon. I don't think I'd write a proper fic about how they found out Gale was the werewolf, so let me explain it here. It possible the events will be mentioned later. (Here the link to the series)

Initially, Brady's knowledge of weres is limited: he doesn't like them, he doesn't hate them, it's just that he's never met them (which isn't unusual, as were tend to stick together, are much fewer in number and don't necessarily brag about being weres).

Benny, for his part, comes from a were family. He's not one, but he has a few were cousins. And he's always had a passion for animals. Also, where everyone else just sees signs in Bucky's behavior, Benny knows what to look for and has seen them in Gale. And Bucky's first clumsy attempts to scent mark only make things clearer.

At the beginning of training, pilot pairs were formed: Bucky-Brady and Buck-Benny (B4). This means that each pair spends a lot of time together, flying, training, studying, … And for all four, spending time together, because Clegan is never far from one another.

So when Bucky tried to scent mark the pack, it was only natural that they started with them. The problem is that it's not easy to scent mark someone when you can't smell what you're doing, and it's very different from doing it on an object.

It results in several failures, one of which makes Brady snap (because Egan, so help me God, if you stick your wrist in my neck one more time, I'll have to find an alibi and a new pair of pilots).

After that, Bucky and Buck explained what Bucky was up to. Gale, looking like a sad puppy, says Egan will stop doing it if it bothers you, Brady, I'm sorry it made you uncomfortable. Bucky hesitates between wrapping Gale in a blanket or killing Brady with a glare. Brady panics at Bucky's scowl (he can be very scary, all right) and Buck's sad face (that's like kicking a puppy, how the hell does he do that) and looks to Benny for support. DeMarco staring at him, unimpressed, it's your mess, you clean it up. Before finally intervening because it's nearly a full moon and things could get out of control quickly and he really really doesn't want to find a new pilot pair (he likes this one, thank you very much).

A few more hc about them

When asked how they knew, they both reply : I'm Buck's (or Bucky's) co-pilot (duh).

They're very protective of Clegan (they've seen them go from strangers to lovers).

They love to make fun of others and encourage them to believe that Bucky is the real werewolf.

When Bucky isn't around and Buck needs help, they are always here to help him as much as they can.

They're part of the core of Buck's pack, and they're thick as thieves.

[lulutaylorsimaginarium]

THE CHAIN

Summary: When the guys get stuck in a situation and hunted down by a drug lord. Frankie makes a call he really doesn’t want to make to the only person that can help them

Warnings: “creator chooses not to use warnings.” If you click Keep Reading, that means you agree that you’re the right age to handle mature themes. We handle our own triggers with kindness and grace

AN: Mind any grammar mistakes even though the story has been checked. The author is dyslexic and it is the wonders of her brain.

PART ONE - PART TWO

PART THREE

 

Suddenly someone clapped in her ear rocking her out of sleep and out of the passenger seat as she heard him snicker. Gabby stared at him before taking a deep breath

“Was that necessary?”

“I was just checking you weren’t dead. I’ve never known anyone who could sleep almost thirty hours straight”

“I’m jet lagged, Garcia”

“Oh I’m sorry Ms ‘The Hague’ ”

“Where are we?”

“Bolivia”

“Why are we going around?”

“The scenic root?”

“Isn’t that insult to injury”

“Also it wouldn’t be expected” he said jumping back out of the car “Your rendezvous with your boyfriend is going to have to wait a little longer”

“He’s not my boyfriend. We’re not twelve”

“What is he? Your co-worker. Your lover?”

“You’re very interested today”

She was actually happy about it. The longer she could keep Seb out of this thing, the better. She didn’t want him involved at all. If she led Rojas to Seb and the worst happens. Gabby would never forgive herself.

She opened the car door and hopped out walking over and standing next to Benny before he handed her a bottle of water.

She didn’t know how thirsty she was until she started drinking.

“What’s the plan?”

“We’re saying with the vans and you and Pope are going into La Paz for supplies”

“What?”

“Since you’re so rested and all” Pope smiled

“Maybe you’re the one that should stay and get some sleep since you’re such a grumpy bum today”

“That’s what happens when you’ve been driving for thirty hours, Babe”

“Frankie’s been driving for thirty hours and he’s not a prick”

Any worry or tension that Frankie may have had about Gabby being mad at him disappeared instantly.

“We can’t all be Saint Frankie. Come on, let’s go”

“We’re walking?”

“It’s only a mile”

She stared at him in shock and suddenly felt tired again.

“Get road trip food” Benny called out to her as she started walking

“No”

“Flamin Hot Cheetos!”

She couldn’t help but laugh. On the run with millions of dollars and the guy wants Cheetos. There was a sweet innocence there. That or vast amounts of stupidity.

 

They walked that mile in silence, the first half was tense but the last half mile was peaceful. She stayed a step behind him, maybe a few steps behind. She was sure Santiago had been in worse situations then this.

Who was Gabby kidding?

She had been in worse situations then this but she didn’t know her way through it, and he probably did. As much as she hated to admit it. Gabby needed to follow his lead.

They headed to a small corner store she headed for the snacks and Santiago went for practicality.

She was out of the store by the time he was finished. He panicked for a second before he spotted her standing in front of a store window looking at a lavender dress. It wasn’t like it had flowers on it or anything but it was far more feminine then he had seen Gabby be.

“It’s a bit” he started

“A bit what?”

“Girly”

To his surprise Gabby laughed and shook her head

“I do get girly on occasion, Santiago” she chuckled before strolling off slowly “I promise”

He watched her for a few seconds before following. She stopped in front of a drug store and pointed

“We have stuff, Gabs”

“Band-Aids. Sinus medication. Ibuprofen. Do you really wanna be running from bad guys with a head full of snot or sore back” she smiled and looked at his legs and back up to his face “Or knees”

Santiago narrowed his eyes playfully at her

“I hate it when you’re right”

“Get used to it”

He stayed outside and kept an eye on her but also on the street too. He didn’t think that Rojas was on to them, but he wasn’t going to let his guard down until they were free and clear

That was going to be a long time.

She stepped out of the pharmacy and went to walk farther down the street before he grabbed her elbow and pulled her in the direction of the vans

“We need to get back”

“We don’t have enough”

“Do you really want to carry anymore back all that way”

“Okay, good point but can we just stay a little longer. Get something to eat that’s not freeze dried. Get a cup of coffee?”

“We have coffee”

“That’s not coffee. That’s swill”

“Wow, I didn’t know you were such a coffee snob”

“Come on. Half an hour of stillness will do you some good. Watch the world go by. Get out of our own heads”

“One coffee?”

“A single one”

“For the woman who slept for thirty hours?”

“Ugh, this again?”

“No. It’s actually impressive considering your head was on a shaking window”

“I’ve slept in worse places. Trust me”

“One coffee?”

“Yes”

“Would seem to be a good cover story if people ask”

“We’re just a couple of tourists” she chuckled “See, I’m smart sometimes”

She playfully twirled once before walking ahead down the cobblestone street.

“Ain’t no doubt about that” Santiago muttered to himself as he kept an eye on her.

He shook his head and mentally slapped himself

He had a job to do.

 

#

 

Her hair seemed more red in the sunlight.The sun was working its magic. Gabby had no clue she was under such scrutiny. She would have been uncomfortable if she had. She wasn’t one who enjoyed being the centre of attention. She was too busy enjoying the rays. Her head resting on the back of her chair, feet resting over the one another and empty coffee cups in front of them.

He playfully knocked one foot off the other and smiled

“Are you right?” she asked trying not to laugh

“We have to get you new shoes. You can’t go where we are going where ballet flats”

“Wow fancy. A man who knows what ballet flats are”

“I’m serious. You can’t run in them”

“I have hiking boots at Seb’s uncle’s farm. Stop worrying. It will all be okay”

Santiago frowned at her as she lifted her head off the chair, looking over at him.

“Is he older?” Santiago asked “Sebastian?”

“Where did that come from?”

“Is he?”

She smiled this smile that was cheeky and almost child-like

“Why would you ask that?”

“How much older?”

“Does it matter?”

“Decade?” he teased “Over a decade?”

“Santi” she warned

“Tell me”

“Sixteen years”

It was more than he had thought, more than he had guessed. Suddenly he wondered what the attraction would have been. How he had charmed her. Gabby wasn’t easily charmed.

“Wow, really?”

“Don’t do that. He’s a good guy. When you’re in some shithole in a part of the world no one cares about, life can be different”

“Hey” he said holding up his hands “Honey, I’m not judging. I’ve worked in places like that too. I get it. Comfort is comfort”

She let her head full back on the chair and closed her eyes, taking a deep breath.

“I’ve missed it here”

“Bolivia?”

“Latin America. It’s different here. It’s simple”

“You like simple?”

“I love simple” She looked over at him and moved her glasses to the bridge of her nose “What?”

“Nothing” he chuckled “We should get back to the guys”

She nodded her head knowing he was right. They still had enough daylight for a few more trips into town for other supplies, but it was nice for a few minutes to pretend that they weren’t in the situation they were in.

 

#

 

Frankie, Benny and Will waited at the vans for them. They knew that Santiago and Gabby’s trip would take a while and it wasn’t because of the walk into town. It wasn’t difficult to see why Santiago gave Gabby a hard time, most of the time. Anybody who had seen kids in a playground, could see what was going on. Santiago was just falling short of pulling her hair.

After all he had a mostly working pair of eyes.

They all did.

She was beautiful and not just the packaging.

They just didn’t know if the attraction was mutual.

“Hey” Will said grabbing Frankie’s attention “Why doesn’t she drink?”

Frankie chuckled bitterly before taking a deep breath

“When they took her. They had her for almost month. The company she was working for at the time wasn’t going to pay the ransom. The US certainly wasn’t going too. So they had her for a long time. You’ve seen how fiery she is and that’s just with Pope. Imagine how Gabby would be when she was fighting for her life”

“They picked the wrong gal”

“They wanted her alive and there were only so many times they could knock her over the head. They kept her sedated by pouring homemade booze down her throat. Kept her quiet, kept her compliant” Frankie shook his head “She hasn’t been able to touch it since”

“Jesus Christ” Benny barely muttered

“Did they?” Will began to ask but couldn’t finish the question

“A bunch of men living in the jungle, who haven’t seen a woman in months? Yeah, they did. The only reason she is here right now is the fact that she refused to let them get the better of her. Gabby refused to die. The way I found her. She will never be in that state again as long as I’m breathing”

Will swore under his breath.

Even though they had known the sugar-coated story of how Gabby and Frankie met. The whole truth was a little too difficult to even want to understand.

“Heads up” Benny warned quietly

Santiago and Gabby appeared on top of the hill they were on.

She searched through the plastic bag she was holding before handing the bag to Santiago and throwing Benny his bag of chips, as if it was a football. She started laughing as she did it.

“She’s had Cuban coffee” Santiago explained

“Dude, I can see colours” she laughed

Frankie laughed but frowned “Where did you find Cuban coffee?”

“Café. It was on the menu. The cups were cute”

Frankie looked over Santiago “Fun walk, was it?”

“Interesting”

Before she knew what was happening Will had wrapped her up in a hug that came out of nowhere. Not that she minded.

“Aww” she cooed “You okay?”

“Yeah. I’m good” he answered kissing her on top of her head

“I should leave you more often”

“Don’t you dare”

“See Garcia. I’m easy to love”

He didn’t say anything. What could he say? The others just tried not to laugh.

[rayslittlekitten]

Motherlover

“Dad Will” Masterlist

A/N: Okay here's another sorta Christmas-related fun fic. I couldn't think of a better title.

Rating: T

Word Count: 468

Pairing: Dad!Will & Daughter OC (Lucy); Dad!Will & Uncle!Benny Miller; Lucy & Cousin Gary

Plot: Will finds out the kids got introduced to a Miller Christmas tradition.

Contains: banter, humor

Will is watching a game as he’s watching over Lucy and Gary.

“YIPPEE KI-YAY MUDDER FU—“

“Whoa! WHOA!” Will quickly scoops up Lucy as she dashes past him while chasing after her little cousin with a toy lightsaber, her legs still moving as she dangles in the air.

“Where’d you learn that?” He asks her with a stern look.

“Learn what, daddy?” She looks at her father, confused at why he interrupted her play time.

"Yippee ki-yay..."

"Mudder fuck--" Lucy finishes the phrase but Will quickly cuts her off.

"No, no, no! That's a bad word! We don't say that. Where'd you hear that?" he asks her again.

“The Christhmuth movie!” She answers.

"And where did you see this movie? Mommy and daddy would never let you watch that."

"Uncle Benny wasth watching it yeth-terday."

"Lucy! It’s your turn to be Hans Booger!" Gary says.

"No more saying that, okay?" Will tells her. "You can say yippee ki-yay, but not the other words. Those are bad words."

"Okay, daddy!" Lucy agrees as she tries to wiggle free from his hold.

"You too, Gary. You can't say those bad words," Will also tells his nephew who nods in return.

As soon as Will puts Lucy back down, they go sprinting off chasing each other again.

"No running!" Will shouts.

***

When Benny swings by to pick up Gary, Will has a word with him.

"Hey man, listen. The kids were supposed to be napping so I put on Die Hard. It's a Miller Christmas tradition," he shrugs.  "I didn't know Lucy woke up in the middle of the movie until she started copying me when I shouted out that catchphrase,” he explains.

"It's a Miller tradition that we started when we were old enough to watch it.”

“Pft, you were like 10 or something and I was like 8. We were nowhere near old enough--" Benny counters, but stops talking after seeing his brother's deadpan face. "Okay, I'm sorry. I'll make sure she doesn't see it again until she's old enough."

"Thank you," Will says.

As if on cue, Gary and Lucy come running back around again.

"Hey Lucy Moose, come here for a second," Benny crouches down to her level.

"Uncle Benny!" Lucy throws herself at him and hugs him tightly.

“Remember the Christmas movie we saw yesterday?”

Lucy nods.

“We can’t say the hero's catchphrase. They’re bad words,” he explains.

“I know. Daddy told me,” she says.

“Good. Instead, say yippee ki-yay motherlover.”

“Yippee ki-yay mudder lover!” She repeats.

“Yeah, see. Love is nice, right?” Benny cranes his neck up to look at his brother for approval. “Who doesn’t love their mother?”

“Benny, no, it was more than just…” Will sighs and shakes his head, defeated.

"YIPPEE KI-YAY MUDDER LOVER!" Both cousins yell in unison before running off.

[genshinimpactingmylife]

Genshin Actors AU Pt.1

I saw this idea somewhere and could not stop thinking about it. Sorry in advance, there's a lot.

-Aether and Lumine who auditioned for fun and got casted

-They played rock-paper-scissors to decided their roles

-Every single scene where they have to act together neers multiple retakes because they can't keep straight faces around each other

-"we decide who does more chores that week by checking who has more followers" -Aether

-Dain is not at all related to them but finds it hilarious that people think so

-Zhongli, Venti and Ei being experienced actors whose been in the industry the longest

-Venti is also popular for his singing, having a a just as large fanbase for it

-Nahida is a veteran child actor

-Nahida is probably older than Klee, Qiqi and the other kids though, and is often found telling them various stories.

-Klee and Albedo are siblings, and their mom, Alice, is a mostly retired actor who was a legend in the past and is very much involved in this production and is loved by all the other actors

-Albedo's social media account is filled with Klee in her costume

-Sucrose and Albedo actually having degrees in the science field and even attended the same university

-They didn't know each other well back then, but now they're quite close

-There are even rumors they may be dating

-An interesting take would be that Kaeya and Diluc did not know before this

-But regardless of their characters they become very fast and close friends and are often found discussing their character lore together.

-And unlike their characters Diluc is the more outspoken one, whilst Kaeya is happy to observe and laugh in the background

-Fischl is often seen crying over her lines

-"I was casted for my amazing memory" -Fischl

-Bennett is probably a bit clumsy in real life as well, so his actions and expressions come quite naturally

-He also has a fandom officially named 'Benny's protection team'

-Amber was probably a stunt actress before and this is her first time officially acting, she's super enthusiastic about it

-Razor is definitely a nature and dog lover, and his social media account is basically a fan page for his dogs

-Model Rosaria Supremacy

-Diona is an unhinged child and the set can become chaotic when she's paired with Klee

-Jean and Lisa who auditioned for each other's roles but is now more content with their current characters

-Yunjin being an actual opera singer, Xinyan being an actual rockstar and Barbara is an actual idol

-All three of them were pleasantly surprised when they were reached out to

-Barbara is a big fan of Venti and nearly cried when she got an offer to duet with him

[theangiediary]

I know a lot of people like samcasdean, and I personally love a good polycule, so I was wondering if you had any thoughts on sambennydean? 👀

Ik a lot of people also don’t tend to ship sambenny or see it as something that could really work out, but I really and truly think that with some time Sam and Benny could’ve grown really close, in a sense that they struggle a lot with the same things and have similar life experiences, such as blood addiction. I’m a huge sambenny and deanbenny girlie so I was wondering what your thoughts were, if you have any? 😗💕

my thoughts are that Sam would murder Benny in cold blood <3

I'm sorry ! 😭 He's just such a jealous bitch; Dean is NOT allowed to have male friends/mentors/etc let alone lovers. For entertainment sake we could say that Dean holds him off long enough to quell Sam's rage ig. Then we could maybe get SamDeanBenny action. Benny calling Sam "sugar", letting him call the shots.

Someone pointed out Sam has a line like "Dean I know what you had to do down there to survive but it's over now", and just generally Sam's kinda... nonchalance about Dean scamming/tricking/baiting, so there is the possibility of coming in with a sort of disgusted/patronizing attitude. "Yeah Dean open up for him, why are you wincing it's not like it's your first time, what has Benny gotten bigger or something? Not as big as me though so you better buck up.."

Dirty talk aside, I don't think Benny and Sam could actually bond very well, over anything that wasn't Dean? Tbh I don't really remember Benny well outside the accent, henley, and Dean's panting looks so idk, but it seemed he had more of a chill, "I'm a monster and that's just How It Is" approach, vs Sam's "no I know demon blood is dangerous but it's for the right reasons and I can handle it!".

(Also I have read Sam/Benny, with sub!Sam and Benny getting all "aw cher just wanted some attention huh? this is what it felt like for him.. Good thing about monsters, we can do this allll day...")

[snoozingredpanda]

Omg can I get benni with a hopeless romantic reader? Bonus points if they find her yandere tendencies "cute"

what I would give to have a girl like benni in my life. sorry this took so long :)

—

Benni Winters — All Things Love

GN!Reader

Warnings: obsession, manipulation, benni being benni, slight age gap (five years), mentions of NSFW (no explicit detail), swearing

—

• You weren’t the luckiest in love.

• Lover after lover came and went, each leaving your heart a tiny bit more broken, but you vowed to never give up.

• You were the type to believe in soulmates, that everyone had a certain someone they were supposed to meet and stay with forever.

• But you just couldn’t seem to find them.

• So you went years of small, short relationships, trying so, so hard to find Mr or Miss Right, but alas, you were disappointed every time.

• Until you met Benni, of course.

• She was a new intern at the journalists that you worked at, specialising in photography for the newspapers as well as helping the tech department with their cameras.

• Since you were quite high up in the company, she was put under your care, a cute collage-fresh sweetheart who complimented your each and every move.

• It felt like love at first sight, but it felt a bit wrong at first. She was only 19, and you were nearly 25. You felt kind of… predatory. But, you couldn’t resist her charm, finding yourself in her arms within a month of meeting her.

• She was the most perfect partner: intelligent, handsome, possessive… you really felt like she was the one. You fell in love with her, maybe a bit too quickly. What would she think if she knew how fast you’d fallen?

• But you didn’t have a clue how reciprocated your feelings were.

• Fuck, Benni was obsessed with you.

• She’d been stalking you even before she’d met you, this talented journalist who wrote so many wonderful articles… she just had to meet you, and as if the gods had heard her plea, a single internship slot opened up.

• It would be a lie if she said she didn’t do some simple rumour spreading to get the other applicants rejected, hacking into their Twitter accounts to post the most outrageous opinions on controversial topics, just to ensure she would be chosen.

• But when she actually met you, it was game over for you. She followed you home every night, noting down what you had for dinner so she could learn to make it for when she gets you (whether that be by manipulation or kidnap, she didn’t mind). She also added a tracker to you car, just so she knows exactly where you drive to if you were to randomly disappear late at night.

• She’s putting the charm on thick, gently touching your arm, giving you small smirks that she knows drives you crazy.

• It doesn’t take long for you to be in her bed, sweaty as she presses open-mouth kisses over your delicious skin, exhausted and pleasured body sprawled out so magnificently. She’s got hearts in her eyes, heart beating so loud she’s sure you can hear it.

• You’re the one.

• She’s the one.

• You ignore all the red flags.

• So what if she happens to be in the same mall fifty miles away? She’s just returning a jacket that didn’t properly fit her.

• And the cameraman who lost his job for having drugs on site? No, silly, that’s a coincidence that happened, and that Benni took over his job.

• What about the multiple occasions you’ve found her in your house uninvited? She’s just making sure you’re alright, of course. Give her a key as well, just so she knows how much you love her.

• Her yandere tendencies become very apparent a few months after you start dating. She’s confident you’re so in love with her that you won’t care, and yup, she’s right.

• “Oh, that’s adorable,” you laugh as she shows you the piles of photos she’s taken of you while you’re not looking. “Ah, look! That’s when I was in… Cyprus? How…? Oh, you’re a strange but beautiful thing, love.”

• “Oh, baby, you scared me,” you grin as you notice her standing in the doorway of your bedroom, after waking up in the middle of the night. “Come on, come get warm with me.”

• “I love it when you get all protective,” you murmur, nuzzling your face into her neck. “The way that guy’s nose cracked when you punched him was hot.”

• It’s as if you’re wearing rose tinted glasses. You see no bad in Benni.

• Even if she straight up murdered someone, you’d be unable to see her as anything but an adorable sweetheart, one that was only trying to protect you, of course.

• Benni’s glad she managed to get you before someone more horrible did. You were susceptible to love, and if someone dangerous were to woo you… oh she can’t bare to think of the consequences.

• Just stay with her.

• It’s safer that way.