#also sorry benny lovers

[datura-tea]

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

[streamafterlaughter]

Soundtrack to Disaster

Chapter III: I Carry You Around

masterlist | playlist | pinboard | prev

song(s) for this chapter: roam the room by citizen, drunk ii by mannequin pussy

a/n: i forgot how hard it was to get a new story going, but we’re movin!! please enjoy this lil chapter while i work on the new one :p also! thank you guys for 200 followers that’s kinda crazy for me on this site. 🥳🎉❤️

summary: you need some help recalling the events of last night

chapter tags: drinking/drug (weed) use, description of throwing up (reader), swearing, reader has a lot of nicknames (to avoid using y/n), slight angst, big game of telephone. | fic tags: Angst, hurt/(eventual) comfort, (eventual) smut, slow burn, enemies to friends to lovers, Eddie Munson x Fem!OC!Reader, Modern AU | This fic is rated 18+ MDNI

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tag list: reply/message to be added! @children-of-the-grave @five-bi-five @kellsck @faggotinie @xplrnowornever @taccobelle @micheledawn1975 @mewchiili @dreamerjj

-

“Hey,” Robin pokes you, still snoring constantly next to her on the air mattress. “Hey, wake up! I’m starving!” she shakes you lightly, and you groan. “C’mon, Benny’s is never packed this late. I’m buyin’.” Your eyes flutter open at the mention of her treating you.

“Okay, okay. I’m awake.”

“Oh, good. I was beginning to think the last vodka sprite killed you.”

“It probably should’ve.” You squint, attempting not to let too much light in before you know the status of your hangover. You blink a few times, focusing solely on not sitting up too quickly. “Alright, I think we’re in the clear. Bacon sounds so good right now.”

“Is she up?” Steve calls from the kitchen, over the clatter of bottles being thrown into the recycling bin.

“Yeah, I’ve tempted her with free food.” Robin giggles, following your lead of slowly exiting the blow up bed. “Will the Insufferable Bard be joining us on the breakfast quest?” You regret the words after they leave your lips.

“Is the evil queen asking little ole me to tag along?” Eddie practically skips into the living room, way too chipper for your hungover brain to handle. Steve has the balls to snicker. “I’d be absolutely delighted to accompany you to dine for breakfast, Highness.” He curtsies for emphasis.

“Never mind, actually. I just remembered I’m needed somewhere that, um, not here.”

Eddie tsks at you. “Ah, no take backs. Shall I get your coat?”

-

Fluffy diner pancakes and greasy bacon can and do save you. You moan as you shove a bite full of syrup and pancake into your mouth, met with similar responses as your friends devour their food. You can feel Eddie staring at you from across the booth.

“So, did I sleep through all of the cleaning?” You ask after swallowing. “I promise that wasn’t the intention.”

Steve shakes his head, sipping his coffee. “Actually, you did most of it last night. You don’t remember?”

You squint, as if trying to see the blurry memories in front of you. You remember playing beer pong, and then losing beer pong. You remember bits and pieces of conversations with Robin and Steve. You remember Chrissy running out of Steve’s bedroom. Then nothing. “Huh. Guess not.” Usually you only black out when you’re angry, but you can’t remember anything viscerally upsetting happening to you. Not consciously.

Steve shrugs. “Weird. Nah, we let you sleep. It was hard enough getting you into bed.”

You feel your cheeks burn. “Sorry, Steve. Guess I can’t hold my liquor.”

“Nah, I didn’t do anything. Eddie pretty much took care of you.”

Your blood freezes in your veins, draining quickly from your face. “What?”

Steve places his mug down, and Robin throws her arms in the air in defeat and disappointment. “What? What did I say?”

“Seriously, dingus?”

Eddie’s gone silent, silverware long abandoned on his plate. “You promised you weren’t gonna bring that up.” The words are muffled behind his hand.

“I did?”

Robin slaps her palm to her forehead.

“What the hell is going on?” You look from Steve to a red cheeked Eddie.

He sighs. “Sorry, princess. Guess your knight in shining armor’s an ogre.”

You’re gaping. Not a single part of this makes sense to you. You and Eddie haven’t been that close in years. “Aren’t you already Chrissy’s ogre though?”

Eddie’s eyes narrow, irritated as he shoves a bite of toast into his mouth. “That’s none of your business.”

You raise your hands in surrender. “Okay, shit. Didn’t know you were so sensitive about it.”

“I think I’m lost here.” Steve interrupts, leaning over Robin to reach for the syrup.

“Can we move on, please? I don’t feel like talking about this.”

The response is an awkward silence.

“Thank you.” Eddie says, mouth full of bread. You surrender, for now. You make it a point in your head to find out more. It’s only fair, you reason, I was there too.

—

“Chris, you home?” You call your brother as you enter your apartment. Guitars are blaring from the back of your house, loud enough that he wouldn’t be able to hear you. You wander down the hall, checking the empty bathroom and kitchen on your way. “Chris?”

“Hey, Bug!” Chris calls from the spare-bedroom-turned-studio, turning his stereo down. “C’mere a sec, need your opinion on something.” You follow the sound of his voice into the room, taking in the sight in front of you. Chris has sprawled himself out on the floor, a skateboard deck dismantled in front of him. “Can I ask you something?” You lean against the doorframe, observing your brother.

“You just did.”

You scoff. “Can you remember anything from last night?”

Your question stops his movement. “Uh, maybe. Which part?”

“It’s spotty after midnight. What happened to me?”

Chris turns to face you, and you move to sit in the office chair across from him. “Well. You still can’t handle your liquor.”

“Oh, c’mon. I had, like, three drinks.”

“Yeah, and you got your ass beat in beer pong. I know you hate it, but beer still has alcohol in it.”

“Oh, shut up. Tell me what happened!”

“Okay, but you can’t get mad.”

“I will not be making any promises.”

-

Last night (as told by Chris)

You stumble into the kitchen, on your way for yet another refill, but you’re stopped short by the solid torso dawned in old leather, reeking of weed. “Man, roadblock.” You Look up to find Eddie looking down at you, eyes curious, joint in hand standing next to your brother, blocking the cooler. “Move aside, dweebs.”

“Hey, Bug. You okay?”

“Hm?” You try to focus on Chris’s face, squinting hard, as if you’re looking directly at the sun. “Yeah, ‘m cool. It’s bright in here.” The lights aren’t even on.

“No, she’s not.” Eddie’s eyes are fully trained on you, concern written plainly on his face. The kid likes to party, but he knows his limits. You, unfortunately, cannot say the same. You rest against the sticky counter, but immediately retract at the sensation, breathing shallowly through your nose. Eddie can see the panic in your eyes when they linger in space for a second too long.

“She’s gonna puke. Move, I got her.” Eddie sprints to your aid, leading you down the hall by the waist, draping your arm over his shoulder, and into the bathroom. “Eddie, ‘m fine.” You slur, completely unconvincing. The bathroom is empty, thankfully. The party’s been over for a while, but you’d slammed quite a few without hesitation tonight, and Eddie thinks, perhaps, he had something to do with it.

“Hey, I got you, c’mere.” Eddie holds your hair back as you crouch in front of the toilet, the only thought going through his head being “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”, while he reaches with his free hand to wet a washcloth. When his back is turned, you let it rip, and he rushes back to your side, placing the cool cloth against your clammy forehead. “Feel better?”

Your face screws tightly in concentration. “Gettin’ there.” You string the words together, like you’re too afraid to open your mouth any wider. “Thanks, Ed.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“It’s not like we’re friends.” You flinch after you say it.

“Maybe not, but I know too-drunk-to-stand when I see it. Wasn’t gonna let you try to find your own way here.”

“Or you’re secretly in love with me.” You tease, voice strained.

“Okay, now you’re talkin’ crazy. C’mon sweets, it’s bedtime.” He dodges your comment, eager to get out of there.

“Nooo,” You whine, and Eddie smiles dopily at you. “I’m not tired!”

“Doesn’t matter. You stay out here, you’re destined to give yourself alcohol poisoning. C’mon, we can go set up your bed downstairs.”

“You tryna suggest something, Munson?” You tease, wobbly as he helps you stand up.

“What would I be suggesting?” You shrug. You must not have a clue what you’re saying right now. “Did your brother tell you something?”

“What? No, I’m kidding, Eddie. We don’t like each other, remember?”

“No, you don’t like me.”

Your resolve seems to slip, but only a little. “I have my reasons.”

Eddie nods. “Yeah, I know.” He stands up, and offers his hand out for you. You grab it, using it to pull your weight up from the ground. “Okay, prince charming. Whisk me to bed.”

“As you wish, princess.” He helps you get back downstairs, and into the already prepared air mattress. “Your throne awaits.”

You giggle as he guides you down, staying parallel to your body in case you lose your balance. You make it unscathed though, and he brings the blanket up to your chin. “Here,” He pulls an unopened water bottle from his back pocket. “Lemme get you a bucket or something, I’ll be right back.”

“Wait,” You reach out and grab his hand. He looks at your face, the way your eyes are already half closed like your eyelids weigh a ton. “Can you take them off?”

“Excuse me?” He chokes.

“My boots. They’re hard to take off.” You point to your feet, sticking out of the blanket and clad in heavy leather.

“Oh, yeah. ‘Course.” He clears his throat nervously, busying his hands with the buckles of your shoes. By the time he slides the second one off, your head has hit the pillow, and you’re snoring peacefully.

—

Present day

You feel your stomach drop, much akin to the way it must have felt last night. “That did not happen.”

Chris shrugs, like it’s nothing. “Maybe I got some details wrong. After he got you to bed he was freaking out. I don’t get why you have such an issue with the guy.” He shrugs, turning back to his board.

You furrow your brow at him. “Are you being serious?” He whips his head back to you, confused. “Remember? He got you put in prison?!”

He stares back at you, blank faced. “What are you talking about?”

“He ratted you out, Chris! Testified against you! Snitched! I know I blacked out last night, but c'mon! You were in the room when it happened!”

“Oh, my god.”

“What?!” You’re beside yourself, absolutely at a loss. “Chris, don’t tell me you forgive him for that.”

“Beebs, my beautiful, innocent, cherub of a little sister. You have no idea what you’re talking about right now.” Somewhere in the distance, Chris’s phone is ringing, and your vision goes white.

“What does that even mean?!” Chris ignores you, picking up his cell. “Chris!”

“Yo,” You can’t hear the voice on the other line. “Hey, man. Relax. No, she’s good. Alive, thanks to you probably. Kinda pissed, though.” He looks to where you’re silently seething at your brother. “No, I didn’t say shit! I just filled in some blanks from last night.” You can hear Eddie on the other line, voice frantic, but you can’t make out what he’s saying. “Okay. No, I won’t. But you have to.” Long pause. “Yeah, you do. I thought she knew!” He waits. “I don’t care! She has every right to, actually! I would be pissed, too! Figure it out, dude.” He hangs up and looks back to you. “Eddie has some explaining to do.”

—

[baddiewiththebook]

Over the Years | e.m x reader | p. 8

-> The origin story of Eddie Munson, and how he fell in love with the worst person he possibly could - his best friend.

-> eddie munson x you (she/her)

-> friends to lovers, slow burn, angst

-> warnings - strong language, suggestive themes, smut [18+]

a/n I'm so sorry for the hiatus. My mental health isn't where it should be, and my brain isn't in writing mode. I finally got this written down, and I left it alone for a while until I felt a bit more creative again. Hopefully, this chapter is good enough. Love you all!

-> <-

June 1983 . . . again

It’s so silly to be upset about something as ridiculous as a birthday. Big deal! You’ve had plenty of those in the past.

This morning you crumpled up a piece of paper taped to your fridge into a tight enough ball that your fingers began to pierce the flesh of your hands. Then, you toss the stupid note into the trash. Your mom left again. This time she and Brad are going to his vacation house.

Brad is yet another nobody she met after her shift at the strip joint in the sketchy part of town. Rich men flock to escape unhappy marriages, and pray on the poor sad strippers. Your mom keeps having too much hope that one of these men will pay-out and he will buy her a big fancy house. Unfortunately for her, their ruse will always draw her in. She does a few lines with them, and lays on her back for less than she’s worth. How could she even bring herself to this?

Eddie does try to cheer you up when he shows up to your house for the annual birthday celebration and the lights are dim throughout the house, and you’re slumped over your sofa like a deflated balloon. Somehow he coaxes you to get off of that couch. He encourages you to get yourself dressed by handing you shirts and handing you pants until he gets a grunt of approval out of you.

After you put on your clothes, you’re practically carried out to his van. You hesitate. After your mom swore something bad would happen if you get into his van, you’ve been sneaking rides now and again. Eddie’s also been giving you lessons when she’s not around. You frown. Gripping the handle tight, and with purpose, you swing open the passenger side door.

“Yes!” Eddie pats the seat next to him. Your boldened confidence sparks joy in him. That is until you give him the meanest mug known to man. And, you don’t mean to be harsh. You actually don’t realize that Eddie’s heart sinks when you grouch like this.

Rubber hitting gravel tunes out your huffing and puffing. When you hit the pavement, the shocks thud underneath you. Eddie says he’ll fix those eventually. He can’t fix the band equipment rolling in the back though. That’s something that just happens because he’s the only one in the band with a big enough rig to store all of this junk.

“I forgot to ask if you’re hungry,” Eddie says over the gray cloud covering your head.

You thunk your head against the window. It’s nearly eleven in the morning, and you haven’t had anything to eat. You’re not hungry. But, your stomach disagrees letting out the most aggravating groan. Why do bodies do that? The moment that someone mentions food, or when the room gets quiet - your stomach growls. It’s humiliating!

“I could eat,” you hold your stomach.

The way through to you is almost always food, or a brand new book. Eddie doesn’t have the time to drive all the way to Indianapolis to get you books from The Bookshelf, which is your favorite place to receive books from (or so Eddie can guess because he hasn’t gotten you anything you hate yet). So, he instead takes you to the next best place; Benny’s Diner.

It’s a hot spot. That’s mostly because it has been almost the only spot since ‘53. Yes, you’ve heard enough of Wayne’s stories from his younger years. He and his brother, Al, spent enough time downing milkshakes and getting brain freezes there. A part of you wants to ask Eddie more about his father, and if he is truly as bad as this town says he is. Eddie pretends not to recall a lot of his youth that was spent with his father, but behind those big brown eyes he’s got stories he could tell if he wanted too.

You slide your way into a booth across from Eddie after being seated by a snooty waitress with low hanging jowls and no patience for the teenagers, who, arguably, gives Benny’s the most buisness.

Some jock from the basketball team clambers over the back of the booth like a monkey to scoop fries off an innocent girl’s plate. Rightfully so, she swats at him, then aims a bottle of ketchup at his nose.

“Hey Wheeler,” the man dubbed ‘King Steve Harrington’ cups his hands around his mouth like a bird call to get the attention of Nancy Wheeler, who is just a booth and a half away with a thick chapter book between her fingertips.

Nancy meekly looks up without saying a word.

“It’s summer time,” he snorts. “What are you reading for?”

Tommy, another bone-head, clocks Steve in the shoulder with an open palm. This seems to encourage Steve’s prepubescent behavior. And, Steve jogs over to the table to bother Nancy some more.

What more is there to say about Steve? Steve Harrington. The man had enough brain cells to form one thought, and that was usually “party at my house!” Yes, after every basketball game that the Tigers won (which is a lot of games to be fair), you could find almost every member of the student body at his house.

It seems that Steve doesn’t care that his parents are never home. You wonder what they do to live in such a cushy house that’s bigger than most of the houses combined in Hawkins. Maybe you wouldn’t mind living like this if your family was rich too.

“What can I get you?” The waitress holds her pad of paper in one hand, and a sparkling red pen in the other. She puts all of her weight on one hip, so she can tap the other foot on the tile below. Her patience is running thin, and those kids on the other side of the restaurant are really starting to make her angry.

You speed through the menu, “strawberry milkshake and fries.”

Eddie orders a burger that he asks to be left a little bloody. When she glares at him, he moves on to order a vanilla milkshake without a wince when she snatches his menu from his hands.

Usually, Eddie will order some kind of burger that he has to add extra bacon and extra onions on top of. His favorite line is usually “bloody and stinky.”

If you weren’t feeling so bummed about your birthday, you might ask him if he’s on a diet. That always revs him up to push his stomach out and to talk with his belly button. Sometimes Eddie can be so childish - and really, you find him funny.

Today you wanted to be under five feet of dirt. You could finally get some peace and quiet after all that humming and worrying that goes on in between your ears. Your mom should be worried about you - not the other way around.

Eddie watches you become the booth behind you. Someone might as well have thrown water on you, and he wouldn’t be surprised if you started sobbing ‘I’m melting!’ right about now. Not like he’s seen the Wizard of Oz or anything. It’s not important enough to ever be mentioned out loud.

“Happy birthday?” Eddie tries to cheer you up. “Look, I know it’s not a cake and some candles. I don’t know. My dad and I never celebrated my birthday, and look how I turned out.”

You try not to be mean, so you let a sarcastic comment slide off your tongue. “You have tobacco in your teeth.”

The habit Eddie promises himself to quit. It’s just cigarettes, weed and the occasional sip of beer or two (or downing half a case by himself) for him. He’s got to stay healthy if he wants to make it to fifty. That’s high balling his life span. Okay, let’s say Corroded Coffin makes the big leagues in a couple of years, and Eddie at least wants ten good years with them - thirty. Thirty years is well enough for Eddie Munson. Er- that math isn’t right. Is it?

Eddie sucks the tobacco leaves out from his teeth, while you pick at the napkin in front of you. Seeing you so down nearly tears him in two. Having an absent parent himself, he knows the disappointment that’s eating you from the inside out. For years, Eddie would wake up in hopes that his dad would just show up completely sober. If he’s really optimistic that day, then his mom would come too. They’d be a big happy family and live in the suburbs. There would even be space for uncle Wayne.

Eddie knows the fantasy is just that. But, it isn’t about him. Your head is nearly touching the table, and he’s not so sure how to fix this. There isn’t really a way to fix this, is there?

The waitress returns with two shakes that she places down in front of you. A straw emerges from her apron pocket. She leaves you.

Your milkshake is questionably pink, but the real chunks of strawberries pressing against the glass make you forget what you’re about to consume. A glass of whatever the chefs get in those prepackaged containers that come in powdery. With a little mix of some milk, you’ll hardly taste the chemicals. with chunks of strawberries pressing against the glass. A wedge of whipped cream towers atop the shake with a strawberry dipped right on top.

Something that Eddie realized recently is how bright your eyes get when you’re excited. Inflating like a balloon, you sit straight up to stick the straw into the thick shake. Your lips kiss the straw without much thought, as Eddie begins to drift away from the restaurant.

In front of him, Eddie could dive deep into why he’s chosen you as his best friend. Because at first Wayne was just babysitting the neighbor kid and you could have easily been ignored from the next day after. Eddie finds you interesting.

Your lashes flutter away from him to the space behind him. As though in slow motion, his fantasy snaps.

“Jeff!” The sugar has already rushed to your brain in the absence of food, and in a fog you hiccup, “Hi, Gareth!”

Eddie whips around in time, before the two boys get too close to the booth. Their clothes are sticking to their bodies, and a fair amount of sweat graces their foreheads. Aside from being sticky, their mood is pleasant. Jeff tucks a helmet under his arm, as he approaches in a cool step.

Gareth swipes the sweat from his brow because really the hair sticking to him makes him itch, before causing a rash due to him mindlessly scratching his forehead off. He resists the tempting sting.

Meanwhile, Gareth also refuses to admit that the reason he stopped Jeff on their bike ride into town is because you’re sitting at a booth across from Eddie. Despite knowing how close you are as friends, there’s a grumpy troll deep in his belly that’s stomping on his gut that tells him to ‘just make sure.’ He rolls his shoulders back, and begs his face to quit frowning.

“Who knew the circus was in town?” Jason Carver cups his hands around his mouth. “Freaks!”

Chrissy Cunningham whacks him across the chest for being rude. As much as she likes Jason, his attitude towards the nerdy group that they all share the same high school with does really bother her. She puts up with him because she’s already introduced him to her parents, and maybe in a few years he’ll calm down.

While Jeff, Eddie and Gareth are more or less used to the treatment they receive from the goon squad, you can’t help but notice the way Gareth shoots a glare behind himself. This goes ignored by Jason, as one of the girls at the table has a spilled her soda. Surely, Jason would have caught the venomous stare and thrown Gareth halfway across the room. You don’t go looking for that sorry of trouble.

“‘Sup!” Jeff greats Eddie and yourself. “What are you two up too?”

“It’s her birthday,” even though he does like Jeff and Gareth, Eddie wishes the boys could take a hint and scram. Jeff has other intentions and does the polar opposite by plopping down nearly on Eddie’s lap.

“Happy birthday, girl!” Jeff wishes. “Got any big plans for the day?”

You shrug, “my mom is out of town, so I don’t really have anything going on.”

“What’s she out of town for?” The boy scrunches his nose up, and Eddie elbows him in the side. A desperate attempt on his part to get Jeff to shut-the-hell-up. “Business?”

“Sort of,” if only the business your mom conducted brought more money back to the house, instead of drugs.

A tickle lifts inside your throat that you swallow down. Perhaps the glossiness in your eyes could be hidden behind your lashes, and suddenly your drink becomes a lot more interesting. Flicking the condensation on the glass, Jeff leans over to whisper to Eddie about something.

“Gareth,” Jeff turns to the boy standing awkwardly at the head of the table. He hasn’t dared sit next to you, yet. “Can you entertain the birthday girl? I gotta talk to Eddie about something out back.”

Gareth opens his mouth to protest, but the words die flat on his tongue because Jeff and Eddie have already scooted from the booths. Their “business” is a classic exchange. Gareth’s been apart of a few of these dealings. In some ways, Eddie’s a bit of a douche come pricing on his supplies.

Everyone at Hawkins has bitten into the apple per se. It’s only when they need him that Eddie’s treated decent. So, Gareth supposes Eddie has his reasons to up-charge certain clientele.

There’s no word as to why Gareth gets the treatment, but he supposes there’s a reason or two.

Someone loudly clears their throat behind Gareth. It’s the waitress from earlier holding two hot and heavy plates of food. Gareth apologizes to her rolling eyes, before sliding into the booth across from you without much thought. The waitress drops the food off, then without another word she scurries off back to the kitchen.

“Jesus,” Gareth stares at the grease pile in front of him. “What did Eddie order this time?”

“They definitely spat on that,” you question your fries. “You know Eddie.”

“Oh, yeah,” treating society like they treat him, as always.

Gareth pushes the plate to the right where the sun kisses the burger through the window. It doesn’t look any more appealing in the light than the shadows in front of him. The silence between you and he is filled with drumming that comes from Gareth tapping the table.

You offer him your fries just to get him to knock it off. It’s not annoying, but his fidgeting is making you just as anxious. The tension subsides when Gareth pops a fry into his mouth.

“Can I ask?” He swallows, before speaking.

You raise and drop your shoulders unsure you want to answer. But, Gareth takes this as permission.

“Your mom has been out of town for a while?” It slips as more of a question, but the statement is put out there. Your mom is an absent parent. The only one you have.

“She came home for a short time with-,” you don’t know why you’re still defending her. Maybe she’ll come around one day and she’ll realize how great having a child has been. Doubtfully, “her coworkers. Er- but she suddenly had to go out of town. Meetings.”

The coworkers in question are the bums that stay after hours to give her a reason to party. Lately, the parties have bled into the living room. You’re stuck holding out in your room until they sober up enough to slobber out onto the street like a pack of dogs on the loose.

Dogs behave better than them.

“Meetings,” Gareth repeats as a mutual agreement not to press anymore questions, then quickly pops another fry into this mouth. This time he misses the landing, and the fry darts off of his cheek.

It’s hard to remember when the two of you hardly got along. That Gareth had been stubborn enough to decide that you would become a distraction for Eddie and the band would suffer. It now seems that there’s a different storm brewing instead of the one before it.

You cover your mouth, but the sweet melody brushes past your lips. Gareth goes a bit pink in the face, as he covers up the glee that he has at least amused you today.

The diner has quieted by the large group of teenagers getting up, and leaving through the front door. Nancy stays at her table reading a chapter book, and is most certainly grateful they’ve all gone. She won’t admit to keeping Steve Harrington’s phone number, but she will tuck the napkin tight in her pocket.

Music plays overhead that you hadn’t heard when you first came in. It’s fifties. An appropriate theme for how old the diner looks. Bright red booths. Checkered floor. Stainless steel instead of gold metal. It’s classic.

Gareth watches your eye wander away from him, as he decides how he wants to pull your attention back in. If he didn’t know any better, Jeff and Eddie were taking a suspicious amount of time to get back. That’s not to say he’s complaining. Any time getting you away from Eddie is getting Gareth that much closer to becoming bolder about his intentions with you.

Your heart skips inside your chest when Gareth’s knee knock into yours underneath the table. In not so many words, you hear him out and you understand him. A bit of relief settles your belly, but not before another aggravated weight of tension.

Pavlov and his damn dogs! That familiar jingle of the front door has both Gareth and you scooting back in your chairs. The heat from his body fades away from you.

Eddie and Jeff return.

“I told you they wouldn’t kill each other,” Jeff snorts.

Eddie rolls his eyes.

“Actually,” Gareth stands, so Eddie could have his place in the booth again. “We should get going.”

“I got something to do later,” Jeff pats his left pocket at his hip. No one is as amused as he is by his joke, but you pity him a laugh.

Before they can leave, a hand swings out to grab Gareth by the wrist. Eddie’s got wild eyes and a goofy grin. The boy is devilish, but he’s not the devil.

“What?” Gareth raises his brow.

Eddie retracts his grasp, and instead replaces it for an open palm reaching towards Gareth. “You owe me ten.”

“Eddie,” you scold. “He didn’t even touch your burger and he only ate a bite off of my food.”

Over the last couple years, Eddie has gotten better and better at the theatrics. When your at school together, he has this little habit of standing on top of lunch tables. You’ve gotten cautious now, and you’ll move your lunch before he kicks goalie kicks it across the room. Does he practice these monologues? One will never know with him.

“Not for breakfast, sweetheart,” his tone is firm. You’ve never been ‘sweatheart’ before. Sure, you have nicknames for each other. That’s just - weird. “I saw you with Jeff the other day. Ten bucks, big boy.”

Jeff and Gareth smoke sometimes from the stash that Eddie gives Jeff. After upping the charge for Gareth, they have a method that outsmarts Eddie. Or, at least their method used to outsmart him. Despite flunking a few classes, Eddie’s quick as a whip in his street smarts. There’s no getting around him!

“Come on,” Gareth protests, but reaches around for his wallet. “You can’t share amongst your good friends?”

“There’s nothing in the rules that says you can’t,” Eddie explains, “but, when you’re explicitly smoking from him to snag a free deal - Gareth, I feel duped!”

“Eddie,” you scold with open palms face down on the table. “It’s my birthday, and you can’t torture my friends on my birthday.”

Eddie snorts in disbelief, “it’s Gareth.”

You’re stone cold. That look might just pop Eddie’s head clear off. When did you give a shit about Gareth?

There hasn’t been a time yet that you’ve expressed any concern over Gareth. Jeff - yes. There was the time that Jeff had a paper due, you went through his mistakes in red ink, so that he could make corrections. You’re really good at writing. You should be with all the time you’re stuck in those notebooks writing away, and never letting anyone take a peak. Or, when Jeff needed to learn how to bake cookies for his Home Ec final. You were there too. But Gareth? Were you ill?

Eddie’s expression softens as he releases Gareth.

“Fine,” he sighs, “I’ll let it go.”

Gareth isn’t quite sure if he should thank you in front of Jeff and Eddie. Mostly because Eddie keeps one-eyeing him over his burger. Jeff wants to ask how you learned that trick on Eddie, as he can be quite persistent when he wants something done his own. Meanwhile, you’re snacking on another fry like it was nothing.

Before Eddie wants to start any more trouble, Jeff whisks Gareth away in a flash. They’ll probably smoke together, while digging an even bigger trench that they’re in with Eddie.

You’re left to enjoy a quiet meal with your best friend. Occasionally, you beg him to chew the food in his mouth with his lips shut. You’ll give up sometime when the burger is halfway down and done with.

Eddie won’t let you pay even though he’s practically down to dimes, quarters and dollar bills. It’s your birthday, and you’re going to be treated like the golden princess you are. Anything to let Eddie see your gleaming white smile is a win to him.

You don’t have a chance to spend much time with Eddie because he’s got an unspecified “something” to do today. It’s probably the band. They’re practicing this afternoon.

With that, you hop back into the passenger seat of his van. Eddie takes the long way around to your house, so you can practice your drum solo on his dash board. Slowly, you’ve picked up on a few of Eddie’s favorite songs. One day you might out-drum Gareth, and you could join the band.

Only in Eddie’s fantasies - not that he has a lot of fantasies about you. There’s an occasional rip in his friendship with you, as he likes to put it. A fluke. You’re not a fluke. It’s all him.

Anyway, you’re landing flat foot in the dirt right in front of your abode. Eddie wouldn’t let you walk the few steps across from his trailer. It’s silly how he does that. You wave like he’s going to be leaving for a journey to a far away land, instead of driving a couple feet and parking his van in front of his trailer.

You’ve got plenty of clean-up left to do inside of your home. There’s dirty dishes piled in the sink, the counters are covered in food and you might as well sweep the floor since you’re in there. The bathroom could also use a mop. Oh, but you might as well clean the entire bathroom. Because what’s the point in mopping if the bathroom isn’t clean?

The clock on your mother’s bed stand reads close to four in the afternoon when you finally finish making her bed with freshly washed sheets. It’s taken you hours, but the home is just starting to smell less like dread and a little more like hope - and lavender. You got a deal on room spray from the bargain store in town.

Stretching your arms way above your head, you decide to celebrate with a hot shower. The water running over your aching shoulders would feel good right about now. Plus, the towels are fresh from the wash as well.

Clean.

It’s such a simple, yet rewarding feeling. You don’t get to experience it all that often.

Cigarettes have stained the walls of your home, and buried themselves deep into your carpet fibers. There’s even a few burns here and there from your mother’s habit of falling asleep with a cigarette between her fingers.

You wrap yourself in a towel and forget about that for a moment. It’s just you and a bottle of lotion across your skin.

From your bedroom window, you can see Eddie pulling into his trailer once again. Back from band practice, Eddie skips up the steps to his trailer. You stop in the moment when Gareth jumps out of the passenger side. A dark t-shirt with missing sleeves and a pair of worn down denim shorts differ from this morning’s sweats. You don’t mean to stare, but really is it that awful to look over the menu? You’re not even ordering anything.

Snorting at yourself, you close the curtain for your own privacy to change and to loosen the thoughts bleeding your innocence. You throw a shirt over your head, and suddenly hear a single knock at your front door. It’s loud like a knock anyways.

Dressing yourself decently in a comfortable pair of pajamas (you have no plans to go anywhere), you head straight to the front door to figure out what the noise could be. Maybe your mom had come back, and she drunkenly forgot her keys.

Actually, the knock is a much prettier sight. There’s a bouquet of flowers in bright rich purples. You wonder who remembered your favorite flowers are these little orchards with the white center. There’s a card poking from the center of the bundle with Eddie, Jeff and Gareth’s nearly illegible handwriting. You hate to call their new band-mate ‘Freak,’ but he has signed the card as well. It says ‘Happy Birthday,’ and you coo.

You pick the bouquet off the porch by the glass vase the flowers are displayed in. Inhaling sweet aromas of warm days reading a good book in a field, you could cry.

“Thank you!” You wave to Gareth and Eddie, who are hiding neck deep in the engine of Eddie’s van pretending not to watch your reaction. They don’t really know much about girls, but you are one and so they try to make you feel different than them. They want you to feel special.

Eddie half waves like he’s too cool to admit what he’s done, but Gareth pops his head from the van and spins around to get a good look at you.

You hardly notice Gareth’s lingering gaze, as you’ve already closed the front door of your house with you inside.

It doesn’t take long for the phone to ring.

“Hello?”

“Are you ready?” Robin’s voice comes through clear and bouncing with energy.

You snicker. “Ready for what?”

“My mom is on her way to pick you up, you’re sleeping over at mine tonight,” she says as a matter-of-fact.

“Am I?”

“Eddie called me,” she explains, “Happy birthday by the way - oh! Your mom is a bitch.”

Robin begins rambling about the times your mom has irritated her because that’s what you two do. Among all things, Robin is your sibling by terms of the longevity of your friendship. She’s the only person to get away with calling out your mom directly to you.

“Robin,” you pause her rant. “If you want me over, I need to get an overnight bag ready.”

“Oh, right,” she clears her throat. “Five minutes.”

“Five?!” You exclaim. The line goes dead.

Oh, Robin. How you love her.

-> <-

[July 1983]

tags -> @leelei1980 @sheneedsrocknroll92 @jesuisbuginette @starrywhitenight @meetmeatyourworst @munsonburn3r @5tud10-54r4h @pvdulmol @loveryanax

[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!

[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?

[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.”

--

[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! ❤️

[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.

[eclipsewxtch]

mbav love triangle in my fic is so so funny… wdym rory likes ethan but ethan likes benny and benny likes rory HELP??? also rory is simply wonderful and ethan keeps flirting w him🤦🏾‍♀️ and rory keeps being all sweet w benny atp polyamory is the only option. this specific love triangle kinda revolves around rory (my fav vampire)

the only ethan love triangle is w those OC’s bc 1) my fic i can do what i want and 2) the red riding hood allegory is too fun to NOT exploit so i kinda legally have to.

don’t get me started on sarah… ethan adores her so bad😭 sarah lover 4eva, he is her 2nd biggest fan, but her #1 defender. he hates all her opps. she is his GIRL… however sarah/erica is ENDGAME sorry i love them too much i can’t pretend otherwise.

i mean. there’s no romance, y’know as of s1 till mid-s2 but still. STILL. erica will get the girl!!! she will!!

and jesse is. there. he’s flirty but otherwise uninterested. still flirty tho so it’s fun and messy.

[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.

[long-distance-love]

It’s looking like my long distance friend turned boyfriend and I are possibly going to finally meet IRL in a few months and I’m just having all of the emotions possible!!!!

Hi Nonny,

Sorry for taking so long with out reply, Benny and I are both recovering from the flu. 🥲

This energy and emotion is so important, so hold on to it and kindle it like a flame. It will be the very thing to see you through your long distance relationship, along with the obvious commitment and loving maintenance of your bond. This exciting enthusiasm will make you live through the hardest parts of an LDR simply by filling you with hope.

(Also, friends to lovers... That's the best way to fall in love! 🥺)

Let us know if you can meet, we always love hearing from you! 💕

- Danny

[nemo-of-house-hamartia]

Nemo! I come bearing gifts (of my presence, which you are welcome for) (jkjkjk) and questions for your OC reblog game!!!!

4, 9, 17, 25???

okthxgoodnight!!

Aniiiii!! My dear!!!

thank you so much for your ask!! I am immensely sorry for this late reply, was so tired from work had no energy! :/

But I am incredibly happy to see you in my inbox!! Always happy to see you in my inbox!

Now, onward with my answers!!

4) What kind of music do your OCs listen to?

UUUUUh, good question, my dear Ani, good question! Because it depends on the OC! :D Let me try and list at least my main 4 AC OC!

-Dorothea would definitely listen to Classical and Opera, along with Movie Soundtracks, with a dash of Swedish Pop being her secret indulgence (ABBA and Roxette, looking at you lol);

Mathias instead, while also loving Classical Music, would be listening to Swing and Jazz, along of course with Classical as well. My darling Mathias is a great estimator of Mr. Benny Goodman and Mr. Cab Calloway (and thank you, now I am back with my mind on my Noir!AU lol).

Antoine, instead, favors Rock and Blues as her favourite genre, with Eric Clapton being literally her Music God (seriously, Antoine never shows how much she loves something, but bring her to an Eric Clapton’s concert, and my girl goes from Dr. Jekyll to Mr. Hyde, in terms of how different she behaves).

Colette adores Musical Theatre and Cabaret Music above all, but she also has a HUGE soft spot for the songs of the Italian Tradition and Italian Cantautori, with particular love for Fabrizio De André, Franco Battiato and Riccardo Cocciante being her favourites!

9) Favourite OC?

Do I really need to say it? 😂😂😂Lololol Madame Dorothea is most definitely my favourite brainchild!

But in all seriousness, I DO have more than one favourite OC, even if it doesn’t seem like it because I always have the tendency to draw Dorothea. But I do, and they are, Mathias De Beaumont, Byron Harrison, my Emmett and Gabriel Frye, and for the non AC side, Nabyrie Ondore and my Verona Caruso.😊<3

They are my adored brainchildren, and if I could put them in everything I do, I would.

17) What are some tropes and character dynamics found in your wips?

Ohh TROPES! Love this! Let me list some tropes and character dynamics that you can almost always find in my wips!:

-Broken Bird

-Enemies to Lovers

-Power Trio

-Sun, Moon and Stars

-Brother(s)-Sister(s) team

-Beauty and Beast

-Star-Crossed lovers

-Destructive Romance (with touches of “A Deadly Affair”)

25) What’s your favourite genre to write? Is it also your favourite genre to read?

I would say Historical Fiction and Gothic Stories. They are my bread and butter, and the one I love to explore the most, both as a writer and as a reader. :) Also, as far as non-fiction goes, I love to read essays regarding the most varied topics! I am not too choosy in that sense, and all knowledge can always come in handy later on :)

thank you so much for your questions!! <3

--Nemo

[melancholypancakes]

This will be me ranting about the lego movie ships I enjoy.

I love the lego movie franchise, ever since 2014 going up til now :)

I've never been into the Fandom as for art and story telling until recently probably thanks to @burgycreeper405-blog

And all the fanfictions I've been reading on wattpad and A03 (Archiveofourown) of emmet and lucy/ Rex dangerous and lucy ( his lucy of course)

I'm sorry I don't ship self incest or self insert.

Anyway I found out some people ship Rex dangervest and General sweet mayhem.

Interesting ship, I never thought about them together but I'm starting to ship them too

Sadly, they're no fanart or enough fanfictions of them together.

I like that they fit into the enemies to friends to lovers trope idea though :)

The only fanfiction of them on wattpad is short but it's there

https://www.wattpad.com/story/313073297?utm_source=android&utm_medium=link&utm_content=story_info&wp_page=story_details_button&wp_uname=creepypastagirl17&wp_originator=koPzbDxJ0GY358IfPauumMLOvqdkRFQkwxFogJZxS2mW2ppzaSACGfbh8Pf0%2FQEL%2FDlQVNE4Ecf9sWluDiKHbyFINufZJ4BF1F48glrBAbzFTn9mkv3fB7trErtAaL09

Honestly, I personally think they make a good couple if rex was alive at the end of the lego movie 2.

I do enjoy some shipping with Benny and General Swet Mayhem ;)

Also, in general there is not enough fanfictions/fanart of the lego movie ships ( revolving emmet x lucy/wyldstyle, rex dangervest x (his) lucy, rex dangervest x General Sweet Mayhem and, Benny x General Sweet Mayhem etc,..)

[winderlylandchime]

(Also my bad i forgot to say hello and sorry for this mans insane behavior that im about to throw at you)

2/2 ‘AW LOOK ITS JEN IN THE LOFT! And she’s stocking it up! That is adorable! Why couldn’t they made the episode about Brian and Jen teaming up in some way instead of whatever the fuck theyre making me watch?’ ‘Oh god. Oh god. We went from pathetic to even more pathetic *he paused the tv and got up to go get his pills* i gotta make sure this shit doesn’t cause hallucinations bc there is no way in hell that I’m not imagining this. He’s fucking Ben and asking him about Brian? Ben my dude…dump him.’ I swear he’s about to lose his mind at the brian and mikey scene..’is he actually pissed at Brian? is this like the motto of this whole show? When in doubt blame Brian? THANK YOU BRIAN! Thank you for calling him out on jealousy!!’ He is now absolutely losing his shit, I’m talking crying laughing and complaining because his stitches hurt because Mikey asked who hasn’t fucked Brian and Brian replied with you. It took him like 5 minutes to pull himself together. ‘You know this episode kinda sucks but that was worth it!..who do i have to pay to never see these two kiss again? That was a horrible experience for me’ he is laughing again bc Ben asked if Mikey and Brian were lovers and all he had to say to that was ‘didn’t know Benny boy had jokes’. ‘Okay she got the name now lets move on bc i am tired of cops’ he spent the rest of it being annoyed bc and i quote “they wasted my precious time where i could be watching Brian and Justin with Ben and Mike and Brian…bullshit”

HELLO! (no worries, assume we’re best pals now and you can just launch into today’s update)

I love your brother’s love for Brian and Jen’s relationship. If we assume that Jen had Justin in her 20s, or even at 30, she’s only a few years more difference in age to Brian than he is to Justin (don’t think about it too closely though). They do get along and I can’t wait to see his reaction to Jen’s reaction to you know what in S5 (one of few bright spots in S5).

It is not a great episode, I agree. You and your brother are right.

Next episode however…