#as he hears seven for the first time on the radio in the car | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

mimimarvelingmarvel · 4 months ago

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time bound part seven

pairing: worst wolverine!logan howlett x f!mutant!reader

Part Seven - Masterlist

summary: Y/n’s life takes a dramatic turn when the Time Variance Authority intervenes, pulling her from a critical moment in her timeline. The TVA sends her to the void where she eventually meets with Deadpool and a very familiar face. With Deadpool's universe in the balance, alongside his reluctant would-be pal, Wolverine, and the enigmatic time-bending mutant known as the Veil, the trio must complete the mission and save Deadpool’s world from an existential threat.

overall warnings: 18+, Fem!Reader, AFAB Reader, Use of Y/N, Her X-Men name is Veil, She/her pronouns, Swearing, Angst, Heavy Violence, Character Death, Deadpool (he’s his own warning), Hurt, Fluff, Angst, Eventual Smut, Slow Burn, TVA

word count: 2k

The road stretches out before us, a seemingly endless ribbon of asphalt cutting through the desolate landscape. The car, a beat-up old muscle car with a purring engine that speaks of too many miles and too many battles, rumbles beneath us. The seats are worn, their once-plush leather now cracked and faded, much like the people riding in them. The air inside is stale, carrying the faint scent of gasoline and sweat, mingled with the metallic tang of blood that seems to cling to everything we touch.

I lean back, my body sinking into the seat as I close my eyes, trying to find a moment of respite. The gentle vibration of the road beneath the tires lulls me into a light, uneasy doze. But it’s not enough—never enough—to ward off the nightmares that wait just beyond the veil of sleep. Images of my world, my friends, everything I’ve ever known, shattered and dying, claw at the edges of my consciousness. The sounds of their screams, the scent of burning flesh, it all lingers, just out of reach, waiting to pounce the moment I let my guard down.

When I open my eyes again, the car is still moving, the road still stretching endlessly ahead. The world outside is a blur, the trees we’ve been driving in continue on for ages, but I can tell we’re close. Inside, the only sound is the soft strains of music playing from the car’s ancient radio, a static-laced tune that feels like a ghost from a time long past. It’s quiet—too quiet—yet I cling to this moment of calm like it’s the only thing keeping me tethered to reality.

“You enjoy your power nap, pumpkin?” Wade’s voice slices through the quiet, shattering the fragile peace I’d managed to find. The nickname, as ridiculous as it is, grates on my nerves. I groan, my eyes fluttering shut again, hoping to block him out.

“It was so peaceful before you opened your mouth,” I mumble, my voice thick with irritation. There’s a part of me that just wants to hold onto the silence, to bask in it a little longer before reality comes crashing back in.

Wade’s gaze meets mine in the rearview mirror, his expression playful, as if he’s completely oblivious to the tension simmering beneath the surface. “I don’t hear Logan complaining.”

Logan, sitting stoically beside Wade, rolls his eyes. The subtle gesture, the way his knuckles whiten as he grips the steering wheel, tells me more than words ever could. I chuckle softly, a hollow sound that barely covers the unease gnawing at my insides.

Then, as if he’s compelled to break the fragile truce, Wade blurts out, “Okay, I’m just gonna ask it. What’s with the suit?”

My gaze drifts to Logan, to the yellow X-Men suit he’s wearing. It’s a jarring sight, one that doesn’t fit the image I have of him—rugged, battle-worn, but never in something so bright, so out of place in this bleak world. The realization hits me hard: I’ve never seen him wear it before.

“The first thing I did when I flamed out, I took mine off,” Wade continues, his tone light, almost mocking, but there’s a sharpness beneath it that makes my skin prickle.

Logan’s response is immediate, his voice low and edged with warning. “Drop it.”

But Wade, relentless as ever, presses on. “It’s not that ugly.”

“Stop talking about the suit,” Logan snaps, his irritation growing palpable in the confined space of the car.

Wade, ever oblivious to danger or perhaps simply indifferent to it, persists. “Did you make it yourself? Been there.”

Logan’s tone darkens, a growl rumbling in his chest. “Quit now.”

But Wade doesn’t quit. He never does. “The X-Men make you wear it? Those sons of fucking bitches. They are not your friends, I’ll tell you that. Friends don’t let friends leave the house looking like they fight crime for the Los Angeles Rams.”

The words hang in the air, and I feel the tension coiling tighter, a noose around my throat. I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to block out the mention of friends—our friends—who are no longer here, no longer anything but ghosts in a broken world.

“Shut the fuck up about the suit,” Logan’s voice is a razor, slicing through the air. It’s ice-cold, and for a moment, I flinch at the intensity of it.

Wade raises his hands in mock surrender, but there’s a seriousness to his tone that wasn’t there before. “Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa. Watch your frown lines, angel baby. I’m just trying to bond a little bit.”

“Yeah, well then talk about something else,” Logan’s patience is fraying, each word a thread pulled taut, ready to snap.

“Fine.” Wade’s voice shifts, losing its edge. “If they can fix your world, what’s the first thing you’re gonna do when you get out of here? Rubbing alcohol shots? Maybe a wiper fluid chaser?”

The word “If” lodges itself in my mind like a splinter, unraveling the fragile grip I have on my emotions. My ears start ringing, and suddenly, I’m not in the car anymore. The world blurs, and I see it—Wade, punching Logan in the face. The vision is jarring, disorienting, and then, just as quickly, I’m yanked back to the present.

“What did you say?” Logan’s voice is sharp, pulling me out of the haze, grounding me in the here and now.

Wade, his confusion plain, repeats himself. “So when you get back, what’s the first thing you’re gonna do?”

“No, no, no, before that,” Logan insists, his eyes narrowing, his suspicion flaring.

Wade hesitates, and I can see the moment he realizes his mistake. “If… they can fix your world?”

Logan’s expression hardens, anger and betrayal flashing in his eyes. Without warning, he slams on the brakes, the car screeching to a halt. The sudden stop jolts me forward, but it’s the look on Logan’s face that makes my heart skip a beat. “What do you mean if?”

“I mean…” Wade falters, his bravado crumbling as he struggles to find the right words.

Logan’s voice is a dangerous growl, the kind that makes your blood run cold. “You lied to me. You don’t have a fucking clue if they can help me fix things, do you?”

“No, I mean… No, fuck! Fuck!” Wade stammers, but it’s too late. The truth is out, and Logan’s claws are already extending, a deadly promise in his eyes. Before Wade can react, Logan stabs him in the leg.

Wade yelps, the pain clear in his voice. “I didn’t lie!”

“You lied,” Logan hisses, his voice as cold as the steel in his hands.

I sit in the back, overwhelmed by a tidal wave of guilt and the crushing realization that there’s no undoing what’s already been done. I could have stopped this. I should have stopped this. But it’s too late now—too late to change anything.

Wade, his tone desperate, tries to explain. “No, I made an educated wish. Because I need you.” He pulls out a photo, his hands shaking slightly as he holds it out for Logan to see. “This, this is why. Right here. Because if we don’t do something, they die. I don’t know anything about saving worlds. Why would I even care? Because my entire world is right here in this picture. It’s only nine people, and I have no idea how to save it alone. I know how to fuck people up for money, but you, you know how to save them. At least the other Wolverine did.”

Wade’s voice cracks, a rare moment of vulnerability slipping through his usual bravado. “Oh, fuck!” Logan twists his wrist. “I guess I’m stuck with the worst one.”

Logan’s eyes narrow, his anger simmering just beneath the surface. “Did you say you made an educated fucking wish?”

“They call me the Merc with the Mouth,” Wade tries to regain his usual humor, but it falls flat. “They don’t call me Truthful Timmy, the blowjob queen of Saskatoon.”

Logan’s hand twitches, his control slipping. “One more,” he demands, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. “Please, give me one.”

Wade, ever the joker, tries to lighten the mood. “Gubernatorial.”

But Logan is beyond reason now. He goes to stab Wade again, but Wade screams, the sound tearing through the car, reverberating off the walls of my mind. I’m sitting in the back, too shocked to move, too numb to process what’s happening. There’s no saving what I’ve done. No changing the hurt I could have stopped.

Logan turns to Wade, his voice dripping with contempt, his words a knife twisting in the wound. “You know what, you’re a fucking joke. No wonder the Avengers didn’t take you. Or the X-Men—they’ll take fucking anyone. I mean, you are a ridiculous, immature, half-wit moron. I have never met a sadder, more attention-starved, jabbering little prick in my entire life. And that says a lot because I’ve been alive for more than 200 fucking years. I’ll tell ya, that bald chick was right. You will never save the world. You couldn’t even save a relationship with a goddamn stripper. Motherfucker, I wish I could say you’d die alone, but it’s one of God’s best jokes that you can’t die, except that’s on all of us!” He slams his fist on the top of the car, the metal groaning under the force, and I flinch, my heart skipping a beat. The tension in the air is so thick it feels like it’s suffocating me, wrapping around my throat and squeezing until I can hardly breathe.

Logan stares at him, his eyes filled with a mix of pity and disgust. “You got nothing to say, Mouth?”

Wade flinches, the words cutting deeper than any blade ever could. His usual bravado crumbles, and for a moment, he looks like a lost child, the weight of everything finally breaking through the armor he’s built around himself. He looks away, his eyes dull, and when he speaks, his voice is barely a whisper. “I’m gonna fight you now.”

Logan chuckles darkly, the sound devoid of humor, and I feel my stomach churn, the dread pooling in the pit of my gut. The vision hits me again—flashes of blood, violence, and something far worse waiting just beyond the edges of my mind. My hands start to tremble, and I know I can’t stay in the car. I push the door open and step out, the cool air hitting my face like a slap. My legs feel like jelly, but I force myself to move, taking a few shaky steps away from the car.

Behind me, the fight erupts with a sudden, violent force. The car jolts as their bodies slam against it, and I hear the sickening sound of flesh hitting flesh, the wet splatter of blood as it sprays across the ground. The smell of iron fills the air, sharp and acrid, mixing with the earthy scent of the forest. My stomach turns, and I barely manage to keep myself upright as I stagger over to a tree and collapse against it, sliding down until I’m sitting on the ground.

I curl up, hugging my knees to my chest, trying to block out the sounds of their fight, the horrible, animalistic grunts and growls that seem to echo in my head. But it’s no use. The vision is getting stronger, more vivid. Bright, flashing lights sear across my mind, and I hear a scream ripping through the vision—a scream that’s mine, raw and terrified.

And then, as if the world itself is breaking apart, there’s a loud crash. Logan is shot through the front window of the car, his body flying through the air before crashing to the ground with a bone-jarring thud. He rolls past me, his body leaving a trail of blood in the dirt. I tuck my legs closer, curling into a tighter ball, trying to protect myself from the onslaught of sensations that are threatening to tear me apart.

The vision crescendos, a blinding storm of light and sound, and then, just as suddenly as it began, everything goes dark. There’s nothing left—no sound, no pain, no fear. Just an endless, consuming void.

Next Part

A/N: I’m so tired, I need sleep updates will probs be slow.

taglist: @oscarissac2099 @somiaw @100percentlazybonez @obsessedwthdilfs @sun7lowxr @corvid007

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nochukoo97 · 1 year ago

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seven dates a week - monday

pairing: jungkook x reader

summary: a series of you and jungkook’s dates throughout the week, jungkook is a sweetheart and spoils you a lot, too much in your opinion.

word count: 1.2k+

a/n: OMG super excited for this i am going to make this a small series, probably just seven parts to this for each day of the week but here’s the first fic! but i may open a taglist and asks for this if i think it does well ☺️

seven dates a week masterlist!

“one touch and you got me stoned~” jungkook’s voice rings throughout the car as the radio plays, you two starting the day early in the morning by going to a coffee shop for breakfast.

you giggle as you point your camera towards your boyfriend who’s currently singing his heart out and driving. when the car stops at the red light, jungkook looks at the camera as he sings with a dramatic expression on his face, causing you to laugh even more.

“your touch blurred my vision, it’s your world and im just in it- oh shit” your boyfriend halts mid-performance when he realises the car behind him had honked for him to go, jungkook was too engrossed in singing for you he had paid no attention to the red light that was now green.

“baby it’s this one, turn right,” you point towards the little coffee shop at the corner of the road that you had searched up for you and jungkook to go.

as you get out of the car, you excitedly grab your boyfriend’s hand, ready to walk into the coffee shop you had been dying to go to.

“jagi, calm down” jungkook laughs while being forcefully dragged to walk two times as fast to the entrance of the coffee shop.

“ohmygosh- baby look this is so cute!” you squeal as you scan the room, pretty flowers adorn the ceiling and there was even a house cat that lived in the coffee shop, according to the website.

even after the waiter had sat the both of you down and given you the menus to place your order, you quickly got distracted and walked towards the cat laying near the entrance.

“hiii cutie, oh my goodness,” you coo as the cat purrs, flipping over on its back to let you scratch its tummy.

“jagi-ah, you want the matcha latte right?” jungkook calls out as he peers over from the menu.

“yeah, you can order whatever food, i can share with you,” you don’t even look back at your boyfriend as you continue to shower the fat grey cat with attention.

—-

“baby, come the food is here,” your boyfriend calls out to you again, you unwillingly walk back to the table as you bid the cat goodbye.

“NO WAIT-” you nearly scream and jungkook who had a fork in his hand, ready to devour the pancakes prettily plated in front of him.

“jesus, you scared me,” your boyfriend grumbled as he leaned back in his chair, forgetting that you always scolded him whenever he began to eat without allowing you to take photos of the food.

“if you had put the fork in the pancake i would have killed you,” you snap a picture of the pancake, angling it so that jungkook’s torso was in the frame.

“okay now can i eat?” jungkook whines as you snap a couple more, nodding to him as he absolutely destroys the stack of pancakes, making the one’s at the top fall all over the place. you decide to let that slide.

“baby, try my drink,” you hold out your cup towards him, but jungkook only scrunches up his face seeing the green drink he always had a strong hatred to.

“you know i hate that thing, its disgusting,” your boyfriend refuses the offer, but you wont take no for an answer.

“just try it, trust me its like sooooo good,” you definitely weren’t exaggerating in your opinion, but jungkook thinks otherwise.

you laugh as your boyfriend hisses as the drink slides up the straw into his mouth.

“urgh, taste like shit,” he groans as you slap his arm.

“don’t say that here! the staff can hear you!” you scold him but he waves you off anyways.

before you can say anything else, your boyfriend is stuffing a huge mouth of pancakes into your mouth as you can only frown at him.

he snaps a picture on his phone.

“baby what do u think about getting matching bracelets, i saw a shop had one and its pretty cute,” jungkook talks to you as you nod, still chewing the huge amount of pancakes in your mouth.

“urgh, you stuffed so much in my mouth,” you say as you dramatically gasp for air after swallowing.

“isn’t the first time i did that,” he’s smirking as if he was very proud of his comment.

“jungkook!” you hiss at him as you look around, thankfully the cafe was not too packed, so hopefully no one heard.

“i wasn’t lying,”

the audacity to give you a sly smile.

——

“babe, why are we at cartier,” you ask, as jungkook drags you by the hand into the shop before you can resist

“what do you mean?” he smiles back at you, “to buy our bracelets!”

your jaw drops as your boyfriend is grinning widely at you.

“baby, nonono- we can’t do this, it’s so much money,” you start to try and pull your hand away from him, but your boyfriend is too strong to let go.

“why not, it can be our anniversary gift!” he pulls you closer to him and wraps his arm around your waist, leading you towards the display cases.

“babe, our anniversary was two months ago and you bought me an expensive handbag, don’t make excuses,” you whine as you want to run out of the store, not wanting your boyfriend to spend so much money on you for the millionth time this year.

“it’s okay baby i want this, even if you don’t want it ill wear both for myself,” he sits you down on the chair at the display case as he tells the staff which piece of jewelry he wants to see.

“we both know you will end up making me wear one,”

“exactly”

so thats how you ended up with two cartier love bracelets, one on each of you, that cost way more than you want to imagine.

but you thank jungkook for it anyways.

——

your last destination for the day is the mall, to run a few errands like picking up groceries for the house.

but your terrible at sticking to the plan as you drag jungkook into the store that caught your attention.

jungkook groans as you begin to saunter towards the giant eevee plushie at the near end of the small shop.

“baby, come on, let’s stick to our plan and go to the supermarket,” jungkook tries to gently coax you away from that terrible giant piece of fluff that you might eventually convince him to let you bring home.

“but baby, i really really need this,” you pout at the huge plushie, pointing towards it as you slowly manage to drag your boyfriend closer and closer to it.

each step was a step closer to victory.

——-

“i can’t believe i have this huge ass thing in the back of my car right now,”

you frown at your boyfriend’s mean and horrible words.

“don’t say that to eevee, you will make her cry,” you smack your boyfriend’s arm as he looks at you in offense

“that thing can’t hear me and it doesn’t have feelings baby, it’s okay,”

“don’t call it a thing!”

in the end jungkook is forced to give your new plushie a big warm welcome into your shared apartment as he sets the huge soft toy down in the middle of the living room.

#jungkook fluff #jungkook #jungkook au #jungkook ff #jungkook smut #jungkook x oc #jungkook x reader #bts #bts ff #bts fic #bts jungkook #jungkook fanfic #jungkook imagine #jungkook angst #boyfriend jungkook #jungkook scenario #jungkook imagines #jungkook x you #bts x reader

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strangersteddierthings · 2 years ago

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Porcelain Steve - Part 5

Part One🦇Part Two🦇Part Three🦇Part Four🦇Part Five🦇Part Six🦇Part Seven🦇Part Eight🦇Part Nine

"Get a grip," Eddie mutters to himself as he places the phone back onto its cradle for the fourth time that day without having made a phone call. He paces back and forth in front of the phone, one, two, three full lines across the room and back before he picks up the phone, dials the Henderson's number, lets it ring one and a half times, then slams the phone down again before someone can answer.

He thinks he's losing it a little. All this time he thought he was the level-headed one but now that it's been two full days of not seeing Porcelain Steve, he thinks he's going to climb the walls and start ripping up the carpets. Logically he knows that nothing has happened. If something had, he would have heard from Dustin already, either by phone or over the walkie (which may or may not be on him at all times, volume as loud as it goes). They wouldn't leave him in the dark.

Right?

Right. Right.

He picks up the phone again, dialing the Buckley house instead.

Robin's dad answers, which is great. Robin's mom likes to play 20 Questions before handing the phone off. He keeps meaning to ask Robin if her mom does that for everyone that calls, or if he's just the lucky one. Robin's dad is a straightforward guy. He wants to know who is calling, and who they want to talk to.

"Robin is out, but I can give her a message, Eddie," Mr. Buckley says.

"Yes, please. Sir. Just let her know I called."

"Will do. Goodbye."

He listens to the dial tone for a few seconds before setting the phone down for the sixth time in less than 15 minutes. He has got to do something to keep busy or the carpets are toast.

Usually when he's this restless he bothers his friends, but Jeff is out of town on a family vacation, no one answered the phone at Gareth's house (first person he called this morning), and Brian has a summer job taking up his time, so now he's left to figure out distractions on his own.

His room is filled with distractions, but nothing that can claim his attention for too long. He puts a cassette in the player but doesn't turn it up to the volume that usually calms him because he doesn't want to miss hearing the phone ring. He'd been trying to distract himself with campaign planning and keeps getting off track with the fantasy that this would be the campaign he could convince Steve to at least hang out and observe, if not play in one or two sessions as an over-powered NPC.

Even Return of the King can't hold his attention for more than two pages, even if he flips through to read just his favorite parts because his mind immediately plays word association games which leads to thinking of Steve.

It hits Eddie then that he misses Steve. He misses climbing into Steve's car and bitching about whatever station Steve's set the radio on playing the Top 40. He misses late night smoke sessions where Steve seems to soften under his high and the night sky as they lay atop the trailer close enough to touch and talk about nothing. He misses being able to steal glances at Steve when he throws his head back to laugh hysterically at something he or Robin had said.

He misses Steve so intensely and fiercely that it sits like a rock in his stomach. He would give anything to hear Steve's voice again.

Oh. Oh no. He needs distraction from his thoughts now.

He successfully managed to hem and haw about his room for almost an hour before he marches back out to the living room and the phone set on the end table next to Wayne's recliner. Picks it up then sets it down again, turning on heel to the kitchen. Maybe breakfast (a glance to the clock on the wall tells him the time is 12:50, so maybe it's actually lunch) will be a sufficient time sink.

He pulls out all the fixings of a PB&J and is in the process of searching for a clean(ish) butter knife when three rapid knocks startle him, freezing him in place for a moment.

The knocking happens again, five quick raps this time, but Eddie was already making his way to the door by the third this time. There is a thought in the back of his mind that rises, unbidden, oh God, something's happened and it makes him wrench the door open with more force than necessary.

Robin stands on his porch, but not for long. She's got a backpack on and a grocery bag hanging off of one arm and when Eddie just blinks at her in a moment of confusion, she huffs and bullies her way inside. He full body turns, closing the door as he does so, to watch her deposit the bag, then backpack, onto the couch.

"Uh, hi?" Eddie manages as he watches her begin to unload the things she brought. A box of microwave popcorn, an obscene amount of candy bars, an assortment of nail polishes, and more but his attention is dragged up to the side of Robin's face when she starts talking, pulling out VHS tapes, clearly rented from Family Video.

"So, I brought a few options for us. Halloween because it was your most rented film back when Steve and I still worked there, so I thought it was a safe bet. Also go The Black Cauldron because you strike me as a Black Cauldron kind of guy, The Hidden Fortress because it's one of my favorites and you might enjoy it, too, and Top Gun, because, well, it might serve as a good distraction for a bit," Robin holds up each tape as she lists them off, setting them on the coffee table next to the assorted stuff she brought with. "Also got, like, a manicure set and some scrunchies and bobby pins. Not really sure how occupied you need to be right now."

"Uh.... what?"

Robin rolls her eyes like Eddie's slow on the uptake, "Distraction. I'm here to provide it. Though, maybe I should have called and asked what you do when you want to kill time. I just... defaulted to what Steve and I do. Movies and makeovers, but, like, if that doesn't work that's fine. It's just, you've joined us before on movie makeover nights, so I assumed..."

Eddie swallows pushing down the knot threatening to form in his throat. It's not a shock (anymore) that he's truly friends with Robin, but sometimes it's not at the forefront of his mind. When he thinks of friends, Jeff, Gareth, and Brian come to mind first. They've years of history together, after all. What he's got with Robin, and everyone else, is deeper than just friendship, the shared secret of Spring Break '86 that's made them all ride or die. So, now, with Robin showing up, instinctively wanting to help because they're friends even without Steve as a buffer, it just kinda rocks Eddie emotionally.

"No, it's great. I just- how did you know?"

Robin cocks her head at him, "You didn't leave a message."

He's not sure what facial expression he makes but everything about Robin softens just a bit. It's so reminiscent of how she is with Steve in the soft, quiet moments when she thinks no one else is paying attention to her and Steve. (Eddie's always paying attention.)

"Oh, dingbat," She says it softly and with a shake of her head before grabbing the popcorn box and ripping it open. She fishes out a packet and tosses it to him. "Get that going. I'm putting in Top Gun."

Wordlessly, Eddie obeys. He wants to ask more questions. What's the look for? Since when does she call him dingbat? What is happening? He throws the bag into the microwave, then remembers the PB&J he was attempting to make earlier. He makes two sandwiches, pausing only to dump the popcorn into a bowl once the microwave beeps. He puts the sandwiches on a plate to make carrying everything easier and joins Robin on the couch.

She accepts the offered sandwich with glee and they watch the first half hour of Top Gun in silence before Eddie gets his words gathered.

"How did you know?" He asks again.

"My dad," she says like a confession, not even needing Eddie to elaborate what he means, "it's, like, the highlight of his day when I miss a call from you. He's so overdramatic about delivering it, all bowing at me and repeating whatever lame thing you said like the esteemed Mister Munson has called to inquire if the lovely Lady Robin would like to partake on an outing the afternoon overmorrow or whatever shit you decide to sprout. Who says 'overmorrow' anyway? So, when I got back from helping mom grocery shop, he just... he pulled the grocery bags from my hands and told me 'I think Eddie needs you'."

He's only met the Buckley's face to face a few times. They don't hang out at Robin's house much so he's a bit shocked that Mr. Buckley even picked up Eddie's dramatics enough to notice something was off.

"My parents are a bit overprotective and overbearing sometimes but they care and listen," Robin says, "so when you called and seemed to different to what my dad is used to hearing- well, I asked to borrow his car, and made a quick pitstop. I was just kind of banking on the fact you need a distraction the same way I do."

He understands what Robin isn't actually saying. "From thinking about Steve."

She nods, "yeah. I know Dustin would never let anything happen to him, but it still leaves me jittery when I don't see him. Especially since the last time I went two days without seeing Steve he- well, he turned into a porcelain doll."

"I thought I was doing okay with all this, you know?" Eddie finds himself saying. "But I'm not. And it's so fucking stupid. It's not like I'm the only one who cares about Steve, or is worried, but- And it's not that I don't trust Dustin to keep him safe. I just- it's..."

"It's different. How you feel about Steve, how Dustin feels about Steve, and how I do. It's all different."

Eddie freezes. He's never- they don't talk about it. He's only said it out loud to three people. Wayne, Jeff, and his father. The last one landed him in the hospital and Wayne's custody so it's not a secret he lets out lightly.

"Dustin's his brother," Robin continues, either unaware of how Eddie's basically quit breathing or choosing to ignore it, "but he's also a dumb teenage boy. He'd never let anything happen to Steve, but that's not a guarantee that nothing will happen. I worry, too. I want to just take Steve and wrap him in bubble wrap, put him in a box, wrap that in bubble wrap, then put that in a bigger box and set him in the middle of an empty room where nothing could accidentally fall over onto the box."

He huffs out a laugh at the mental image that conjures up. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," Robin says before sucking her lips between her teeth, then pushing them out with a pop! sound, seeming to think over something. He watches as she mentally braces herself, the physical tales of her shifting to face him more, shoulders tensing, leg bouncing slightly. "So anyway, it's different, how we feel about Steve. Dustin loves him. I love him. And you... You're in love with him."

Even though they're inside his own home, Eddie still jerks back and looks around, for anyone who might hear what Robin is accusing him of. "Listen, Buckley, you can't believe every rumor you hear ab-"

"Eddie," she says, holding one hand out, palm up, "stop. Give me your hand and make terrible, awkward eye contact with me for, like, five seconds, please. It's important."

Eddie, very slowly, slips his hand onto hers, and she covers it with her free hand and, as promised, they make awkward eye contact.

"I'm a lesbian," she blurts out and immediately looks away from Eddie's face, letting out a deep sigh of relief.

And Eddie? Well, he laughs. It starts as just a snort but then it grows. And Jesus, it's such an awful response to Robin coming out to him, but he can't stop. He knows that Robin has gifted him with this trust, with knowledge that could get her murdered, and he should not be laughing.

Robin, for her part, takes it well. There's a few seconds of startled silence from her before she barks out her own laugh. Eddie laughs so hard and for so long he thinks he's going to puke, and Robin almost falls off the couch.

"Jesus Christ," is what he can manage to say once he's caught his breath.

"Jesus Christ," she echoes in a quieter voice.

Top Gun plays on in the background.

Eddie still can't say it out loud, so instead he says, "am I that obvious?"

"No. But I can recognize the signs of trying to hide a massive crush on someone of the same gender. You know, with all the experience I have at it."

"You are far better at hiding that then me I guess. I had no clue about you."

She shrugs, "yeah, well, it's not like we hang around a lot of girls for me to crush on. It's you, me, and Steve. Occasionally a kid or five. No offense, but I'd rather die than look at any of you lustfully."

Eddie fakes gagging at the thought.

Robin swats his arm playfully. "Anyway, what I'm saying is, I get that it makes you feel a little crazy not being around Steve. Especially when he's, like, literally unable to protect himself currently. I feel like that, too. He's my soulmate and no one knows me as well as he does. It's... lonely without him."

"So... Steve knows...?"

"Oh yeah. Me telling him it what I think kicked off our real friendship."

"I thought all the shit that happened at Star Court did that."

"That's when I told him. After barfing into a toilet."

"Gross."

"It really was. Steve took it so well. Then he mocked me for my crush."

"Which was...?"

"Absolutely not telling you. Anyway. That's enough mushy talky time. Paint my nails," she says, leaning over to grab a yellow nail polish off the coffee table.

Eddie holds out his hand to take it. He's not even going to pretend he doesn't want to.

Silence falls over them, a comfortable one. Eddie doesn't feel like climbing the walls much anymore, so Robin's distraction is working. Maybe it's just the not being alone in the trailer anymore. Maybe it's the knowing he's not alone anymore.

Maybe it's also knowing that Steve knows about Robin and still loves her.

(Funny that Steve just happened to find and befriend the probably only two queer people in all of Hawkins.)

They put in The Hidden Fortress next and Robin talks through almost the whole thing, telling him facts and that this next part is actually her favorite part.

By the time Robin leaves, well after nightfall, Eddie is feeling more settled.

#my fic #steddie #porcelain steve #robin and eddie friendship #robin and eddie bonding time!!#i am procrastinating writing the final part because i cant choose between the 3 different ways i want to end this #i mean ill pick one eventually and maybe just make a post about all the scenes that didnt make it into the fic #anyway theres 2-3 parts left

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cartermagazine · 8 months ago

Text

Today We Honor The Voice Luther Vandross

Luther Vandross’ voice and distinct singing style led to not only monumental success, but an instant recognition when you hear him singing–through your stereo, car radio, on TV or in a movie.

Coupled with that voice, was Luther’s unique ability to write and sing about love and the shared emotions we all feel in that search and enjoyment of love. Love of family, friends, the special someone–all were themes Luther explored with his music regularly, reaching many, becoming a staple in the most joyous moments of people’s lives through his songs for the last two generations.

Luther had been in entertainment for 35 years. From his introduction to the world as a singer on the first season of PBS’s Sesame Street in 1969 to winning four Grammy Awards in 2004, Luther was a permanent and dynamic force in popular music. He crossed boundaries, starting with his earliest success as a background vocalist and arranger for David Bowie, Bette Midler, Barbara Streisand, Donna Summer, Carly Simon, Judy Collins, J. Geils Band, Ben E. King, Ringo Starr and Chic. He produced records for Aretha Franklin, Dionne Warwick and Whitney Houston.

For almost 25 years, from 1981 to 2005, Luther dominated the American R+B music charts like no other artist before or since. In that span Luther released eight (8) #1 R&B albums, seven (7) #1 R&B singles and another five (5) Top 20 R&B singles. He achieved crossover status with eight (8) Billboard Top 10 albums, including reaching #1 with 2003’s Dance With My Father; and another five (5) Top 10 Billboard Hot 100 singles.

Luther received 31 Grammy Award nominations, winning 8 times. Additionally, Luther won eight (8) American Music Awards, including Favorite Soul/R&B Male Artist seven (7) times. via luthervandross.com

CARTER™️ Magazine

#carter magazine #historyandhiphop365 #wherehistoryandhiphopmeet #carter #history #cartermagazine #today in history #staywoke #blackhistory #blackhistorymonth #luther vandross

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atinylittlepain · 1 year ago

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Atlantic City

no outbreak!joel miller x fem!reader

Hungry Hearts masterlist

wordcount | 6.2K

warnings | smut, angst, the usual

a/n | hey y'all, we have reached the penultimate chapter. we're in for a little angst, but i promise i make it better with a whole lot of goodness. as always, i'd love to hear what you think, drop me a line, i'd love to chat. also, if i could offer a song specifically for the young joel sequences, it would be Downbound Train by Springsteen (who else?) alright, that's all.

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gif by @santigarcia

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“She had a little oatmeal and a little applesauce, I think more of it got on her bib than it did in her mouth, though.” Tiny hands gripping at his shirt, he winces at the first sign of her impending meltdown, that small whimper of hers that always seems to come out in the mornings like this.

“Alright, Joey, that’s okay, I’ve got her.” Except she doesn’t, not yet, because Sarah is still clinging to him, tears starting to heat and dampen the side of his neck where her face is pressed as Deedee tries to coax her out of his arms. He’d like to cry too.

“I have class until seven, but I gotta run to the store too to get more formula. Shouldn’t be later than eight, ma.” It’s near herculean to finally untangle Sarah from him, a particularly loud cry striking through his ears as Deedee finally manages to scoop her into her arms. He’s learned that he can’t loiter, can’t look at her too much like this, because then that slick curl of guilt will take root and furl up his throat. So it’s a quick goodbye, a kiss to the crown of Sarah’s head and a lowly murmured love you, babygirl before he thanks his mother, who acts offended that he even tried to thank her in the first place.

He can still hear Sarah crying when he gets back in his truck. Deep breath, just one to smooth out the shake in his hands. And then his day can begin. The same day he has been doing for the last five months. They’re building new apartments off the highway toward Austin. Good work, honest work, at least that’s what people say when he tells them what he’s doing these days. He’s not sure where they get the good or honest from. Mostly, it’s sweaty and sore and simple. But it is good money, and lord knows that’s exactly what he needs right now.

She, no name, he’s been practicing no name for her, making the fact of her disappear from his life so it won’t be a problem when Sarah gets older, so just she. She left when Sarah was three months old. Not a word, not a note. Fine by him, because while they were certainly a mistake, Sarah isn’t, at all, not to him. So he’s working, making money, and in the evenings, chasing after a degree that promises something better for the both of them.

Traffic is stupid this early in the morning, crawling lights along the highway in the dusk still burning itself off with the hazy sunrise. He sighs, slumping back. He can sigh and slump now, no one watching, small relief as he rolls toward the job site. Another sigh when he sees that cars are even more jammed up because of an accident on the shoulder of the highway. He’s not one for the radio these days, much more interested in saving up slices of silences in between all the crying and sighing, though he still starts to flicker through radio channels, nothing better to do anyways.

“With us this morning, an up and coming author whose first novel has garnered a great deal of attention this year.” His hand stills, spine straightening out when the radio show host says her name. Her real name. And then it’s her, thanking the host for having her with an easy laugh.

The last time he heard her voice, he was standing in the front office of Thatcher’s with a phone to his ear and a hand held over his mouth to silence the quick sobs shaking his body as she spoke, as she apologized, as she said goodbye. The same and different. So very different. His ears rush with it, mind in a thick fog as the host says something about best selling, and new project, and some award that he hasn’t heard of before. And Cherry takes it all in stride.

She did it. She really did it. He can’t help the broken laugh that flutters up his throat, a quick burst of it that feels good only because it’s been so long since he’s had something like that, felt something like that. But it’s a quick radio segment, and she’s already thanking the host again, and they’re already taking a break for some commercial. Gone again. Sigh, slump.

Good for her, he thinks. Proud of her, he thinks. Did the right thing for her, he thinks.

And finally, traffic starts to crawl again, just another day.

…

“Yeah, uh-huh, I’ll have it ready to be sent by Friday. Look, I told you already that I’m not going to rush this one, okay? The first draft needs a little more time, just to Friday.” Often, when she takes phone calls in her office, she imagines what it would feel like to pick up her computer and smash it through her window. It’s a helpful thought exercise, keeps her from cursing out her agent at times like this.

“Alright, and– no, I saw the concepts you sent me and absolutely not. I don’t know how you can already be sending me cover art when you haven’t even read the fucking thing yet. I don’t care what kind of rush you’re in, I’m not going to accommodate it because, quite frankly, it’s fucking ridiculous.” Well, at the very least, she tries not to curse out her agent.

“Friday, no earlier and no later. And please, do not call me before then, because if I’m talking to you, then I’m not working, and if I’m not working, this fucking thing is going to take even longer. Okay? Great, thanks so much, bye.” Click, sigh. She has also imagined chucking her cell phone through the window, but that is a much less satisfying vision, so she settles for shoving it away in the bottom drawer of her desk.

“Mom?” She’s quick to stretch out of her slump at the sound of Ellie’s voice, swiveling around in her chair as she smooths out her scowl .

“What’s up, babe?”

“Is it cool if I go to the mall with Dina?” Dina, the center outfielder, right.

“Oh, yeah, do you want me to drop you off? I can–”

“No, that’s okay. Dina’s mom is gonna pick me up and take us.” Guilt starts to flicker between her ribs. This happens whenever she’s entrenched in writing. She blinks, and can’t seem to figure out where the time has gone or when the last time was that she and Ellie spent real time together. And though Ellie rails against it with a dejected groan, she can’t help but get up and pull her into a quick hug. Missed you, sorry. Love you, sorry. Ellie squirms a little, but still squeezes her back.

“Well, be safe, okay? And call me if you need anything.”

“Yeah, okay, I will.” Normally, this would be when Ellie bounds away before Cherry can get an I love you in edgewise, but instead, she stays standing in front of her, a small pinch between her brows.

“Are you, um, like– okay?” Cherry sighs. This again. This new thing again. Something that Ellie has started to do at the most unexpected times. Something that started after that day at the ballfields when their car got stuck in the mud and she and Joel shared some choice words.

“Els, what’s this about you asking me if I’m okay, huh?” She tries to say it light, with a small laugh, but really, her stomach is starting to sicken, because this is supposed to be her job, mom job, and clearly, she’s failing at it.

“I don’t know, I just– how come Tommy is the one working on the porch now?”

“Uh, well, I mean– Tommy and Joel are business partners, so they, you know, share jobs with each other.” It comes out stilted and stuttered, and she has to stop herself from wincing at the lameness of the excuse. For her part, Ellie doesn’t seem to be satisfied with that answer, brow still scrunched and mouth screwed up like she tasted something funny.

“But why isn’t Joel working on it, like, at all?” That all holds a lot more meaning than it should, and Cherry can’t help the sigh that slackens through her chest.

“I know what you’re getting at, and you have to understand that, well– we– Joel and I– there’s a lot of history there, Els. And it’s– well, it’s very complicated.”

“Do you think you guys are gonna work it out though?” It surprises her, if she didn’t know any better, she’d say that there’s a hopeful tilt to Ellie’s question and raised brows.

“I don’t know, but I don’t want you worrying about that, okay? Whether we do or not, I’m gonna be just fine, so long as I have you.” Mom brain, she can’t help herself, stealing another hug that Ellie rails against with a mom that sounds like she’s being accosted it’s so despondent.

Saved by the bell, or the car horn more like it, Ellie wrangling herself out of their hug with a quick bye, love you as she bounds through the house toward the front door. Sigh, slump, Cherry shuffles back over to her desk, steading her palm on the edge of it as she brings her other hand up to pinch the bridge of her nose.

The thing is, she is pretty sure that they’re not going to work this out. And that’s what she wanted, isn’t it? She’s not sure anymore. She’s not sure about a lot of things. For starters, why she really decided it was a good idea to move back here. Yes, New York was becoming no good. But then, forty-odd other states she could have chosen from. And no, too late to back out now, because Ellie has already made friends, somehow already managed to settle before school has even started. And there’s the house, and now this fucking porch.

“Hey, Cher?” Speaking of which, snapping herself back out of her slump.

“Hi, Tom, how’s it going out there?” The first time she saw him again, she was shocked by just how much Tommy Miller grew up and filled out. Joel mentioned something about him serving in the military, and it shows, she thinks. A little more serious, a little presence in the set of his shoulders. A far cry from the brash, bold, bumbling boy she remembers. The passage of time, and all that.

“Just got done with the finish, actually, if you wanna come take a look?”

“Oh really? Like, it’s finished finished?” It is, and it’s frustratingly perfect. Wood polished and still glossy, plenty of space for a table and chairs. She should be happy, or at the very least satisfied, so she isn’t sure why all she feels is a petty curl of anger rising like bile up the back of her throat.

“Wow, yeah, it looks– looks really good, Tommy, thank you. Is it alright if I pay you now? I just need to get my checkbook.” She’s already walking back toward her office, but Tommy doesn’t follow, rubbing at the back of his neck with a weak laugh.

“The thing about that, Cher, is that I’m under very strict, very aggressive orders to not take any money from you.” That anger flares at his words, a scoff in her throat as she crosses her arms over her chest.

“Oh, is that right? And just which hardass are these orders coming from, if you don’t mind me asking.”

“I think you’re, uh, pretty familiar with said hardass.”

“Uh-huh, right, I suppose I am.” She’s not going to let Joel win this one, turning on her heel to continue her warpath toward her checkbook, Tommy having no choice but to tentatively follow after.

“Cherry, seriously, I can’t. He’s gonna rip that check up the instant he gets his damn hands on it.” She doesn’t listen, dashing off her signature on the six thousand dollar check, though when she tries to hand it to Tommy, he tucks his hands deep into his jeans pockets, a frown pulling at the corners of his mouth.

“Tommy, I don’t know what kind of stupid game your brother is playing, but I refuse to participate. You did a job for me, and did it perfectly, and now I’m going to pay you. I don’t– I can’t have this hanging over my head, alright? Just take it, please.” She hates the warble that please comes out on, a thick flush of tears starting to thicken in her throat.

“It wouldn’t be hanging over your head, Cher. You know he ain’t like that.”

“Oh, do I? Because, honestly, I’m not sure what I know about him anymore.” Silence falls, a flash of something passing over Tommy’s face that she can’t place. He clears his throat before he speaks again, and when he does, it’s shockingly quiet.

“I still remember the day you left and didn’t come back, you know. And no offense, but it’s not because we were particularly close or anything.”

“Gee, thanks, Tom. I’m not sure what that has to do with anything though.” She regrets the sharpness of her words instantly, Tommy letting out a long sigh as he shuffles his feet in the doorway to her office.

“I remember because Joel came home that night. And back then, you’d be hard pressed to get him home unless it was Sunday and ma was ready to drag him by his ears over for dinner. But it was a Tuesday, and he came home that night, and he cried.” There’s no stopping the tears now, not when Tommy’s voice breaks, covering it up with a clipped laugh and a swipe of his knuckles under his nose.

“I don’t think I had ever seen him cry that hard. Jesus, he couldn’t breathe, and it– it just wouldn’t stop. At the time I was kinda pissed, to be honest, because he wouldn’t shut up, just wailing like a little kid.” All she can do to sit down in her desk chair, taking a shaky breath as Tommy toes his boot into the floor, trying to hide the crumple of his brow on his downturned face.

“And he kept saying the same thing over and over again, like he was trying to convince someone, maybe himself, I don’t know. He kept saying I did the right thing.” Her whole body shudders, sniffling back snot as her vision swims. She doesn’t know what all Joel has told Tommy, whether he knows just exactly what happened that summer. But the way that he’s looking at her now, frown slipping heavy down his face, earnest, honest, she thinks that he knows enough, has seen and heard enough to be giving her nothing but the truth.

“Not that I’d admit this to him, but I love my brother, really, I do. But, Cher, he can be a fucking idiot about stuff like this. And I know that he doesn’t deserve another chance for the shit he’s pulled, but I just– you gotta understand how much love he has for you.” What could she possibly say to that? For a moment, it’s quiet, both of them taking stuttered inhales and exhales, trying to breathe in the fact of what was just said.

“Tom, where is Joel working today?”

…

“You have to read this book. I’m about halfway finished with it and it’s so good.”

“Oh yeah? I don’t think I’ve heard of that author before.”

“That’s because it’s her first book, I think. But seriously, she’s totally a genius.”

“Hmm, I’ll have to check it out then.”

He keeps his smile hidden behind his palm, elbow propped on his desk as he listens in to the conversation between the two students in the row ahead of him. It’s her book, he caught a glimpse of her name on the spine of it. It both buoys and batters him, a strange feeling settling in his stomach as his evening class begins.

Something his boss recommended to him. A degree at the community college that will supposedly open up all these doors for him. At least that’s what he tells himself when he slogs over to the campus after work every night. Another year to go and then, and then. Something good, he hopes. For him and for Sarah.

The same thing every day. Get up at five, if there’s sleep to be gotten up from in the first place. Get Sarah sorted and driven over to his parents’ house and then get to work by seven. Work and work and work, a good seven or eight hours before he has to book it to class. Then class, something he never enjoyed, and especially doesn’t care for now, working hard at it only for the sake of getting out of it sooner.

Last week, Deedee had tried setting him up on a date with the daughter of one of the women she plays Euchre with every Wednesday. She even offered to take Sarah for the night, a smile so steeped in hope that it had made him feel a little sick. He had sighed and made a half-hearted joke, something about a date getting him here in the first place. A distraction getting him here in the first place.

Night is creeping in by the time he gets out of class, streets going dark save for the syrupy glow of house windows, of families sitting down for dinner. And he’s never late, always at his parents’ house when he says he will be, so just this once, just a little late. He goes to the store a little further away because he knows there’s a bookstore a block down from it, lucky that it’s still open this late.

And everything gets saved that doesn’t have to be spent, so just this once, something for him. They have her book on display in the front of the store. Exactly what he was hoping for, her picture on the back of the dust jacket. The same and different, all grown up.

He buys himself a copy, but he doesn’t open it, not yet, keeping it in his lap the entire drive back.

…

Maybe a little crazy, driving her minivan through an active jobsite, men stopping in their work to tilt their hard-hatted heads at her when she parks in the midst of gravel and sawdust right in front of the half-built house. But she’s too hell-bent on the task at hand to care much, marching right up to the nearest man and asking him where Joel Miller is.

“Sorry, ma’am, who are you again?”

“Who am I? Who am I? I’m someone important, buddy, that’s who I am. Now if you don’t tell me where he is, I’ll just start wandering all over this place and probably land you with an OSHA violation. So if I were you, I’d make this easier for both of us and just take me to him, thanks.” She can hear a murmur of snickers and yips from the other men working around them, and it seems like enough to get this guy moving with a muttered okay then.

She acquiesces to putting a hard hat on, something about an actual OSHA violation, before following the man into the bare bones of the house. Some walls are put up, and some are still only frames, saws whirring and nails guns firing all around her, a perfect swirl of work and the smell of cedar that she tries to skirt around as the man leads her further into the fray.

When she sees him, she thinks to herself that it’s not fair, the way he looks with a tool belt slung low around his hips, his t-shirt clinging to the shifting planes of muscle in his back as he leans over a workbench to look at a scroll of blueprints. No, not fair at all, her throat going dry with just how not fair at all it is.

“Boss, there’s a lady here to see you.” Boss, right, he’s the boss. Fan-fucking-tastic. Joel’s head whips around, immediate confusion scrunching up his face when he sees her.

“Cherry? What– what’re you doing here?”

“What?” It’s nearly impossible to hear him over the incessant sound of work going on around them, though Joel is quick to usher her away from the thick of things and into a half-finished room that she guesses could either turn into a bathroom or a closet judging by its size. It’s a bit ridiculous that Joel closes the door to the room given that one of the walls still hasn’t been put up.

“Why– how did you find me here?” She’s just a little annoyed at how inconvenienced he’s acting, his hand on his hip and his knee jutted out as he raises his brows at her. It’s enough to get her angry all over again.

“Tommy finished the porch today and refused to take my check, so I asked him where I could find you and tuck this fucking money into your hands myself.” She punctuates her words by taking the folded-up check out of her pocket and shoving it into his chest, but Joel doesn’t accept it, the slip of paper falling to the ground when she pulls her hand away. What he does next is far more infuriating though, not breaking eye contact with her as he bends down and swipes up the check between two fingers before promptly ripping the thing up far more times than it needs to be.

“Don’t try to write me another one, Cher, I’ll just do the same thing.” A bitter laugh slips up her throat, and before she knows what she’s doing, the heel of her palm is shoving into his chest. Except he’s bigger now, broader, so what once would have made him stumble now only makes him sway a little. All the more reason to do it again.

“You– fucking– ass– Joel Miller!” He’s still unmoving under her ministrations, each of her words coming with an admittedly weaker shove until finally, Joel says her name, a quiet plea. And she wasn’t supposed to cry, that’s what she told herself on the drive over here. Under no circumstances was she going to cry. Yeah, right, big blubbering streaks running down her face already. Her hands fall limp at her sides as she shakes with it, whatever it is. Easier to call it anger, but she knows that’s not what it is.

“Cherry, please don’t cry.” She wants him to reach for her, wants to feel his palms smoothing that shudder, and for a moment, it looks like he will, but his hands just hang suspended between them, like he has thought better of it. She wishes he hadn’t thought better of it.

“I can’t– I can’t do this. You make this so hard, Joel, do you know that?” His face falls, feet shuffling closer until the toes of his boots are brushing against her sneakers.

“What can’t you do?”

“This– this– I want to be with you so badly, but I just can’t.” She hates what a relief it is when he finally reaches for her, his palm resting along her jaw, the calloused pad of his thumb collecting stray salt.

“Why can’t you? I– I’ve been wanting you for a long time, Cher. We could do it, I know we could.”

“I’ve heard that before, Joel. And it didn’t end well.” She can’t look at him as she says it, her stomach sinking with the words. Because it’s true, after all. He sighs, a long, dejected sound that makes her tear up all over again.

“Will you look at me, please?” She doesn’t want to, and isn’t sure if she can right now, but he shows her how, his knuckles crooking under her chin, a soft please that she folds to, finally meeting his eyes with hers.

“I can’t change what I did in the past, Cherry. And it kills me that I hurt you, but I was trying to do right by you. I don’t know anymore if I did, and I don’t know anymore if it even matters. But what I do know is I never stopped loving you. And if you’ll have me, I’ll be yours until the day I die, and probably then some, to be honest.” A laugh at that, thick with snot, feeling good in the midst of all these tears. She curls her fingers around his wrist where his hand is still cupped along her cheek, a tug to come closer so she can rest her forehead against his, though there’s a small shuffle first, both of them pushing their hard-hats off, paying no mind to the clatter of them when her nose brushes along the line of his.

“Don’t make me a promise you can’t keep.” She says it quiet, almost reluctant, but Joel just smiles.

“Not a promise, just the truth. Reckon I’ve been yours my whole life. And I’ve been hoping you’ll be mine too.” Something blooms inside her, relief in opening up, in allowing even amidst that still-there grip of fear. Because he’s here, and so is she, and there’s plenty of time to prove that fear wrong, to get it right, now, here, in the present.

She doesn’t answer with words, just closes the space still between them, the easiest yes in the way her lips press against his.

…

He knows he needs to go in. Needs to gather up Sarah and get back to their shoebox apartment so the whole routine can start over tomorrow morning. But quick, he can be quick, sitting in his truck with only the faint slant of clarity from the streetlight to brighten the pages. He steals the first chapter just like that, quiet, mouth moving with every word. And it’s a peculiar feeling, like pride, though he knows he has know business letting that swell in his chest with the way things ended between them. It’s good, of course it’s good. Not that he’s some well-seasoned reader, but he knows good when he sees it, and she was always so good, he thinks.

He’s only twenty minutes late when he finally knocks on his parents’ front door, and though Deedee makes nothing of it, he still feels that guilt sickening and skittering up his spine, trying to tamp it down with kisses pressed into Sarah’s curls.

By the time he gets them home, Sarah is indignant, fussy coos humming in her chest, ready for a bottle that he still has to make. Muscle memory, auto-pilot, he heats it up with her in one arm and the book held in his other hand, plowing through half of chapter two before he finally has to set it down to feed his girl. His girl, his perfect girl. He has enjoyed doing this from the very start, one of the things he always felt he could get right, at the very least. Simple and sweet, all the motions of bedtime, a small mercy that she goes down easy tonight because he’s still thinking about the book he left splayed open on the kitchen counter. He doesn’t sit down, just simply leans over the counter to keep reading under the light above the stove.

Sarah begins to cry about an hour and a half later, and by then he has already finished half of the book, careful to mark his place before checking on his girl. His hands still shake sometimes with the reality of holding her, something so small and careful that he has to roll his shoulders back a few times after every diaper change, every close cradle, like his whole body braces for her, trying to be big and enough for her. And he should get some sleep now, he knows that. But he reasons to himself that he’ll be waking up in an hour or two anyways for her, so, might as well.

Just like that, for the rest of the night, back and forth between Sarah and his close huddle over the kitchen counter. By the time morning is starting to blush that pale blue through the curtains, he has read the whole thing.

And no, not his place, and no, he has no right, but he is proud of her. Proud that she got out, proud that she did it. And relief too, that maybe he did the right thing after all, even though it hurt so very much.

…

Maybe a little crazy, the both of them. She’s pretty sure she heard a few wolf whistles when she led Joel out of the house and back to her car, but she doesn’t care, and she doesn’t think he does either judging by the way he keeps rubbing his palms down the front of his jeans in the passenger seat, both of them sweeping their eyes over the half-finished lots of this new neighborhood, searching for the same thing.

“Wait, right there.”

“Right where, Joel? There aren’t any–” She doesn’t finish that thought, a gasp high in her throat cutting it off when Joel reaches across for the wheel and veers her car right off the street and into an empty lot. The only reason she doesn’t press the brake is because she’s too stunned to move, letting the car roll into a thick copse of trees. She’s only snapped out of her stupor when Joel huffs out a right here, stop, stop, Cher, bringing the car to a stuttering halt. It’s all she can do to laugh as she looks around at the perfectly secluded spot.

“You always did have a talent for finding places like this.” He grins crooked at her, still leaning over the console with his hand on the wheel.

“Yeah, well, you– just c’mere.” Not pretty, not at all. A little greedy and a little desperate, her elbow beeping the horn as she scrambles over the console, Joel groaning when her knee lands a little too close to his crotch before she finally settles in his lap. He holds her by the hinge of her jaw, opening her mouth with his and taking everything she has to give. And in turn, she seeks out more however she can get it, one hand in his hair tugging when his teeth nick her bottom lip, her other hand bunched into a fist in his t-shirt. And it should be good, except it’s all so scrunched up in the passenger seat, and her legs are bent at such an angle that when she tries to grind her hips down onto his, she ends up with a mortifying cramp in her hamstring.

“Oh fuck.”

“I know, Cher, me too.”

“No, I mean, my– my leg is– I need to get up, it’s–” Joel finally seems to get the hint when she lets out a hiss of pain, quick to open the passenger side door so she can hobble down off his lap, tenderly trying to stretch out her leg in a graceless hop. Luckily, it seems to sort itself out, though Joel still gets out of the car, making her heart do something strange when he holds onto her hip with one hand as he rubs out the muscle in her leg with his other palm, squinting up at her and murmuring a question, that better?

“Y-yeah, thank you. We could– the backseats go all the way down.” He’s a sight, eyes big and blown out, lips parted in a swollen little pant as he looks at her.

“Right, let’s– let’s do that then.” She makes quick work of cranking open the sliding door of the minivan and folding the backseats down, plenty of room to assure that there won’t be anymore cramping crises. When she turns around to usher him into the back, Joel is quick to stamp a hard kiss to her mouth, a breathless laugh punching out of her lungs when he pulls away.

“Sexiest thing I’ve ever seen, Cher.”

“Well, if you liked that, just wait until I put the seats back in place.” His smile splits, all boyish in the way his eyes crinkle up. And it’s all graceless fumbling from there, both of them crawling into the back, leaving the door cracked to let in the late summer breeze, though she can already feel sweat sticking her shirt to her back. Not that it matters though, not when they’re both making quick work of each other’s clothes.

Her want wills, and he answers in kind, letting her press him back, bare for her, heart beating for her as she settles between his legs, already taking him into her mouth, salt and sense, all him making her hum low in her chest.

“Jesus, look at you– so fucking pretty like this, Cher.” He’s one to talk, she thinks, chest flushed to blaze all the way up to his cheeks, his eyes heavy and hooded looking down at her as she laps at his leaking tip before taking as much of him as she can into the heat of her mouth. Though he doesn’t let her work him over for long, a petulant hand curling around the nape of her neck and a breathy baby, baby, c’mere coaxing her up, both of them sighing when the swollen ache of her cunt grazes along his length.

“Like this– I want it like this, Joel.” Her lips drag the word up the arc of his throat, sealing them with her lips slanting over his.

“It’s all yours, Cherry. I’m all yours.” They move together like they never stopped in the first place, all quiet communication in the press of their foreheads, eyes turned down to watch as she sinks down onto his throbbing cock, a high sound stopping itself in the back of her throat as her hips settle against his. For a moment, just this, the tight peaks of her nipples grazing his chest with each broken breath, palms smoothing along skin only to grab greedy handfuls where they can. And then the quiet murmur, good? Yes, so good. Moving with so good simpering up and down her spine, a moan breaking in her chest with the first pass of her hips against his.

He lets her find the rhythm first, his mouth hot and open against the side of her breast, all coaxing, all consuming with the way his hands grip at her ass. Everything turns hazy and humid in their close press in the back of her car, skin slick and sticking, chests fluttering with hard pants.

Not so young anymore, either of them, getting a little ahead of their own pleasure because she can already feel it snaring and snapping in her pelvis, that liquid languor that turns taut so fast. And of course Joel can tell, bringing his hand to curl around her hip so he can drag messy circles against her clit, mouth open and pleading against hers.

“That’s it, Cherry, take it for me. Fuck, I wanna feel it, just like that.” Her breath catches in her throat, that searing snap that slackens everything else, his name on her next exhale as everything melts down around her. Just him, and the close grind of his hips up into hers that’s snarling on the edge of too much, cracked whimpers with each thrust that she bites back, wanting his pleasure just as much as she wants her own.

“Baby, baby, so good like this. Want it so bad, want you so bad.” Her lips slide against the shell of his ear, crooking into a grin when he groans at her words, his grip on her tensing and tightening as he comes, warmth spreading and sating.

All tangled up, their bodies slacken and slump, splayed out in the back of her car as they both catch their breath. Joel’s head tilts up when she huffs out a laugh, breath fanning over his chest where her chin is resting.

“I don’t think that was the smartest way we could’ve started this new relationship thing.”

“I think we’re pretty far past new relationship, Cher.” She hums at that, no real argument, settling instead for a kiss pressed into the bare patch in his scruff.

“You know, Ellie asked about you.” Joel’s eyebrows shoot up at that.

“Seriously? Thought that kid hated me.”

“Mm, I think you won her over with the diarrhea joke.”

“Well it certainly worked on you.”

“Unfortunately.” He huffs at her dig, laying a mean squeeze to the crease where her ass meets her thigh.

“Unfortunately, none of that, Cherry baby.” Ease, all ease in their shared smile, settling back down around each other with a sigh. They’ll have to untangle soon, leave soon, back to reality soon. But for now, this time with him, all the time to say what she wants to say to him.

“I never stopped, you know. I think that’s why I came back, at least partly. I was hoping that you hadn’t stopped either.” Her cheek rises and falls with his breath, Joel trailing his finger along her jaw to coax her eyes back up to his.

“I didn’t, Cher. Even when I didn’t wanna admit it to myself, I was waiting for you, hoping for you too.”

................................

taglist: @spookyxsam @libbylou223 @angel-in-beskar @starstruckunknown-princess @casa-boiardi @tieronecrush @swiftispunk @beskarandblasters @trulybetty @amanitacowboy @pr0ximamidnight @wannab-urs @jksprincess10 @suzmagine @everything-isfucked @lanabobana @kittenlittle24 @sarap-77 @officerrrfriendly @val-srz @bitchwitch1981 @redwoodsanddaffodils @themothersmercy @romanarose @lost-inhawkins @youcancallmeelle @hollywoodcaligirl @harryleatherfit @fifia-writes @brighttears @lokanda @hardlystrictlystarwars @sarahxxo3 @harriedandharassed @anoverwhelmingdin

#joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x reader #tlou #tlou fanfiction #joel miller angst #joel miller fluff #the last of us #joel miller smut #joel miller story #joel miller series #joel miller au #joel miller fic

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mochipatch · 1 month ago

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Something to Prove and Nothing to Lose

Ricky: YES YES YES! This is a masterclass, Carlos, good job!

Carlos: Yes! Yes! Thank you! Ahh, this feels so good! Forza Ferrari!

It was the perfect weekend. It is the ideal weekend.

He had been feeling it since the end of the month-long break. This uphill climb in 2024 is the hardest thing he has fought in his racing career, losing a seat to a seven-time world champion, scrambling on his feet to get back up and find a team that will welcome him with open arms (a top team is a bonus), where he could find a new home. With the second break coming to an end. He started to feel it. He can feel it thrumming in his veins.

He felt it at COTA. He had it on hand. First, on FP1, Sprint Qualifying could have gone better, but he gritted his teeth, taking in on every opportunity. Ultimately, it was P2, which was good but not good enough. Qualifying felt good until a red flag aborted his run, which could have been pole. He had a good start, but the squabble between Max and Lando caught him in a bind, which was not the same with Charles, who got away smoothly and led laps to victory while he ended in P2. He always said he wanted another win before leaving Ferrari in his interviews. Time is running out with six races left, and he is P2. Frustrated, he could have done better but was a victim of circumstance. The racing gods whispering in his head - No, not yet.

The celebration of the team in their motorhome felt like the start of a goodbye. Maybe this is what it all could be - a podium but never a win. So he tried to soak it all up, disappointment emanating from every pore in his body but trying to be happy because he would not be a person to rob off a good celebration for a team, the team that he has bled red for ever since his childhood dream team opened its door to him, much less a teammate that he considers a good friend and a good motivator to be better.

We will go and start again is his mantra.

Mexico is always a lively affair with all the pomp and circumstance. He never finished on the podium in this circuit, but the free practices felt promising, placing him in the top 3 every time. Qualifying was nerve-wracking in Q1 and Q3, but something clicked in Q3, and he got two lap times that ensured him pole position on both occasions. He savors the high, the adrenaline rushing through him. He is giggly and all joyous, as if he is already on the podium. Everything felt right. A thought ran through his head - Is this my time? Asking the voice in his head, which denied him COTA. No one answered.

It’s lights out, and away we go.

He is off to a good start, but Max is even better. He tried his darndest to defend, but Max got the upper hand; he had nothing to lose now, but crashing was not an option, so he chose to run to the grass and give back the position. Is this your answer to my question? He asks again. A safety car allowed him to be closer to Max, but it was only until lap 9 that he decided to take charge. Damned be the racing gods, he will take charge. He overtakes Max, but Max isn’t going down without a fight. But by the skin of his teeth, he takes the lead and defends the overtake. He manages his tires, looking for every variable that could go wrong. He won’t be comfortable until he crosses the checkered flag. He has hunted, and the 19 drivers behind him will hunt him down to take his place if a sliver of opportunity arises. As lap 71 nears, he grows more and more confident. He knows Lando is catching up with the gap closing into 4 seconds, but he knows that the laps will not be enough to catch him. It's the last lap; he aims to go to their side once he sees the pit wall. He spots a pit board and the people in red climbing the fence, raising their fists and yelling, never mind that the roar of the engines drowns out their voices. He crosses the checkered flag, and his mind blanks for a second. He did it. He did it.

HE FUCKING DID IT.

He hears Ricky's radio, and he answers on autopilot. Thanking Ferrari, thanking the team that let him bleed red even if it left him feeling nothing, for letting him walk through the doors of history, of legacy. He parks his car in front of the P1 sign board, and it takes him a second to process what happened. He gets out of the car, and there is something in the crowd's layout that feels like this win was just made for him. The mechanics pull him into a hug, and he hugs them just as fiercely, hoping his hold conveys his gratitude to them.

It was tradition for the winner to wear a sombrero while being lifted off the platform; he just wanted something simple for all the fanfare he had gone through this weekend. He opts out of the sombrero and just holds his helmet because it all boils down to this: he and his car. He raises his helmet to the crowd, pointing at his number, and takes in the crowd once more. Once the Spanish National Anthem plays out, everything comes to a head: the euphoria of the win in front of the Mexican crowd and his family on the audience, the tiredness from the season that has brought him, and the bittersweet feeling of what would have been. Before he knows it, he feels a prickle in his eyes and cheeks.

Oh.

He is crying.

The Italian anthem plays next when he hears a voice in his head. You did it. Your time has finally come once more.

He took charge and the racing gods granted his wish; he waited, and he finally had it.

#carlos sainz #f1 #carlos sainz jr #cs55 #austin gp 2024 #mexican gp 2024

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ofstoriesandstardust · 3 months ago

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i love you, i'm sorry (twisters - dani)

a/n: okay. OKAY. this is finally here!! i hope you all enjoy; thank you for all the love, mwah. MWAH. (first part here)

summary: In the wake of Dani re-entering your life, you make some decisions about your future.

warnings: swearing, car accidents, minor injury, mentions of past physical abuse, minor physical violence

wc: 4.5k

Her heart feels like it’s in her throat as she watches your car speed up down the road, Dexter giving her a strange look.

She wasn’t an idiot, she could see the way Scott was tossing his crews life to the tornados like it didn’t matter, tossing yours around like it was nothing. Every day that StormPar set out, a little more dread settled into her stomach as she wondered if this would be the time you didn’t come home.

She won’t ever forget the worried tracks Javi had made in that muddy parking lot last week, the way your eyebrows had furrowed as you caught Javi yelling at Scott. She won’t forget Scott arguing with Riggs about money, the way Riggs had told him to do whatever it takes.

She certainly won’t forget the way Kate had told her to say anything she felt she might need to before it was too late.

She hadn’t spoken it to the team, her family, what you had been to her. She was afraid to speak those memories aloud, afraid to reopen a door she had shut when she’d left for Arkansas to come work for Tyler seven years ago.

But she was sure they knew. It makes it all worse, watching Scott’s spiral from afar, unable to get close enough to convince you to let go of what you thought StormPar could be.

“Scott’s got them headed straight into the tornado.” Dexter whispers as her eyes widen at the realization, coming back into the present. He scrambles for the radio, repeating the information down the line.

“Kate’s already in position, how close are they?” Javi’s voice comes down.

The van rolls to a stop as her and Dexter begin to watch your car spin out onto a ditch next to the road, falling sideways as it does.

“Dani? Dex? What’s happening? I’ve only got view of two StormPar trucks on our end.” Boone’s voice sounds.

It feels like time is frozen as she tugs at her seatbelt, desperate to get out and help you as Dexter relays the information to the rest of the team.

“Dani —“ She pauses, eyes flickering to the radio as Tyler’s voice comes through the line. It’s strained, like he’s forcing himself to be calm. “Do not get out of that car. Let Kate and Javi do their thing. As soon as the storm has collapsed, we can pull them out but until then do not get out of that car. It’s not safe, do you hear me?”

Dexter hands her the radio and she clicks it on, unsure of what she can say. “Ty, I-“

“I get it, D.”

She thinks he probably does, ever since he watched Kate drive into the EF5 in El Reno that very well should have killed her.

“I get it, but we can’t do anything right now and we can’t put anyone else’s life on the line right now.”

She nods, handing the radio back to Dexter, even as the panic sort of sets in as a cold blanket over her. She couldn’t see the StormPar truck anymore and she knew the kid you were driving with hadn’t even made it a full week with StormPar yet.

She swallows down all her guilt and all her grief as the storm falls prey to Kate’s brain.

She might have left, she might have been the one to walk out, but she carried the love she had for you everyday. You’d helped her become who she was and she’d always care for you, even if you were adamant about standing on your side of the great divide.

A million images float through her brain of you: passed out cold, bleeding, trapped against the roof of the car, lifeless…

“Look!” Dexter exclaims, pointing something out in the distance.

She squints, leaning forward. Just barely, she’s able to make out the sight of your partner climbing up the ditch the two of you had slid down into as Javi’s truck rounds the bend, Javi leaping out before Lilly’s even stopped.

You groan, twisting your head. You think you can hear glass crunch as someone moves next to you.

“Hey, easy, easy.” They say softly and you blink your eyes open, catching sight of Javi. You take a deep breath as you take in the ruined truck.

“That’s a tree.” You say bluntly, referencing the fallen tree that’s resting on the shattered windshield, as Javi climbs over the driver’s seat. He snorts, letting his hands fall gently.

“It is. Good to see you still have your sense of humor in tact. I’m gonna try to lift you out okay? Do you think you can move?”

Javi’s already unbuckled your seatbelt and you nod, lifting your left arm to wrap around his neck as his arms reach beneath your legs and back. You hiss as your right arms jostles and Javi mutters a couple of apologies as he lifts you. Once out of the truck, he sets you down gently.

“You good to walk?” He asks as Tyler and Boone appear, shuffling down the edge of the ditch.

You nod, testing putting weight on your feet as Javi keeps his arms secure around you in case you can’t. “Yeah, yeah I think I’m okay.”

Javi supports you, Tyler coming to your other side, mindful of your right arm as Boone flags someone down.

“Dani’s gonna check you out, okay?” Tyler says gently and you nod. “Though with the way you’re clutching that arm to your chest a trip to the ER might be best.”

“Okay.” You says softly as Will’s face comes into view, concern marring all his features.

“Oh my God, I am so sorry!” He nearly shouts, stumbling back. “Scott’s gonna kill me.”

“Will.” You cut him off, wincing. “It’s all good. Happens. And not so loud, okay?”

He nods, following after you like a lost puppy dog. “I’ve already radio’ed Scott and told him we need a pickup, they should be here soon. What do you need? Can I help you with anything?”

“Will, was it?” Javi asks, turning. The boy nods. “Go sit out by Ty’s truck for Scott to come. We’re gonna have our medic check her out and we don’t really need all this excitement.”

He nods, darting back down the road and you sigh as Tyler and Javi help you sit down into the back of their van. Dani rounds the car, first aid kit in hand.

Tyler nudges Javi, nodding his head and Javi must get the message, turning to you. “Hey, we’re gonna give you guys some privacy. HIPPA and all that. Holler if you need us.” Javi says and you nod, giving him a tight smile.

Dani sets to work in silence, asking you a few questions as she tests out for a concussion. She gingerly takes your right hand, stretching it out. You hiss and she mutters an apology as she flexes out your fingers.

“Well, all in all, a few cuts, few bumps, few bruises. I can’t tell for sure but your wrist definitely seems to be fractured and you’re showing signs of a minor concussion so I’d definitely recommend getting yourself to an ER tonight.”

You nod as Dani starts packing up her first aid kit. She pauses as you start to hear a truck come down the road.

“By the way, I’m really glad you’re okay. It was terrifying to watch the car spin out like that.” She says quietly.

“Dani-“

“I will deal with you later!” Scott’s voice comes from down the road, angry as ever.

“Oh, you’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.” She mutters, glancing up as Scott rounds the van.

“And you!” He yells, grabbing you by your injured wrist. Protests go up from the Wranglers as you wrestle gently to pull the arm from Scott’s grip. “How many times have I told you to stay away from these people?!”

You scoff, Scott releasing his hold. “Didn’t realize accepting medical help after what could’ve been a fatal car accident was that big of a deal.”

“Of course it’s a big deal! Do you have any idea what’s at stake here?!” Scott gets closer to you, face going red and suddenly, it clicks.

This can’t be your whole future.

Working for a company that was so clearly hurting others, working a dangerous job when your bosses clearly had no care for your life, or that of any of your colleagues for that matter — you couldn’t do it.

“Scott, I quit.” You say softly and he reels back as if you might’ve slapped him. “I quit, Scott. I’m not doing this with you anymore. Consider this my notice, effective immediately.” You say, voice gaining confidence.

Scott scoffs, face getting even redder as Javi mutters out an “Oh shit.”

“That’s fine by me. You’re replaceable. You were the diversity hire anyways. I don’t want women working for me.” He spits out before turning on his heel, striding towards the StormPar truck.

You watch him drive away as the Wranglers stand around, watching you.

“Okay, seriously, can someone drive me to the ER? If my wrist wasn’t broken then, it sure is now.”

“Oh my God, yeah.” Dani says from behind you, coming to gently maneuver you towards the van.

The Wranglers disperse, moving to get back into their cars as Javi shouts “Keep me posted!”

“Javi, hey, do you think you can drive me to the airport?” You ask, dropping your duffel bag on the ground next to him. He looks up at you as he eats his bagel, nodding.

“Where you headed?” Tyler asks, rounding the truck.

You shrug. “Not sure, honestly. Probably Texas for a minute to collect my things and then- who knows.”

Boone bounds down the stairs as he shouts out, “This is some good shit StormPar!”

You all turn as he hands the iPad over to Tyler but you already know what he’s looking at.

Late last night, after Dani had driven you back from the ER and you had insisted you didn’t need anyone to watch over you, you’d grabbed your laptop and opened Twitter.

Maybe it wasn’t recommended for someone with a low-grade concussion and sprained, not fractured, wrist to stare at your laptop for as long as you had but you couldn’t bring yourself to care as your fingers had flown over the keyboard, releasing everything you’d ever kept bottled up about StormPar.

The thread had gone viral overnight and you knew it was damaging enough that StormPar may not be able to recover from.

And if Boone was seeing it now, it was only a matter of time before Scott did. And while you had hoped you could be out of the state of Oklahoma before he did, it turns out you were in no such luck.

Scott rounds the corner, swearing incoherently as he does, moving and talking much too fast for you to register anything other than “You little bitch!” and his hands on your throat.

You think you hear Javi shouting, Tyler and Boone up against Scott as they all push him off of you. You stumble backwards, gasping for air as you collide with Kate. You flinch as you do but she puts her hands out, eyes wide as she tries to placate you.

You blink and look up, Javi talking to you but no words reach your ears as your ass meets the asphalt in a slow fall. You feel dazed at what just happened, touching gently at where Scott had his hands placed.

You know from experience that he’d had enough pressure, for however short of a time, that it’d leave a mark.

A choked sob leaves you as you shut your eyes, realizing you’d almost stepped back in time. Same shit, different man, wasn’t that what your friends had said?

A familiar voice reaches your ears, soothing you as it does. “Hey, it’s just me.” She says, and you lean towards her as Dani, tears dripping down your face as you do.

How many times had Dani found you like this? How many times had she coaxed you from the claws of a panic attack or a flashback or a nightmare?

Her hand runs down your back in a slow, soothing circle and you can hear her move to sit on the ground next to you as you reach wipe your eyes. You look at her, meaning to talk but no words come out as you study her amber eyes, swimming with concern.

How could you ever sum it all up?

“We’re all going back to Kate’s for a few days to regroup. I want you to come with us.” She says softly.

You’re in no position to argue, not now, not when Dani is still looking at you like that.

Like she might still love you.

Your eyes are wide as Tyler talks through their experiment as you stand over Kate’s makeshift tornado town, Javi walking through what the radars really capture.

“I have no idea what you just said to me.” You say through a breath, earning a laugh from Dani next to you as she knocks shoulders with you.

“You never were the one for science stuff.”

You shake your head. “No! My background isn’t even in meteorology!”

“What the fuck were you even doing with StormPar then?” Tyler asks, hands falling to his waist as the group looks on.

“PR shit.”

“Your background isn’t in that either!” Dani exclaims through another laugh.

“Yeah, but I’m sure good at using my words. Y’all saw what I could do in just a Twitter thread. Anyways, I was only out there to keep an eye on you.” You say with a nod to Javi. “Riggs knew that with the Wranglers reputation and the right amount of talk from Javi, people could turn on StormPar pretty quickly. I was there to pull their ass out of the fire if they did. Unfortunately for Riggs and StormPar, I ain’t loyal to them. What they hired me for is exactly what’s going to end them.”

“Shit dude.” Lilly mutters as your eyes flicker over the town.

“I didn’t know this is what you all were doing out there though.” You say with a low whistle. “This is insane. This work could change everything.”

“What did you think we were doing?” Javi asks as he crosses his arms. You shrug.

“I dunno. Screwing around maybe. Getting in Scott’s way. I don’t even think Scott knew what you guys were doing out there, just that every time one moment there was a tornado and the next there wasn’t he was pissed.” You sigh. “But it makes sense now. If Kate collapses the tornados, it doesn’t matter if the scans worked or not on our end. If the property’s are saved because you guys got to the tornados before they could do real damage there’s no money for Riggs at the end of the day.”

“Fuck, I hate StormPar.” Boone mutters with a shake of his head.

You snort. “Me and you both Booney.”

Your afternoon cat nap on Kate’s porch swing hadn’t seemed so bad, dozing as the sun warmed your ankles, the sound of the Wranglers puttering around Kate’s farm lulling you to sleep.

Now though, as the weird dream image of your ex’s face on Scott’s body burns behind your eyelids, you regret that decision. You give another heave, distantly aware you’re throwing up into Cathy’s flowers and distantly you feel awful, but it’s hard to center that when you can’t tell if you’re choking because of someone’s hands around your throat or the acid burning as you dry heave again.

Tears sting at your eyes as humiliation makes your face burn. You thought you were past this, past the nightmares and the flashbacks, past the need to please men who treated you like dirt.

And there Dani is again, tugging to pull you up as you sit in the dirt of the garden bed and cry.

“You’re okay.” She says softly. “You’re safe.”

You’re okay. You’re safe.

She says it like a mantra, softly repeating the words over and over again as she guides you through the house and up the stairs to the bathroom. Her hands find the edges of your sweatshirt, pausing.

“Can I?” She asks hesitantly. You can feel your eyes searching you but all you can do shrug, apathetic.

“Not like it’s nothing you haven’t seen before.”

And it’s true. As the words leaves your lips, you’re flooded with a million different memories of soft intimacy, a knowledge that you would never had that again.

This softness right here is wholly Dani. She’s charming and she’s funny, she’s strong-willed and loud mouthed, but she’s kind underneath it all. And you threw it all away because of your fear.

This softness for you was fleeting.

In a few days, you would go back to Texas and clear out your apartment. Or maybe you wouldn’t. Maybe you’d go back to Texas and find some shitty bartending job and marry some mediocre man who slept with his secretary on the side-

“Here.”

So deep into your misery and wallowing, you hadn’t even realized Dani had tugged your vomit-covered sweatshirt off of you, leaving the bathroom to grab a new top. You swallow and take the fabric from her, glancing down at it.

“This- this is my shirt.”

The revelation, while should be obvious, confuses the hell out of your muddled brain as you fist the mustard yellow t-shirt. In all honesty, you thought you had just lost the shirt in one of your many, many moves during your college years. But if Dani had this then, that had meant-

A hope alighted in your chest as she glances away, the hope dying as quickly as it came. “Probably time to give it back to you.”

And oh. Oh okay.

You swallow thickly, letting the shirt fall to your lap as you move to sit on the edge of the tub. You wipe your eyes with back of your hands, tears stinging as your cheeks flame.

“Dani, I came out to my parents.” You say quietly. “I know it doesn’t fix it and it doesn’t make you come back but I did.” You shrug, looking up at her. Confusion is written into her amber eyes. “You asked that day at the diner, why I don’t talk to them anymore. That’s why.”

She lets out a low whistle, crouching down to look you in the eye. “Shit man, they not take it well?”

“Bout as well as I expected. You know how they were, they were allies except when it came to their own kid.”

She shakes her head. “Never did understand that.”

“It fucks with their image.” You say, not unbitter. “Cause then they’re the ones with the weird homosexual kid everyone gossips about.”

“Hey, are you guys okay in here?” Lilly asks, rounding the corner. You realize you’re still shirtless and tug the material over your head as Dani stands.

“‘M fine. Just- shit from my past.” You breathe out as you stand up. “I’m real sorry about Cathy’s flowers.”

Lilly waves a hand. “Nah, she says it’s fine, just more worried about you.” She takes a step closer. “You- you are alright, right? Cause that shit with Scott this morning was next level and-“

“I’m fine.” You interrupt, stepping past Dani in the small space. “Just needed a minute.”

You give both of the girls a tight smile, moving past Lilly to head down the stairs to get water, ignoring the way your heart clenches every time the soft fabric of your shirt moves against your skin.

“I need to talk to you.”

You and Javi both turn. He’s leaned up against the backside of the barn as he talks to you quietly about their research and your work, if somewhere down the road you could see yourself coming back to storm chasing.

Javi runs a hand through his curls, taking a few steps back towards the house. “I’ll give you two a minute.”

You glance up at Dani from where you’re sitting on a hay bale, the sky painting itself into a dreamy purple above her. “Hi.”

She sticks her hands in her pockets, all bravado from a few minutes ago gone. “T says you’re leaving in the morning. That true?”

You nod. “Figure it’s past time I get out of y’alls way.”

“You aren’t- you aren’t in the way.” She huffs as you raise an eyebrow, pushing to stand.

“Storm chasing was always your thing, remember?” You call back as you move to follow Javi.

“And what if I said I wanted you to stay?” She calls after you as you near the Carter’s back porch. You pause before turning back to face her. She’s hard to read and you let out a breathe.

“I don’t know why you would.” You say honestly but you can tell it was the wrong thing from the way she flinches.

“So all that time we spent together, it really meant nothing.”

“Yeah, but Dani-“ You let out a mix of a sigh and a groan, scrubbing a hand down your face before you putter a few feet forward. “Dani, that was seven years ago. You can’t honestly tell me you haven’t moved on.”

“Have you?”

The question, in its nature, is a deflection. She knows it and you know it but it doesn’t stop your words from getting stuck in your throat, freezing as you’re unable to deny it.

Because you haven’t. You don’t know how you could. How anyone could.

Dani was the best person you’ve ever known and though she’s grown up a lot in the years since she was yours, you’ve never forgotten that she had always been, forever would be, home to you.

She sighs, reaching up to rub the back of her neck. “I- I want you to stay.” She says quietly. “I’ve already- sort of- well, T already knows. And- and they all love you and I’ve got an apartment out in Tulsa with Lilly and you could- you could stay there. With us.”

Your mouth feels dry as you swallow, unsure of what to say to her. A million things pass through, none of them sticking.

I couldn’t.

Do you know? That I’m still in love with you?

You never stopped meaning something to me?

Do you mean it?

You finally land on a quiet, “I don’t know how to just be your friend D.”

There’s that quietly confident Dani again as she cocks her head. “You really think I’m saying we’re just friends?”

You scoff. “It’s been seven years, are you really going to tell me that you’re still-?”

In love with me?

Because you were. You were still, hopelessly, foolishly, forever the girls in front of you. But she was the one who had left and she was the one who had decided your love wasn’t enough and that she needed to find a new life.

“Are you?” She challenges and you shake your head in irritation.

“You don’t get to keep doing that. You first. Answer the question.” She gives you a look, as if to say you really have to ask? which only makes your irritation grow. “That’s not fucking fair Dani. You’re the one who left for storm chasing in Arkansas remember? I would’ve done anything for you, gone anywhere for you. I love you, more than I’ll ever love someone else again.”

The fact that you say love as in love present tense goes unnoticed by the both of you as Dani gives you an unimpressed look. “Anything except come out of the closet.”

You’re a bit stunned she’s going to go there, knowing how painful of a decision like that had been. What it had cost you. You’d lost Dani but you’d lost everything else too. At the end of it, you’d lost all that she had gained.

“That’s- that’s not fucking fair.” You say wetly. “That wasn’t your choice to make. And guess fucking what Dani? I did come of the closet. And it didn’t bring you back. But I guess that’s all you care about now huh, public perception, with your fucking one million subscribers.”

You turn on your heel, furiously wiping away the tears that had surprised you as you storm back up to the house.

And then, she’s in front of you, swimming in your vision. She reaches out for your wrist, tight enough to keep your from moving but loose enough for you to know that if you really wanted to leave you could.

“That’s- that ain’t- that’s not what I meant.” She says, breathless. “I meant- I shouldn’t have gone there. I know, I know you sacrificed a lot for me.” She swallows, readjusting her grip on her wrist. “I asked a lot of you, to come out that way and I should’ve listened to you when you said why you didn’t want to. I didn’t- I cost you your family, I know that.”

“Fuck my family.” You say thickly with a shrug. “But you don’t gotta do this just cause- you feel guilty or something.”

She shakes her head. “I’ve been going about this all wrong, ain’t I?” She blows out a breath, letting you go and taking a step back.

“Yeah, the truth is I’m- I’m still in love with you. I don’t know how I couldn’t be.” She scrubs a hand over her face. “I never stopped loving you, loved you so much that I asked you to come out even when I knew why you wouldn’t. And I mean- it didn’t take me long after I left to realize what I’d done and I was stupid, kept thinking I’d get some sort of second chance with you. Every day for seven years, it’s followed me, losing you. And then there you were, working for StormPar.”

She scrubs a hand down her facing, groaning.

“Shit, you- you were right there and yet so out of reach and I thought- thought this might be some sort of punishment for leaving the way I did, for not having an ounce of an empathy for you.”

“No Dani-“ You go to protest.

You may have not liked her reasons for breaking up with you, but you understood them, devastating as they were.

But she keeps going.

“And then- and then watching your car slide down into that ditch. I thought you were dead. I- I couldn’t believe that I had spent seven years wishing to make things right just to lose the chance to some man who didn’t care about anyone but himself. And then when he put his hands on you- I wanted to fucking kill him.”

You blink, breath hitching at her words. She finally raises her eyes, a cautious look.

“I don’t- I don’t want you to leave. Not again. I just got you back.”

“Dani, I-“ You swallow, something shifting in you.

And then you do something that shocks you both.

You match the few steps forward, grasping her shirt, and kiss her.

To Dani’s credit, she overcomes her surprise well, only letting out a noise before her hands find your belt loops, tight as if you might change your mind, might be the one to leave this time.

Her kiss is soft, lips chapped against yours, and all of the sudden you realize-

You’re home.

#twisters #twisters fic #dani x reader #dani x female reader #twisters dani x reader #twisters dani x female reader

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carolmunson · 2 years ago

Text

wish i had a river (part two)

here it is, the part two i said i wouldn't write. if you missed it, here is the first part - wish i had a river this is very much an eddie munson fanfiction, it's mostly from his perspective and follows his story through his eyes and actions. 'you' are mentioned and seen in this fic, but for the most part, it's all eddie all the time. cw: minors dni, adult themes, some smut references. angst. hurt/comfort. lots of mentions of poverty/hunger, sleep deprivation, all around eddie having a bad time. cigarettes/mild drinking but nothing inherently like -- bad? idk. unpopular ship mentioned. i did NOT proof read this.

The alley behind Macy's was a safe haven. Cold, a blue black, poorly paved, with nothing but the dumpters of other stores and the rats to keep him company. Eddie nursed a cigarette on his third smoke break of the night, two bad customers away from a total nervous breakdown. His anxiety built higher every day, every rush, every icy road report -- more people yelling, more people stressed out, more car accidents he'd have to clean up. Wayne's been in an out of the doctor's office more often and it's looking like he might have to retire early. The cigarette loses it's flame and he curses under his breath when he goes to light it again, the nicotine soothing his lips and tongue with a slow steady burn.

You never got to decorate cookies together on his impromptu 'sick day', you hadn't returned any of his calls. Not that he thought he was off the hook or anything, but he did basically write you a fifty two page love letter. If he had the time he'd come by your apartment to apologize in person but at this point exhaustion had started to over stay it's welcome. He could barely make it to the pharmacy on his nights off to get Wayne's medication. The guys at the auto shop could tell something was starting to go very left, 'cause why was the youngest guy there the one who couldn't keep up anymore?

And Eddie really couldn't keep up anymore.

At least his commission in the shoe section was doubling daily.

The cold bites his cheeks while he finishes his cigarette, tossing the butt on the dirty, uneven pavement and crushing out the flame with his work shoes. He rubs his eyes, heavy and swollen with lack of sleep, with scrubbed fingernail hands and sighs. Just another hour and he can go home, just another hour and it's not a closing shift, he can go home at seven like normal people with regular jobs.

He drops his coat off in the cubby area upstairs, stopping in the bathroom to splash some cold water on his face. He inspects himelf, eyes half closing in disappointement while he does -- he looks like a shell of himself. He hadn't picked up his guitar in months, didn't turn the radio on anymore -- opting for silence since it was so rare for him to hear between Macy's, the shop, and Wayne's breathing machine at night.

He takes his hair down, shaking out the curls that had at least dried into waving perfection last night, and gives it a shake before putting it back up in a neat ponytail. His bangs sit on his forehead, a few strands framing his now gaunt face. He practices an awake smile in the mirror before he completely deflates -- one bad interaction, one rude look, one snap from a boss, and he'd lose it. The rawness sat in a lump in his throat, a grenade of tears ready to blow if the pin is even so much as nudged.

The door to the back rooms squeaks open on its hinges, revealing the never ending click of boots, heels, sneakers, and men's shoes on the sining tile of Macy's walkway floors. In the beginning, the scent of the perfume section across the way and the bright lights of jewelry used to be an assault on his senses -- but as Wayne says 'You can get used to anything.'

"You good, Ed?" he hears, and turns his head -- it's Angie. Angie is his favorite coworker because she makes the best and meanest jokes about people. If it wasn't for some nights closing with Angie he would've left this job a long time ago. He'd been keeled over in laughs with a duster in his hand so many times that it almost seemed wrong to abandon her there.

"Yeah," he furrows his brow at her, "Should I not be?"

"Some pretty boy's been looking for you," she says, nodding over to the boots section, "You got another business I don't know about?"

A grin stretches across her frosted red lipstick'd lips, crinkling her overlined and spider lashed eyes. She's what Eddie and the guys at Forest Hills would have called 'trailer park pretty' if she was thirty years younger.

"They would be so lucky, wouldn't they?" Ed smirks back, eyes following her nod and landing on a head of beautifully coiffed chestnut hair, "Harrington?"

Steve's eyes perk up like a golden retreiver, a winning smile spreading across his face with a flash of white teeth in it's wake, "Hey, Ed!"

Angie gasps when she realizes who it is, "Oh shit! Is this the guy that --"

"Shh, shut up Ange," Ed huffs, waving her off while Steve comes up to approach him.

"Hey dude, I was hoping you were here. I uh, got a pretty big collection to get tonight so I figured -- you know, I'd come say hi and ask for your help." It's frustrating how pleasant Steve is. How warm his demeanor radiates to others, his candor, the way that he stands. It's annoying that a denim button under a cozy green sweater looks good on him. It makes Eddie sick that he can pull off wire-rim glasses and still look his age, that he smells like spice but not in a cheap way. A twinge of fear shook in his chest when a seed of assumption planted itself in his head -- was this why you weren't answering his calls? Was Steve Harrington smothering you with Christmas spirit every night?

"Yeah, man, sure," Eddie responds like the world isn't sitting directly on his shoulders, which -- he observed -- were not nearly as broad as Steve's, "How can I help you?"

"I need like, four pairs of Moon Boots," he shrugs, "Guess they're in style again? My sister's and nieces want matching pairs so like -- two in a size 8 and then, if you have it, two in a size 4 kids?"

"What color? We have white, purple, black, some metallics," Eddie lists on his fingers, "Well, maybe not black -- those probably sold out already."

"You got silver? Pink, maybe?" Steve shrugs, "I'm just trying to get these wrapped by tomorrow."

Christmas Eve. Ed had almost forgotten.

"Let me see what we have and I'll bring it out," he offers. He wants to ask about you but it seems too obvious. You must have talked about the fight or about him in general, how else would Steve know he worked here? How else would he know to come looking for him.

Moments later, Ed comes out with four boxes, "I have two in silver and two in pink -- so it looks like your nieces will be matching and your sisters will be matching. Does that work?"

"Oh shit, that's perfect," Steve smiles the same winning smile. Eddie wonders for a moment what it feels like to smile genuinely, it's felt like years since he had. He guesses that when you're Steve Harrington, you must get to smile pretty often. Rich, girls love him, former captain of the basketball team, has a masters degree, painstakingly handsome -- no wonder you called him after your fight. Damn, he would too.

"Is that all?" Ed asks, reaching up to run a hand over the five o'clock shadow speckling his chin.

"No, actually, sorry. I need some like, work boots, if you sell those here -- is that okay?" Steve asks.

"Work boots like, how? Like construction?" he asks, "You're a teacher, Harrington."

"Yeah but my uh, my roommate -- he's not in construction but he's on a whole bunch of terrain for work -- desperately needs good shoes for that," he explains.

"What's he do?" Ed asks, guiding him over to the display of Timberlands and Doc Martens.

"He's a photojournalist -- he's all over the place," Steve answers, "He's worn his sneakers down to the sole and like, swears their okay --"

"Jonothan Byer's is your roommate?" Eddie asks, making the connection. He'd only known him from their photography class they shared in Eddie's second senior year, but he knew enough to know he went into journalism shortly after college.

"Yeah," Steve nods, running a hand through his hair.

"Hm," Eddie looks over the shoes and looks up at him, "If I can be honest -- he's gotta be quick on his feet, right? These are gonna be too heavy for him to be walking around in. You might just want to get him some higher quality running sneakers. There's a Foot Locker downstairs if you wanna check that out? A lot of our sneakers are sold out until next week."

"Hmm, shit," Steve clicks his tongue, "Well um -- could I maybe try a pair?"

"Of Docs?" Eddie asks with a laugh.

"Yeah, of Docs -- I can be hip and cool, too, Munson," Steve's faux defense is charming. Eddie wonders what else you find charming about him.

Part of it feels degrading, kneeling down in front of Steve, lacing and relacing each new and different pair of boots he tries on -- but at this point he's buying seven pairs of shoes and the commission alone will cover at least a month of groceries so he's not complaining.

"So you don't hate me, huh?" Eddie asks, slipping a lighter weight Timberland over one of Steve's argyle socks.

"Why would I hate you?" Steve cocks his head, amber eyes catching in the light.

"Oh, did she not talk about it?" Eddie flushes. Why would you talk about him? Your loser mechanic (maybe ex) boyfriend who works at the mall, and at the auto shop, and sometimes sells drugs.

"Your fight from last week?" Steve raises his brows, "Yeah, she talked to me about it. But I woudn't hate you for that."

Ed tightens the laces up his foot to his ankle with care, "Why not?"

"I mean, you're doing a lot right now," Steve shrugs, "I think it can be hard when you're teaching little ones, especially this time of year, to not get caught up in the magic -- you sort of popped her bubble. But y'know, it was sort of a reminder to her that not everyone has it so good."

"She didn't deserve me yelling at her like that, though," Eddie shakes his head, he can feel the threat of the grenade pin tugging on his heart strings. One false move. One shake. One nudge, and he'll blow.

"You're doing the best you can," Steve offers kindly. Eddie swallows hard, offering him a tight smile.

"Thanks. I'm trying, I'm--" he shakes out the tingle of a cry before tying up the laces, "I'm trying really hard."

By the time Steve checks out it's about 7:15 and Eddie wants nothing more than to go to bed. His back hurts, he's gotta make sure Wayne took his medication, he's gotta eat sleep for dinner for the third night in a row.

"Thanks so much," Steve beams, "This is great, thanks for your help."

"Yeah, no problem dude," Eddie sighs, running a hand over his face again, "Have a good holiday."

"You done for the night?" Steve asks.

"Yeah, just gotta y'know -- grab my shit and go," he shrugs.

"You wanna grab some dinner with me in the food court or something?" Steve asks, balancing the many shopping bags he'd collected this evening in his hands.

"I don't know, dude. I don't wanna keep you or anything," Eddie says. His stomach clenches at the word dinner, his body reacting like a dog who just heard the sentence 'you wanna go outside?'

"You're not keeping me," Steve assures, "C'mon, it's on me."

Before he knows it, Eddie's been corralled into a mall food court, sitting slumped over on the sticky table. He tunes out the shreiks of children, the tinny Christmas music playing in the background of the cocophany of noise that is the mall on December 23rd. His forehead sticks to the leather jacket over his forearm, only lifting it up when he hears the slap of a plastic tray being put down in front of him. He surveys the Burger King in front of him and huffs a laugh, it'd been a long time since he'd ventured into the food court. He almost forgot what fast food looked like after the past few months of thin ham sandwhiches or cold cans Spaghettio's.

"So why didn't you try to swoop in?" Ed asked, toying with a french fry before biting off the end, "When you went to her house the other night?"

He savors the oil and salt on his tongue, warm and crispy on the fry disolving in his mouth while he waits for a response.

"Swoop in?" Steve asks, shaking his head, "No, I wouldn't. We just -- we work together. She's my work friend."

"So you never thought about what the kids say?" Eddie challenges, still trying to keep it light hearted, "How the first grade teachers should get married?"

"Her classroom is across from mine and we make lesson plans together," he assures, "What the kids say is what the kids say. They're six, what do they know?"

"Whatever you say, Harrington," Eddie shrugs.

"Munson, seriously -- she's my friend. She's not my type," he offers. The way he says it stings Eddie, what's not his type about you? You're perfect. You're the best person he knows.

"The card thing though? That was cute. I'm gonna put that in my arsenal if I ever fuck up," Steve laughs. Eddie chest rattles when he realizes that Steve was still there for that. He never even knew your reaction.

Eddie clears his throat, "Did um -- did she like it?"

Steve nods with a lazy smile, "Yeah, she liked it."

"Did she say anything?" he asks hopefully.

"She cried," Steve answered, Eddie leans his head on his hands, "I know that might not be what you wanted to hear."

"I didn't wanna make her cry more," he explains, "I wanted to make her happy."

"They were happy tears," Steve encourages with a nod, "She knows you love her. She loves you, too."

"Then why isn't she answering my calls?" he asks, another fry passing his lips.

"I think she's hurt, a little embarrassed. You know how girls are, they never come right out and say it," he shrugs, taking a bite of his cheeseburger. Ketchup drips out onto the paper mat on the plastic tray with a wet plop, Eddie sighs.

"Did you end up getting anything for her for Christmas?"

"No I -- I can't afford it this year," Eddie rubs his eyes again, more swollen and aching than before. Heat beams through his cheeks in embarrassment, tinging pink and then red.

"Well I had an idea," he offers, "If you're up for it."

"Yeah, go for it Harrington. Shoot," he says, the enthusiasm was greatly lacking.

"Well her uh, her class room needs a lot of repairs and the custodial team isn't really equipped for that. The school'll either bare bones it for her or make her pay for it out of pocket if she asks," he starts, "And she told me you're really handy, y'know, working at the garage and all. So maybe you could take care of her class room this week while we're out for break. I can let you in and everything."

He mulls it over in his head, "That's a really good idea, actually. I could um, I could ask the guys at the shop if I could borrow some tools."

"And there's a bunch of wood palettes in the backrooms at Medvald's. Jon said he's happy to get them out of there for you," Steve says with a smile.

"Oh, so you already talked about this?" Eddie smirks.

"Well, yeah, kind of," he blushes, "I was asking around just to see if it was a plausible kind of thing."

"Definitely a plausible thing," he nods, taking a bite of his own cheese burger. He holds back the moan in his chest from eating something warm and mildly filling after such a long time, "Do you think she'd like it?"

"Oh, Munson," Steve shoots him the 'okay' sign, "She'd lose her mind. All she does is complain about how nothing ever works and everything's falling apart. Doesn't even have new chalk."

"Chalk I can definitely handle," he laughs, "I think I can afford chalk."

He feels a moment of calm wash over him when the van rumbles to life in the parking garage. Finally heading home and going to sleep with a full belly, finally with a plan to make you happy, finally feeling like after the new year things can go back to normal. He flicks on the radio and doesn't even change the station when Mariah Carey's 'All I Want For Christmas' crackles through the speakers. He heard it 700 times today, happy to hear it for the 701st.

It was your new favorite song, after all.

Eddie woke up feeling slightly refreshed on Christmas Eve, the dull ache in his back mildly relieved. He fished into his pajama pants for his lighter, flicking it a few times before getting the fuse lit for his morning cigarette. He stood at the open door, bathrobe tied tight around him, and listened to the hum of Wayne's machine from the other end of trailer. The mug of black coffee in his hands had the bitterness cut by the soft sweetness of cinnamon -- that's what you always did this time of year.

'I like making it a little festive for you, honey,' you'd giggle, 'Don't be such a Grinch.'

He wished he appreciated it more, all the little things you did to try to make him happy. The faces in fruit on his pancakes some mornings, making his old favorites for dinner at your place, 'build your own sundae' nights. Scratching his head, scalp massages, hand massages. You'd call them man-icures so he didn't feel weird about you doing his nails and softening his callouses. He didn't care that it was just a manicure with a stupid name, all he cared about was your cute face when you concentrated on his cuticles. He missed your laugh, the way you tap your pen out to your favorite songs when you're grading papers or writing lesson plans, your elaborate schemes to make learning subtraction more fun. The way you're kind to everyone, all the time, constantly. When he first started taking you out he'd get embarrassed by how forward you were with people, how you'd make small talk with cashiers, or grab someone's hand to tell them their nails looked beautiful.

Maybe in a lot of ways, he wished he was more like you to start.

He took a shower and slipped on his coveralls, opting to be one of two guys in the shop today. Him and George. It was George's garage, and for the past six years, Eddie had always volunteered to be the emergency mechanic on deck on Christmas Eve. He got paid time and a half and never had to wait for the check, he'd always get paid at the end of the day.

He laces his boots before trudging down the hall to wake Wayne, taking off his machine and flipping the switch.

"I'm headed out," he whispers, "You okay?"

"Yeah, yeah," Wayne groans when he sits up on the rickety mattress, "I have a new perscription, not sure if the pharmacy'll be open but would you be able to pick it up on the way back. They called last night but I couldn't make it to the phone, it's ready I think."

"Yeah, I'll grab it on my lunch break Wayne," he softens the more he looks at him, "Have some coffee already to go for you on the table, there's a couple eggs left for you too."

"Thank ya, son," his voice is grizzly, but it still feels like home.

Eddie shivers his way into the shop, George in the office organizing some files. The day was always slow, but there were some cars still in need of fixing so he got right to work.

"Hey George," he calls, knocking on the door.

"Hey kid," he calls back, "Merry Christmas!"

"Merry Christmas, round six," he laughs back. He goes back to the break room and drops off his coat and his back pack. Normally he'd have you to look forward to later with a plate of cookies from your family's Christmas Eve party and some left overs expertly packed. You'd drive an hour and a half to bring it down to him and then an hour and a half back to spend Christmas with your family. But not before he gave you a present, or multiple presents, in the break room when George went out to get a six pack.

"Ed," he calls again, "C'mere when you're done dropping your shit."

Eddie heads over to the office, leaning on the door frame, "'Sup bossman?"

"Someone left a message for ya on the answering machine, think it's the pharmacy," he said, "Ya might wanna give 'em a call, s'probably for your uncle."

"Oh, yeah, I think his prescription's ready," he nodded, "Can I use your phone?"

"Yeah, by all means," he said, pushing it toward him, "Want me to give you a minute?"

Ed shakes his head no, "It's fine, just a quick call." He's got the number memorized by heart at this point, clicking the numbers on the grease stained white plastic buttons while barely looking at the machine.

"Hawkins Pharmacy, this is Debbie," Eddie smiles because he knows Debbie. He likes Debbie a lot.

"Hi Deb, it's Eddie, Eddie Munson," he says, "Calling for my uncle, looks like you called my work. I was gonna come by and pick up his meds on my break, will you guys be open?"

"Oh um, about his prescription Ed..." she starts, and he can hear the hesitation in her voice. The clip in the grenade buried in his chest jiggles slightly, he takes in a breath through his nose.

"What's up?" he asks, his voice his short and curt.

"Well, he changed his insurance recently, as you know and -- well there's a lapse in his coverage right now. His new plan doesn't activate until the first," she expains.

"Okay, and what does that mean?" he says, his palms sweat onto the cool plastic of the phone, his ear sticks to the receiver.

"Basically," she says, and then sighs, "His current insurance can't cover it and neither can is upcoming insurance, so the prescription has to be paid out of pocket."

"Um -- uh, fuck -- okay," he says, a chill courses through him, tightening his veins. The pin jiggles again, "H-how much?"

"For the month?" she asks, "For this prescription it's, hold on, let me check...it's looking like it'll come out to around..." she takes a breath of defeat.

"Around three hundred dollars, Ed," she says softly.

"Three hundred..." he repeats back quietly, "Is there like, is there a cheaper version cause he like..."

His voice cracks, the pin rattles dangerously while his eyes start to sting with oncoming tears, "He really needs these pills, Debbie."

"This is the cheapest option," she says apologetically, "I'm so sorry."

"I'll um, I'll figure it out," he shakes his head, "I'll come by and I'll figure it out. Thanks uh, thanks for letting me know Deb."

He doesn't wait to hear her response before he hangs up the phone, quickly leaving the office to go back to the break room. He sniffles in big shuddering breaths, sweat dripping down his back despite the lack of heat in the garage.

"Kid," George says softly, following behind him, "Hey, Munson. What's goin' on?"

He feels George's big hand on his shoulder, the soft squeeze on the muscle under his skin.

"I can't afford my uncle's medication," he says, the pin jiggles, "I mean I can, but like, if I get his medication I'll be late in paying the gas bill, but if they turn the gas off there goes our heat. Or I can delay the electric bill but if they turn the lights out he can't use his machine at night. So maybe I could like, go out tonight after this and shovel some driveways in the rich neighborhoods or -- I could -- I could --"

The pin falls.

He breaks.

He breaks hard.

Eddie's cries turn to wails, his body shaking with hunger and exhaustion and the unbearable heaviness of having to be himself. The tears pour in droves down his face while he tries to catch up with them, trying to find the words to explain to George that he's okay, he'll figure it out.

"Hey, buddy, it's okay, it's okay," George soothes, his aged face crumpling while he watches Eddie break down in front of him. He pulls him in tight, a hand plopping ontop on his mess of curls.

"Why don't you tell me what's been goin' on? You haven't been yourself for months," he says softly, "Talk to me."

George smells like Old Spice and Newports, it's a scent that's always made him feel safe. Like having a second dad -- well, a third dad, if you count his real dad. He never counts his real dad, though.

Eddie sits down at the table while George takes a couple of beers out of the fridge and places them down in front of them. He cracks them open and settles down, two sets of brown eyes meeting each other.

He begins.

"Well if Wayne was sick why didn't you tell me?" George exclaims, "I've known Wayne longer than you've lived in Hawkins, boy. I would've helped you figure somethin' out. Taking shifts at Macy's? At Christmas time? No wonder you're so exhausted."

"I mean, I'm young. I can do it," Eddie shrugs.

"Those bags under your eyes say you can't," he says matter of factly, "And y'know you shouldn't have to. You're -- damn you're a kid."

"I'm like, inching towards thirty George," he laughs.

"And what about your little girlfriend? She not helping?"

"That's..." he sighs, "That's a whole other mess."

Eddie rehashes the story he told Wayne last week and then Steve's visit from yesterday, "So today I was gonna ask if I could borrow some tools and go in tomorrow or something to fix everything up. But now I gotta figure out how I'm gonna make an extra three hundred bucks for these meds."

"How about this," George starts, "You've been workin' for me a long time. You come early and you stay late. You cover for everyone. You know -- damn -- you know more about cars than I do and I've been runnin' this place for thirty years. How about you take this week off to work on your girl's classroom and I'll see you after the New Year."

"I can't. I need to work, George, I need the mo--"

"How about," he interjects, loud and stern, "You take the week off to work on your girl's classroom and get some rest, and I will pay you for the week. It's not like you're just sittin' on your ass."

"I can do that, that's not f--"

"If you say no again, I'm just gonna fire you. Is that what you want?" George challenges.

"No sir," Eddie quickly shakes his head and shuts his mouth.

"And," the older man continues, "I will cover the cost of Wayne's pills. I'll go pick them up at lunch for 'im and drop 'em off. 'Bout time I caught up with that geezer anyway."

The tears build back up in Eddie's eyes, his mouth lets out a sputtered version of a 'Thank you'.

"You gotta stop pretending like you have to do everything yourself," George's voice holds a fatherly fondness when he gets up and tosses their empty beers in the trash.

"C'mere, kid," he chuckles while Eddie tearily gets up out of the chair and back into the dad like embrace of his boss.

"You got ten minutes, but then we got some cars to fix."

Eddie didn't tell Wayne about the insurance lapse or the pills, even though he was surprised to see George at the trailer park that afternoon. Eddie went home with his tool belt from work, his time and a half, and a little extra that his boss insisted he take with him. Wished him luck on his repairs and that he'd see him on the 2nd.

He was warned that if he didn't rest, Wayne would tell him, and it would mean hell for him at the shop.

Eddie'd already been through hell, so he didn't really want to have to do it again.

Christmas morning came and Eddie woke Wayne up to a cup of coffee and some breakfast.

"Thanks, son," he said smoothly, pushing in his chair at the table in the kitchenette, "Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas," he wished back, tapping some cinnamon into each of their cups of coffee.

"What's that for?" he asks before a harrowing cough bubbles out of his chest. He takes a sip of coffee to ease the ache of the rattle in his throat.

"It's just festive, Wayne," he teases, "Don't be a Scrooge."

"Doing anything today?" Wayne asks, eyes casting up to look at the old pictures of a younger Eddie sat on Santa's lap. No longer a holiday where they stayed home and snuggled, where he played with his toys, where there was magic.

"Gonna go fix up my girl's classroom as a gift," he says, picking at his nails, "Thought it'd be a nice gesture."

"She hasn't called ya back, hm?"

Eddie shakes his head, already dressed in the Black Sabbath shirt you got him that he hadn't gotten a chance to properly thank you for. The chain you got repaired hung aroung his neck delicately, the pick hitting his chest in a gentle reminder that you're still here with him. You had to be. He'd know if you just decided to be done with him.

By the time the late afternoon rolled around he hopped in his van after Wayne fell asleep in the recliner. The perk of the holidays was that he could drive around in the rich neighborhoods and no one was out to give him and his car dirty looks. No one was around to be confused that Steve Harrington was hopping into his passengers seat to head to Melvald's. No one was around to be confused as to while they were loading wood from broken down pallets into the ample trunk space.

"Good holiday?" Eddie asks.

"Same holiday it always is," he shrugs, "My parents weren't around so I stayed home. Jonothan went to California with Joyce to go visit Will so he wouldn't have to pay to fly home."

"That's lonely," Eddie mutters, "Sorry dude."

"Don't be sorry, I'm used to it," he looks out the window. Steve looks well dressed for repairs -- a pair of worn in jeans, white on white Air Forces, an Izod half zip sweat shirt -- he might as well look like a father of three, "Have you heard from her at all?"

"No -- I left her a message on her answering machine, but I think she's already up with her family. I don't know what she told them so -- I don't want to bother her parents if they're upset with me," he explains.

"They'd never be upset with you," Steve shakes his head, "They're good people."

"I'm sure they wish on a star every night that she was with you, Harrington," he jokes.

"You'd think, right?" Steve laughs, "No, she told me how much they like you. They think you're so good to her -- you are so good to her."

Steve speaks about you with a fondness that makes Eddie wonder. He softens, looking over at him while he turns down the road to the elementary school, "Do um...do you wish it was you?"

"I already told you, man. I love her to death, but she's not my type," he laughs again, but there's a pain there.

"You keep saying that but like -- are you sure? 'Cause you can tell me it's not weird," he assures.

"She hasn't told you?" Steve asks, brows furrowing.

"Told me what? Did you guys used to fuck, or something?" Eddie asks, his heart hammering, "Did you fuck the other ni--"

"No, no, Ed I'm --" he sighs, running a hand through his hair.

"I'm gay," he says quietly, "Like, Jonathan isn't my roommate he's -- he's my partner. I'm gay."

There's a silence there for a moment and Eddie shifts in his seat a red light. Oh, I'm such a fucking idiot. Of course that's why they aren't together. I thought maybe he had a weird dick or something.

"That's y'know," Ed shrugs, "That's cool with me, man. Like, silence equals death and all that."

"Oh, shut up man," Steve laughs and shakes his head, putting his hand up to stop him from talking, "Don't like, do that all shit. I'm just surprised she hadn't said anything."

"If you told her not to, she wont," Eddie's voice drops to something sweet, "She's a good girl like that. Great secret keeper. Great -- Oh, shit..."

When the boys pull into the lot, Eddie's surprised to see a couple more trucks sitting by with their lights on, doors opening at the sight of them. A gruff voice calls out from the dark, a light snow obscuring him and the name on his coverall.

"How long were you gonna keep us waiting here, kid? It's a holiday."

George's gruff voice cuts the silence, a couple of the guys from the shop chuckle in the background. Eddie smiles, a genuine, warm smile -- the kind he envied from a couple nights ago that he saw from Steve. These were people who cared about him, who wanted to help. This was, he guessed, was what Christmas was really about. This was what you were trying to tell him the whole time. His heart breaks all over again, and he swears he can feel the pulse of your heart beat in the guitar pick hanging at his chest.

By the 27th, most of the repairs had been done. The help from the guys was beyond what he could've imagined. They were able to replace part of the roof that had water damage, fix the windows, repair a cracked pane, build a new bookcase, fix the wobble in all of the desks, and yours. Now, he was just adding a new coat of paint after spending the morning chipping off all the shards of it that were falling off. In his backpack was an overflow of new chalk, pens and pencils, markers, crayons, construction paper, pipe cleaners, and glue. The guys went through their kids bookcases at home and donated a slew of new books for the room -- some duplicates, too.

He felt good. He'd gotten two nights of adequate sleep, heeding George's warning that he has to rest. He was able to buy a good crop of groceries and most of the guys from work came by to drop off so many Christmas cookies that Wayne was nervous he'd start losing his teeth too. Now, all he had to wait for was you. For you to come in on Friday and see his surprise when you dropped in for your professional development day with Steve. He wasn't sure if he wanted to leave flowers or gingerbread men with the card but he figured he'd cross that bridge when he --

"Eddie?"

He jumped, nearly falling off the ladder he was on to reattach over head light that had rusted on the ceiling, "Jesus Christ!"

He clutched his chest, letting his heart rate settle down when at the bottom of the ladder, there you stood. His face blushed pink, pulse ping ponging through his wrists at the sight of you.

"Hi, sweetheart," he smiles, "This um...this was supposed to be a surprise."

"Who told you?" you asked, looking around, "About all my stuff?"

Eddie climbed down the ladder carefully, "Steve came to the store, told me that you needed some help. I figured y'know, if I couldn't get you a present I could just -- I could make you one."

"It's not done yet though, I still have to paint and put all your art supplies away," he explains, meeting you in the center of the room. He looks at you and then at the tears in your eyes, the heat rising in your cheeks. You don't say anything, his heart races in embarrassment. Maybe it wasn't enough, maybe you didn't like it. Maybe you wanted to do it yourself.

"And um, the guys from the shop, they uh, they brought books," he says, walking over to the new bookcase, "And I uh, I built this, like, with my hands."

He painted it to match the rest of the decor, a fun bright color that would hopefully draw the kids in to read. You'd mentioned that the got bored with the same ten books and weren't sharing well -- half of the books were falling apart since there wasn't anywhere to put them.

"And uh, I got you some new chalk -- white obviously, but I got you some multi-colored sets cause I know you like to do little sketches on the board during holidays and like, with spring comin' up maybe you could do little flowers or something?" he doesn't realize it, but he's gasping through his rambled sentences. Watching you walk toward him slowly.

"It's okay if you don't like it," he assures, "You can tell me and I can fix it I just wanted to--"

Your kiss feels like a spoonful of summer warmed honey on his cold lips. It trails down his throat and into his chest, down through his fingertips and his toes. He feels your soft hands cup his face, resting against his cold prickly cheeks. He's afraid to touch your face because you haven't given him a manicure yet this week. He doesn't want to scratch you with his rough hands, so he places them around you instead, frowning when you finally break away with a soft click.

"I just wanted to do something nice," he says against your lips.

"This is the best gift ever," you whisper quietly, a little sniffle stifling your cry, "It's very nice."

"Merry Christmas, baby," he smiles, leaning in for another kiss.

"Merry Christmas," you wish between kisses.

He wakes up wrapped up in you, in your sheets, in your scent, peering at you while you sleep soundly next to him. You both had barely made it through the door of your apartment before you both had shed your clothes -- landing on the bed with a mutual 'oof!'

It had been so long since he'd been present. Savoring every soft moan out of your mouth, every shake of your thighs, everything whine, every clench, the way you'd rake your nails down his back, the way you'd pulse when he held your hand. You both laid there together after round one, eating cookies in bed (which you'd allowed just this once), while he told you everything. About how hard it had been taking two jobs, how he'd completely shut down, about Wayne's insurance lapse, about the guys at work, about Steve coming to Macy's, about how much he loved the gifts you got. About how he cried the night he yelled at you but was too afraid to face you after because he felt so awful. He listened when you told him that you just needed some time, but that you felt awful that you weren't there when he needed you.

"Need you all the time," he mumbled between heated kisses, "Never lettin' you outta my sight."

His eyes rolled and his toes curled when you took him in your mouth, letting you take the lead. He gasped and writhed, whining for more when your tongue swirled and sucked, showing him how much you missed him. How you'll always take care of him -- and he made sure to show you how he'll take care of you back.

Round three was long and drawn out, slow and sensual, close and quiet -- your boom box playing low static by the end.

Your eyes opened, stretching out when you see him sitting up in bed.

"You heading out?" you yawn.

"No, baby," he smiles down at you before laying back down, losing himself under the covers with you again, "I have the week off, so I'm intending to spend every moment I'm not with Wayne, in this bed, with you."

#eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fan fiction #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fan fic #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson angst #eddie munson hurt/comfort #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x y/n #eddie x reader #eddie munson

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sunlightmurdock · 2 years ago

Text

Blow by Blow | 0.4 | Bradley Bradshaw x Reader au

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter | Masterlist

Synopsis: Bradley’s washed up before his career has even really begun. He doesn’t want to fill his father’s shoes and he doesn’t want someone else to either. Stuck in limbo, living the same way he always has, the opportunity to step up wanders through the door of his gym in a mini dress and heels that are a size too big.

Warnings: unspecified age gap, violence, probs boxing inaccuracies somewhere along the line, blood and injuries throughout the fic but will be specified in the warnings of the chapter. Smut and other 18+ content, minors dni, no warnings in particular for this one

…

Bradley’s car pulls into the parking lot at seven, prompt — on time for once. The radio is playing loud, some seventies tune that he hums along to with little regard for the neighbors. Head tilted back, humming softly to your own music, the water pours over your face.

You scrub shampoo through your roots, swaying softly to your music. It’s a relatively calm track, you’re hoping for a relatively calm day. The plan is to take Tank for a walk through the park down by the marina, then come back and work on the website a bit — Nat’s going to train with you in the afternoon, then you’ve got the evening to yourself.

It’s a nice change, having this much freedom over your day. No asshole telling you what to wear, telling you that walking the dog takes too long, dragging you along to whatever he wants to do.

Bradley’s brows furrow. He pops open the glove box and riffles through it before patting down his jean pockets again. No keys. “Fuck.”

It’s the first time that he’s been on time in a week. If he has to call Jake to borrow some keys then he’s just going to get another lecture. He knows exactly where his keys for the gym are, somewhere on the floor of your apartment.

Sliding out of the driver’s side of his Ford Bronco, he slams the door with little regard for the neighbors again — he half does it just to let you know that he’s coming. Then, he jogs up the metal stairs that lead to the door to your apartment and knocks loudly on the glass panel in the door.

Immediately, he’s met with a big bark. Loud, deep and right by the door from the sounds of things. Yeah… Natasha had mentioned a dog. Bradley knocks the glass loudly again, unfazed by the barking.

He lifts his hand, ready to hit the glass hard when he hears you unlocking the door. The blue wood pulls back and opens just slightly. He has a split second where he can glance you up and down, get a good look at you, still wet and wrapped in a towel. Once his gaze lifts, he’s met with an unimpressed scowl.

Next, Tank lurches forwards, barking wildly as he aims himself at the stranger just outside the door. You put your knee against the doorframe and block Tank with your body.

“I need my keys, I dropped them here the other night.” Bradley ignores the dog and looks back to you without greeting you. He’s in kind of a hurry, Jake’s going to be here any minute and Bradley could do without being ridiculed today.

“Say please.”

It slips your mouth before you’ve even had time to think about it. It’s just the demanding tone and the way he looks at you. This is what would get you in trouble with Jett. You both seem equally surprised at what you just said. You swallow softly and step back.

“Sorry, I just — I’ll get them—“

“Can I have my keys, please?” Bradley asks softly. You take a deep breath and exhale through your nose, holding the towel against your body.

“Yeah, stay there.” You say quietly. You turn your back on him and nudge Tank back with you, catching hold of his collar and gently guiding him back towards the living room. Bradley’s keys are on the counter, approximately three steps from the back door — you had found them while cleaning last night and had been planning on returning them.

One step from the door, two, and then you let go of Tank’s collar. He seems calm enough now, you know him well enough to know that he’ll stay that way as long as Bradley stays outside.

Bradley slips his phone from the pocket of his gym shorts and checks the time. Jake’s going to be here any second. He steps inside, his strides are longer than yours and he’s close enough to you in one step. Too close, as Tank decides.

The dog growls sharply, then leaps up at him again, barking and snarling. The same puppy that had been curled up on the couch with you, wrapped in a cozy blanket and snoring, an hour ago.

You gasp, spinning around and catching the towel to keep it from falling. Bradley’s closer than you’re expecting, he can see the panic in your eyes when you turn. You catch hold of Tank’s collar and pull him back.

“I’m sorry, I was just going to—“

“I told you to wait outside.” You frown at him, brows furrowed, heart pounding in your chest. Maybe a braver person would yell at him now. You’d like to. Bradley glances down at your dog, still growling lowly, now standing between you and him with his heckles up.

This isn’t the first time that this dog has stood between you and a guy who has gotten too close.

Bradley takes a couple of steps back, bumping into the doorframe as he raises his palms in defense. You might forgive him, but Tank’s not so quick to recover. He continues to growl, deep and rumbling, warning the trainer to stay outside.

You swallow softly, fingers curling around his keys without looking back. You take them from the counter and toss them towards him. Bradley catches them in one hand.

“Thank you. Thanks. I’ll — I’ll see you later.” He nods, already half turning away, waving you off and heading down the steps. You step quickly forwards and close the door behind him, clicking the lock shut.

You crouch down and run your fingers over Tank’s fur, humming quietly. “So, you think he’s kind of an asshole too, huh?”

Bradley can’t fault your home security system. With your aim and nearby projectiles, and your new guard dog, he’s certain that if anyone tries to break in up there then they’ll be sorry about it.

He hears Jake’s truck pull up outside just as he’s finished opening up for the morning, the exhaust is fucked and it’s louder than it should be. Bradley walks back to the front desk and pulls his phone out, acting like he has been here and done with his work for a while.

“Wow, you’re here.” Jake quips, raising his eyebrows in amused surprise as he lets the door ring closed behind him. He’s wearing a black cap and matching gym wear today. With his experience and skills, he should probably be at a more upmarket place, but Jake’s got a soft spot for Bradshaw’s.

Sometimes, Bradley wishes he had the same choice.

“You look like you just saw a ghost, you alright?” Jake continues as he steps around the counter and slides the clipboard towards himself, flipping through the pages to find his schedule for the day.

“Yeah, that kid’s dog just lunged for me — don’t think either of them like me.” Bradley scoffs, shaking his head as he leans over Jake’s shoulder. Lots of empty spaces on the schedule, Mav isn’t going to be happy.

“Who, Tank?” Jake looks up, brows furrowing. Bradley nods his head. Jake scoffs, “Wow, you must’ve really pissed him off, he napped in Bob’s lap for like an hour last night. Curled up like a baby.”

As Jake finishes talking, you walk past the front of the gym. Tank’s wearing a harness and walking ahead of you on his leash, tail wagging contentedly. You’re wearing a pretty dress, it’s red, stops mid-way up your thigh and has little flowers on it.

Jake smiles as you turn your head towards the two of them. He lifts his hand and waves his fingers at you through the glass. Bradley stares as you wave chirpily back at the two of them.

It’s a sunny day, and you feel sunnier than you’ve felt in months. You pull your sweater from your bag and lay it out on the grass, then settle down. Tank readily settles with you, laying his head against your legs and wagging his tail.

Tank was an apology. For one of the first times things had gotten bad between you and Jett — an explosive argument that left behind an entire day’s worth of tears. You’d gone to sleep that night swearing that you were going to leave him. The next morning, you had woken up with a tan coloured cuddle bug who needed you to stay.

Before this, you haven’t spent much time on this side of San Diego — you had heard that this wasn’t the best area to hang out in. Maybe that’s why Jett liked to, maybe it made him feel tough. It isn’t like you had thought it would be. Down by the boats, sitting in the grass, it’s nice. There’s a view out over the bay and Tank likes to watch the birds in the trees above you.

“Heads up.” Bob nudges his elbow into Jake’s. Jake lifts his gaze and frowns. They’re standing by the front desk and trying to find stuff to keep them busy so that Mav doesn’t realise how dead it is today. They stare out of the front window together as the car door slams.

“Oh, what the fuck is that assho—“

Jake shoots a look at Natasha. She closes her mouth and breathes out hard, curling her knuckles around the counter as Jett walks towards the door. With guys like Jett, Jake knows what he’s looking for. It’s a fight, nothing more. A couple more of those, one more lawsuit and this place is getting shut down for good.

With everything that Maverick has lost already, Jake’s not going to let that happen.

The bell above the door rings. He’s barely got one foot inside, nostrils flared, dark circles under his eyes. There’s a grey sheen to his skin — maybe drinking too much, maybe something heavier. Jake’s not too sure.

“Where is she?”

Natasha opens her mouth. Bob elbows her softly.

“Where’s who?” Jake shrugs his shoulders calmly.

Jett seethes, surging forwards. Jake takes one step back and squares his shoulders.

“My girl.” Jett spits.

“Why would she be here?” Bob asks gently, leaning forwards on his palms. He adjusts his glasses.

“Cut the shit, I know she’s here! — My neighbour saw her with you.”

Phoenix glances across at Jake. Jake folds his arms over his chest. He’s two weight classes above Jett, and confident in the knowledge that Jett knows he won’t win this fight.

“Here to apologize?” Jake taunts.

“Here to talk her dumb ass down from whatever high horse she’s on. You don’t know her, man, she always freaks out like this.”

Bradley rounds the corner, leaning his head back, breathing hard. That session really took it out of him. He rolls his neck and opens his mouth, then closes it. He stops in his tracks.

He takes a moment to stare at Jett, and then take in what he had just said. Now it all makes sense.

“You want to talk to her?” Phoenix challenges, pushing herself up from her chair and rounding the desk. Behind her, is the internal door, behind that are the stairs to your apartment. “Try it.”

“Don’t think that just because you’re a girl, I won’t—“

That’s enough. They have heard enough. Bob moves to step between him and Phoenix, Jake steps towards Jett. Bradley throws his towel onto the ground and surpasses Jake.

He steps forwards and curls a fist into Jett’s t-shirt.

“Rooster, don’t.”

Rooster knows that there are only a couple more times that the police can get called to this place, and he knows that their insurance isn’t going to cover him starting another fight. Luckily, Jett’s smaller than he is.

His feet lift briefly off of the ground and stumble the rest of the way, scrambling for purchase, his arms swinging out to the sides. Rooster walks him backwards. The bell above the door rings loudly as the door swings open and then closed.

Jett’s shoes scrape along the concrete, not stopping long enough for him to get steady footing. His arms shove at Bradley, but it’s little use. Bradley worked as security for a while, there are a lot of bars downtown and he needed some time away from the gym. He’s used to throwing scrawny losers out onto the curb.

They walk back until Jett’s clear of the property boundary.

He tosses Jett backwards. Jett grunts as his back slams into the hood of his beat up, old car. He slinks down onto the floor. Bradley can tell that he’s going to try to get up before he does.

He leans down in front of your ex-boyfriend, eyes dark and serious, his broad frame blocking out the mid-day sun from behind him.

“You know me, right, Jett?” Bradley asks gently. He’s asking more than if Jett knows his name, which Jett does — he knows about Bradley’s career, and he knows why it’ll never extend past Bradshaw’s. Taking note of the clear recognition in Jett’s blue eyes, he nods his head. “That’s right. So you know that I have a hard time knowing when to stop. Right?”

Jett swallows softly.

Bradley nods his head again. “You come by here again, I’m not gonna stop.”

Tank walks ahead of you happily, his nose pointed up as he takes in his new surroundings. He seems to like it down here, all of the fresh smells, all of the birds. You’re four chapters into a book you’ve been meaning to start for months.

The bell above the door rings, Tank wanders in first and walks right on up to Bob. Your lips quirk slightly as he looks up expectantly at his new friend. You lift your gaze. The four of them are looking at you.

Smiling sweetly, you tilt your head a fraction to the side. “Everything okay?”

“Always is when you’re around, sunshine.” Jake shoots you a quick wink. Your cheeks are warm, and not because you just spent a couple of hours out in the sun. Bob and Natasha relax as you giggle sheepishly.

Bradley’s looking at you differently now. Maybe because Tank scared him this morning. You can’t quite place the look that he has on his face.

“Are Mickey and Javy here? — I had an idea for the website and I need to talk to all of you for it.” You continue on, well aware of those big brown eyes boring into your side as you pull your notebook from your bag and lean forwards onto the counter.

Phoenix shoots Bradley a look. He stares back at her. Everyone knew except him. She told everyone other than him about what had gone down between you and Jett. He didn’t realise that things had gotten that bad. Folding his arms over his chest, he wonders what else she has kept from him over the past few weeks.

…

#bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw #miles teller #top gun #top gun: maverick #bradley bradshaw #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw smut #bradley rooster x reader #rooster smut #rooster x you #rooster bradshaw imagine #rooster top gun

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pedrito-friskito · 2 years ago

Text

strawberry wine - joel miller x fem!reader

during - part seven

series masterlist | main masterlist | read on ao3

tommy takes care of joel as best he can, and you try and make a break for it.

a/n: y’all I am having way too much fun writing this story. part 7 earlier than planned, and tbh I’ll probably post part 8 tomorrow if I can. the inspo is REAL and thank you all for the comments and reblogs and messages and general love and support - you have no idea how happy it makes me!! 🤍

word count: 4.6k

warnings: MY BLOG IS 18+, MINORS DNI, angst, canon-typical violence and injuries, death, blood, near-death experiences, questionable decisions on the military’s part

✨follow @friskito-library for updates on new works/chapters!✨

Tommy watches his brother fall apart.

It’s one thing after another, and he can’t blame Joel. The world’s ending; everything else is falling apart, it only makes sense that he would too. But still, it hurts. Watching his big brother — the only constant in his life for as long as he can remember — break down, it makes Tommy hurt in a way he can’t fully comprehend. It’s not fair.

He thinks about the soldier, in the days that follow. He’d come up the ridge just as the gunfire sounded, already looking for his brother and niece, never expecting to find them the way that he did. Joel was pleading, already hurt, his hands in the air, as good a white flag as any, and the soldier just didn’t care. It went against everything in Tommy, but when the soldier lifted the gun again, Tommy fired first.

But then…Sarah.

There was so much blood. He should be used to it, being who he is, seeing what he’s seen. But it’s different, it feels different, it sits in the back of his mind and haunts his every step. She was so young. So bright, so good. And then just, gone.

“Tommy, help me!”

He’d never heard Joel like that, so desperate, so lost. The only moment that rivalled it was when they’d been in the truck, Tommy driving, Joel with his cell phone pressed to his ear. Talking to you, asking where you were, if you were safe.

“It’s everywhere,” Joel had said, and Tommy had felt a distinct feeling of helplessness wash through him. Whatever was happening, it wasn’t just in Austin. He focused on the road, tried not to look too closely at the chaos in the distance. Shit was hitting the fan, in every sense.

He tightened his grip on the wheel as Joel continued talking to you. You were hurt, Joel telling you to patch yourself up. “I’m not hanging up until you do.”

Tommy could hear the ache in his brother’s voice. Joel had never let you go, not completely, and Tommy knew it. He didn’t blame Joel for it; having you around was the happiest he’d seen his brother in a long time. He liked you, too, liked your laugh and your sense of humour, the way you looked at Joel like you were seeing him for the first time, every time.

He had to swerve the truck as another car barrelled down the road in the opposite direction. Joel grabbed for the dashboard, phone still glued to his ear. “I’m gonna find you, you hear me? Just get out of Boston and I swear to you, I’m gonna find you!” A pause, and Joel stared at the phone. Tommy could see his brother’s hands shaking. “It’s dead.”

A moment later, the radio — which had been spewing news reports since Joel had picked Tommy up — went silent. Joel tossed his phone onto the truck floor, slammed his fist into the dash a moment later.

“Fuck!”

“She okay?” Tommy asked, and Joel scrubbed a hand over his face. “Joel?”

“Boyfriend attacked her,” Joel grumbled, rubbing his forehead again. “Tried to fuckin’ bite her. She said he’s dead.”

Tommy had balked. “She did that?”

“Dunno,” Joel had replied, and huffed a humourless laugh, the noise almost flat. “Is it fucked up if I say I hope she did?”

Tommy had pressed the gas a little harder, the truck speeding down the road. “Everything’s fucked up, seems like.” Silence hung over them only for a moment, punctuated a moment later by the loud whoosh of flames as a car down the road collided with a telephone pole. Joel cursed under his breath, Tommy kept on driving. “What are we gonna do, Joel?”

“We get Sarah, and we go,” his brother replied, and despite the waver in his voice, he sounded sure. Surer than Tommy felt. “East.”

East, Tommy thought. Boston. You. Like he’d expected anything different. “You really think you can find her?”

“I can sure as hell try.”

The conversation feels like a year ago, instead of the handful of days it has been. Maybe a week; he’s starting to lose track, already. They’ve been holed up for a few hours now, tucked in the garage of an abandoned house. They crossed the state line a few hours back, and so far, Arkansas looks the same as Texas: fucking ravaged. Joel sits on the floor, knees up to his chest, face buried in his arms. Tommy feels antsy.

“I’m gonna go look inside, see if there’s anything worth taking. You good?”

“Yeah.”

Seems like every neighbourhood they come across has been evacuated, the houses all empty. They have guns; he already had his own, and he’d swiped the rifle from the soldier that had attacked Joel and Sarah. Though he was quick to give Joel his, take the soldier’s for himself. Something about Joel touching the weapon that had killed Sarah made Tommy’s gut twist. He didn’t like it either, but it was out of necessity.

The house has obviously been picked through, toppled furniture and broken glass as far as he can tell, but they get lucky: a first aid kit, a mostly full bottle of whiskey, and some cans of beans. Tommy grabs it all, heads up the stairs. Clearly an older couple, but there’s a few men’s jackets in one of the closets, a pair of work boots, plain t-shirts. He takes the lot, offering the boots to Joel when he gets back to the garage. “These your size?”

His brother takes the boots with a flat expression, pulling the laces to peer at the sole. “About there, yeah. Don’t need ‘em though.”

“Take ‘em with us, for when you do,” Tommy counters, offering Joel one of the t-shirts next. “You should change.”

“M’fine.”

Tommy hooks the gun over his head, setting it on the ground beside him as he crouches in front of Joel. “You’re covered in blood,” he says, and his brother snatches the t-shirt. “Need to change your bandage, too.”

“And what exactly do you want me to—” Joel starts, but shuts up when Tommy tosses the first aid kit to him.

“Need help?” he asks as Joel gets to his feet, pulls his stained t-shirt off, tosses it aside. They’d found a half empty kit in a cafe back in Austin, dressed Joel’s wound before they took off completely. Joel was lucky, just a graze, but Tommy knows it must hurt like hell, and it’ll leave a scar, a reminder of that night, of what was lost.

Joel winces as he pulls of the old bandage, tossing it in the same direction as the t-shirt. “Don’t suppose you found any water in there?” He digs through the first aid kit. “No antiseptic.”

“No water,” Tommy confirms, but holds up the bottle of whiskey. “Just this.”

It’s not ideal, using the alcohol to clean the graze — and Joel nearly puts his fist through the wall despite the healthy sip he takes before Tommy wipes a piece of gauze damp with the whiskey over the wound — but it’ll work. They have to make do.

Joel sinks back onto the concrete floor once the wound is redressed, the new t-shirt pulled over his head. He takes the whiskey with him, and Tommy sits beside his brother, both of them with rifles in their laps. They sip the bottle in turn, and Tommy savours the burn as it slides down his throat, warmth spreading through his chest. It loosens his tongue, makes him regret the question the second it’s out of his mouth.

“You think she made it?” He knows he doesn’t have to call you by name. Not now.

“I have to,” is his brother’s only response.

They stop you at the gate.

You don’t know what you’re thinking, but after staking out the giant metal fence for a few hours, you at least know that trying to sneak over is only going to result in a bullet finding a home somewhere it shouldn’t. The soldiers were firing at anything that made a break for the gate, and running full-force didn’t make you brave, it made you stupid. It made you look like one of them. Infected. Mindless. Blood-thirsty. A few have come sprinting up to the post you’ve been watching, and the soldiers have put them down without batting an eye.

As you’ve watched, a few groups of people have approached the post. All the same, their hands in the air, desperation in their voices, carried to you on the smoke-tinged breeze. Please help us. You’ve watched them get directed away from the post, towards a still-standing building a few yards from the gate, where a military-issue tent is set up. Some of them walk back out, are directed towards an armoured truck parked along the gate, and then the truck disappears, only for a new one to reappear in its stead a few minutes later. It’s like clockwork, but only some end up in the trucks.

Others are carried out the back of the tent, bodies dumped into one of the pits left by the bombing. It makes your skin crawl.

It takes a while, lacking the confidence to put yourself in the line of fire when you could just keep hiding in the city. The soldiers might find you eventually — if the Infected didn’t find you first — but if you could just keep going, maybe there was a break in the fence somewhere, a way out besides what lies ahead of you. But finally, after a few hours of squatting in the rubble, your limbs aching from staying pressed against brick, you step out of the alley, and put your hands in the air. You’ve pulled down the sleeves of the hoodie you’re wearing, letting it cover the bandage around your arm, and you grip the cuffs with your fingers as you raise your arms.

“I’m not infected!”

A flash of movement, and the barrels of at least ten rifles are pointed directly at you. The hair on the back of your neck stands up, bile rising in the back of your throat. A suitable reaction, you think, and you swallow back the fear that makes you want to run. It’ll only get you killed that much faster.

“Name!” one of the soldier’s shouts. You can’t tell who; they’re all wearing helmets, visors covering their faces, turning it into a sea of darkness staring back at you. Your fingers flex, and you call you name back.

“I need to leave.”

One of them starts laughing. Another two look at each other, sharing a look you can’t suss out. A few lower their guns, and the prickle along your spine fizzles slightly. A visor lifts, revealing a soot-streaked face, a grim expression. “Why on earth would you wanna do that?”

“My family is in Texas,” you say, your voice surprisingly strong, if not a little thready from the smoke. “I have to go find them.”

“You’re gonna walk halfway across the country,” a faceless voice asks, “with a baseball bat? Girl, you don’t have a hope in hell.”

“Beats sitting around here, waiting to die,” you throw back, and the soldier that had lifted his visor lifts his brow. “Let me pass.”

“Can’t do that,” he replies, and steps up in front of you. He’s got a strange face, eyes a little too dark, hair hidden by the helmet, a scar on his mouth. Something about him reminds you of Dean, but a much harder version, his face more angular, the voice slightly deeper. “No one gets out of the city, we have orders.”

“You can’t hold me hostage here,” you start, stepping towards him. Your hands are still in the air. “My family is out there, I need to—”

“No one gets out,” another soldier interrupts. “FEDRA’s orders.”

Your brow creases. “FEDRA?”

“Federal Disaster Response Agency,” the strange-faced soldier answers.

“So the military is taking over?”

“I never said that.”

You sigh, rolling your eyes. “Just let me go, please? I can’t stay here, my family—”

“Is in Texas,” the soldier replies, nodding along. He hefts his gun slightly, adjusting his grip, and you don’t miss the meaning, the silent threat behind it. “And you’re here, in Boston. Now you don’t have a car, or any real weapons, and we have orders. You’re not going anywhere.”

You bite back the protest that crawls up your throat. If you’re getting out, it’s not through here. “Then where am I supposed to go?”

“There’s a shelter,” he tells you, “in the mall. There’s food, water, beds. It’s temporary, but it’s safe.”

“Temporary, like the gate?”

He gives you a long look, then gestures towards the tent you’ve been watching them shuffle people through. “Let’s get you checked out, and then we’ll get you there.”

You match his stare, setting your jaw, digging your heels in slightly. The muzzle of his rifle dips just slightly, and his eyes pinch, narrowing at you.

“I’ll only ask nicely once.”

Heart in your throat, you drop your hands, and when he gestures towards the tent again, you go. Every single part of you is shaking as you head for the canvas structure, and once you’re inside, it’s no different. It’s shockingly clean, a metal table in the middle, a smaller one to the side. “Put your bag there,” the soldier orders, that familiar stern military tone, pointing to the bigger table. “The bat, too.”

You do as you’re told, seeing from the corner of your eye that he’s still got both hands on his gun. “I’m keeping the bat,” you say over your shoulder, pulling it out from where you’d slid it between the straps of the bag, resting against your lower back. The metal rings when you set it on the table. “For the record.”

“Never said you couldn’t keep it, did I?”

“You want me to go to that shelter in the mall,” you say, sliding the bag off your shoulders, placing it next to the bat, and then turning back to the soldier, “with every other terrified person in this city, and you expect me to believe you’re gonna let me walk in with a weapon?”

The soldier’s jaw goes tight, eyes even tighter. “Strip.”

“Excuse me?”

“Take your clothes off,” he says, clearly getting exasperated. “I might let you keep the bat, but there’s no way I’m letting you into the mall shelter knowing you’ve been bitten. Strip.”

“Bitten?” you repeat, your mind sparking at the new information. “Is that how this is spreading?” To appease him, hoping he’ll give you a bit more information, you pull the hoodie off, disentangling your arms slowly. “That’s what’s turning people into those—”

The hoodie comes off, revealing your bandaged shoulder and forearm, and the gun is pointed back in your face again, a soft click reaching your ears. “You’re injured.”

“Y’know, I usually like to at least know a guy’s name before he sees me half-naked.”

He ignores you. “You’re injured.”

You heave a breath, tucking the edge of the gauze around your arm back into place. “You dropped bombs on this city. I dare you to find someone out there who isn’t injured.”

The soldier just stares at you. You just stare back.

“Take the bandages off,” he orders, and your hands curl into fists. “I need to see.”

“Tell me your name first,” you counter, still holding his gaze.

“This isn’t a negotiation.”

“I’m aware; you’re the one holding the gun. But I also know you’ve been taking bodies out of this tent more than you’ve been sending people to the shelter. So, again, tell me your name.”

He leans back slightly, takes a deep breath, eyes darting to the side before meeting yours again. “Corporal Nicholas Cowan, ma’am.”

“Ma’am?” you repeat, almost laughing. “That’s a bit much, but—”

“The bandages.”

“Okay, okay.”

Carefully, you peel back the gauze on your shoulder. It wasn’t deep enough to need stitches or anything, and you’d slathered it with some kind of ointment in the first aid kit. It still looks pretty awful, and the tape along the edge of the bandage has left little indents in your skin, but it’s definitely healing. Your arm is next, that wound fresher, and it starts to bleed as soon as you pull the gauze away. Cowan gives you a new piece of gauze a moment later, tossing it onto the table between you rather than handing it right to you. “What happened?”

“I was in the bookstore, down on South Street, when you all decided to start dropping bombs. Fucking lucky a bookshelf didn’t fall on my head.”

He still has the gun pointed at you, though the grip is slightly more relaxed, and he circles you slowly, eyes glued to your shoulder. “Those look like claw marks.”

“That’s because they are.”

“So that happened before the bombs.”

“It did.”

“I’m supposed to shoot, the moment I see anything like that. I have orders.”

“It’s not a bite.”

“I know that.” He swallows so hard you can see his throat bob. “They haven’t figured it all out. The bite seems to make it happen faster, but I don’t know if—”

“I’ll tell you what, Corporal,” you interrupt, reaching for your bag, pulling the first aid kit out and fishing out new bandages, “I start to turn into one of those things, and I give you my full permission to blow my fucking brains out.” Cowan balks, his eyes widening for a moment as he stares back at you. “But for the record, it’s been seven days, and I’m still here, faculties intact. So, politely, go fuck yourself, and just let me through the gate.”

He doesn’t.

Cowan lets you redress, once your bandages have been hastily rewrapped; you’d protested and he told you they’d give you proper treatment at the shelter. Once that was done, you grabbed your pack — and the bat, which Cowan barely seemed to notice — and he grabbed you roughly by the arm, dragging you out of the tent and steering you towards one of the armoured trucks parked at the fence.

You’re all but stuffed inside, and Cowan gets into the passenger’s seat, a masked soldier behind the wheel. “The mall,” he says simply, and the soldier just nods, and the engine rumbles to life, pulling away from the chain link and heading back into the city.

You keep the bat in your lap as they drive, your eyes glued to the window, to the mess that now only partially resembles Boston. You’d seen enough of the destruction running through the streets, but the truck takes a few pathways you hadn’t. Some roads aren’t as destroyed, obviously not targeted by the bombs, and the asphalt is even, still intact. There’s no getting past the bodies, however, and that pulls your eyes away, staring down at your bruised and dirty hands, wrapped around the bat.

When the truck stops outside the mall, the driver doesn’t get out. You lift your head then, taking in the space around you. It’s more of the same, but the mall looks mostly undisturbed, except for the broken windows, the burned displays. Cowan slides out of the passenger’s side, pulls open your door a moment later. “Let’s go.”

There are three more soldiers standing at the entrance, and as Cowan starts to lead you through, one of them stops you, lifting a hand. “You can’t take that in there,” the soldier says, pointing to the bat. “Give it here.”

“No.”

Cowan sighs, turning back to you, waving off the soldier. “C’mon, just—”

“No,” you say again, your voice harder. “You’re out of your fucking mind if you think I’m walking around this city without it.”

“You’re safe in the mall,” Cowan says, nearly rolling his eyes at you, but you just lift a brow. “It’s a shelter, and we’re patrolling from the outside.” He points over his shoulder, and sure enough, you see a few more armoured trucks rolling across the street, armed soldiers trailing behind it. Like it makes a difference.

You almost laugh. “Nowhere is safe anymore.” You tighten your grip on the bat. “You really think your chain link fence is gonna save us from those things?”

He gives you another one of those hard stares, but relents, waving off the other soldiers and grabbing the handle on your bag, all but dragging you through the entrance. “If she attacks someone, it’s on you, Cowan!” one of the soldier’s shouts, and he just grumbles under his breath.

“Do me a favour,” he says to you as he releases you, making you stumble a step before he falls into step beside you, “don’t be more trouble than you’re worth.”

“And what am I worth, Corporal?”

“You’re alive, and you’re not one of them,” he says, and you don’t miss the thread of…is that hope, in his voice? “So that makes you worth something.”

He’s quiet, the rest of the way. There’s no electricity, the overhead fluorescents dark, and Cowan clicks on a flashlight, lighting your path deeper into the mall. There’s the whir of generators, as you get closer, big lights that looks like they were taken from construction sites. You see the food court has been turned into a makeshift hospital, and Cowan tells you the big department store on the main level is where you’ll sleep, for the time being.

There aren’t that many people, which makes your throat go a little thick. How many people have died, how many have turned, how many made it out of Boston before they put up the fence?

Cowan takes your arm again as you walk towards the food court, calling for someone as you get closer. “Deanna! I got one for you.”

An older lady, maybe late fifties, pokes her head out from behind one of the triage curtains. Her face is both kind and harsh at the same time, bright green eyes, grey-streaked hair pulled into a long ponytail, blood-stained scrubs and a tool belt around her waist that’s filled with medical instruments instead of actual tools. It almost makes you laugh.

“Must be special,” she says, her voice a little gravelly as she approaches you, wiping her hands on her pants. “You don’t usually escort them all the way down here, Nicky.” Her eyes drop to the bat in your hands and her brows raise. “Or let them come in armed.”

Once she’s close enough, Cowan releases you and takes Deanna by the arm, steering her off to the side. You stand there awkwardly, the bat banging against your leg. Your forearm is a little sore, and you’re half-sure it’s soaked through the bandages you’d haphazardly retied after Cowan’s inspection. You glance over at the pair a few times, seeing them both shooting you looks before turning back to each other. Deanna looks confused, then upset, then almost forgiving. You can’t quite figure out Cowan’s expression.

After a few minutes, she just nods, and Cowan turns on his heel, heading back in the direction you came, leaving you alone. Deanna gives you a once-over as she walks towards you again, putting a warm hand on your back and starting to steer you towards one of the curtains. “Let’s get you cleaned up, honey.”

She leads you behind one of the curtains, then another, and once you’re in the little makeshift room, she pulls another curtain into place. “Nicky said we need to be quick about this,” she says, leaning up on her toes to peer over the curtains, assumedly to see if anyone is coming. “And quiet.”

“Okay.”

You let her take your bag, set it on the chair that’s set to the side. You’re reluctant to let go of the bat, but when you finally let her take it, she puts it beside you on the cot. “You’ve been out there this whole time?” she asks, her voice just above a whisper. You nod. “Even the bombs?” Another nod. “Show me where you’re hurt.”

You hold your breath as you peel off the hoodie. You were right, your arm has bled through the bandage, and your shoulder aches with the movement. Deanna doesn’t say a word at first, her brow furrowed as she looks you over.

She tends to your arm first, wiping the blood from your skin, using some sort of glue to close the wound before she wraps it in fresh gauze. She circles you slowly, just like Cowan had, and you hear her sharp inhale when she sees your shoulder. “What have we here?” She wipes at more of the blood, and the sting makes you tense, your hand twitching towards the bat at your side. “What did that?”

“…boyfriend.”

You look over your shoulder to see her staring at you, a look that toes the line between sympathy and fear on her face. “Was he…”

You give a slight nod. “He was.”

“And is he…?”

“Not anymore.”

Her brows raise. “You did that?”

Another nod. “I did that.”

She blows out a breath, shaking her head side to side. “Damn, girl. Remind me not to get on your bad side.”

It’s the first time you’ve actually laughed since your birthday.

They give you some clothes, stuff that actually fits, pilfered from one of the stores. Toiletries even, and you spend far too much time brushing your teeth. No showers, unfortunately, but the pack of baby wipes you’re offered instead makes up for it. It nearly makes you cry to see your skin clean of the dust and ash and blood.

They give you food, too. A grocery bag filled with non-perishables, more granola bars and cans of soup and whatnot. You try not to chug an entire bottle of water when they give you a second bag filled with drinks; not just water, but sports drinks, random cans of pop, clearly raided from the mall vending machines. And a hot meal, courtesy of one of the food court hot plates. It’s some kind of stew, noodles and meat and veggies, and for a moment, all you can think about is the Thai food that was waiting on your kitchen counter.

Feels like a lifetime ago.

Deanna walks you to the department store, gives your name to one of the soldier’s standing guard. He points you in the right direction, and she goes with you, a steady hand on your back, until you find the cot you’ve been assigned, tucked in the corner of the section where all the towels would have been, the displays still up on the walls. “We took them all already,” she tells you, giving you a half-grin as she picks up the blanket on your cot, unfolding the fabric. “Those extra-plush suckers make great bandages.”

You’re quiet, tucking your bag and your food and clothing under the cot. They’d refilled your first aid kit, too. Your knees are almost shaking as you lower yourself onto the edge of the bed, and the relief that washes over you is almost overwhelming. Tears spring in your eyes, but you don’t have the energy to wipe them away.

“Get some sleep, honey,” she tells you, and puts a soft hand on your shoulder as you slip sideways, collapsing onto the pillow. “You’ll be safe. Sleep as much as you need.”

She pulls the blankets over you, and it’s silly, but you clutch the bat to your chest. You’d wiped it down, too, cleaned the blood and dirt from the metal. Sleep takes hold as soon as you let your eyes close, and you pray no nightmares follow.

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#my fics #strawberry wine #joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller fluff #joel miller angst #the last of us #the last of us fic #the last of us spoilers #comment reply #kay talks to people

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chososheart · 7 months ago

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Trainwreck - Eren Jaeger (9)

Chapter seven: Third Time’s a Charm?

Pairing: Eren Jaeger x Reader

Series summary: Reader is an 18-year-old, high school student. On her way to school one day, she meets a boy on the train. Will their train, wreck or will they somehow make it work?

Info on Reader: Reader is a logical person. She’s organized and tidy. She uses logic and common sense when she makes choices. Some events in her life and some people in her life will cause her to question her sanity as she no longer can differentiate if she’s using her heart or brain.

Info on Eren Jaeger in this book: Eren doesn’t think. He uses his heart to express himself. If he feels like something is wrong, he will act on those feelings. He’s very emotional and speaks his mind. There haven’t been many times when Eren felt regret after acting on his emotions; until he met you.

Content: High school! Au, Eren x Reader, strangers to friends, friends to lovers, eventual smut.

word count: 6.2k

CW: alcohol consumption, suggestive content.

see masterlist | navigation | read previous chapter | read next chapter

You like to think back to that moment. Replay it in your head as if it were a record player, but one of those old record players. The ones that get jammed and replay the same tune over and over again. It was ridiculous. You felt pathetic. It was as if you had never had a romantic interaction with a boy. All he did was hand you a sweatshirt because you were cold. Many others have probably done that to you; why is it only a big deal now?

That's the thing about Eren, that's the thing that terrifies you the most about him. You feel like a kid. You feel nervous looking at him and making eye contact, hot and sweaty after your skin accidentally touches his. It's twice as intense as that first crush everyone remembers, that first love everyone carries with them. God, you can't even remember your first love's name! Eren makes you question the feeling in your chest. He makes you feel like this is the first time you've ever fallen, and it's treacherous; it haunts you. You feel unsure of when to move or step forward and when to proceed and advance. So you don't. You simply stand still.

A raindrop quickly slides down the window you lay your head against.

It has been a few weeks since Eren invited you to Historia's beach house. You finished the first semester of your senior year. The thought of how fast the year has gone by makes your head spin. You can't believe this time next year, you'll be in college, probably stressing about your grades and coming back home for Christmas.

I wonder if Eren and I will still be together.

You tightly close your eyes and squeeze that thought away. It isn't important.

You hear the girls in the car blabber and sing along to whatever song is jammed on the radio, well, glitching because the music they downloaded illegally isn't working, shocker! You don't know whose it was; you have kept your eyes focused on the cloudy weather outside for the past few hours. You feel a bit sick, but you are not sure what you can blame it on, the car or your disgustingly sweet thoughts of Eren.

You've never been the obsessive type and have never felt sick to your stomach over not having someone. Frankly, you've spent most of your teen years away from boys because all they bring is drama and pain. You don't know what's remotely different about Eren from every other boy you've met before, but it works; God, how it works in his favor. You feel miserable at times. You feel as if this is all in your head. What if this is entirely one-sided? What if he's perfectly fine and doesn't care about you and the potential relationship you've built in your head?

Ugh.

The closer you get there, the lower down your stomach falls. With every meter passing by, the tingle on your fingertips grows more feeble, unstable. It worries you, really. How bad have you gotten that even the anxious feelings within you have become unpredictable?

You were up all night, for your excitement forbade you from peace. All you were able to get were a few measly hours. A haze so painful encircled your head that the rocking from it resting against the window surprisingly soothed you; your eyelids fell heavy. Your head felt stuck as if you had just crashed after allowing yourself to indulge in a much too-sweet pastry—your brain, finally ready to admit defeat and slow down. You don't fight it off; you allow your body and mind to rest.

"Hey, c'mon! Wake up. We're here!" Historia shakes you awake.

It's brighter now than it was before. It's still cloudy, of course, but the sun has managed to shine through. You still feel the heaviness you did this morning, but it is now evenly spread throughout your body instead of residing only in your heart and mind. With a quick stretch, you're out the door.

Historia lives in a house on the top of a small hill, not that close to the sea, but close enough to walk there. Her home is average-sized, actually. The stairs are a bit tight, but the main room is large, with two queen-sized beds.

Is he here already?

Historia noticed your hesitant look. "The boys will sleep in the small bedroom downstairs, a bunch of bunk beds." She scrunched her nose and smiled.

"Oh, okay." You smile back.

"Who are you sleeping with?" Historia says, dragging her suitcase through the door. "Me? Or stinky Sasha?"

Sasha sets her bags down next to the bed closest to the window. "Hey!"

You laugh, "Can we join the beds? I'll sleep in the middle."

Historia thinks for a second. "Yeah, sure."

After moving the beds and putting your clothes away, you go downstairs. If you had to describe how you felt in one word, it's lagged, even though you haven't been on an airplane this evening. The car ride didn't mix well with you.

You go down each step, tightly holding on to the railing. Not only were the stairs on the smaller side, but they were also circular; the steps were short. When you get to the kitchen, you stop in your tracks.

Eren.

There he stood, surrounded by a black kitchen counter and island. The cabinets and drawers were tinted a dark brown. He turns and catches your eyes in his. He looks away briefly, only to meet your eyes with his yet again.

"Hey," you say, approaching him.

"Hey." He turns back around, a soft smile on his face.

"Why are you hogging the blender?"

"Ha. Ha." He shakes his head. "I'm making a banana smoothie." He faces you. "Want some?"

You smile. "Sure, what's in it?"

"Banana and almond milk."

"Okay, skinny."

Eren laughed and pushed you slightly with his elbow. "It's how my mum made it for me growing up."

"No protein powder?"

"Don't think Carla Jaeger was on the bulk grind, so no."

"I mean," you jump and sit on the counter, "maybe not with you, but definitely with Mikasa. I bet she's been strong all her life."

"Yeah, except she's adopted."

You roll your eyes with a laugh. "Okay, sue me for not making assumptions."

"She's wasian, bro, c'mon." He unpeels a banana and throws it in the blender.

"Yeah, and so was Miranda Croscove, according to the masses."

"No, you're just dumb. Pass the almond milk."

You pass him the tall container next to the sink and continue looking at him. "Bet the 'you're adopted jokes' went crazy, huh?"

"No, because I'm a decent human being, weirdo." He pours the milk into the blender and hits start.

You punch his arm. "Hey!"

He points to his ear, signaling he can't hear you from the blender's noise, and laughs.

"Asshole."

He gapes at you.

"Oh, so that you hear?" You laugh and hop off the counter. You playfully push him.

"You punch like that bitchboy Jean," he screams and runs away.

That's like the worst insult.

You chase him around the kitchen island as he covers the arm you keep hitting. It hurts, but he won't give you the satisfaction.

Then the blender stops by itself, and he turns and grabs both your arms by the wrists. "Hey, we're even, we're even." He pants, and suddenly, you realize how much you wish he was on top of you.

Eren is wearing a casual grey shirt and sweats, the same as you, but a different color scheme distances your choices. You fight off the flush that burned the back of your neck. You snatch your arms away from him and sit on the counter again.

"But, yeah, Mikasa was better than me in everything regarding physical shit, so I resorted to psychological torture."

"You're so evil, my God.”

"Hey, I had to survive. Armin was the mediator and fixed it before she told on me, so it's okay."

"Evil. Pass me a cup." You feel a slightly cooled air swimming deep in your stomach. It isn't too noticeable, not in a way that would paralyze you, but it is there, in the back of your mind, acknowledged.

"Say pretty please." He teased, which only made you smile.

"God, you are so corny."

"Say it." He had an empty cup in his hand, which he held back while looking into your eyes. Smile lines and joy reached his eyes despite his smile being faint.

"Pretty please," you say, annoyance staining your voice but not your face.

He places two cups on the counter and pours the drink into them.

You take a sip. "Okay, it's good."

"Told you. What'd you come in here for?" He takes a bigger gulp.

"Oh, right. I wanted lime."

He stops drinking and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, "Lime?"

"Yeah, I got car sick."

"You look fine to me." He had an arrogant expression on his face, as always.

You roll your eyes. "Yeah, but I still want it."

Since Eren is standing before you, you try to move him away with your hands so you can hop off the counter, but he stops you.

"I'll get it." he goes to the fruit cart next to the balcony door and grabs you a lime. He cuts it and gives you a half. "Smell it."

"The lime?"

"Yeah, it helps."

You do as he says and feel some tension lift away. He grabs you a plate and pours some salt into it. "It's better to have it like this."

You scrunch your nose, "I was going to squeeze it in a cup and shot it."

"Do this first. If you're still ill, do it your way."

"Fine." You put some salt on the lime and suck it. Eren looked at you attentively, waiting for you to scrunch your face once the sour taste kicked in, but you didn't.

"Why aren't you making a funny face?" He frowned.

"Oh," you laugh. "I used to have a lime obsession when I was little."

"What do you mean? Like you'd straight up have them like this?"

"Yes. I'd always forget to put the peel away. I left a trail wherever I went."

Eren scrunches his face. "Oh, that's nasty."

"Yeah, but it was physical proof of my love for limes."

Jean walks in. He ignores you and Eren in the kitchen and goes to the sliding doors surrounding the entire kitchen/breakfast table area. He looks at the rays that had snuck through the mound of clouds covering the sky.

"Have you guys seen the weather?" he says, approaching you.

Eren furrows his brows. "Don't talk about the weather."

"Shut up." He looks at you and says, "It's nice, isn't it?"

"Mmm, I hadn't noticed yet; Eren was forcing me to drink his mummy's banana juice."

Jean looks at Eren with disgust. "Ew, why?"

"That's not what you were saying before Jean showed up, though," Eren said, turning his back to you. He picked up the blender and put it in the sink.

You hide your smile and look at Jean. "I don't know. He's so weird, right?"

"Right."

"Okay, okay." Eren took the small plate with lime he had given you before and put it in the sink, along with the other dirty dishes. "Keep talking, and I won't let you ride on my motorbike."

Jean grabbed an apple from the fruit bowl in the island's center. "What motorbike?"

"The bike that I keep here?"

"The pink one?" Jean smiled.

Eren shoved Jean. "No, idiot, the green one."

"It's not yours, though." Jean took a bite from his apple, attempting to hide a smile.

"It is."

You silently watched them argue, your pupils jumping from each boy like a ping-pong ball every time one answered.

Jean turns to you and says, "The bike he's claiming is only his when Dirk isn't around."

"And what about it? Where's your bike?" Eren says.

"Who's Dirk?" you say.

"Historia's little brother," says Jean.

Eren answers, "Older, dumbass," as he washes the dishes he placed in the sink, never once directing his attention towards the other boy.

Jean takes another bite from his apple and says, with a full mouth, "Stop riding his meat, Jaeger." He pauses to swallow and then states with a clear voice, "It's weird."

Eren stopped scrubbing the plate he held, turned the water off, and said, "How!?"

"How to stop? I don't know, man; ask someone else."

You laugh with Jean and watch Eren angrily continue washing the accumulated dishes.

"Hey, don't get mad," you say, getting off the counter and bumping him with your elbow.

"I'm not mad; I'm just tired from looking at his horse face," he said, ending the sentence while looking at Jean and emphasizing the word 'horse.'

"Overused joke; come up with something else," said Jean. He then looked at you and said. "Plus, Historia's got like a bajillion other siblings you can borrow shit from."

"Yeah, but did you get their permission, though?" Eren said as he passed the rinsed dishes into the drying rack.

"Okay, I'm leaving. Jaeger's pissing me off. We're going to the beach in twenty, so be ready," Jean said, leaving you two alone.

As soon as he left, Eren started laughing.

"You pissed him off, stop laughing," you say, giggling yourself.

"He's so easy to piss off. It's funny."

"You're evil. I'm leaving you and your empty soul. Make sure to scrub those dishes real well!!" You run away before he can say anything back.

You go to your room and see Sasha slipping on a sundress over her bathing suit. She has a gorgeous green bikini that compliments her eyes. Her hair is in a messy pony, and she has a bag ready on her bed.

She notices your presence in the room and says, "Stop staring, freak."

"Oh, you wish." You scoff. "I'm just enjoying the peace; Jean and Eren have yet to discover the concept of an 'inside voice.'"

She laughs. "Don't even get me started on those two; they're so close and fight all the time but don't like admitting to it."

"Yeah, like brothers," you say.

"No, I'd say more like an old couple."

You laugh. "Why?"

"I don't know. They remind me of my grandparents. It's sweet if you think about it."

"I'd rather not, Sasha." You walk to your bed, grab your suitcase, and plop it on your bed. "So, what's the plan?"

"For today?"

"Sure."

"Beach day!" Sasha says, dragging out the 'ay'

"Yes, but what do we do there? Sure, the weather's miraculously 'nice' right now, but I'm sure it won't last long."

"I guess we'll just have to find out." You hear her bag's zipper close and see her head towards the door. "Don't take too long." She points at you and walks out the door.

You roll your eyes and take out your beach bag from your suitcase.

Thud, thud, thud…

You hear as you take your last few steps down the stairs. Before you reach the wooden floor of the living room. You look to your left, where you hear loud voices, and see your friends, along with Yasmin, Mikasa, and Armin, whom you had yet to see. They're at the door, being greeted by everyone.

You walk towards them to say hello and catch up for a bit. There are about nine people at the entrance of the house. Sasha and Connie are bickering; Jean is talking over them; Historia and Yasmin are trying to hear themselves by matching the volume of the room, and Mikasa is staring, waiting for it to go away. Armin waits awkwardly for silence with a shy smile. You'd think it'd be impossible for your thoughts to work during the tumultuous ambient your friends have created, yet you're proven wrong.

You can think, and you do, about Eren and how he's missing.

You sigh and quickly scan the room. Why's he always disappearing?

You left the crowd and walked forward, and you saw him. He sat alone in the living room, putting on sunscreen, which was directly in front of the entrance where you stood, yet a bit far. His back faced you.

You walk over to him.

He hears your steps and turns his head, his hair falling over his face as he looks at who those steps belong to. Once he sees it's you, he focuses on spreading the sunscreen on his legs.

"Hey," he says quietly. You can still hear your friends' slightly muffled voices.

"Hey." You drag out the 'y' feeling awkward already because you know why he's here. You sit on the sofa in front of him. "Why're you here?"

He doesn't look at you; he only shakes his head.

"Mikasa?"

"Mostly Armin," he says, eyes never leaving his legs.

"Why?"

You've talked about this over the last few weeks. As you've grown closer, Eren has had to explain his random disappearances more than a few times.

"Mikasa's my sister. Sure, I'm pissed at her, but we live together; she's easier to tolerate, especially with my mom down my neck telling me to be nice to her. But Armin's different. I only see him at school, and it's just... I don't know. It was weird seeing him unexpectedly."

"He doesn't go to your house anymore?"

"I guess Mikasa stopped inviting him over as much once the arguments stopped. I appreciated it."

You cross your legs. "And how do you feel now? I didn't know he was coming."

"Neither did I, but it's fine, just awkward." He looked at the ground for a bit after saying that.

"Guys, we're leaving!" yelled Sasha from the hallway. You and Eren looked at Sasha, but she was halfway out already. The others followed after her, including Armin.

You stand up and say, "We should go."

Eren wasn't far behind you, already standing by the time the word 'go' left your mouth. "Yeah."

"Hey."

"Hm?" he looked at you.

"Don't let him ruin your time here."

With a gentle smile, he said, "Of course not."

You walk outside with Eren by your side. Just walking feels awkward when it's in his presence. Or maybe it isn't him, maybe it's you. You don't think he gets awkward; if he does, he's doing a great job hiding it.

You said miraculous, and miraculous it was. The sun that had managed to expose itself earlier is gone as quickly as it appeared. Okay, 'sun' is an exaggeration. It was mostly light beaming through the clouds. The weather is back to what it was earlier in the morning, save for the exposure. It was about a shade lighter, which was evidence of the short-lived life that England seemed to have.

You followed in the direction of the sounds your friends made, that and Eren served as a good guide, not that you relied entirely on him, for obvious reasons, the first being that he's Eren, the second, his face. One glance at him, and you knew he wasn't there with you. He was someplace else, far, far away. It disappoints you a bit.

You sigh and look away. Beneath you lies the trail of footsteps towards the beach. You're surprised by the greenery you have to walk through. It isn't much, but you weren't expecting any, if at all. The way isn't long, and if you had to guess, you'd say Historia's house was around 7 minutes away. It is a short time but still long enough to admire the view. Though the sun is hiding, the scenery is still lovely. Light blue water crashes and bubbles against the sand, and the greyish sky that coats the great abundance above you wouldn't be as impactful if not followed by that crisp air that cuts through your lungs.

You reach your friends and see them place towels and beach chairs on the ground and plop their belongings there. When you set your towel down and are about to sit, Jean asks, "Where's Jaeger?"

You're about to roll your eyes at the thought of him randomly leaving you until you hear footsteps and look behind you. It's Eren catching up to you.

"What the fuck?" he says as he struggles to take the handle of his backpack off.

You help him, and with a thud, the black bag is against the cold, damp sand. "What do you mean?" you say.

Jean grabbed the bag and placed it on the towel where all the bags were being placed.

"You left me."

You're taken aback. "No, I didn't; you disappeared.”

He looks at you, "Disappeared where? I'm here, aren't I?"

"Yeah, but-"

"You started power walking, couldn't even keep up."

"Christ, I didn't notice." You're stunned as you look at him.

Jean laughs and places his hand on Eren's shoulder. "Damn, Jaeger, how forgettable are you?"

Eren takes Jean's hand off of him and walks towards the group. You stare at the boy left with you in bewilderment, a look he knows too well. Does he not know how to read a room? You think about going after Eren but let it go for now.

“Okay, then what?”

Jean looks at you and says, "I don't know, she didn't want to."

"I mean, no girl wants to break up with her boyfriend." You laugh.

You were sitting on the beach chairs Jean and Connie had brought. As you requested, your chairs faced the shore, but your other friends, like Mikasa and Yasmin, were sitting beside each other directly in front of Historia and Armin. They were a bit further back and, by the position of the chairs, couldn't care less about the ocean. Sasha and Connie were attempting to go in the water, Sasha's excuse being that her bathing suit was too cute to go to waste, though they'd been trying to enter for the past thirty minutes. Their only progress had been getting the water ankle-high and only enduring it for twenty seconds.

As for you, you were in between Jean and Eren, and after bugging Jean about what happened between him and Amelie, he finally started speaking.

"She called me last night." He looked at you, a beer bottle resting on his chest.

You place your sunglasses on your head. Way too interested in the gossip. "At what time?"

"Two AM"

"Is that why she isn't here?"

"If I know." He scoffed.

"I thought she was on holiday?" said Eren. He's been quiet for the most part, not sulking, just squinting at the ocean. Jean didn't have that problem as he had sunglasses on, but Eren thought it foolish to wear sunglasses when there was no sun, and so he squinted.

"No, that was a Hitch," you say.

"And Indira?" asked Jean.

You sit up and look at Jean. "Do we not have the same friends?"

He adjusts his sunglasses. "We don't text, though."

"Yeah, me neither," said Eren.

"Well," you say as you lay back down, "she's visiting family in India." You pull the blanket you had on over your chest. It's getting colder. "Emilia?"

"Holiday."

You look at Eren, confusion on your face.

"She told me."

"She didn't tell me," you say.

"Same," Jean said.

"Anyway, Marlowe?" you ask.

Jean crinkled his nose. "We barely know him."

"Well, you barely know me, too."

"It's different," said Eren.

"How so? Didn't even know I existed until a couple of months ago."

"You're hard to get rid of," said Jean, which makes Eren laugh.

You grab a handful of sand and throw it at him. "Keep talking about Amelie; don't change the subject."

He clicked his tongue in annoyance and wiped the sand off his chest. You're disappointed; you thought it'd piss him off more. "I don't know what else to tell you. We broke up, then she gave me a letter. She called and texted me last night, and now she isn't here."

"But you guys broke up like a week ago. Was she going to come anyway?" you ask.

"I barely even remember it."

"No, they broke up. Then, she said she wouldn't come because it would be awkward, and when that didn't get a reaction out of Jean, she blew up and got super angry," Eren answered while still looking at the ocean. If you couldn't hear him, you'd assume he had no interest in the conversation.

"Out of Amelie and Jean, who's closer to Historia?" you say.

"Jean."

"Me."

"So even if you were dating, she wouldn't be here if you weren't?”

"Nope." Jean placed his sunglasses on his head, holding his long hair back. He took a sip from his beer.

"Give me more insider drama; you haven't said why you broke up."

Jean passed you the beer. "Isn't she your friend?"

"Well, you ruined her. She hasn't talked to me since you two started dating." You took a sip and scrunched your nose.

"No way," Eren said, almost accusingly.

"Yes, way. I didn't notice it until now because we saw each other at school. The last time we texted was probably three months ago. I didn't even know it was serious between you two."

"Me neither, man," says Jean.

"You're the most confusing man alive. What do you mean by that?"

"They were hooking up, then Amelie wanted them to be official, Jean didn't, and they broke up," Eren said, extending his hand to you, and you passed him the drink.

"What an asshole." You sneer.

"Right," said Eren.

"Since the beginning, I told her we were only hooking up. I broke it off because I noticed she was falling. You should give me a medal for that."

"Okay, superman, talk about the letter," you say.

His brows rose. "She told me she felt it in her bones we would meet again in the future."

"That's a long way to say 'see you next semester'," Eren laughed.

You cover your face with your hands, hiding your smile, and say, "I hope she kicks you in the balls next time she sees you." You look at Jean.

"Didn't she ghost you?" asked Jean.

"Oh, shut up, she had her reasons. I'd go crazy, too, if I had to date you."

Eren laughed as he took a sip.

Jean rolled his eyes and said, "I need a cigarette."

Eren scrunched his nose. "Don’t even think about it, you know I hate cigs."

"Yeah, I know," Jean said, standing up and walking toward Mikasa, who had a box in her hands.

"Do you think he's an ass, Eren?" you say.

"No," he adjusts his sitting position and takes a big gulp. "She agreed to it."

"Yeah, logically, but even I thought they were getting serious. Imagine how she felt."

"Sucks to suck." Eren shrugged. He holds the bottle between his lips and takes three big gulps. With the last one, he empties the bear and leaves it on the ground. He then looks at you and says, “Want to see something cool?"

After taking a quick detour to Historia's house and leaving your things there, Eren got the motorbike out of the garage.

"What do you think?" he said.

"It's green."

He smiled, and next thing you know, you held his waist as the wind blew on your face. You were high on adrenaline, but not from the bike. Since it was four-wheeled, it was fairly safe, but you had never been this close to Eren. Your chest lay flat against his back, your face on his nape, where you could feel the sweetest scent. Your eyes were closed as you felt gusts of wind smacking against your skin and clothes. You didn't know where he was taking you, and you didn't care.

The birds chirped as nightfall approached. It was getting darker and colder. As you scanned your surroundings for a place, you saw a few logs in a circle and what seemed to be an unlit bonfire.

"Stop here!"

"You sure?"

"Yes, yes!"

You held onto him tightly when you felt the bike slow its pace.

"Wait!" You look back, wind blowing on your face. "Go back!!" you tap impatiently on his shoulder.

He does as you say.

You get off the bike and cross the street to the beach, walking on sand instead of the pavement now. "There! The fire thingy!" You take Eren by the arm and pull him towards the place.

"Shit!" you say after stumbling on sand. Laughing uncontrollably the longer you spent in his presence.

Eren laughs and says, "How do you manage to fall on sand?"

“I didn't fall!” you whisper shout, practically being held up by his arm as your legs give out from laughter.

"Shh." Eren places his index finger on his lips. Ironically, his laughter could nearly drown out the sounds of the waves as they angrily hit the shore. Night growing deeper than your feet have sunk in the iced sand. "You're so loud."

You laugh even harder but place your hand on your mouth.

A particular wave hit the shore so hard that its sound completely overpowered how loud you and Eren were. While shocked, you looked at the source of the sound. "Guess we won't be having a dip," you said, laughter quickly joining you again.

"Can I give you a movie recommendation?" Eren says, looking down at you.

"Yeah."

"The Titanic? Don't know if you've heard of it."

"Oh, shut up. I was being sarcastic."

"No, you weren't. Just know that I wouldn't sacrifice myself like Jack for you."

You laugh with your mouth agape. "You're so fucking mean, Oh my God."

"Here!" he runs until he's close to one of the logs. "Is this it?!"

You try to keep up with him, your feet sinking into the sand and making it hard to move as freely as you'd like. You reach him, "Yes! Isn't this cute!"

"Guess so!" He beds down and fans the sand off one of the logs. He sits down and does the same to the piece of wood beside him. "Here."

His skin looked paler amongst the light that shone from the ocean—the perfect reflection of what was in the sky. Eren was captivating. You sit beside him and say, "Do you think it'll be awkward with Amelie and Jean?" You're not interested in them, but you'd die if the moment passed in silence.

"No, not really. Not Jean's first rodeo."

"Yeah, but will she be shunned?"

"Oh, that I don't know. I hope not, she's fun."

"Yeah, and Mikasa? Have you spoken to her today?"

He looks at you and sighs. "Yeah, actually. She reminded me Armin was staying with us; I forgot about that."

You look at him, confused, and he answers before you can ask.

"Almost every holiday, Armin's parents travel abroad for research. Ever since Armin's grandad died, he has stayed with us. Not always, though; that's why I forgot."

You nod. "Right."

Eren rests his elbows on his thighs and looks down, fidgeting with his hands.

"You miss them."

"I can't talk to him."

"What did he do, Eren?"

He looked at you, frustrated. "He-" he sighed. "No, I can't. He betrayed me. They both did, but I guess Mikasa's easier to understand." The dip between his brows grew deeper the more he thought about it. The topic, visually, makes him uncomfortable.

"Have they tried talking? Have you tried listening?"

He let out a breathy laugh, which felt more like a snicker. "Yes, and no. There's no excuse because it has nothing to do with them. They butted into my business and kept saying 'it was to protect me.'"

You furrow your brows. "Protect you from what?"

"Exactly!" he exaggerated by lifting his arms. "Thank you; they won't tell me. It's part of the 'protection,' I guess."

"Serial killer on the loose, maybe?”

He laughs. "Right. Got little Armin working overtime.”

You laugh. "Okay, but seriously," you elbow him. "Surely it can't be that bad. They're being dramatic.”

"Yes, I know. I won't have to deal with it soon, though." He kicks some sand.

You look at him to continue his sentence.

"College."

"Oh." You quietly say. "Do you know which one he's attending?"

"Oxbridge, probably. No problem there, God knows I'll never attend."

"Did you apply to them?"

"Yes, Mum convinced me to, but I wouldn't want to go even if I got in."

"Why not?"

"Bunch of private school tories." He shook his head.

You laugh. "Oh, that's rich coming from you."

"Yes, but I'm cool; they're all losers."

"Right."

"And you?"

"What about me?"

"This isn't an interview, dummy," he bumps you. Where will you be going?"

You sigh. "It's stupid."

"Just say it."

"I applied to quite a few, but I really want to get into Kings."

"I applied there, too." A smile crept into his face.

You smile back. "Let's see if it happens then."

Silence overtakes the moment, the waves behind you serving as enough noise for the silence not to be punishing, or maybe the punishment part had long departed. Perhaps you and Eren had grown so close that the lack of conversation between the two did not make you nervous but comfortable. Surprisingly, the silence felt like a warm blanket, covering the two in warmth and happy feelings, with no thoughts tormenting your every move and no anxiety creeping up your spine to cloud your actions—or lack thereof—just peace. You look at Eren, your head slightly lifting for your eyes to gather all there was to him. Eren looked down at you.

Many times, you would've looked away and continued with the conversation, but this time, you simply stared at him, not shy of intense eye contact—eye contact so powerful that it'd feel sinful to look away from such beauty.

If only you knew you shared thoughts. Almost as if there was an indescribable, transcendental connection between your minds. You always carry each other in your minds, whether by thinking of one another or sharing consciousness, reasoning, morals, even personalities. The way in which you process information and how you experience and see the world—you were the same, a mirror created by the same being, only slightly incomplete. For when you were to be reunited, you'd feel the affection of a thousand lifetimes, the love and care cultivated by a hundred different versions of yourselves.

The moon and the stars only aid your passion. Your skin glistened, and specks of sand on your skin got caught in the light of the rock that floated from thousands of kilometers away. You were breathtakingly gorgeous. And Eren found himself, yet again, unable to hold back. Unable to look away from the places in your body that yelled for his attention, for his affection. He let the trail of light the moon shone on your skin guide him. From the highest points of your shoulders to the supple skin of your breasts. You quietly follow his gaze, knowing the blues of your bathing suit mixed so well with those in the pigment of your skin. Eren looked at you in a way you had only dreamed of before.

You reach out a hand on his thigh. "Hey," you say.

He looks up at your eyes, and it's torture. You looked up at him in a way he had only dared to fantasize. In a way, he never thought he'd see. Your eyes stared into his very soul, and he knew this sight too well. He had seen it only a hundred times as the nights came down and all 'goodnights' had been said. Only when he'd be alone in bed, with his hand beneath his sheets, would he allow himself to breathe you in the ways he needed.

Though they were mere thoughts, they felt every bit as real as this moment. Eren felt like a simple pinch would be the answer to all his problems, including solving the question of whether this was real, but if it was, wouldn't he look foolish after doing so?

And so he held your gaze in his and decided to extend a hand to you. Once feeling your warm skin against the palm of his hands, he knew this was real.

This was real.

An uncontrollable stride bubbled up inside him, a want, a need to have you, to feel you, to bathe in the scent of your unforgiving and cruel body—so torturous, for it hasn't been his yet. He took the hand he had placed on your chin and put it on your waist, feeling the shape of you he had dreamed of. He pulled you closer.

"Eren."

He looked down at you, into your eyes, again, whispering softly. "What, what?" He pulled you closer.

You grab his face. You appreciate his eyes, the locks of hair that were caught in between the tips of your fingers, his overall beauty.

You simply smile at him before ending all it all and joining your lips with his.

Hello, everyone!! Last time I updated this story was two years ago, and I wanted to apologize for my inconsistency, hopefully this chapter will make up for it!! Chapter ten is almost finished, it'll definitely be out this month!!

Thank you so much for reading, I’m ready to come back for good and finish trainwreck!!

ps: Also, I'm so sorry if it isn't as good as my past chapters, or if it's fast paced, I'm veryyy rusty and I struggled so much with remembering how to describe things and expressions. Hopefully it wasn't too bad.

See you guys next time!! :))

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literateowl · 4 months ago

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Seven Sentence Sunday + a fic anniversary

Posting this one to celebrate the 6 month anniversary of my 2x02 Carlos POV fic. Here are the first seven sentences exactly. You can read the rest at the link at the bottom.

Carlos returns to the precinct after safely bringing Lily home. The young woman thanked him repeatedly for rescuing her from the food truck full of scorpions and the lava encroaching. He hadn't had the time to react at the moment but the memory now makes him shudder and his skin crawl as he pulls into the parking lot. He sits in the quiet car for a moment listening only to his own breathing, taking a little bit of time for himself before he goes to see whatever chaos is undoubtedly happening inside for everyone on this nightmarish shift.

“Dispatch requesting additional engine and RA units to relieve station 126 at 4548 Green Street.”

The small amount of calm that Carlos managed to grab onto is gone as soon as he hears the station number over the radio.

No.

Thank you to @ironheartwriter @captain-gillian and @carlos-in-glasses for tagging me already today

💜 Open tag as usual and also for @lemonlyman-dotcom @carlos-in-glasses @bonheur-cafe @tellmegoodbye @heartstringsduet @alrightbuckaroo @thisbuildinghasfeelings @nancys-braids @whatsintheboxmh @nisbanisba @sugdenlovesdingle

Also thank you to every one who tags me when I don't have anything to post. I'm sorry if I forgot to tag you back today 💖

#seven sentence sunday #tarlos fic #carlos reyes #911 lone star fanfiction #see this is cool #because i dont even feel bad for cutting this off at 7 even thought thats the first sentence of a new paragraph #because you can just go click and read the rest immediately

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baddiewiththebook · 1 year ago

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ONE OF THEM [PART 2]

-> Dating your best friend Eddie Munson might have been pictured differently in your head. Despite a blissful weekend, you’re met with a few bumps in the road; and, your friends slowly figure out that what you're doing in private crosses the boundaries between friend and lover.

-> eddie munson x you (she/her)

-> friends to lovers, secret relationship, angst

-> warnings - strong language and suggestive scenes [no smut]

[Part 2] [Part 3]

This is a sequel to One of the Boys

-> <-

"Five minutes," Steve counts on his watch. "I swear I'm leaving her."

Adjusting the itchy Family Video vest against his chest, Steve has had enough patience with Robin. He slams his fist into the horn on his car hoping the entire neighborhood wakes up. Maybe they could riot to her front door to get her out of bed.

Steve twists the dial to his radio. Seriously, where is this girl? Every morning at seven o'clock, Steve stops by her house to give her a ride to school. And, every morning the same routine plays like a horribly tuned piano. Well, today's the day, Steve puts his foot to the gas pedal.

"She can walk to school," hand on the gear shift, Steve readies to peel off the curb and zip down the street. But, he doesn't.

No, Steve is far too gentle of a soul to leave his friend out on the edge of a cliff like that. Allowing a puff of hot hair to escape, he rests back in the drivers seat and takes his foot away from the pedal. Maybe knocking some sense into his head would do the trick. He bends forward onto the steering wheel. The horn beeps, and deafens him.

Robin yanks open the car door. "Good morning, sunshine!"

"Next time-" Steve says lifting his head.

"'Next time, I'm leaving you!'" Robin slots into the passenger side, and buckles herself into the car. "Anything new with you?"

Steve doesn't like to believe that he's gotten so predictable. In fact, all driving around Robin to school and the the endless amount of freshman that need rides to go to and from their stupid after school club, Steve contemplates asking for compensation. But, again, he's not that guy.

"What took you so long?" He asks.

Robin scoffs. "I was in the bathroom. What? You want me running out here with my pants down leaving a trail behind me? I don't think so."

"Thank you for that visual, Robin," Steve winces.

Sure, she's running a few fifteen minutes late, but doesn't everyone have at least one bad day - or a week - or month - or year?

Robin sat straight up in her bed that morning with a pile of drool next to her on her pillow. Hair stuck straight out on one side of her head like it was trying to escape her. Yes, she could hear every horn honk that came from Steve Harrington's car, and no she did not make it her mission to torture him every morning by being late.

Her power went out. Or, maybe she slept through her alarm. Potayto; potahto. Either way, she smudges on a bit more blush from her compact in her bag, she's in the car now right?

"Did you eat breakfast?" Steve already know's she'll say 'no.' "Breakfast is the most important meal of the day, you know. And, don't you have a test in first period? Shouldn't you be focusing on that instead of . . . what is that pink stuff?”

"It's blush, Steven," She teases. "You sound like my dad."

"Ha ha," he quips back. "Backseat."

Robin stretches around to see a brown paper bag soaking in it's own juices. He's stopped at the diner, before he came to pick her up. Sure that might have been his lunch for later in his shift, but he would rather not have his friend pass out while trying to recite the alphabet or whatever they teach these days.

"Stevie!" Robin pouts her lip.

"Shut up," he jokes.

Their relationship is platonic, although Robin did have to wave off Steve’s crush on her. She’s not into him, nor is she into any other man she’s ever come across. As a friend, however, Steve has turned into one of her closest. She relies on him, especially with him withholding her biggest secret. She’s very gay.

On the way to school, Hawkins is still all the same gray town. Cool weather blows winds through the streets freezing them all like icicles. Snow this year is said to be minimal, but freezing temperatures suggest otherwise.

Pulling into the parking lot of his old high-school, Steve hits his breaks sending Robin sliding forward. She clutches her bag, and adds a screwed look upon her face.

“My bad,” Steve doesn’t sound very apologetic. But, nonetheless, they’re friends and he has to pull her leg when she pulls his.

Robin springs from the car with her backpack in her hand, and her breakfast sack hanging out of her mouth. She muffles something along the lines of ‘thank you’ lost in translation behind the paper bag.

You wouldn’t know from the outside looking in, but Robin is quite apprehensive about school. There’s only so many crowds, and so many people that she can manage at one time. That’s usually why she’s on the hunt for someone she knows so bright and early - to defend her of the rampaging school children.

For example, Jason Carver is one of the biggest a-hole’s in the school. But, people still praise him like a King. That was Steve once, so she tries not to be too harsh when she judges him. But, he’s not making the best case for himself when he’s threatening a freshman boy for flunking Jason's homework. Jason’s minions are given the order to toss him into the dumpster, and Robin has the smarts to look away.

Robin swings open the double doors to be smacked in the face with the thick musk of high school air. She’s a bit late, so she thought that maybe people had begun flocking to class. Wrong. She dodges some kid parading around with an easel with the legs sticking out, so at least no one would bump into him.

There’s a window of opportunity for her to swing into her home room, and chow down on her breakfast before Mrs. Brown doesn’t scold her for not sharing with the rest of the class. She’s got about ten minutes until the bell rings, and Mrs. Brown is no where to be seen. She’s probably got her head over the copier grinding the gears a little too hard to give out weeks worth of homework due tomorrow. That’s her favorite.

As Robin sits in her usual spot, she opens the greasy bag in front of her. Bundled under a pile of trash from Steven’s breakfast burrito, she does find herself a single sandwich. Ham and Swiss cheese with far too many thick slabs of tomato for her liking. She lets the tomato slide off in a pile of sad gooey slime, and then places the bread back on top of the sandwich to complete it.

“I’ll see you later,” the usual conversation between classmates bores Robin, but the sound of your voice piques her interest.

“Yeah, I’ll see you later,” Eddie’s words draw out low and deep.

You’re giggling now, and Robin tilts her head to the open door. Without checking for other occupants, you swing Eddie into your shared home room to plant a various amount of wet kisses to his lips.

Frozen in time, Robin sits like a statue. She knows she’s not supposed to witness the exchange. Especially by Eddie overlooking his shoulder a number of times, before running off down the other hallway. You chase after him, but only to learn into the hallway to watch him run off.

You’re completely smitten.

Robins never known you to be this unaware. There’s a time and a half that she’s readied you for dates, but she’s never seen that shine in your eye, the flush on your cheeks or the floating just above the ground where the rest of us are.

How she skirted past being caught by you or Eddie is mind blowing. But, you’re in a ‘love bubble’ that’s impenetrable.

Robin grabs a thick needle, and jabs at the edges until the bubble bursts as you sit down. Forgetting the sandwich, and the painful growls from her stomach, Robin now twists in her seat making the chair moan.

“Good morning, Robin,” you’ve got cupids arrow in your ass. “When did you get here?”

“I don’t know,” her sarcasm is drooling from her mouth now. “Sometime before you and Eddie started making out at the door.”

Your stomach flips, and your face drops down back to earth. “Uh, oh.”

Robins bounces. “When did that happen?”

“Last Friday, after school,” you blurt as the bell rings. “Listen Robin, you can’t tell anyone what you saw. Please? We’re just trying to keep a low profile for a while.”

The classroom begins to fill, while you’re still silently begging for your friend to keep her mouth shut for once in her life. Robin’s the worst at keeping secrets!

And, Robin does go through the list of who she’ll blab too first. She could tell Steve because he would just reply ‘Who?’ and get all squinty. Or, she could tell Dustin, who’s really close to Eddie. That’s a fair trade.

That’s when Robin notices the gray plume of smoke floating into the classroom. A haze of green and gold glitter spiral into the archway. Suddenly, the mask drops to the tile floor. And what’s left?

Roxie Martin.

Robin might have a bit of an imagination, but what is very real is the absolute terror stricken fear written across your face. She’s a ball of evil with a bat hidden in her bra - probably.

Yeah, Robin thinks that she’ll keep quiet for a while.

“Good morning, class,” Mrs. Brown zips into the classroom with a years worth of paper stacked in her grip. “Roxie, please find your seat. And, unless you have enough to share with the rest of the class, put away your food, Robin.”

Robin’s stomach growls.

-> <-

tags: @stardustingold @loves0phelia @ogoc-19 @hellfirenacht @blackholegladiator @alligator-person @eggo-segual @rustboxstarr @harmfulb1tch

#eddie munson #eddie munson fic #eddie munson x you #eddie muson preference #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson imagine #stranger things #stranger things fic #stranger things imagine

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