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obsessedwrhys · 5 months ago

Note

Hey so how do you think rise donnie would deal with a magical crush who is very chill with his tech and magic ramblings. He is in the room when April asks magival crush “is he bothering you? He can be a bit insufferable sometimes. He can’t just let things go and just accept magic as is”. And crush is like “oh. I don’t mind it. I mean, everyone thought rainbows were magical. They still are, but now you know how they work. I kind of like watching his big head try and figure this stuff out”?

A LOVE BEYOND LOGIC

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ just lots of fluff and flirting (I went overboard with the flirting), reader does get hurt but it's just minor, used of (Y/N) but only once, I hope this is a good read ☹, reader is fem!!

ᯓ★

It was another normal Tuesday for everybody in the lair, like always, you found yourself sunk into the bean bag your best friend plus boyfriend, Donnie, personally installed in his lab just for you. Well how he manages to become your boyfriend is a different story.

It all happened so fast, you were both blabbered about magic and science and suddenly he's pouring his heart out for you. What's more surprising is that this ain't exactly your home realm. You're pretty lucky enough to have score yourself a bunch of friendly people willing to let you stay at their place, not to mention be fine with your whole magical fiesta.

Anyways, you were concentrating on the game in your phone until you hear Donnie let out a frustrated groan. Curious, you looked to see him struggling with what seemed to be his next hopeful project. It's just not looking too hopeful right now.

"You okay?" You asked and his gaze darts towards you. He waves his hand dismissively.

"Yeah, I'm fine, I must have gotten the formula wrong" He said and at the same time, he walked over to the other table to check on his notes. You put your phone away before getting up to approach him.

"Can I help?" You asked.

You then stood beside him, your eyes examining how his hands are placed at both sides of the notebook as he has his head focused at it in the middle. His brows were slightly furrowed from trying to figure out what went wrong. Even with the stress, you can't help but find the concentration on his face somehow making him appear more attractive.

"No... no... I wouldn't wanna trouble you with this burden..." He muttered almost like a whisper since his mind is already preoccupied with focusing.

"Watching you torture yourself with this is already a burden" You joked and he couldn't help but chuckle a bit.

"You're right, I'll try my best to figure this out sooner" He shoots you a sweet smile before walking off to the table in the center that has his project on top.

"Maybe after this we can go exploring. You said you wanted to visit the museum right? If we're lucky enough, I can shut down the surveillance so we can go in undetected, it'll be like the place is ours" He said, putting on his safety goggles as he continues on his work. You couldn't help but feel all giddy inside just hearing him remember you telling him that a few days ago.

You clear your throat, calming yourself.

"That'd be awesome. I don't know if you know this but I can detect old magic in artifacts. Connecting with them makes me stronger" You grabbed an unfinished rubix cube from his shelf and began to play with it as you made yourself float. Even with your body levitating a few feet above him, he didn't mind but was more focused on the task at hand.

"Huh... is that why you're so eager to go? To make yourself more powerful?" He said, a hint of amusement in his tone.

"Not entirely, I did say I wanted to explore it with you" You said and just hearing you say that, he tried to bite back a smile, a sense of pride swelling up in his chest.

"Gaining power and spending time with me? You're awfully greedy. Are all magical beings like this from your realm?" He playfully teased and you couldn't help but let out a humoured scoff.

"Too bad it must just be me" You responded and it made him laugh to himself while shaking his head.

"What else should I be aware of about your powers?" He asks and you hummed as you thought it over.

"Well... my powers get crazy strong when I feel a strong emotion. Whether it be sad or anger. Somehow being overwhelmed can 'cause me to lose control" You said and it automatically caught his interest.

"Lose control?" He repeats while putting on gloves before using the angle grinder on the metal.

"Huh... I can understand why... the heightened emotions you feel can create a swirling vortex of energy that can overwhelm your conscious control, making it easily for you to lose any sense of control over yourself, it's almost inevitable" He asserted like he always does when he's invested with every new discovery about your magical abilities.

"Really? Are you saying that's a bad thing?" You raised an eyebrow as you finally landed beside him, at the same time Donnie stops using the angle grinder and puts it aside. He pulls over his goggles, letting it rest just above his head.

"Not exactly, there are other emotions that can also work... Magic is no different than science. There's always a different formula available to replace the other" He said, twisting some screws onto the machine and once he's done, he turns it on before stepping back to see it on and working.

"And maybe sometimes... different is better" He smiled, satisfied with his success. He then turn to look at you who seemed puzzled, in your hand holds the rubix cube you have yet to finish.

"I'm sort of getting it but what other emotions is there that doesn't involve me turning into a raging monster?"

"There is one... an emotion that makes you feel calm yet overwhelmed at the same time... but you'll have to fall"

"Fall?" You watch as he goes to the other side of the room to grab a handkerchief to wipe his face clean.

"Fall in love... can't be hard right?" He looks at you, his eyes warm like it'll be enough to melt you. The way he stares at you makes it seem as though you're the most beautiful thing he has ever seen. You blush as you let out an awkward chuckle.

"Love? Are you saying that because half of the movies we watch, the main character happens to win in the last minute against the bad guy because of the power of love?" You joked, trying to hide the fact that your heart is beating faster than it would.

"This is purely science. I don't recall any movies using that trope" He says and you couldn't help but tilt your head, your brows raised in disbelief.

"Beauty and the Beast"

"Hey he was cursed by a witch"

"Tangled"

"That was more about cutting her hair"

"Uh Hero? Frozen?!??! Every freaking Christmas movie ever created?!?!!" He stares at you, silent for a second and you can see from his face that he's thinking it over.

".... you had me at Frozen. Ah alright, you're missing the whole point of all of this" He approaches you and you can't help but try to at least avoid the effect he's having on you.

"What I'm trying to prove here is that maybe you can try focusing on that emotion. Maybe it can even save you out of a messy situation one day. Who knows?" He crosses his arms, a confident smirk on his face. You roll your eyes with a smile of your own.

"You and your science talk. I do appreciate it but sometimes it's a wonder you haven't talked my ear off" You joked and it makes him laugh once again.

"Oh please, my voice is not irritating, at least not compared to yours"

"Excuse me??"

Right as you finished talking, April enters. She stops in her tracks as she awkwardly shifts her focus from Donnie's face to yours. Sensing the clear look of annoyance on your face, she decides to step in between in whatever conversation you two are having.

"Hey now, I've been gone for only a few hours and you guys are already trying to tear each other down" She laughs half heartedly. Clearly sensing the shift of emotion in the atmosphere, Donnie shrugs as he chooses to walk back to his station.

"Oh well, and uh (Y/N), you should go with April. It's almost evening and you usually eats at this hour. I'll find you later" He says with his back turned to you. Not really caring much about it, you also shrug before turning the other way.

"I was gonna go eat anyways" You said but deep inside you could feel that flutter of emotion again. Without much complain, you decided to go to the kitchen to April, the rubix cube still in your hand.

You're seated at the chair and toying around with the cube that you failed to acknowledge the concern look on April's face. She hands you your plate of food before taking her seat beside you. It was when you both started eating that you finally notice. But before you can ask, she beats you to it.

"Are you okay? I saw your face back there and it seemed like you guys were arguing. Is Donnie bothering you again? I know how far he can go trying to experiment on you" She said and her words nearly caught you off guard. You're aware of her concern about your safety but you weren't sure she would be THIS concern. Especially directing it towards Donnie.

"Wait no we weren't arguing just now. He just said some stupid comeback at my joke. Besides, what makes you think he'd do that?" You asked and she turns to look at you as if your question was a dumb one.

"Um, hello? He's Donatello. The 'Magic is not a real thing' Donatello... Did you forget how he was trying to have you join his crazy experiments when you first got here??" She said and you couldn't help but laugh a bit from how unreal the situation you're in.

"Okay first of all, he doesn't hate magic. He's just amazed about it you know? It's like giving a baby their first taste of sweet candy"

"You're comparing him to a baby now?"

"It was just a metaphor"

"Fineeee!! But how is he okay with letting you hang around in his lab? Doesn't magic and science not work together?"

"Oof if that was the case then people would think that thunder and lightning was a sign of God's fury from above"

"Okaaay... you have a point but... why do you like hanging around in his lab? It doesn't seem to be your cup of tea" You look at her and you see a teasing grin on her face.

Oh boy.

"His lair is... quiet... it's comforting"

"Ah yes... the sound of him drilling for hours is very relaxing. Not to mention the loud noises of his hammer! Wh-What a paradise!!" She says while ending up laughing at her own sarcasm. You let out a defeafed sigh.

"Okay maybe I happen to enjoy watching him work. It's exciting!! Do you see the way he puts things together?" You said with pride that you failed to notice the smile on your face.

"Uh huh" She looks at you and its clear that she doesn't buy it one bit.

Minutes later after you both are done eating and chatting about your everyday lives, you found your way back into the lab.

As expected, you found Donnie in his chair and seemingly working on his next project. Seeing how busy he looks, you decided to just go back to your place on the bean bag... but the sound of your footsteps caught his attention. His eyes slightly perked up as he swung around in his chair to look at you.

"You're back so quick...?" He said, his tone coming off surprised.

"Yeah... why? Do you need some alone time?" You took a step back and he quickly got to his feet like he's trying to stop you.

"That's not what I meant... uh I need to ask you an offer" He then leaned his back against the table and from the way his eyes is struggling to maintain eye contact with you, you could tell it wasn't anything good.

"Do you mind if you could used your powers to give my machine a boost? I need to make sure if it's resistant from getting fried easily" He looks at you, his gaze making him appear hopeful that you'll be fine with that... and honestly why wouldn't you be?

"Sure, just tell me how much is too much" You walk over to the machine displayed on the center and he mirrors your action. You stand side by side as you gently place your hand on top of the core.

"How about we start with something small and we'll work our way up from there?" He suggests which you nodded in agreement.

Just like that, you activated your powers and at the same time made sure you weren't using too much of it. In relief the machine didn't blow up but was running just fine. Almost at the same time, You and Donnie exchanged thankful smiles when turning to look at one another. With the first stage cleared, you decided to up the heat a bit.

"ZZZzzzz" The machine buzzes a bit from the increased intensity of your powers but surprisingly it's still intact and working right.

"Alright... moment of truth..." You grit your teeth anxiously... then activated the full force of your powers.

⌁KRRRRK⌁

Almost like a flash, you could feel surges of electricity coursing through your vines so due to your instincts you quickly pulled your hand away cause of the pain. And for the machine it was now overloading but somehow still functioning. Before you could even do anything, Donnie is already by your side with a med kit in hand.

"Are you okay? I know you're an enhanced being but still that must have hurt" He places the kit on the table and opened it to take out anything you needed.

"Just a small wound" You said, showing him the tiny burn on your pinky. Instantly he's already treating it with the petroleum jelly.

You don't say anything but choose to watch him tend to your minor injury. From his body language you could tell that he was very focused on not hurting you in the slightest. Soon after he wraps a clean bandage loosely around your pinky, he looks at you with a wave of warmth on his face. How he looks at you so softly is making your heart beat like it did not long ago.

"So... are you still up for our visit to the musuem?" He asks and you chuckle in disbelief.

"Seriously? You're not gonna even explain why you invented this thing in the first place? Not after my effort of helping you out?"

"Oh that? I wanted to surprise you but since you asked, this is gonna be our one way ticket to shutting the surveillance off. Just stick this bad boy into the breaker and the cameras are out" He picks it up and effortlessly puts it into the back of the truck, you follow him not far behind.

"You built all that just to spend one night with me at the musuem?" You tilt your head and he freezes in place, his back facing you as he stands at the back of the van.

"Uh... yeah... why not?" He rubs his neck awkwardly. From that you could tell that you've somehow made him flustered. You laugh and the sound of you laughing made him turn around out of curiosity.

"What are you laughing about?" He said despite the movements of his lips beginning to form a grin.

"Nothing nothing..." You look at him, a smile still present on your face but soon you show him your pinky, the same one he helped bandage it up for you.

"Kiss it to make it better?" You said with your hardest attempt of making puppy dog eyes. He shakes his slightly out of amusement.

"Only because you asked" He takes a few steps forward and carefully holds your arm by the wrist before guiding it towards his lips. He kisses it delicately and while he does so, his eyes are remained locked on yours. The intensity of his gaze made you blush that you couldn't help but look away.

"There... is my baby done whining now?" He said with his hands now intertwined with yours. You roll your eyes as you let him pull you into his embrace.

"Yeah yeah... let's go to the musuem now smarty pants" He chuckles at your response with his arms wrapped securely around you, his fingers tracing gently down your spine.

"Should we watch a movie after we get back?"

"Frozen?"

"Perfect"

#GAAAAAAAAA #WHERE THE HELL CAN I WATCH THE SHOW FOR FREE #tmnt #fluff #x reader #tmnt x reader #tmnt donnie x reader #tmnt donatello #tmnt donnie #donnie x reader #rise donnie #rise donnie x reader #rottmnt x reader #rottmnt donatello #rottmnt donnie x reader #rottmnt donnie #donnie tmnt

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writing-mlm · 4 months ago

Note

Pls write dick grayson x male reader 🙌🏾🙌🏾

How can I help?

Summary: The three times you help Dick with his father issues and the one time he helps you Pairing: Dick Grayson x Male reader WC: 7.4k a/n: this went through five different plots before I landed on this one I am so sorry

He’s given his entire life to Bruce. He’s owed him as much for everything he’s put him through; taking in a rowdy, traumatized orphan and dealing with the near limitless energy he had. Then the teenage angst, he understands why Bruce kicked him out. He had to. He understands that everything he’s gotten in his life is because of Bruce.

Bruce wasn’t… he wasn’t bad. He was doing his best with what he could, after all, infinite money didn’t come with infinite wisdom. And Bruce had given Dick his best, so really, Dick should be happy. He’s better off than some orphans, most orphans really.

So why does he want to strangle him?

He doesn’t get it. He loves Bruce, he’s the closest thing to a father he currently has. But he can’t be around him, he can’t stand his voice, he can’t even think about him without being upset.

He bites harder and you wince, staring at him as he bites your shoulder. You doubt he’s even aware of it, he hardly ever is. These moments are rare with Dick, usually after he visits his father and it goes wrong. It almost always goes wrong.

The biting makes it so he doesn’t cry, he doesn’t like crying. Not because he’s a man and men don’t cry but because it makes it harder to see. To focus. His breathing gets all loud and he can’t sneak around. But with biting, none of that happens.

You rub his back as the pressure on your shoulder builds and builds. He’s nearly breaking skin before he finally pulls away and stares at the TV, more quiet than he ever has been.

“I’m sorry,” He mutters after the episode ended. Feeling his fingers wipe away the drying spit and then soothe the throbbing spot, you turn to look at him and shake your head.

“Still invulnerable,” You remind him. While yes, it hurts a little, you know it’s not going to bruise. It’s not going to do anything aside from give him some sort of healthy release. He nods, still looking at the spot. You can tell his mind is running, it doesn’t take a genius to tell that much. “Dick, I’m perfectly fine.” He looks at you, eyes red and bleary before he huffs and turns his head away. He blinks and tilts his head to the ceiling while you watch.

He doesn’t like it when you watch, it makes him feel bad. Like a burden. But you watch to make sure he doesn’t put too much pressure on his eyes when he rubs them.

“It’s not your fault.” You promise and his breath hitches. God, he wants to believe you. So badly. “It’s not your fault.” Lips pursed and a lone tear running down the side of his cheek, Dick turns to you. “It’s not—“

“Stop.” He begs. His eyes screw shut and he shakes his head. “I know— I know it’s not, I do. But…fuck man.” Pushing himself away from you, you watch as he enters the kitchen and runs his hands through his hair. “I can’t just leave him!” He nearly shouts, convincing himself as he throws open the fridge.

“You can.” You nod, eyes flickering to where he’s grabbing a water bottle.

“No,” He says through a dry laugh before taking a large gulp of water. “No one leaves Bruce.” Turning to you, Dick licks his lips. “Do you know what it’s like? Trying to run from the world's greatest detectives and his mini Batman’s?” Shaking your head he shakes his back and walks over to the couch again.

“Oracle, Red Robin, and Batman! Those three have found unicorns before. End of the rainbow pot of gold. Compared to that, I might as well have a giant sign on my head! Then he has Superman and-and Martian Manhunter. Zatanna. Constantine!” He’s nearly shouting now, hitting each finger as he rapidly lists them off.

“Have you asked him for space?” It’s the question you’ve wanted to ask him for years now. His plan is always to up and leave, his bad thoughts are to up and leave. His good thoughts are to leave a note, and then leave. But he’s never thought about that. You know because he pauses and looks at you.

“He wouldn’t…” Shaking his head, Dick lays his head on the armrest of the couch and brings his legs up to yours. “I’d just get the society needs Nightwing talk. He’d say I’m leaving behind innocent people who need me.” He angrily says into his water bottle.

“You could get amnesia,” You half seriously suggest, running your fingers along his legs. He shaves pretty religiously, something about his suit needing less friction to get on and off. “Go by Ric without the K.” At that, he snorts and looks down at you.

“I love you,” He says and you smile.

“I love you too, dude.” Groaning, he kicks your arm and sits up. You laugh and rock into him, watching as he stares at the TV. His hair falls over his forehead nicely but he shifts it back, probably out of nervous habit.

“I can’t leave Damian.” He quietly says, a deep frown forming on his face. “He’s already been through so much.”

“You all have.”

“But he spent eleven—“

“This isn’t the trauma Olympics, Dick. You all can be fucked up at the same time.” There’s a long pause in the apartment and you get up to take the cookies out of the oven. They’re his favorite, macadamia with raspberry chunks.

“You know what really sucks?” He calls and doesn’t wait for a response. “We can’t even see a therapist about this! I mean, could you imagine one of us trying to see a therapist? It’s either Harley, Dinah, or some poor civilian!”

“Why not get therapy as Nightwing and then therapy as Dick?” It feels stupid, it sounds like it should be stupid but honestly, as Dick thinks about it, it might work. The biggest issue would be separating himself from Nightwing. Being a hero has been such a big part of his identity he doesn’t know how to unassociate the two. He doesn’t even know if they’re still two separate people.

“Maybe,” He shrugs and turns back to look at you. “Can I get a cookie?” He asks, half of a frown on his face.

“They’re hot,” You shake your head and poke one of the cookies. “Give them five minutes.”

“You’re hot.” He grins.

“Still not getting a cookie.”

“Aw, man.”

—

It’s the last stretch of the day. After coming back from his detective-ing and patrolling and you coming back from the WatchTower, Dick lays his head between your legs and sighs. He likes it there, he could spend hours between your legs if he could. Truthfully, you think he likes it more when it’s nonsexual. The feeling of your thighs cupping his ears, your fingers running up and down his hair mixed with being able to get up whenever he wanted was one of the times he was most relaxed.

He sighs again, leaning his head further back as your nails drag against a spot that had been bothering him for a while now. You smile and give it extra care before exploring the rest of his hair, secretly glad he hadn’t realized he’s due for a haircut soon. The once blunt ends have dulled and you hope he doesn’t notice the starts of split ends soon. You could just repair them, right? There are shampoos for that.

Although you wouldn’t tell him, you did enjoy his mullet phase. The long hair was pre-dating but it’s what caught your attention. He only cut it the night before your first date, which was admittedly a little heartbreaking. But the shorter hair definitely was better. It worked wonders for him, really drew attention to his eyes and his smile.

Plus when he was fighting no one could grab his hair and bang his head into a wall as much.

You feel along scabs and small scars that his thick hair hides, carefully dragging your nails over it. But not too harsh that it would remove the scabs. His hands flex and tense on your thigh as you do so but the way his shoulders drop lets you know to continue. He’s close to snoring at that point, the only thing missing was the white noise he had to listen to. Sure, it annoyed the shit out of you, but it wasn’t ruining your sleep.

The room is dark with the curtains drawn and the door is closed, but there’s a video playing with the sound barely audible. It’s nothing compared to Haley snoring in the corner of the bed, though. Maybe she could be the white noise.

“Do you think…” He says, voice soft as he tries to let go of the day's pressure and just live. But he never can, you don’t think he’s ever actually just relaxed before. “Do you think I’m a good son?” He finally asks and you see the tip of his nose move as he frowns.

“A great son,” You hum, tucking some of his hair behind his ears. “Hell, I stopped speaking to my dad after he forgot my birthday three years in a row.” You laugh.

“You had a reason, though,” He shakes his head. “I owe Bruce—“

“Adopting a child doesn’t mean you’re owed shit.” You tell him and carefully sit up, now staring down at him. “He chose you, he doesn’t get to hang it over your head like some sword. And you shouldn’t either, one good choice should never negate years of building resentment.” He frowns and stares at you until you sigh. “How about this? You go to family therapy, you did say Bruce is different now.”

“He is,” Dick nods, guiding your hands back to his hair. “I know he’s a good dad but sometimes he sucks.” He blinks, briefly staring at you before he closes his eyes. It’s clear he wants to continue the conversation but he can’t bring himself to say anything else. His mind is a fog and he doesn’t truly want it to clear out. He doesn’t want to face reality just yet.

“Is this a bad time to mention that I have to shit?” He snorts and nods, eyes still closed as he gets up. He watches as you scramble out of the room, nearly waking Haley up in the process. He follows after you like a lost dog, his feet slapping against the freshly mopped floors.

He doesn’t want to be alone, he knows it’s probably not healthy to be so attached he couldn’t fathom going twenty minutes without seeing you while you’re in the same apartment but he can’t. At least, not right now. He can’t be alone with his thoughts and if he has to deal with them, he wants to at least look at you. Touch you in some way.

“We’re at the stage where you watch me shit?” You joke as he opens the door and sits on the edge of the tub. You don’t mind as much as you thought you would, not with Dick slowly sinking into the tub and getting rid of his shirt, and then pants. He throws his shirt at you to get your attention when you’re nose-deep in your phone. Unaware of his actions.

“Bath?” He grins, the sound of him slapping his thighs echoing in the bathroom.

“I’ll get the bubbles,”

The bath is nice, the water is cold against Dick’s aching muscles and you’re staring at him from the opposite end of the tub. Well, as best as you could with the lights dimmed and the occasional phone screen illuminated on the counter. He’s messing with the bubbles, creating beards and blowing them at you. Making sure you can’t move away by locking his ankles behind your back, he watches as you wipe the bubbles from your mouth.

Spluttering them out, you grab your own handful and smush it against his face.

You both laugh and sink further into the water. He’s down to his chin, his knees awkwardly sticking out of the water while the water is just up to your chest.

“I think I’ll talk to Bruce about therapy,” He says as the laughter is nothing but a memory on the tiled walls. The bubbles slowly popped around him and the water gradually got warmer. He nervously drags his hand down your leg and then slowly up again until he reaches your thigh and stops.

“I know some family therapist,” You softly tell him and he nods. “I think Dr. Sampson would be good for you two. She does virtual and in-person, flexible for the most part.” That’s good. He doesn’t think Bruce would let Brucie Wayne get seen walking with his eldest child into a therapist's office.

“Thank you.” He says as he reaches over and pulls you onto him. Water splashes over the side of the tub and some gets in your eyes but you blink it away. “I’m so in love with you,” He says, unable to look at anything but your eyes.

“I love you, too.”

—

It’s a calm Sunday when your door flies open, it bangs against the wall and you’re almost sure there’s a dent where the knob hit. But it’s neither here nor there as you hear Dick shouting in Romani. Whatever’s happened, he’s beyond upset so you abandon your work and meet him on the couch.

The shouting stops when he sees you and he frowns. It’s deep and etching in his skin. You offer him a welcoming smile as his nose turns red and his lip quivers.

“What happened?” You ask, guiding him to the couch. With your hand on his back, you can feel that he’s shaking. Instead of replying, he shakes his head and collapses onto the couch, his head in his hands. His fingers thread through his hair, pulling and grasping randomly until he moves his hands around his torso and finally looks at you.

“I killed Joker,” He finally says. The house is silent as you stare at him, eyes flickering across his face as his breathing goes jagged and he gags. “I…fuck,” He looks at you and you look back at his eyes. “I fucking killed him!” He repeats but this time it seems like shock has washed over him. That he’s the character in a movie, holding a household item turned murder weapon and the dead body is right in front of him.

“What… why?” You ask, a million questions running across your mind.

“I thought he killed Tim,” He shakes out, his eyes closed as he remembers what happened. “I thought he killed Tim, he had this illusion of Tim. He looked so much like Jay’s after he killed him. And I… I couldn’t lose another sibling to him.” You notice he’s flexing his hands and staring at them, noting the bruises on his knuckles. Parts of his skin is ripped, like he’s been licking at the bruises and scrapes to make them into cuts.

“I lost control,” He croaked out. A sob travels up his body but he forces it down and presses the balls of his hands into his eyes.

“Does Bruce know?” You ask and he shakes his head.

“Just Tim and Babs. And you,” That’s good, heaven knows how Bruce would react.

“Well,” You huff. “Joker was going to die anyway. He deserved it.” There’s nothing you can— want to do about it now. Sure, there’s definitely a way to bring someone back to life but… the Joker doesn’t deserve it. What you can do now, is comfort your boyfriend.

“We don’t kill!” Dick looks at you. He’s been crying for a long while now, you can see the stains on his cheeks and the redness of his eyes. “Killing is the one thing B doesn’t stand for.” If you could, you’d tell Dick every single issue you have with Bruce. The hypocrisy in his rules, and the moral high ground he puts himself on is fake and it sucks that everyone seems to go along with it.

But you don’t. Now isn’t the time for your personal qualms with his father.

“One death,” You tell him, pulling him closer to you. “Is nothing compared to what Joker has done. He’s killed Jason, he’s paralyzed Babs, he’s killed over a thousand people. And Bruce doesn’t have to know. I doubt Tim or Babs is going to be telling him.” He nods at the last part. Out of everyone he knows, he knows his siblings and Barbra wouldn’t tell Bruce that. They’d hold that secret like no other.

That calms him down. Aside from them, the only person who could possibly know was a god. And he doesn’t think he’s pissed any off as of late. There weren’t any cameras, no one was around for blocks. Not even a single church mouse knows.

Now came the hard part. Life after killing Joker, pretending to not know where the Joker was.

He’d just left the body there but he knows they got rid of it. And he doesn’t want to know the details, the less the better. He’s afraid he’d somehow give Bruce hints during their weekly therapy sessions.

“I’m sorry about your wall,” He mutters into your shoulder and you peer at the wall. The dent is small, just the center of the knob left an imprint so it’s nothing five minutes can’t fix.

“I’ve put bigger dents,” You tell him with a dismissive wave. You haven’t. There’s never been a singular dent in your walls, but he doesn’t need to know that.

“Can we…” He shakes his head as he thinks. “Do something tonight? Anywhere really, anything but sitting in silence.”

“Yeah,” You nod, turning your body to face him and tucking his hair behind his ear. “Anything you want, baby. How about we drive up to my sisters for the week? She’s having a family thing… I would’ve invited you either way. Besides, if we stay for a week instead of the weekend you will not get any peace and quiet.” You laugh knowing that her kids love Dick. Always asking him to do tricks and teach them.

He agrees and promises to be ready in an hour.

There are thankfully no hitches in your plan. Dick had already taken time off from work, your sister didn’t mind that you’d be coming to visit five days earlier than expected, and there was no traffic during your five-hour drive. The two of you didn’t talk much, instead, you took turns blasting music and listening to various podcasts. Occasionally, one of his siblings would call when they realized he’d left Gotham without prior warning but he’d tell them it’s a family thing with you.

—

Thetford was a small town in Orange County, Vermont. Population, less than three thousand people. It was perfect for your sister who dreamed of two things and two things only. Peace from cities and a nice large farm-style home.

In the distance, you see the roof of her home and slow down, with no one else on the road you’re not putting anyone in danger.

“Ready?” You ask him. He licks his lips and nods. “Because I can always drive into town, ask her if she needs anything.” Again, he nods and looks at you.

“I’m okay, really.” Dick swears. “I promise.” Nodding, you hold his hand and kiss the back of it. He smiles and squeezes your hand back.

Your brother-in-law is already in the garage, grabbing some items from his workshop, and waves you inside. With a three-car garage, there’s more than enough space for your car next to their minivan. He is basically the modern-day Romeo Vasquez. At least that’s what your sister says, you still haven’t seen any of his movies.

He helps you with your and Dicks bags despite your insistence that you don’t need any help. But he quickly leaves the two of you in the basement when he hears one of the babies crying.

The basement is nice; a washer and dryer under the stairs, a small living room with various game systems, a bathroom, and a bedroom. You’ve spent enough time down there that you just toss yourself into the bed while Dick stands at the doorway.

There’s two exits, one that leads to the house and the other to the backyard. It locks from the inside so no one can enter through there but she gives you a key anyway. He sees the small windows at the tops of the walls and it reminds him that the house was built on a slope. The front of the basement is smaller than the back, which is probably why the washer and dryer are over there.

“Should we go and check on them?” He asks, ridding himself of his sweater. Shaking your head, you roll onto your side and look at him.

“They’ll come down soon enough,” He hums and lays down next to you. Looking over his face, your eyes naturally land on his hair where you start playing with strands. In your sister's house Haley isn’t allowed on the bed, so she’s laying right below Dick, trying her best to look at him.

His hair sprawls across the pillow like he’s in a Studio Ghibli movie. Thankfully, he still hasn’t cut it. He watches you as you play with his hair, biting his lip and carefully touching the scraps on his hands. It’s too quiet for him, he can’t enjoy the peace with you. No matter how badly he wants to.

“Can we see the kids?” He asks almost tightly. You nod, kissing his cheek and guide him upstairs with Haley quick on his heels.

—

The week is filled with watching children and helping prepare for the upcoming family gathering. Dick is good with the kids and making sure things are strung up, climbing in trees and up to the gutters of the home while you’re better with nailing the umbrella into the dirt and carrying the chairs into the backyard.

He’s thrown up a bit throughout the days, normally during stretches where no one is doing anything. He nearly strangles you as you sleep, holding you so tight you’re worried for him but it’s calmed down as the week continues on. Especially after his latest session with his father.

He seems happier, actually sitting down and enjoying the quiet of your sister's home. The two of you go on walks at night, using the basement key to avoid waking anyone up. Every morning you wake up to clips of the two of you walking sent by your sister.

Haley loves it, she’ll run ahead and wait for the two of you, sometimes she’ll run into large piles of leaves and then run around with sticks she finds.

But he’s noticed how you’ve been getting as the week continues. As the realization you’re going to be seeing a lot of your family for the first time in a while dawns on you, you get more fidgety. You’ve needed to be doing something at all times. Fixing things that don’t need to be fixed, volunteering to clean the kids' rooms, the bathrooms, and even raking all of the property. It took nearly five hours, but you did it.

Then, you’d spend hours in the bathroom. Shaving, styling your hair, brushing your teeth to the point your gums hurt. You’ve stopped letting him into the bathroom with you, locking it behind you. Late at night, when you think he’s sleeping, he hears you throwing your hair products. Once, it got so bad you had to wake your sister. He watched as you spent nearly two hours talking to her in the backyard.

He doesn’t know what to do. He’s not used to comforting you. Sure, he comforts Damian, Tim, Jason, Kori, Cassandra, and basically everyone else he knows but never you. You’ve never needed reassurance before; always being his shoulder. It’s a little selfish to think so, but it makes him feel like a bad boyfriend.

Even more so when he can’t pull his big boy pants up and ask you what’s bothering you. Instead, he thinks and theorizes. He is a detective, after all.

It’s the day of the reunion when you feel him kissing your back. You never sleep with a shirt since you always end up with your back all sweaty. He trails up from your shoulder blades, carefully trailing up to your jaw, and then shifts to kiss your cheek.

“Dick,” You hum and he hums back, his free hand rubbing circles on your hip. “It’s early.”

“I’m not doing anything,” He reassures but drags you onto him. “Besides, it’s almost seven.” He says it like you’ve slept all day and it's past an acceptable time to be sleeping still. Blinking, you sigh through your nose and sit on his lap, slowly running your hands down his stomach. It’s more out of habit than anything else.

“Fine.” He grins. “But you’re showering first.” He frowns but nods and you roll off of him, watching as he grabs his clothes from the dresser and heads into the bathroom. Meanwhile, you take a nap.

A part of you knows he wanted to shower together, but you couldn’t. You wanted to shower in water so hot it’s actually dangerous and he hates anything above a light steam. Something about it being bad for his skin.

This time, you’re woken up much more rudely. With three children shaking you, you groan and throw the blanket over your head, ignoring their shouts and calls for your name until Dick suggests taking the blanket off.

“I’m up!” You shout, glaring at Dick as he grins. He ushers the kids out, promising to teach them how to do a barrel roll in the basement living room. Begrudgingly, you start your day and meet Dick in the kitchen. He’s in his head a little, probably because there’s a clown on the TV being called a classical joker but he’s still attentive with the kids.

You’re helping your sister's husband with making breakfast, something light since lunch and dinner will virtually be an all-you-can-eat buffet for the family.

Dick joins in when the kids pick a show, cleaning the dishes and staring at you for far too long as you’re watching the eggs cook. You don’t look happy, he finds the longer that he stares at you. You look distant and at one point you look at the ceiling and blink.

He thinks and thinks, but he doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t know what type of comfort you need.

His hand finds yours as you finish up and your sister takes over. He brings you to the couch and just sits with you and it seems to work as you lay your head on his shoulder and hug his arm. But it doesn’t last long, as the kids finish eating and the doorbell rings.

You remove yourself from him and look at your sister. She checks her phone and nods so you take his hand again and drag him down to the basement.

“Who’s that?” He stupidly asks as you toss yourself onto the couch and curl up in the corner. Watching as he sits next to you, you look at the black screen.

“My parents,” You sigh. “My father really, they’re divorced.” He nods. Sure, he’s met your sister a bunch and some cousins but never your parents. He knows the names of aunts and uncles, gossip about family members he’s never met and plenty of birthday wishes from them, but he doesn’t know them.

“Oh,” He blinks. And you nod. “Are they…?”

“Powers? No,” Rolling to your side, you stare at him. “They don’t know either.” He nods again. “I’m sorry… did you want to meet my dad?”

“We’ll meet later,” He dismisses.

Later comes two hours after your father arrives. Your mother and some other family arrive at the same time and you’re forced by self peer pressure to make an appearance. With them all in the backyard and you can see around twenty people have arrived and the dread creeps back in. You don’t know why but you feel like you might throw up so you rush into the bathroom.

He heads out first, you’re still in the bathroom but you don’t tell him to wait so he goes. He sees your sister and goes to her side, she’s talking to everyone who’s there. They all decided to sit at the same table so it made greeting them much easier.

“This a friend?” Your grandfather asks, eyeing Dick up and down.

“(Y/n) roommate,” Your father answers through a grit. He doesn’t know if he should correct him or not, if it would ruin the whole thing so he just smiles and introduces himself. He uses Richard for them, he remembers that they don’t like curse words from anyone not considered an adult. So anyone below forty.

You enter the backyard sometime later and immediately find Dick. He’s at the table with your family, chatting with your aunts. It grosses you out for a moment, seeing the way they stare at him but you push it down and walk up from behind him. It’s almost on purpose how you ignore your father and stand behind Dick, messing with his hair as he talks.

He pulls up the chair next to him and you sit, greeting your family.

Everyone talks while Dick listens, the conversation moving to what you’ve been up to. You don’t post on Facebook so they have next to no information on how you’ve been doing, so you fill them in on your jobs and stuff until the other guests arrive.

Soon enough, everyone is there and the party is in full swing. Music plays and food is being served. Kids run around the backyard and play in the pool but you’re sitting around some of your cousins and their parents.

They’re talking about random things, mostly. Some of your cousins are already married, showing off their spouses and rings with subtle jabs at their significant others with their issues. A ‘can’t clean up after themselves’ or a ‘doesn’t know what a diaper is’ is thrown around a couple of times. One of them is pregnant with twins and another is talking about their child going to college soon.

You feel like the odd one out. Although you’ve never put a timeline on your relationship, nor have any real desire for children or marriage; it would have been nice to have some leg in their conversation. Instead, you give everyone their congrats and continue to drink.

The conversation moves into more conversations you can’t relate to and you find yourself hungry, quietly asking Dick if he wants to grab something to eat. He agrees and the two of you head over to the food table and pile some stuff on.

“What’s this?” He asks, pointing his fork at the chitlins in a smaller bowl.

“Nasty is what it is,” You quietly laugh. “Pig intestines.” He nods at the answer and moves along. Your plate is done, stacked up to a point that might be unsafe with a fresh can of soda in your other hand.

“Are you okay?” He finally asks as he’s piling collard greens onto his plate.

“I’m fine,” You nod. “Wish there was better music but I’m fine.”

“No,” He shakes his head and looks at you. “Are you okay? Is there something I can help you with? You were jumping to leave the group and you’re drinking a beer.”

“I’m fine,” You nod again. “Just normal family things… I swear.” He sighs and you sigh back. “Truthfully, I hate being around my dad. And I feel weird being here, I can’t relate to them.”

“Because of us?” He asks and you laugh, quickly kissing him. He leans in for a deeper one but you push him back and he frowns, eyes on your lips.

“Because my job is going to space and saving aliens and their jobs are school teachers and office jobs. And I can’t relate to changing diapers or arguing with my wife— well, boyfriend.”

“Oh,” He turns back to adding food to his plate. “Well, you can say you’re a baker. That’s a normal job that you kind of have.”

“True,” Looking over the yard, you see nearly everyone is staring at you. They look away quickly and you clear your throat, waiting for Dick to finish up before heading back to your group.

“Uncle Richie,” Mickey, your sister's oldest child, says as he walks over with a popsicle stick and most of it smeared on his white shirt. God, if the place hadn’t been silent before, it’s silent now. You’re aware of the stares your way, even though Mickey is oblivious to most of it.

“Yeah, Mick?” He greets, ruffling Mickey’s hair.

“Did you make Uncle (Y/n) gay?” He asks with his head tilted while you snort into your drink.

“Did I… what?” Repeating the question, Dick looks at you with red ears and help me eyes.

“I been gay, Mick.” You tell him. “Why?” Mickey shrugs and bites the popsicle.

“Grandpa said not to tell you he said that Uncle Richie made you gay.” Your cousins around you chuckle and you have to bite your lip.

It’s not surprising. The man who forgot your birthday because he already had five kids before you didn’t know much about your life. He never really wanted another kid, he dotted on your older siblings and gave them everything they ever wanted. You were more of an afterthought, the kid shoved into the attic because that was the only space available. The kid who found a strange monster in the dark attic that gave him magical powers and became even stranger to his father.

“I won’t tell him,” You swear and Mickey nods before running away.

“He told your family were roommates,” Dick finally admits. “I didn’t know what to say so I just… didn’t say anything.”

“It’s fine,” You shrug. It’s not fine, but you don’t want to dwell on your issues. Today isn’t about you, this trip isn’t about you. You should try and enjoy yourself.

“Why didn’t you tell us?” Your uncle asks, pointing his beer at Dick. “We should’ve been chewing him out! Not sharing stories!” The others agree and you apologize with a smile.

“I thought you guys knew,” You shrug.

“Well,” Your grandmother says from behind you and you jump. “Tell us about your boy toy.” She nods her chin in Dick’s direction and he laughs.

It doesn’t take long for the adults to gather around you and basically shove you and Dick into each other. You’re a bit embarrassed at the attention, choosing to shove your mouth with food while everyone asks their questions.

Your father is notably absent, he’s off walking around with a cigarette in his mouth. He doesn’t do gay stuff, you think. He tends to avoid it at all costs. Your mother isn’t there either, but she tends to avoid you so it’s not shocking.

“You said your name is Richard?” Your grandfather asks and Dick nods. “How long y’all been dating?”

“Couple years,” You answer.

“Long enough for a ring?” One of your aunts asks, eyes raised at Dick. You look at him too, sure this isn’t a great time to finally talk about that but, hey, why not.

“Definitely,” He nods. There are a couple of others and haha from them.

The conversations continue and he watches as you’re more relaxed now. The beer is gone, taken over by the ants who drown in it. You’re happily talking, catching up, and showing pictures. He stares at you so long, so hard, that the others notice and point it out. They call him smitten, and consider you lucky that you’ve found someone who seems to worship the ground you stand on.

But in truth, Dick doesn’t think he does enough. He thinks back to the times you’ve dropped everything for him, how you’ve learned him inside and out, defended his feelings about his father, and he wishes he could’ve been a fraction of that boyfriend to you.

He loves you, a whole lot. But he knows he doesn’t really show it. Not as much as he’d like to, anyway.

He kisses the top of your head and you stare at him, confused. He just smiles and leans close to you, resting his head on yours.

“Can he fight?” One of your sister's husbands asks and you laugh. He’s been in the family for as long as you’ve been alive, you used to have a crush on him growing up.

“Joel is a boxer,” You explain to Dick. “He likes to fight the family's boyfriends.”

“A test?” He asks and you give a noncommittal nod. “Okay.” He agrees and Joel looks at you, none of the boyfriends have seemed excited about it before. You just hold your hands up. “I mean,” Dick starts as he stands up. “It’s only fair, Damian tried to stab you when he found out.” He did stab you, but your skin just ended up breaking the blade so he called a truce until he could find something that harms you. It was a long day when he found out it was copper.

“Make space,” Joel makes a motion at everyone to push back and everyone scoots back while Dick stretches.

“Should I take my shirt off?” He asks, plucking at his white shirt.

“Please do,” You grin and he winks, taking it off in one motion. You chuckle, giddy as his back muscles flex while he watches Joel take his shirt off. Dick twists, seeing if his belt is too tight and takes that off too.

“If y’all break up—“ Your cousin whispers to you and you smack her arm. “Just saying.”

“Should I watch your face?” Joel teases. “Pretty boy, ain’t you?”

“I’ve been told,” Dick shrugs. “But I doubt you could land a hit on it.” Again, your family eggs the situation on and you watch as they fight. It’s mostly playful, until Joel pins Dick down and he looks at you. He doesn’t want to hurt Joel, he’s almost fifty but Joel is a professional and definitely has had worse than Dick’s play fighting. You nod and watch as he wraps his legs around Joel’s body, slamming him to the ground in less than a second.

“Did I mention I’m an acrobat?” He asks once he’s on top.

“And flexible?” Your cousin whispers again. You chuckle and look at him, you’ve always liked watching him fight. The way he and his family fight tends to look nice. You’ve never seen a better-looking fight than when they fight each other.

But god, without a shirt it’s so much better. A little too good, you quickly find out. Taking one last sip of your drink, you excuse yourself and head back to the basement but Dick stops you at the door.

“Did I go too far?” He whispers, holding you close. “I tried holding back.” He adds, kissing your neck.

“No,” You clear your throat. “I just uh… got excited?” He peers over your shoulder and laughs, watching as you open the basement door and flick him off.

“I can help,” He offers, following after you.

“And have my family know we fucked? No!” Closing the bedroom door, you grab the box of tissues and lotion before heading into the bathroom.

“Lotion and tissues is so middle school,” He calls after you.

“Fuck off!” You call back. “Stupid ass— why’d you take your shirt off?” You groan.

“It’s my fault?” He laughs.

“Yes, clearly!” You shout back. He snickers and listens as you finish and wash your hands. “Not a word about this,” You tell him as you exit the bathroom, avoiding looking at him.

“Damn,” Joel laughs as Dick joins the group again. “You’re fast.”

“Pretty slow to me,” You cough and Dick looks at you, hands on his hips. You stare back at him, daring him to make a comment.

“Slow?” Joel asks. “Let’s see you do better. You know he couldn't carry a gallon of milk until he was fourteen?” He asks Dick.

“I was twelve,” You angrily correct and stand in front of Dick. “Take your seat, man. Telling him my business.” Joel raises his arms and takes your seat.

“Watch the face,” Dick tells you. “My boy likes me pretty,” He winks.

“I sure do.”

Your family watches as you fight, each punch looking more real than the last until you swipe his legs from under him and pin him. It’s a low mount, so as he’s blocking a punch, he bucks his hips and you go forward until you plant your hands on either side of his head and stop your fall.

“Always the low mounts,” He shakes his head as you’re laughing. “You gotta go high, baby.”

It’s decided amongst the group that it’s a tie and you sit on the arm of his chair as the night continues. At some point during the fight, your father had joined back and sat weirdly in the middle. The kids have calmed down and dragged their chairs to the odd spots between the adults or gone to sleep inside the house.

Eventually, you go inside the house to grab some more ice for the coolers and see your mother exiting the bathroom. She hasn’t really spoken to you, she hasn’t said much to you your entire life. You think she feels guilty about letting your father treat you like that, or guilty for even bringing you into that environment. But you don’t care, if she puts the effort you put the effort back.

You don’t hate her, despite what she may think. You think she’s a little sad, pitiful almost. And that’s honestly so much worse than hating her.

“Hey,” She smiles at you, rubbing her arms. “How’ve you been?”

“Good,” You nod. “You?” She nods and sighs. There’s not much to say. She has some new boyfriend who cares about her, some job she sort of likes, and you can’t talk about your life.

“Richard seems nice,” She says and you smile. It makes her smile more. A real smile.

“He’s amazing,” You tell her. Hauling the ice bag over your shoulder, you leave the awkward conversation and dump the ice into the water cooler in the middle of the conversation circle.

Your seat was still taken by Joel, so you’re pulled onto Dick’s lap. He’s a bit chattier than usual, but the conversations are ones he enjoys so you aren’t surprised. Looking around, you see your father staring at you. He’s finally looking at you with something other than disinterested— disgust.

He’s the only one in the family who feels that way, which is odd. He didn’t grow up hating gay people, maybe he just knew you were gay and hated you so by extension— gay people too. Anything that reminded him of you became tainted and for whatever reason, you’ll never know the real reason why.

You stare back, daring him to say something. Twenty-odd years, nearly thirty of building resentment and you’ve never acted on it. Never spoke on it. Never once have you told anyone the depth of your hatred for him. Dick knows the surface, he knows the kid version of why poor (Y/n) doesn’t speak to his father anymore.

The birthdays were inconsequential compared to everything else.

Your father blinks, his eyes flickering to Dick before they look him up and down. Whatever he’s thinking, whatever is running through his mind is wrong. He can’t fight Dick. He’s not smarter. He’s not richer. He’s not taller. He’s not more built. He’s not better. He’ll never reach the level that Dick has. In any matter.

He looks back at you, eyes boring into your soul. The glare is nothing, you’ve stared at Thanatos, Darkseid, and world crushers before. Comparatively, he’s the dirt under your boots.

“Am I a cancer or taurus?” Dick whispers and you look at him, confused. “Your cousin is asking everyone their signs.” He explains.

“You’re a Pisces,” You correct and he thanks you, laughing at his forgetfulness. Nodding, you lay your head on his chest and let the chatter around you become your own white noise.

Meanwhile, Dick smiles down at you before staring at your father with a glare. He flexes his hands and your father’s eyes dip down to his knuckles. Dick can tell he sees the bruises and the cuts even if they’re beginning to fade away. Your father gulps and looks away, completely turning his body away from the two of you and Dick returns to his conversation like nothing happened.

And that’s what he wanted.

#x male reader #x reader #dick grayson #dick grayson x male reader #dick grayson x reader #nightwing #nightwing x you #nightwing x reader #nightwing x male reader #dick grayson x you #richard grayson x reader

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schoenpepper · 3 months ago

Text

Intro: You choose the correct answer. Obviously.

Warnings: bad grammar, awful writing, photos aren't mine, too much simping, swear words, google translated German, does Vil in a dress offend you? then go fuck urself

A/N: My love my darling my sweetheart my cutie pie babygirl dearie honey my honeybunch sugarplum pumpyumpykin sweetiepie cuppycake snookums ookums my dommy mommy queen dominatrix babygirl please step on me please degrade me hurt me berate me love me adore me drive your six inch stilettos through my guts and kiss me

Masterlist

Your fingers toy with the item on your palm. A delicate gold ring with leaf motifs and small diamonds, a round purple crystal in the middle. You're not too sure what it is, but it reminds you of his eyes: sparkling and bright, bringing their own shimmer wherever they reach. It's breathtaking. He's breathtaking. You haven't even seen him yet, and you already know he'll be stunning.

It's a little nerve-wracking.

Vil Schoenheit is always at the center of attention.

(At the very least, he'll always be the center of yours.)

You look out the window of the carriage in an attempt to distract yourself from your own thoughts. The trees lining the path seem to stretch upward as they yearn for the sun. The wildflowers are slowly wilting with the oncoming blaze of summer heat. You catch a glimpse of a creature lurking in the depths of the forest, waiting for its chance to strike.

(He's still in your head.)

The coachman opens the door for you and helps you step off the carriage before riding away, leaving you to marvel alone at the marble steps that lead to your destination. If you enter now, can you say with full confidence that the shining star, that beautiful prince of the Elven Empire, is your date? Will they assume that you meant it in a friendly sense? Even you don't have the answers to those questions. Whether or not he thinks of you as a friend isn't important to you; what matters is whether or not he sees you as something more. Maybe you'll get your answer tonight. Maybe you won't.

But you'll take the chance.

You have to.

The party's just starting to fill up when you arrive, yet too many people that you don't know are around you. None of your friends are here yet. It's the moment of quiet you've been looking for. Maybe, in the middle of all these strangers, you can finally think. Alone. Crystal chandeliers reflect rainbow light onto marble tiles, while colorful flowers are held inside glass vases, perched onto tables and pedestals every few steps. The music is yet to unfold into a glorious symphony, missing a few instruments to complete its melody. Your steps are drowned out in the sea of people as you walk yourself into a corner. Think, then.

Where is he?

Again, you are consumed by memories of lavender-tipped blond hair and lilac eyes, of fair and flawless skin, and everything that's him. Your eyes are always searching for him, skin always yearning for his touch.

(Gods, aren't you just pathetic?)

Your query is answered today through a series of quiet gasps and heads turning in a specific direction. You walk back to the center of the ballroom to see if it's him (of course it is; would anyone else be so blinding?).

Pure black silk is draped over his lean figure like a waterfall, reflecting a midnight sky in its satiny shine, with black chiffon sleeves billowing like a cape over his shoulders. A gold belt, carved like crawling vines, cinches his waist and matches the gold wreath that sat atop his hair. Long legs and shiny gold stilettos peek out from the high slit on his dress; a chunky gold collar-style necklace sits pretty on his collarbones; a gold vine bangle climbs from one shoulder down just above his elbow; and chunky gold hoops are clipped on his pointed ears. When Vil's eyes meet yours, you almost fall to the ground. The dark winged eyeshadow and metallic gold eyeliner, the matte black lipstick, and the gold patterns drawn on his cheek that signifies his status as elven royalty—

Breathe.

ohgodsohfuckohshitohwhatthehell—

You're forced to avert your gaze as you bring your hands up to cup your warm cheeks. He looks like divinity incarnate, and it's driving you just a little crazy.

"Y/N."

Okay. It's driving you very crazy.

"Senpai." You hate that your voice is so quiet and meek, and you just know you look like a tomato right now. A quick glance at other people confirms that you're not the only one killed by his charm, so there's that for consolation, at least. "You look beautiful tonight." It's an understatement, but you can neither look at him right now nor conjure any words more fitting for the vision. You deal with what you can.

"Oh, are you shy?" Vil chuckles as he tilts your chin up with one manicured finger. "Look at me. It would be a waste of all my efforts if my date refused to even look me in the eye." You notice he's wearing a ring, just a simple band, but with a familiar purple stone embedded into it. When you look into his eyes, however, your brain activity reverts back to that of a neanderthal.

"Do you think I'm beautiful?"

You nod.

"Are you glad you chose me as your date?"

You nod again.

"Would you like a kiss?"

You no—wait, um, fuck, what?!

Soft lips press onto yours for an annoyingly short kiss. Just a peck, really. It's enough to scramble your mind and get you to blue screen, though. "There we are, potato. My, you look disgraceful." He rubs off the small smudge of lipstick from the corner of your mouth. "Did you not choose a smudge-proof product? You should have; it's always best to be prepared."

Prepared for what???

"Senpai, um, would you like to dance...?" Good job; you've managed to stutter out a near-coherent invitation.

Vil leads the waltz because you're not feeling too great right now. Looking into his eyes makes you accidentally step on his dress, looking at his heels makes you distracted by the way the fabric sways to show his legs, and not looking at your partner makes you unable to dance correctly. In short, you manage to make an utter fool of yourself in a three-minute dance that's taught even to four-year-olds. In your defense, you truly believe anyone dancing with a partner like this would be in the exact same situation as you. "Hm, perhaps we should take a break by the buffet table. Would drinking some water clear your head?" You follow him and thank him when he hands you a glass of water.

He's hot, fine, whatever. But why does he need to be kind and considerate too? Does he really want everyone to fall for him?!

You know your thoughts are stupid and unfair on his part. You take another sip of your water and try to look at him again. It's okay; the three minutes of dancing have desensitized you already. Really. "Is something on my face, dear?" And your eyes are back to the glass of water.

He called me dear! What the fuck?!

"After you've finished, perhaps we can go for a stroll in the gardens? I think we'd both enjoy a quiet moment together, mein liebe."

You take a deep breath.

May whatever deity that wasn't defeated in the wars millennia ago hear your plea and give you mercy

Try Again?

#disney twisted wonderland #disney twst #twisted wonderland #gender neutral reader #x reader #twst x reader #vil schoenheit x reader #vil x reader #vil schoenheit

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powderblueblood · 7 months ago

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HELLFIRE & ICE — eddie munson x f!oc as enemies to star-crossed lovers

CHAPTER ELEVEN — ALL TOMORROW'S KEGGERS

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summary: after you visit an old stomping ground to pad out your college resume and eddie agonizes about the what of what are you, you both return to the place where all this mess began--a classic harrington rager. content warnings: written in the immersive second person (you/yours), oc has a name, background and she/her pronouns but no physical descriptions. era typical misogyny, homophobia, general bad bitch scheming. mentions of drug dealing, sexual situations and strong language. minors fuck off. word count: 8.7k

Dear reader,

A while ago, I mentioned that thing that Joan Didion said about staying on nodding terms with the people we used to be.

Lucky for me and my once-fervent need to be inviolable from all angles, I have a couple of versions of Lacy I can choose from.

Depends on what I need from her.

The hot sprawl of the community hall drags your sense memory kicking and screaming back to age sixteen.

Scarlet nails tugged a rough line through your scalp, elevating your hair so high it might as well apply for zoning permission. An acrid blast of Aquanet settled right in your bottom lashes. Your mother loomed over your shoulder in the mirror, her cigarette ashing into some poor bitch’s retainer case.

“The way they run these things nowadays… it’s a disgrace,” she tutted, but not to you, “These girls are animals.”

That’s gotta be a fucking fire hazard, right?

“Well, if Lacy’s an animal,” a flame haired Ann Perkins guffawed, yanking a backcombed rat of your hair upwards—ow, “she’s a goddamn gazelle, Glory.”

“First kill?” You didn’t miss the smugness curling around her Elizabeth Arden lips, hunching your body glittered arms inward.

“No—god, no, I just mean with how graceful she is. My Carol, bless her heart, she’s got the coordination of her father after a slab of Old Milwaukee. You remember I told you about trying to teach her baton?”

“She sent it flying through the neighbour’s windshield,” you giggled fondly, recalling Carol telling you how much of a stupid cooze her mom was for trying to teach her in the first place. ‘Throwing some stick around—who does she think I am, Lassie?’

“Don’t smile,” your mom slapped your shoulder sharply, “It’ll smudge your gloss.”

You scrubbed it off in the bathroom moments later, reapplying a layer of scarlet lacquer you knew she’d call whorish. Too late.

Knocking back a swig of Diet Coke and two rainbow pills, you took the stage to claim runner up in the Hawkins division of the American Teen Princess pageant, meeting Gloriana’s seething scowl from the audience with your own Vaselined failure of a smile.

The lipstick had lost you the crown, of course. That was the winning theory. ‘If you’d have just done what I told you…’

The chemical sting of Aquanet still hurts your eyes, but you’re not the target this time.

See, a portfolio of writing is one thing, but the other thing that college applications generally look for is community participation. Volunteer work. Charity grubbing. And gracing Eddie Munson’s lunch table with your occasional presence apparently doesn’t count.

Just kidding. Kind of.

Point is, you needed something quick and dirty, yet passably prestigious, with people who would bend to your will. And there’s no one more malleable than insecure high school girls competing in a beauty pageant in small town Indiana.

“Now, Lacy, we are delighted to have you here helping out,” says Claudia Henderson, a one time multi-title holder (just short of Miss America apparently—‘But then they stopped giving homely girls a pass; poor Claudia never stood a chance,’ your mom had told you) and the kind of kindly woman that loves to clutch your arm while you walk.

Ordinarily, you’d be repulsed by such a gesture but you’re desperate.

Before you get a chance to gush falsely, tell her how grateful you are for the opportunity, Claudia cuts you off.

“But I do hope that this isn’t some covert effort by your mother to get back in our good books—because, golly, well, that bridge is burned!”

Of course. Your mom had attempted to sabotage Tammy Thompson’s performance portion by mixing a laxative into her milkshake, because a shit show like that would make your little poetry reading look positively Carnegie worthy. But she hadn’t covered her tracks well enough and got sniffed out by the pageant committee. So had Tammy, poor thing. Horrible day to wear white chiffon.

Incredible that it was that they were still hung up on, and not the… everything else you and your family had going on. You do a decent impression of cringing, looking at Claudia with mournful eyes.

“Claudia, I swear, this is all me,” you assure her, “The time I spent doing pageant prep was just so formative—I think I would’ve been a lot worse off facing, well, certain challenges without it. I’d really like the chance to give that back to the girls.”

Admittedly, your hours spent in front of the mirror training your face to look earnest for the interview portion hadn’t gone to waste on the stand during your father’s trial.

“That is just incredible to hear, sweetie. And between you and I, you’re really saving our keisters because the girl we had helping our hopefuls out with speech prep dropped out last minute!”

That’d be the current debate team captain, Kate something-or-other. She was easy enough to take out—posing as a concerned member of the local Christian youth group, you’d placed a call to her ultra-conservative parents about her hanging out with Billy Hargrove. Which was total bullshit, of course. Billy wouldn’t approach an ex-or-current band geek with a hazmat suit on. A shame, really. The band kids were the only niche that could rival Billy’s baseless horniness. His dream girl could be hanging out behind a trombone someplace, squeezing her knees together.

Anyway, did you feel great about selling Kate out like that? Honestly, you didn’t care about it too much one way or another. The maneuvre felt very classic Lacy, which was in part a little shameful and in part incredibly satisfying to know that, when it comes to manipulation, you’re still batting at a professional level.

Claudia wheels you and your elbow around the room, the oxygen thick with sweat and body spray and pageant application forms. A couple of the would-be queens catch your eye–homely girls, as your mother would call them, who were duped into their well-meaning parentals or sisters or guidance counselors into thinking that doing the pageant was a great way to make friends. A boost to their self esteem. A chance to really show the town what they’re made of!

Someone should tell them to run, but it’s not gonna be you.

“Oh, Lacy!” Claudia suddenly half-shrieks, halting you with a sharp tug, “Meet my special little guy! This is Dustin, he goes to Hawkins Middle. I like to bring him around to meet the girls so he learns how to treat a lady. It’s so important for boys, don’t you think?”

Yeah, start the little lotharios young. You tilt your chin in acknowledgment of the kid, who squints at you from under the rim of a ball cap. Claudia’s attention is diverted by some other poor bastard helping to organize this dog and pony show, but she keeps her hand firmly on your elbow. It’s starting to feel a little like you’re being led around the prison yard. You attempt a tight smile at her son, who’s still looking you up and down.

“Hey, I know you!” he barks– seems like lack of volume control runs in the family, “You’re Nancy’s friend. You slept over at the weekend. I’m Mike’s friend? I ate the green peppers off your pizza slice…? Not ringin’ any bells? Really?”

“Oh, right,” you lie, having no recollection of ever meeting this child, “Pleasure, sure.”

The way he’s surveying you is a little much. “So, what was up with that guy?” he asks you, tone dropping conspiratorially. You don’t know why, but you feel like middle schoolers shouldn’t be able to do that.

“Excuse me?”

“Me and the guys saw some scary dude climbing out of Nancy’s window. Is he–”

What’s up with kids and just having to say any old thing? What happened to being seen and not heard? What happened to being intimidated by your high school elders? If his mother wasn’t standing right next to you, you’d flip that little propeller cap off his head and tell him to go fetch.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

The kid cocks his head to the side. “Positive? Because it sure looked like–”

“You have no idea what you’re talking about. –Justin, wow, you’re such a card, ha ha ha,” you slip your arm out of Claudia’s as subtly as a woman breaking into a cold sweat can, “Claudia, I’ve got to dash unfortunately, but you’ve got my number! Let me know when I can come and meet with the girls, won’t you? I’m so excited.”

You’re so absolutely fucking not.

Footsteps burn a hot trail through that creaking hall, not quite avoiding a couple of stares as you flit past. Of course, since Ray’s great return brought a whole new batch of grist for the Hawkins’ rumor mill, you’d been subject to more whispers than usual. Any move you made was in some way looped back to either groveling for the town’s forgiveness, assuming your father’s criminal crown, or generally being a case for pity or ridicule. Sometimes both, if people were really creative. Stood to reason that the only person you want to see is someone who’s lived with notoriety like that for most of their life.

Ivana has parked across two spots in front of the community hall, her green Buick gleaming under an unseasonable glare of sunlight. It’s still far too cold to have the top down like she does but she does and she sits bundled in the front seat. A leopard print fur coat, a cigarette, a pair of sunglasses perched in her platinum beehive.

“Christ, girlie, I thought they’d tied you to the stake in there.”

“My escape was narrow, as always,” you smirk, sliding into the passenger seat and tugging your own coat around you a little tighter. “What’s up with the exposure?”

“Feeling the wind whip your face is good for you, especially when you spend most of the day craned over books like you do.”

“This coming from the owner of the biggest bookstore in town.”

“Only,” Ivana corrects you, as she so often does, “Only bookstore in town. You saw what happened when B. Dalton tried to muscle in on my territory.”

“You admitting to knowing something about that mall’s fiery end, Ivana?” Horseshit bombs and the Russian mafia come to mind, but Ivana just cackles loudly and tears out of the parking lot at breakneck speed.

The frigid sting of wind on your face does feel fantastic, you have to hand it to her. Resetting your base temperature from boiling, where it’s rocketed between school and home and Eddie and everything. Much as it’s thrilling, exploring this new aspect of your… dynamic with him, on top of everything else, it’s a lot.

You’re not quite ready to classify your feelings about Eddie without your chest feeling like it’s going to cave in. Every other conversation winds up with your hands all over each other, clumsy in the communication of your unrepressed passion. And it is great, don’t let yourself be misunderstood, you crave it when it’s not happening, and boy do you beat yourself up when you stop it from going all the way but…

The tape keeps getting tangled. Like you’re playing the right song at the wrong part of the movie. It keeps coming out warped and rushed, and you keep feeling like somebody is watching you two.

You two don’t belong shoved into clandestine corners, making out on the sly. You’d been hiding the things that you care about in places like that your whole life. Your books and records under your bed, your clothes in the back of your walk-in wardrobe. Your thoughts in your journal. Your real face from your fake friends.

Eddie’s like a great, flowering plant that has spread his curling vines into every facet of your life, taking root right at the center.

He may not know it, he may be playing the part of being very understanding but he demands light and care. And dirt.

It scares you.

But that tearing breeze settles your nerves, and those are rarely settled around Ivana herself. She has a preternatural way about her. She knows just when to step out of the shadows and twist fate so your path gets a refresh. First, your job at the Bookstore. Now, letting you into her inner sanctum.

Brambles clatter against the green paintwork of the car as you careen down a backroad off of Holland. Gravel sprays as Ivana hauls you up her drive and you catch a fresh smell– to your immediate right, you’re looking out on the still, chilled expanse of Lover’s Lake. You breathe in that post-winter thaw, curling your wistful hands over the passenger side door and she seems to notice.

“Hell of a view, right?”

The slam of Ivana hip-checking her car door closed is the loudest sound out here.

“Peaceful,” you remark, following her up the sagging wooden porch. Another look over your shoulder. You were used to seeing Lover’s Lake from another part of the embankment, usually crowded with cars and beer coolers, bodies in bathing suits baying for attention. You’d been one once, trying desperately to look comfortable in your sweltering skin only to sneak off and take shelter in Main Street Vinyl.

The frigid water seemed more inviting right now.

Another house, this total slouch of a place, stares right at you from across the lake.

“Nice neighbors?”

“In a manner of speaking,” Ivana says, shoving the ancient front door open.

Following her inside, you have to suppress a gasp.

Ivana’s house is no mansion, but the way she’s filled it makes it feel like one. Under vaulted ceilings, everything seems to be cast in a rich, aquatic shadow. Tendrils of greenery embrace each corner and even hang from the ceilings. Threadbare rugs of once-moneyed origin muffle you underfoot. Chairs of velvet sag and every single goddamned surface is covered in tchotchkes, magazines, scarves, photographs. Even the Steiner piano. You catch a glimpse of the pictures in gilded frames as you slowly follow Ivana toward the back of the house–Ivana with equally glamorous looking friends, dancing at what you’re sure is Studio 54. Ivana standing next to Andy Warhol, a disgruntled looking Norman Mailer lingering in the background of the shot. Ivana on her wedding day. And second wedding day. And third wedding day.

Your chest throbs furiously.

You hear Ivana creek up the stairs and you’re not quite sure what the proper procedure is here– do you follow her? Would she push you back down the stairs if you tried such a thing? She’s always seemed like the type. Fiercely private. Only sharing the tiniest tidbits of this rich meal of a life she lived before she came back to Hawkins.

“Come on, girlie. I ain’t got all day.”

You take your opportunity and scarper up the stairs behind her. Eyes flit over even more photographs as you ascend, a smile of disbelief crossing your lips at the sawn-off shotgun mounted on her wall. Like she’s Annie Oakley or somebody. She could be. It’s evident to you now that Ivana has been just about everyone there is to be. It ought to intimidate you, really, bearing witness to someone who’s so successfully lived life before you’ve even begun to, but it doesn’t. The closeness, clutteredness, coziness of this house lulls you into a funny kind of serenity.

“I just don’t get you, Ivana,” you say, not entirely wanting to catch her in earshot as you float into her bedroom. Dark and plush, like everything else. A light comes on in her overstuffed closet.

“What’s that s’posed to mean?” Of course, she hears everything.

You approach the heaving wardrobe, hands running along silk, chiffon, velvet. Broderie, brocade, lace.

“How the hell do you go from having a full life like this,” you grip the sleeve of what could be one of Ivana’s three wedding dresses, “and end up back in East Jesus, Indiana? I mean you’ve–you’ve been everywhere. You’ve done everything. How can you stand it here?”

Ivana tilts her head at you from where she sits on the ottoman at the end of her bed. Canopy, naturally. She looks at you as if really taking you in for the first time. You shift a little, from one foot to the other. It doesn’t feel probing and accusatory, not like how your mother looks at you. More like she’s reading your palm.

“I wanted to come home,” she says, simply. “Had my fill. Got tired. Wanted to remember what fresh air felt like, and realized I preferred it to car horns.”

“But why not, like… upstate New York? Somewhere actually scenic and peaceful, why Hawkins, Indiana?”

“I wanted to come home, I said. Now,” she gestures to the masses of clothes, “You’ve got ten minutes. One outfit. Dig.”

—

“This is, like, beat for beat my worst fucking nightmare, I want you to know that.”

“You know what, shoot me down but I think you wanna go to this–I think you’re getting nervous because of how excited you are!”

Ronnie Ecker aims a finger gun right between Eddie’s eyes. “Name yourself, body snatcher. Who the fuck are you and what have you done with my best friend.”

She’s got him point blank on that one. He’s acting a little out of sorts–but, in his defense, he’s having, as Rick Lipton might call it, a total wig out. Eddie’s been invited to Steve Harrington’s kegger under absolutely no pretense (but he’s bringing a pocketful of drugs anyway, of course). Eddie’s going to see the (ex) most popular girl in school there, which’d be you.

And Dio willing, you two are gonna disappear into some side room where he’s gonna trace his leaking cock against every inch of your silky, perfumed skin while you hiss his name into the air like it’s the only word you deem worthy enough to speak.

It’s fine. It’s cool. It’s casual.

Eddie tries to shake that thought right out his head under the guise of turning to the mirror and fixing his hair. Fingertips raking into the waves, an attempt to make ‘em look less… or more… he’s got no idea. He’s got no earthly idea. So he huffs.

“What have I got to be excited about?!” Ronnie sighs dramatically, thunking herself into the nearby armchair in Eddie’s room that’s covered in clothes–outfits he’s tried on, like a different jeans-and-t-shirt combination will actually make a difference. “Don’t pretend like I’m not hauling ass to the first party of my high school career so I can be, like, a freak diversion while you two sneak off and–”

Amazing how Eddie’s managed to keep this secret from Ronnie for this long, but she’s got it pretty much sniffed out anyway.

“No clue what you’re talkin’ about.”

“You, Eddie Munson, you’re gonna stand there, preening yourself in the mirror like a fuckin’ peacock telling me the eye contact you two have been making with each other since you ‘made up’ has been completely Christian-minded? Smell test certified?” Ronnie spits. “I just got into New York University, you little bitch! I cannot be fooled! You boinked and it’s scrawled all over your face in her lipstick!”

“Dude, do not say boinked–”

“You’ve greeted her carnally!”

“--who are we, Sam and Diane?”

“If everybody knows your name, man!”

Look, here’s the thing.

You and Eddie have been making out heavy, stolen moments in crooks like the newspaper room after hours, under the bleachers, the decommissioned bathroom, the driver’s seat of Eddie’s van, grinding it out harder than a couple of drumline dorkos from band which has led to Eddie wrecking a couple pairs of boxers a lot sooner than he’d like to. (Which you hadn’t laughed at him about–you’d liked it. It was so fucking hot that you liked it that just the thought of you liking it makes his breath snag if he thinks about it too hard.)

But. Skin-to-skin contact has been… frustratingly minimal, since that night in your bedroom.

See, it’s like, you get there. Eddie’s lips are edging south of your collarbone, his fingers digging into the flush of your tits through your bra and something snaps in you. You go from rolling those rapturous hips into him (god, fuck, don’t–) to tensing right up, looking over your shoulder, expecting to see a door creaking open.

Fear freezing the edges of your features, even if your touch is still hot on him.

“We should–” “... yeah. Yeah. Of course, Lace.” Eddie’s trying really hard not to be an asshole. But it’s hard when… you’re hard. And you, you get him fucking full mouth salivating, forged in the flames of Mount Doom hard. Those tight little skirts you wear are so much more enticing now that he knows what the heavenly enclave feels like underneath them.

Bu-ut.

Your paranoia is working overtime.

Your paranoia is making his paranoia work overtime.

Because, what if after all your dancing around each other, you don’t actually want him and you’ve got no idea how to let him down gently?

Which, Eddie reassures himself, does not track for you. It’d be pretty damn easy to think that your edges have softened with the events of the past couple months, but he’s had a front row seat to how you’ve shed your old edges to reveal different, weirder, more jagged edges. Edges he’s had a pleasure acquainting himself with. You’d have no problem telling him to take a short walk off Sattler’s Quarry if you wanted to.

Eddie adores that about you, the poor sucker.

Anyway, Ronnie Ecker. Dead to rights. Like always.

“If I tell you…” comes the measured grit through his teeth. “... you have to swear, Ronnie, I’m so goddamn serious–”

She hitches forward in her seat, eyes blazing. “Dude. Scouts. Whatever.”

Eddie’s shoulders drop and it all comes out in one big exhale as his rings drag down his cheeks, “GoodbecauseI’vebeenwantingtotellyousobadohmyGOD. Like, oh my god.”

“So full pen or–”

“Be a gentleman, Ecker, Jesus! But yeah, home fuckin’ run.”

“Good?”

His eyes careen back in his skull and he pitches his palms out like a Pentecostal preacher. “Words… evade. Infernal choirs sang. I left a part of my soul in her–”

“Nope, too much!” Ronnie blanches, waving her hands in the air.

“Okay, okay, okay, but Ronnie– you can’t say shit to her. Promise me.”

“Why? We’re friends too, unless you conveniently forgot again.”

“No, I know that, I just–” Eddie swallows, fingers steepled in front of his mouth. His voice comes out small. “I don’t wanna scare her off. She’s fragile.

“She’s fragile? We’re talking about the same Lacy Doevski here, right?”

“Right, the one whose dad just got out of lockup. Fra-gee-lay,” Eddie emphasizes, notes of Old Man Parker, “It’s just… easier like this, right now.”

“Well… is easy what you want?” Trust Ronnie to come through with a gut punch out of left field.

Eddie’s mouth bobs open to fish out some bullshit answer, but not until his bedroom door flies open.

“Goddamn, kid, you gotta get the maid in here.”

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

Al Munson props his hip against the doorframe, sucking all the air from the room. He looks better than the last time Eddie saw him, at least, not like he’s three days cokebent and clammy. More like he went someplace and got a shave.

“If you really didn’t want me comin’ round, you’d tell your uncle to start lockin’ the door. Now, you got something belonging to me– that Stooges shirt, where’s it at?”

A hot line of panic flares up the back of Eddie’s neck. Stooges shirt, darkened on the shoulders from droplets from your wet hair. Stretched over–

“I’unno what you’re talkin’ about.”

“Yes, you do, Eddie,” his dad says, crossing the bedroom’s threshold. Al’s got springs under the balls of his feet, moving with that irritatingly happy-go-lucky effeteness. “It’s my lucky shirt! I need that thing–”

“Hasn’t done you a whole lotta good so far, Allen,” Ronnie mumbles from where she’s bunched up on the armchair.

“Ronnie,” Al’s eyes narrow; they’ve never liked each other because Ronnie’s too goddamn smart for her own good and therefore uncharmable, “How’zabout that for a breath of stale air. Get up a sec, would’ja?”

“C’mon, we’ve gotta go anyway.” Eddie jerks his head toward the door and Ronnie scuttles out ahead of him. He pauses for a breath, watching his dad rifle through the rejected shirts slung over the armchair. “There’s nothing in here worth stealing, by the way. Just in case things have gone so far south already that you’re diggin’ in people’s pockets for spare change.”

Those cut-and-paste Munson eyes survey Eddie and he feels his fist flex. Al’s been a loose cannon lately.

“Big night?”

“Party.” He should know what that means.

“Well, Ed,” Al closes a few steps between them, and Eddie resists the urge to back up. Or wind up. His voice drops so that Ronnie doesn’t catch it. “When you’re ready to graduate from sellin’ ten spots at parties, you let me know. We got something prestigious brewing. Could be the makin’ of you.”

Eddie can’t help but laugh, mirthful from his back molars. “Graduation’s a little ways off for me, Dad.”

He catches up with a tutting Ronnie, slamming the front door behind him and heading for the van.

“Seriously, dude, you got a case for a restraining order the way that motherfucker’s conducting himself lately.”

“I got a crowbar and a map of the Indiana Dunes that’d do just about the same thing, I just need a free weekend.”

“Hey!” a voice calls from behind them, and Eddie and Ronnie swivel toward it.

No stemming the smile that peels across his face, heart thud-thudding back into motion. A soothing cool comes over him at the sight of you, settling him right back into his body. You, dressed to the nines. You, coiffed up like you’re hellbent on making an impression. My little cold front.

“Shotgun!” you chirp, skipping toward the van in your spindly little shoes. Both Eddie and Ronnie are rendered speechless for a beat or two.

Shit, you look good.

“There’s only one fucking passenger seat!” Ronnie protests.

“Fine, Ronnie, I’ll sit in your lap– is that what you want?”

Eddie lets you two nonsensically bicker as he guns the van to life, sweeping out of the park in a thunderous roar. He’s trying to stay tuned into the conversation you’re having, he really is, but the way you’ve got your shoulders thrown back and cleavage thrust out, Ronnie squished beside you, is focus-stealing.

“Wait, you’re volunteering at the beauty pageant?” Eddie finally clues in, “Sorry, Lace, there’s no way that throwing glitter on bimbos in bathing suits counts as community service. Otherwise, I’d be ve-ry committed to my community.”

“Right?! Like, how did I get stuck with helping out Granny’s retirement home friends? I could be checking chicks for visible bra straps but I’m trapped with a bunch of senile losers that smell like clove suckers.”

“It’s not just an ogle-fest, you knuckle-draggers,” you roll your eyes, “There’s an entire interview portion, too. You know, where the judges have to pretend to care about what these girls have to say– and it’s my job to make sure they don’t sound entirely braindead.”

“You love an insurmountable challenge, huh, Lace?”

“Never tell me what I can and can’t mount, Munson,” you purr–he’s almost sure he hears you purr. The way you look at him over the center console, eyes all a-felined, does the job for him.

Ronnie keeps her mouth shut, and he silently thanks her for it.

Festivities are fully in swing as you all pull onto Harrington’s street–plus the festivity-specific problem of there being almost no parking anywhere. Cars of your classmates clog the tree-lined streets, along with the vehicles of the wealthier Loch Nora contingent.

Eddie slaps his hands against the wheel. “How the fuck does he get away with this shit?”

“Senior year pass,” you remark, “Plus, Steve’s always-AWOL parentals. Somehow, his shitty home life gives way to an endless well of sympathy on Richie Rich Row here, so he kind of gets carte blanche.”

“The world’s luckiest latchkey k–woah!”

Reeboked feet have to slam down hard on the brakes, as Eddie almost takes out Robin Buckley, hunching her shoulders and marching toward the Harrington’s porch. The screech of the tires almost sends her leaping out of her skin.

“Watch it, asshole! Pedestrians still exist, you know!”

“Sorry, Buckley!” Eddie calls out down the window wound low, “For what it’s worth, you’re blending into the tarmac just great!”

Robin scoffs and continues stalking. Your head snaps to Ronnie.

“Ron,” you simper, “Why don’t you go make sure Robin’s not suffering from post traumatic? I would be, if I almost got mowed down by this decommissioned tank.”

Her brow screws up like she’s about to answer, but genius little you, this works on a couple of levels. For one, your insistence that something will happen between Buckley and Ronnie if you keep pressing their heads together like Barbies, and for two… Half a second alone.

Half a second is all Eddie needs.

“There’s no way I’m gonna remember where I parked if one of you isn’t here,” he tacks on, as if he needs the support, “And she–” by whom he means you, “--has priors in this house. Off ya go, Ecker.”

Banished to the pavement, Ronnie snarls something about hurrying back, which you promise her that you will. Eddie doesn’t promise anything. If he had his way, he’d rare right out of Loch Nora and keep driving, you to his beautiful right and watch as moonlight started to pool in the window over your skin. Just keep turning the wheel, so he could keep looking at you.

You point out a spot a street over and Eddie kills the engine.

“Hi,” he rasps, angling his torso toward you. He doesn’t stem his smile.

“Hello,” you say in return. Your neck rolls against the headrest. You’re looking at him in a slow drip through your bottom lashes.

Eddie has to remind himself to breathe, and his first intake is kinda ragged. It makes you laugh, this little gaspy sound that sounds like a prelude to something else. Your stare breaks, gliding to the dashboard.

“Let’s get this show on the road, shall we?”

“Let’s shall.”

Eddie snaps back to life, dashing out of the driver’s side to help you down from the passenger’s. Your fingers give his hand a little extra squeeze and he takes this very, very liminal opportunity to hold you at arms length, pirouetting you under his hand.

“Sorry. I’m sorry! I had to!” he faux-apologizes. “Gotta test the durability of these shoes, in case you need to make a run for it later.”

Your laugh comes out uncorked and full-bodied and it makes Eddie feel like his head is levitating two feet above his neck.

“Relieving yourself of your hero duties already, huh?”

Silk spills over your curves, skirt billowing around your thighs as you move. That makes him feel very much in his body. You look ravishing, your hair crashing into a wave as you come to a smiling stop in front of him.

Eddie presses his mouth to your fingers, clasped around his hand, and hears the bubble of your breath hiccup.

“Not by a long shot.”

A warm berry encases your lips that he wants to see smudged. He wants to wear it on his collarbone like a second chain.

He wonders if he knows you look like you’re trying to get ravished.

Of course you do. There’s not a single thing you’ve ever put on your body that wasn’t on purpose.

Which, if Eddie considers it, now includes him.

You both barely remember to unweave your fingers as you approach Harrington’s house.

—

A meticulously curated outfit makes all the difference, especially if you’re reentering society. And you are, in a manner of speaking.

Returning to the scene of the crime, the inciting incident that saw you in the passenger seat of Eddie’s van the better part of a bottle of vodka deep and a bruise blooming. Bridges actively aflame between you and those you once considered your closest friends.

They’d given you the matches though. Flicked them at you, expected you to do nothing.

It occurs to you now, as a lingering touch stays between your and Eddie’s pinkie fingers and you cross the porch, that you hadn’t so much as looked in the rearview mirror to assess the damage. You looked through his windscreen as he drove you home.

“Divide and conquer?”

“I’ll find you.”

Eddie used to exist to you as an eyesore on the peripheries of parties like this. Here, where you always felt you were sitting alone on the observation deck, watching everyone else have fun and learning how to mimic it for your own gain. Patching yourself together. You felt him leering over your shoulder sometimes, separate from it too.

Now, he’s the boy spinning you around on the pavement, looking at you like you’re a whole person.

So this should be interesting.

The two of you shove past a couple of clumping bodies on the doorstep, eyes already starting to dagger in your direction. Into the foyer, towards the kitchen, those looks become more and more and more focused. Feels like you’re wearing piano wire for a choker.

‘What the fuck…’ ‘Remember the last time she was here?’ ‘Woah, smackdown rematch. Somebody get Carol.’

Eddie gets a little closer than he needs to, feigning a stumble into you, just to brush against your hardened shoulders and whisper, ‘Head up, queenie. It’s not like they’ve got a guillotine,’ before he disappears to make rent.

The smile you’re about to sneak to him dies on your lips as your name rings out from somewhere in the milieu, someplace near the kitchen.

“Lacy!”

All that cruising for a parking space and you hadn’t locked eyes on a Ford Cortina, had you?

The tardiest student enrolled at Amherst or wherever half-jogs toward you with a smile that makes your stomach lurch. Cold sweat starts to prick against your hairline. Excuse me?

“Oh! Hi!” you hit a higher octave than you were intending, for sure, you can tell by the look on his face. Eyebrows all shot up. “What the… fuck are you doing here?”

College guy shakes his head a little, confused. “You mentioned you were gonna be here.”

“...and you took that as an explicit invitation?” You’re still technically dating him, dumbass. Smile. “Just kidding! It is. Good. To see you.”

A cursory squeeze of his bicep. Christ, you’re bad at this when you’re not prepared. Extra bad at this when your first thought, when you’re doing bad, is where’s Eddie. When did that symbiosis develop exactly?

“Listen, can we go somewhere?” Oh, Jesus. “Talk? I tried to call your place a little earlier and–” Oh, Jesus! This guy looks at you with earnest eyes that you couldn’t tell the color of if you had a gun to your head. Bodies jostling around you, you make the choice to drop in and act a little left of sober.

“That sounds ah-mazing, but I do have to pee, so,” you shoot him a glimmering smile which ain’t takin’. “Grab me a drink and I’ll find you? Grab me a drink and I’ll find you.”

Bolt! You’re stepping over knees as you weave your way up Harrington’s impossible staircase to the second floor bathroom, downing a shot from a tray on your way. Five minutes inside Mrs Harrington’s immaculately designed proto-modern lavatory should give you enough chutzpah to take on the rest of this night, right? Maybe a fully clothed lie down in the jacuzzi tub.

The ten-girl deep line outside the locked door says different.

From the seventh spot, Carol Perkins cranes her perfectly coiffed strawberry head out and locks eyes with you.

No guillotine, huh?

—

Eddie’s gotta wonder, what the hell the Harrington household looks like when it isn’t throbbing with mainstream radio rock and gyrating teenagers. The house is a showroom of suburban perfection, but whenever Steve throws a party, it goes full bacchanal.

Tonight Eddie intends to take full and rapid advantage of the skewed consciousness of his classmates and copious amounts of jello shooters.

Like, yeah, Harrington might have graciously invited him and not directly asked him to peddle his wares by the pool like a fucked up candy stand, but you gotta seize opportunity wherever you find it. People see him here, they know what to do. They know his purpose.

It’s not as if Eddie’s here to mingle, okay?

Do what they expect of you until you don’t have to anymore.

The short term objective? Empty his stash, stuff his pockets and steal away with you into one of the billion bedrooms this mini-mansion holds. But, much to Eddie’s chagrin, that means fighting through the din of Cyndi Lauper and body odor first.

Conjured by his very words, Andy Sweeney swings right into Eddie’s path and yoinks the beer that Eddie was reaching for. The kid doesn’t even look beyond the brim of his baseball cap to notice he’s standing there. He’s too busy jawing with some other basketball tool.

“Lissen, man, say what you want,” Sweeney burbles, “but Princess Trailer Trash is still totally bangin’.”

Eddie’s ears immediately tune right into their garbled conversation.

“Pssh, dude, I don’t care what anyone says, she was frigid then and she’s frigid now. No way some overgrown virgin like Munson is splittin’ those knees open.”

“Still… bet she misses the finer things in life, y’know?”

“Tchyuh, like you, y’mean?”

“Nah, rich bitches like that get a wettie over the dumbest shit. Hey, how many glasses of Cristal does it take for Lacy Doevski to spread her legs?”

“I’unno, man, how many?”

“Well, if the first one has her face down in the pillow, how’s she gonna be able to tell?”

Bile scorches the back of Eddie’s throat. He doesn’t even mean for it, he actually means for a lot worse, but his hand goes right out and grabs the scruff of Sweeney’s shirt. The despicable little dirtbag. He yelps, a sound pleasing to Eddie but not quite pained enough for what this motherfucker deserves.

“What the fuck, freak?!”

Breath forces itself hard through Eddie’s nostrils. That they think they even have the right to talk about you like that makes him want to leave an Andy Sweeney-shaped hole in the Harringtons’ marble countertop, with some blood and teeth and viscera to match.

“Interesting observation, Andy. It’s incredible to witness how the minds of the shrivel-dicked work,” Eddie seethes, “I personally like to enact my violence face up. Seen Billy Hargrove lately?”

Sometimes, Eddie forgets that he’s actually scary looking. The hair shrouding his face, the big hulking rings, the unsuspecting strength he’s gained from hauling around kegs and amps and the weight of the world… Sometimes, it takes a stiffened flash and a sudden flash of fear in someone like Andy Sweeney’s irises for him to remember.

Sweeney stammers something between a no, please! and get off me!, fighting his own piss-pantsery in order to keep up appearances for his bros.

Eddie grabs the Miller High Life from his hand and shoves him back toward his friends.

“Champagne of beers. You understand.”

Sweeney spits, like physically spits at him. “Fucking loser!”

“Says the guy threatening to roofie a chick!” Eddie barks. “God, I know that your line of work doesn’t exactly require neurons but I’m begging you to rub your remaining ones together and see if it sparks some self awareness, Sweeney– go on, try!”

—

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing here.”

“Praying I don’t get a UTI, like everybody else in line.”

“You know what I mean, bitch.”

A category five sigh rolls your shoulders forward, hunching them further down the wallpaper you lean against. Carol has stepped fully out of the line, looking viperous but keeping her distance. Like you might have the good sense to strike back this time.

“Oh my god, Caroline, it’s a kegger. I don’t think you need to RSVP.”

“There’s a strict no freaks policy,” Carol The Bouncer says.

A one noted bark-laugh comes from the fifth position in the line. “Yeah, I think we’re getting a little lenient with that one these days.”

From the mouth of Robin Buckley, who stands there like she did at the last party, against her will but as living proof that even the worst people you knew might not be as bad as you thought.

I know Steve. He’s not exactly made for this crowd either.

“Stay out of this, Lesbo Baggins!”

“Hey!” You force your stiletto off the wall and lose your place in line, since Carol’s begging for it. Fuck that. No more shrapnel. “Leave her alone. This is between us, isn’t it? You and me?”

“And the rest of this town,” Carol’s upper lip curls.

“Refresh my memory,” you say, and the choking vice of Carol’s overly familiar body spray is threatening your jugular. You used to come home from her place reeking of the stuff; the kind of smell that transfers, and carried with it characteristics that you were once proud to have rub off on you. The misery, the misanthropy for everyone but your pocketful of someones. And you and Carol didn’t even like them, most of the time. United in smarting bitterness, the way that girls who want more but can’t seem to get it always are. “What’s the problem, Care?”

“The problem,” Carol snarls, “is you, Lacy. Think just because your daddy’s out of prison that everyone forgot what he did? What you did? I’m watching you, trailer trash.”

You’re close enough that you can see the clumps in her mascara. Why hadn’t she separated them with a needle like you taught her to? The Audrey Hepburn method. It had always freaked her out, you sitting there with a pin that close to her retina, but she’d never looked better.

Doomed to fail, without you by her side.

Spine straightening, you draw yourself over her. In your heels, borrowed from Ivana and gilded with her hardiness, you make Carol look small.

“Yeah?” your voice drops to gravel. “You like what you see?”

—

Brainless Hawkinsite pieces of shit can’t so much as muster a response before they lurch for Eddie. Who the fuck knows what cursed or blessed him with rhythm, but he dodges around the bustling kitchen island with relative ease, before he nearly knocks Steve Harrington himself straight through his own plate glass patio door.

“No runnin’ indoors!” Steve slurs in his face, so close that a fleck of saliva goes straight up Eddie’s nostril. Gross. He’s found a home in the welcome bosom of the jello shot, that’s for fucking sure.

“They started it!”

“I don’t give a fuck! Finish it!”

Gruffly, he casts an eye around the kitchen for those rogue ballsacks– they’d scarpered, probably spooked by the bellow of King Steve. Whatever.

“My attackers seem to have dematerialized, you’ll be delighted to know!”

“Why do you do that? Why do you talk like such a fucking weirdo, man?” Steve asks exasperatedly, clutching onto Eddie’s shoulder a little too roughly for his liking. Not that he’s keen on Harrington pawing him at all. “Like what d–... ughh, forget it! List-en! Where’s your weirdo girlfriend?”

“Ronnie’s not–”

“Who the fuck is–” Steve’s whole pretty boy face screws up and he lets out a genuine groan of anguish. “No, asshole, where is Lacy at?”

“How should I know?!”

“Because your nose is permanently wedged up her ass!” Steve yells, but something draws him back. “Or it should be!”

Incredibly puzzling wording. Eddie shakes his head, wide eyes bewildered at exactly what the fuck Steve wants from him. With a scoff, the man of the house walks into the body-to-body wedge of his hallway and runs, from what Eddie can see, right into…

Your little college boyfriend.

Now… what the sweet and levelling fuck…

Eddie Munson’s activating Shadow Arts, he guesses, because he dips as close to the two of them as he can get without being accused of tailing Harrington this time.

“...hey man, what the fuck are you doing in my house?”

“Haha. Good to see you too, Stevie. Quite the turnout–you the big man on campus now or what?”

“I don’t know, it’s a party. I’m personally having kind of an evolution moment of my own. So. Fuckin’. Whatever.”

“... right.”

“How’s… fuckin’... whatever needledick school it is you go to?”

“Tch, man. I made it about a heartbeat and a hangover through the first semester before I dropped out. Came home around Christmas, much to the disgrace of my parents… But I’m havin’ an alright time, if you catch my drift.”

“Huh?”

“Y’know. High school girls. You can tell them anything, am I right?”

Shit.

Know what, though? Eddie, as he sees it, would be well within his rights to yuk it up at this pernicious turn of events. He’s had a bet running (with himself) that this eyesore in beige you call a college beau, with his ugly fuckin’ car and his stupid collared shirts and his Waiting for Godot or whoever, wasn’t all he was cracked up to be. And not just ‘cause of jealousy, no! Not entirely. Well, okay. But, riddle him this– instead of snorting it up good, thrilled to be able to rub your nose in it, that rotten coil of anger started shifting in his belly again. Why do you think that is?

It’s simple. Eddie knows it’s simple. Because Mister Faux Ivy League has wasted so much of your time.

Time that should have been yours and Eddie’s.

He’s gotta tell y–

“Hey, man. How’s it going.”

“Agh!” Eddie yelps, as running right the fuck into people is apparently the flavor de nuit. Ronnie stands, stockstill and deadpan, behind him. Flanked by Tommy Hagan and Billy Hargrove.

Eddie makes an exasperated noise of confusion, not even dignifying this apparition with a question.

“They wanna play beer pong,” Ronnie monotones. With a glance down, Eddie can see that her front overalls pocket is filled with empty beer bottles. Apprehension swipes at him. See, his good friend Ronnie? She’s a competitive drunk. She, drunk off Jeff’s dad’s scotch, once trash talked Keith from Palace Arcade to such an eviscerating degree that she got a lifetime ban and he left to work at Family Video. Over a game of fuckin’ Tron.

“We wanna play beer pong,” Hagan echoes.

Hargrove sucks on a cigarette, having finally regained the ability to open his eye. Tragic. “Pong.”

“Why?!” Eddie asks, but more like begs.

“Because they insinuated that I would lose.”

“And we’d like to give the future valedictorian a chance to prove us right,” Hargrove drawls, looking as if he’s trying not to admit to himself that he has to look up to address Ronnie. She’s got a head and a half on him, at least. So many complexes in such a roidy, mulleted package.

Eddie sees that his cheque is signed.

“... Fine. Your funeral.”

—

“All I see is some ex-relevant ex-cheerleader in somebody else’s moth eaten clothes.”

“This is Italian silk, you JC Penney clone-ette.”

“Oh, Italian like a meatball sub or Italian like the mob your dad is part of?”

That sets your teeth on edge. God, Ray Doevski wishes– at least there’d be some valor to it then, capos and all. The reality feels far less shrouded in intrigue. Grimier, somehow.

“Carol, you had the jump on me last time,” you grit, “but I’m stone cold tonight. Either see yourself down the stairs or I will.”

“Are you threatening me, freak fucker?”

“You’d love that, bottom feeder.”

“Lacy! Stop right there, y–”

Earrings clinking as you snap your head around, you watch as a thoroughly ossified Steve Harrington almost brains himself on the top step. Neither you nor Carol nor anyone else reach out to help him, caught red handed in the prelude to a catfight.

“Finally, Jesus!” Carol whinges, “Steve, she’s totally trespassing!”

Panic spikes across your shoulders, quills on a porcupine–are you actually about to get escorted off the premises? That’d be embarrassing, being double-shunned at an open-door Harrington kegger. Eddie hadn’t even managed that dire of a social faux pas and here you are, about to do it for the second time.

“Ow! Shut up, Carol!” Steve decides to steady himself by closing the span of his big hand around your elbow; you both stagger under his wheedling. He’s got a bottle of vodka, cracked, wedged in his other palm. “You and I need to have a little chat.”

And before you can make any attempt to yank yourself away, make a run for it in these stilettos you certainly cannot confidently lift knees it, Steve is pulling you in the direction of his bedroom. A choir of middle school-aged angels that all look like you are singing somewhere as Carol and every other girl in that bathroom line save for Robin enviously glare after you, but you can’t hear it due to being plunged into one of the deeper circles of hell.

“Steven, listen–” You’re not even entirely sure where the full-Christian-name-address comes from, but it’s the only thing that comes to mind when you yank your arm free. “I wasn’t trying to start anything. Not really. I was just…”

Click. Steve locks his bedroom door and turns, staring you down. Well, the best that a drunk teenager with drifting irises could stare one down. You wonder how many Lacys he sees right now. You should ask him to count them, finger on his nose.

“You and I need to have a little chat.”

“You said that already,” but you can’t tell drunk people nothin’.

A remorseful edge around his attempt at a come-hither stare is making you feel a little icky, dawdling on the burning balls of your feet. He looks really bad, actually. The picture of someone trying to sift horniness out of grief or whatever. Steve thrusts one hand through his already scuzzed-up hair, the other jerking the bottle of liquor towards you.

“Have a drink, Lacy, Jesus. Relax, for once.”

You accept the bottle from him. Mostly because it looks as if he’s going to crack you over the head with it if you don’t. The vodka sears going down, same as last time, but there’s not the same urgency to meet everyone else on a level of functioning normal, party girl cool. If anything, the urgency lies in taking the edge off being here.

Particularly in Steve Harrington’s bedroom.

Once upon a time, you’d have mown down half this town in your sporty little Porsche to be sitting right where you’re sitting. But now, under the weight of your own self and Steve’s breakup with Nancy, you’d rather be anywhere else. Anywhere.

“Sit down,” he tells you.

Your eyebrows draw in on instinct, very who the fuck do you think you’re talking to?

Steve scoffs, like he forgot to put on his concerned pantomime. He makes a pretty good go of it, slurring. “Please, Lacy.”

Your knees acquiesce, sinking yourself down onto his checkered bedsheets. The combination of that and the checkered wallpaper is creating an incredible cresting wave of claustrophobia.

“Listen, if this is about Nancy, if this is some harebrained attempt to marionette me into getting her back, I–”

“This is about you ‘n’ me, actually.”

Nope. Opposite day. Fucking Twilight Zone.

“No, it’s not,” you outright refuse. The mattress sags as Steve takes a seat beside you.

“Well, why can’t it be?” Steve’s eyes trail a sticky line up your bare arm as he lies back and props himself up, low on his elbows. However, it’s not eliciting the same amount of alarm that it would if someone like, say, Billy Hargrove were doing it. He’s pathetic, and not in a way you find enticing. “You ‘n’ me, it makes sense. Doesn’t it? Don’t you want it to?”

“No!” You balk with a little more fervor than a then-wounded looking Steve deserves.

“Why not?!” No one says no to the king, of course, especially when he’s this soused.

“Because…” You shake your head, legs crossing on Steve’s bed. A different draft of you, the idea of a girl you had long since scrapped screams at you from somewhere in the very back of your head. You’re ruining it, Lacy–everything we’ve worked for! “You don’t want me. You just feel sorry for yourself. And I’m…”

But luckily, he doesn’t catch the trail-off.

“I’m about to make you feel sorry for yourself,” Steve railroads you.

“How’s that?” Another slug of vodka…

“Well,” he struggles to keep himself propped up, “my girlfriend Eddie and your boyfriend Nancy? Recreationally copulating. How d’ya like that.”

… comes right out your nose.

author's notes: so i once again scrapped the idea of a mega chapter because i wanted to give you guys something in case i have to disappear because i start my new job tomorrow! sweating and pissing and crying. but being able to afford to move out soon will be good. anyway, i love writing a good party scene so expect this to leak right into chapter 12 too. onto the fun stuff: - naming carol's mother ann perkins is a not-so-subtle nod to parks and recreation but the characterization couldn't be further off lol - attention all american teen princesses, i found drop dead gorgeous in full on youtube - the debate team captain in question, kate something-or-other, is in fact the very same kate that appears in rebel robin as robin's now-ex best friend - doctor, she's self-referencing again, this time about the time ivana threw an olive at norman mailer - i had to look up the origin of the term 'boinked', and it turns out it comes from cheers! congrats sam and diane - boners forged fire to table straight from mount doom - fra-gee-lay. it must be italian - that's two for one LOTR references if you count lesbo baggins - i am once again pretending to understand things about dnd - i can't mention *jeff bridges voice* TRON! without watching clips of jeff bridges doing things. it's so cliche to cast him as my reefer rick but bitch the heart wants that's all for now, folks! thanks again for reading and pls do reblog and comment and send me asks and things to keep the spirit of this silly little story alive. we're amping up. love u hellcats x

#published by powder #eddie munson x oc #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x f!reader #eddie munson x f!oc #eddie munson fic #e. munson by powder #l. doevski by powder #hellfire & ice #in progress

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kittyball23 · 11 months ago

Text

Moments (a Trolls fanfic)

Summary: There were times, no doubt - even as much as he tried not to think about them - that some kind of event would make Branch remember his long-gone brothers

__________________________________________

“Oh, hey, Branch… just wondering if I could borrow something….”

Branch raised an eyebrow at Poppy, thoroughly confused. “What?”

“Your bunker!”

Before he could ask what she meant, dozens upon dozens of Trolls who had not been captured by the Chef Bergen came tumbling down the sloping tunnel that led down into his bunker. Some squealed in delight as they slid down, and as soon as they’d reached the bottom began to ransack the place, grabbing the food and drinks that were there.

“No! No! Whoa, whoa, whoa, wait!” Branch called out. But nobody was listening. He groaned, knowing that there would be a lot of cleanup to do to his brothers’ rooms once they were all gone and out of there. And they would be, if he could help it. But first, he had to talk to the pink princess, who had brought all the Trolls in there without his permission in the first place.

__________________________________________

Finally, Branch thought, observing the stunned look on Poppy’s face that was an expression other than the smiles and laughs she’d had for the past hour.

He turned away from her, continuing the trek through the forest and avoiding staring too long at the hurt that was in her eyes. He ignored the little feeling inside of him that made him feel bad for what he’d said, and vouched to listen to the side of him that had dominated his survivalist lifestyle. It’s the truth, he reasoned. And if she doesn’t like it, that’s her problem.

Poppy soon recovered and scurried up to his side in an effort to defend herself. “Hey! I know it’s not all cupcakes and rainbows, but I’d rather go through life thinking that it mostly is, instead of being like you.” She frowned slightly at him and vented the frustrations she had in her failure to get him to be a part of the Troll community. “You don’t sing. You don’t dance. You’re so gray all the time! What happened to you?”

Branch had to suppress a snort. You don’t know the HALF of it, he wanted to say. And Poppy didn’t need to know his business. She didn’t need to know what happened to his grandmother, or even before that event, when his four older brothers had picked up and left, leaving him to fend for himself with hardly a fair reason why. It had been his first taste of the real world and its cruelty. Something that Poppy clearly hadn’t been exposed to. But Branch knew better than to go make his comment and stir even more questions from the curious princess. He held up a hand and suddenly hushed her. “SHH!”

Poppy halted, her fuchsia eyes wide. “Bergen?” she asked.

“Maybe,” he whispered back.

It was only a few moments later, when Branch proceeded and when nothing ominous seemed to be lurking in the shadows, did Poppy realize what was really going on.

“There’s no Bergen, is there? You just said that so I’d stop talking!”

Branch stopped to answer once again. “Maybe.”

__________________________________________

Who does this guy think he is? Branch’s inner thoughts growled.

He and Poppy were wasting valuable time, standing here and putting up with this cloud dude’s antics. If Poppy really cared about the safety of her friends, then she’d see how pointless this whole thing was. But nooooo. She had to be there, off to the side, giggling at Branch’s perplexion and at how the socked cloud was snickering.

Yeah… he’s getting socked by the time THIS is over, Branch thought, and this time he wasn’t speaking of the cloud’s article of clothing.

Since the high-five had failed to follow through, Branch was now forced to implement a fist-bump. But he should have known better than to believe it was going to be that easy. As soon as Branch began moving his fist forward, Cloud Guy reacted with a series of hand motions that were literally anything EXCEPT the fist-bump that he himself had wanted to do. Branch was far too baffled to be mad when it was happening, having no clue what a ‘shark attack,’ ‘hand sandwich,’ ‘monkey in a zoo,’ and whatever other nonsense the cloud was saying even was… and thinking of a certain yellow-haired prankster who just might.

But the fleeting thought of his older, jokey brother vanished when Branch felt his arm hauled roughly from side to side, while Cloud Guy made engine-like sounds. “BRRRM! VRRRM! BRRRRRM! BRUUM!”

Then, he did something that made Branch’s patience wear even thinner than it already was. He laughed, an obnoxious, chortling laugh. And Poppy laughed, too!

“Okay, okay, okay,” Cloud Guy said, recomposing himself. “Now I’m thinking we hug.”

There went the last straw.

With a scowl, Branch grabbed a stick, broke it in half, and aimed the sharp ends at Cloud Guy with a menacing look in his eyes.

Cloud Guy finally seemed to get the message.

He stood there with his outstretched hands, turning a thundercloud-gray and raining a puddle of fear on the ground. He was in for it now.

With a shout, Branch gave chase, with Poppy running after him in alarm.

“Branch! No! Wait! He’s just a cloud! He can help us! He’s just a cloud! Run, Cloud Guy, RUN!”

__________________________________________

Here she was, at it again. Only this time, Poppy was refusing to drop the subject, and Branch couldn’t think of a way to divert the topic. She was being very blunt with him, and it was driving him up the wall.

“You have to sing,” she insisted.

“I told you, I don’t sing,” he argued.

“Well, you have to.”

“I’m sorry, I can’t.” They could go back and forth like this all day for all Branch cared.

Poppy frowned at him. “You can. You just won’t.”

“Fine. I just won’t,” Branch grumbled stubbornly.

“You have to!” she cried.

“NO!”

“Why not! Why won’t you sing?” Poppy demanded.

“Because singing killed my grandma, okay!” Branch finally blurted. He turned his face away from her and the rest of the Snack Pack who’d gasped at this revelation, so that they couldn’t see the tears forming in his eyes. “Now leave me alone…”

Poppy had gotten her answer, but even as he asked to have his space, he had known that she wouldn’t just stop there. Thankfully, her approach was less pestering than it had been a few seconds ago. She cautiously approached him, and spoke in a soft voice.

“How did singing kill your grandma?” Poppy asked. Then, even more confused, added, “What song was she singing?”

Branch sighed. “I was the one singing…” he admitted, hanging his head in shame as the horrible images flashed through his mind. Of how tall and ominous the Chef had looked when snatching his Grandma. Of her terrified face, fearful at first for nearly coming to lose her only remaining grandson, and then fearful for the fate that awaited her in the Bergen’s stomach. He’d turned gray once he’d come to the awful realization that nobody – not his parents, not his brothers, nor his Grandmother – were there with him anymore.

Poppy felt terrible hearing his abridged version of the memory, and she’d leaned in to give him a hug.

“Whoa, whoa, it’s not Hug Time,” he said, a little half-heartedly and not making any moves to shove her away.

“I just thought you could use one,” she replied, pressing him a little tighter against her.

While Branch didn’t allow the smirk that wanted to tug at the corner of his lip to show, he still did kind of enjoy the condolence that her hug brought.

Heh, his conscience even chuckled, I guess she does know the half of it, now.

But Branch would make sure not to have her find out the second half of his story until much, much later. His brothers were not relevant to the conversation. And, considering it from the point of view of Poppy and the Snack Pack, they probably sought it as a suitable enough explanation for his pessimism.

So Branch just let it be.

__________________________________________

Survivalism meant having plenty of tactics handy. So killing two birds with one stone, so to speak, was a very beneficial strategy. And it was working oh so very well for Branch as he, in a heartfelt manner, whispered elegant words from atop of Bridget’s head.

“Your eyes… they’re like two pools so deep, I fear if I dive in, I may never come up for air…”

Bridget repeated the words, a little hesitantly, to King Gristle, who sat across from her with a frown on his face, believing that she had been intent on mocking him before. As he heard her speak, however, his frown disappeared, and the Bergen was enraptured by the sudden compliments she was giving him.

Or, so it seemed. Branch was guiding her alright, but it wasn’t King Gristle who’d he had in mind when he was speaking. It was a certain Pop Princess, who, at that moment, was staring in awe at Branch as he continued.

“And your smile… the sun itself turns jealous and refuses to come out from behind the clouds, knowing it cannot shine half as bright…”

King Gristle chuckled bashfully when Bridget had finished repeating those words. “I kinda do have a nice smile, don’t I?”

Branch’s gaze shifted to Poppy, whispering the next words as he looked directly at her.

“Yes, you do.”

If Branch squinted his eyes, he could’ve sworn he saw Poppy blush, but the dim lighting underneath Bridget’s rainbow-colored wig was making it a little difficult to see all that well. There was a warmth tingling through him, one that he recognized would blossom whenever he thought of the princess, only it was more pronounced this time around. Had he really said those words out loud? He couldn’t help wondering which one of his brothers would be prouder – Spruce, for coming off as so incredibly romantic and likely winning Poppy over with his charming flattery, or Floyd, for how poetically crafted his words were. Either way, it had produced the exact effect that Branch had wanted.

__________________________________________

Branch flinched at the loud, bellowing sound that came out of the large creature standing before them. A second later, Poppy revealed herself from the inside of it, hanging casually and giving a cheery little greeting wave. Normally, a sight like this would have startled the blue Troll, but the fact that the queen did not show any fear at being in the mouth of the beast - and neither did any of their other friends - relaxed him a bit.

Because this mode of transportation was known as a caterbus, a hybrid living-vehicle sort of being that was perfectly safe to travel inside of.

Branch scrunched his nose. He didn’t mind the creatures that nature had… so long as they were smaller than him. Once they started getting bigger than the standard 5-inch height that Trolls had, he had his reservations. He supposed it was his former fear of Bergens at work. He could never shake off what could have happened if he’d not arrived in time for when the spiders had Poppy wrapped inside their silk.

Not that any of it would have bothered his oldest brother.

Branch rolled his eyes as John Dory’s face suddenly came into mind. With JD’s love for animals, he believed himself to be a whisperer to any creature, big or small. If Branch had to take a guess, John Dory probably had a pet of his own by this point (or several).

But he wasn’t going to guess about what his airheaded brother was doing.

If anything, he was going to take a guess at what Bridget and Gristle’s reactions would be when they learned of Poppy’s crazy idea to give the Bergens a proper holiday!

“Alll aboooard!” Poppy called out, and he and the Snack Pack took it at their cue hop into the caterbus and get this wagon train rolling.

Or rather, the love train.

__________________________________________

Branch shook his head, tilting it to one side and smacking it with his hand as though there was water clogged up in his ears. “Okay, maybe all the jazz hasn’t left my brain yet,” he mumbled, knowing just how out of sorts he’d been when the smooth musical notes had assaulted him on the raft with its soothing melody.

Cooper just laughed at him. “Oh, come on, Branch! It’s me!” the long-necked Troll assured. “Turns out I’m actually from Vibe City, just like my twin brother.” Cooper sidled up to the identical-looking Troll who’d been causing Branch to think that he was still hallucinating.

“What’s poppin’?” Prince Darnell greeted with a grin, as he and Cooper laughed with each other.

“I’ve got a twin brother!” Cooper exclaimed happily. He really couldn’t believe it!

Neither could Branch, who stood there gawking for a moment more while his gaze flicked between the two, back and forth, like a ping pong ball.

And neither could Poppy, who blurted out with “How is this possible?!”

Luckily, Cooper took the next few minutes explaining exactly how. And in the end, Branch found that it was a story of long-lost family coming to finally reunite, happily and heartily, together – at least, if any of the laughs and hugs shared between brothers, mother and father (aka, the King and Queen of Funk) was anything to go by.

Branch watched with a strange pang of envy that was very subtly in the back of his conscience, but still very much present. Envy for how… easy they made it look. Granted, though, Cooper’s story was different. It couldn’t be helped that he’d gotten snatched as an egg, carried off far from his homeland, and therefore separated for just about two whole decades.

A family reunion with his brothers, who had willingly ensured the separation, would be much different…

__________________________________________

Dance off?

Branch hardly had a minute to even think about what was about to happen before the K-Pop gang had hurled him over to them, untying him and promptly starting to bust some moves all around.

Branch was surprised by the sudden change in lighting, and the bouncy, foreign-sounding music that the five girls were making. The K-Pop leader had been right – Pop music was different from K-Pop. Branch didn’t have much time to start nitpicking the specific differences, as Wani shot him a hard glare, making him realize that they’d actually untied him so that he could join in their dance!

Flustered, Branch quickly plastered on a smile and began to groove along with them, surprising himself with how quickly he was able to pick up the choreography. By the time he and the quintet struck the final pose, the smile that he’d had on his face was real.

Wow… was it always this fun dancing in a group?

As if the universe had heard his question, it readily provided an answer when the Reggaeton Troll leader, Tressillo, suddenly grabbed him and hauled him over to their side of the clearing, starting to dance to their own unique beat. Now that Branch actually knew what was happening, he got into the flow much faster, and really was enjoying himself as he kept in time with the other three, shaking his hips and getting down with it.

Ooo, yeah! It really was still fun dancing in a group! They weren’t the exact type of moves that he, John Dory, Spruce, Clay, and Floyd would’ve done if they’d been performing for a BroZone show, but it didn’t matter. He liked the differences… and wished that the bounty hunters would see it the same way, instead of tying him back up and debating the matter.

“Why don’t we split him?” Wani suddenly suggested.

“Huh?” Branch gulped when he saw Tressillo agree to the idea. Just as they were about to close in and divvy him up, he managed to find his voice.

“Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait… why does Barb get to decide which music gets to be saved? All music should be saved.”

The K-Pop and Reggaeton Trolls gave him a blank look. Then, Tressillo spoke.

“All right, Pop Troll, I’m listening…”

__________________________________________

By definition, Branch could absolutely say he was sprucin’ up.

Not that he’d use the term. Why would he, when it brought bad reminders of one purple-haired Troll who’d shared his name with the phrase?

Branch hurriedly focused on preparing himself for the occasion, which - he was quite giddy to tell anyone who would ask him once he’d leave the bunker - would be a date with the Pop Queen herself!

He slipped on his vest, shrugging it on his shoulders in a way that he felt to be ‘cool,’ like John Dory may have done.

He tugged on his new burgundy shorts with just about as much enthusiasm as Clay might’ve pulled off in the days that he actually enjoyed wearing the yellow-and-green Funderdrawers.

He fixed his Hug Time bracelet on his wrist, and adjusted a brand-new red bowtie on his neck, recalling how Floyd would’ve taken the same careful measures when clipping on his own accessory, namely, the pearl earring he’d constantly worn.

Last but not least, Branch grabbed a handful of snail-slime goop from a jar, and sleeked it into his dark blue hair, making as shiny and smooth as Spruce himself would have approved of.

Determinedly snapping on some earmuffs and clutching a fresh handful of flowers, he faced the chill afternoon air outside of his bunker with determination.

“Tis the season!”

__________________________________________

A/N: Alright everyone, this will actually be my last daily fic update for the time being. Stay tuned for an announcement that I'll be posting to my blog tomorrow! :)

#trolls #trolls 3 #trolls band together #branch trolls #poppy trolls #john dory #spruce trolls #clay trolls #floyd trolls #brozone #broppy #dreamworks #fanfiction #kittyball writes #brodacious fanfiction #100+

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sardonic-the-writer · 1 year ago

Text

𝐌𝐞𝐫𝐜𝐬 𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐀 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐇𝐚𝐬 𝐂𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐜 𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐖𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐈𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞

↳ includes: scout, medic, pyro, sniper, and spy

↳ warnings: talk of pain but nothing too in detail. specific area of pain is kept ambiguous for inclusiveness

↳ song: teenage dirtbag—dsiboys

masterlist!

𝐒𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐭

• Scout is honestly just bummed you won't be playing any baseball games with him anytime soon

• He strikes me as the type of guy to not take your illness as seriously as he should, often making pokes and jabs of you just wanting to get out of stuff, until he sees one of your bad days with his own eyes

• After that, he's so ashamed of himself for how he acted. Shuffling his feet and rubbing the back of his neck anxiously; all that jazz

• Is a lot more aware of your needs now

• Still puts up a front. Refuses to be anything sort of quote unquote 'manly', so expressing that he's worried about your wellbeing is hard to do in front of the others

• Does care about you, though. He might get teased for it— resulting in the tips of his ears turning red and a bunch of angry denial —but at the end of the day he'll offer up his prized comic books for you to read as a distraction

𝐌𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐜

• Medic has undoubtedly noticed your condition far before you chose to tell him. How he had figured it out so quick, you had no idea, but he probably found out the same way he knew what your blood type was. Despite never having given him a sample

• It's a bit weird at first, having someone who constantly wants to do invasive surgery on your body actually offering to ease your pain.

• It is Medic after all. A small part of you had been nervously wondering if he would get some sort of sick joy out of watching you struggled to do basic tasks

• Instead, he was giving you special visitation hours with Archemedes while he tinkered with what he dubbed 'Your Problem Area'. Whether that was your knees or back or shoulders, a file on your condition quickly opened and the quickest course of action was taken to remedy it

• Gives you little suckers at the end of your visits and a big smile for a job well done

𝐏𝐲𝐫𝐨

• You aren't sure if they understand what you're saying when you first explain it

• To be fair, you can't decipher them on a normal basis, so this was expected

• But Pyro just tilts their head before letting out what sounded like a sniffling noise and bringing you into a bone crushing hug

• You wouldn't be able to tell, but in their own special Pyro Vision, the arsonist could occasionally see a painful red surrounding you anytime you felt like this. And it pained them to know you were hurting from something other than the scheduled battles

• Colors you crude little drawings with their box of crayons Engineer bought them. It often depicts you and them riding unicorns or jumping over rainbows. Always smiling and having fun

• Takes to plastering little cartoony bandaids over your skin. They don't really solve any actual pain, but the thought is still there

• Will make little fires for you and bring you to them happily. Normally, it's followed by Heavy or Engineer rushing over to put it out before it spread

𝐒𝐧𝐢𝐩𝐞𝐫

• On the off chance that he actually came out of his trailer, Sniper would be awkwardly helpful

• He most likey heard you talking to Medic or complaining to Spy about your chronic pain, and put two and two together

• Why you were shut up in your room durring mealtime somedays, constsntly seen walking in and out of the med bay, taking numerous amounts of pills in the morning, etc

• Is discreet in his care. It'll be little things, like telling Scout to 'lay off mate' if the Bostonian is hounding you about your lackluster performance that day; even if only as a joke

• If Sniper is lucky enough to bag some game on one of the ceasefire days, he'll approach your bedroom door and offer you a bit of the meat he cooked. Won't be offended if you're not up to it, just puts it in the fridge for later if you change your mind. Makes sure that the rest of the team knows it's for you, too

𝐒𝐩𝐲

• Spy is probably the most elegant of the team when acknowledging your condition

• If he's feeling nice when you approach him about it, he'll nod along to your small explanation and even indulge you if you choose to rant about it for a bit

• If he's not in a good mood, then just wait it out. It's not worth the wrath of an angry Frenchman for bothering him. Will become slightly less angered if you explain you were only there to share some vulnerability, however

• Tells you there's no shame in it. As an older man himself, he's no stranger to the pain that comes with this job

• Might allow you to crash in his smoking room a few times if your room is being overrun by the others. Spy knows that you won't pull any funny business on him, and god help anyone that tries to barge in in search of you (namely Scout)

• Content to sit in comfortable silence as you rest up and sleep away the pain. Spy might be a no-good lying back stabber, but at the end of the day, he's still a gentleman

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peaachypie · 1 year ago

Text

It hurt to lost your mom.

life as a spiderdad

Warning :

• family issue ;mention of miscarage ; rainbow baby.

Miguel never got along with his mother.

Knowing he was an affair baby was the answer to his question :

" why does she hates me so much ?"

Miguel never got along with his mother, but loved her.

And begged to be loved back, it sadly never happen.

He wasn't and never got used to it, even when he met you.

You love him, you always did and he loved you too but it hurt.

It hurt so bad seeing his mother always caring and loving his brother, it hurt to always have the hateful stares.

It hurt.

Miguel tried to bond with her, to make her met the love of his life.

You.

She refused.

"Dile que encuentre a alguien mejor. Alguien como tu hermano, está perdiendo el tiempo."

[Tell her to find someone better. Someone like your brother, she is wasting her time.]

It hurt, it hurt to never know how to express his feeling other than by being angry and agressive for nothing.

It hurt.

He don't cry, it's " weak" even if you tell him that it's normal, it's human.

Is he even human at this point ?

He tried.

He tried so hard to make her loves him.

He invited her to his wedding, she never came.

Even if Gabriel ask her to.

"si estás aquí por él, entonces vete. No quiero oír nada de él ni de la zorra de su mujer."

[if you're here for him, then go. I don't want to hear anything about him or his slut of a wife.]

" i'm sorry Miguel, she is not coming."

Gabriel said, his eyes full of sadness for his brother who only wanted the presence of his mother. The one who gave birth to him.

It was the best day of his life, holding your hands while you said your vows. But his eyes turned to the empty place she was suppose to sit on.

Miguel never got along with his mother.

He hated her the day when Gabriel told her about your miscarage, about how your happiness ended in the most painfull way and the only thing she said was.

"Le dije que había perdido el tiempo. Que esto le sirva de lección"

[I told her she wasted her time. Let this be a lesson to her.]

He hated her.

He hated to see the tears on your face.

It hurt.

It hurt to lost his first child.

It hurt to understand that, he lost his mother way earlier, he was just in denial.

He stopped making the effort.

Focusing on you, his brother was there for you too.

It was obvious for him to name his first son after his brother.

It hurt to lost his mother.

But it was so much better to have a loving and caring family with him.

And his first little baby.

#miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #across the spiderverse

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princesssmars · 1 year ago

Note

Hiiii! If you don’t mind could you please do a Sam carpenter x fem/gn!reader, where the reader is just like completely overstimulated and someone from the friend group does something that just makes the reader like get super upset and makes them walk away and sam is kinda confused and goes to asks the reader and comforts them and stuff? If not then that’s okay!

trust me

a sam carpenter x reader

wc : 1533

cw : fluff. angst. reader is stressed. conflict caused by mindy but its justified so don't think i don't love her! italic bit thats readers thoughts. ethan slander fuck that little worm. (f/t) means fave takeout!

an : couldnt think of a title nahh 💀but thank you for the request im happy to do it! i hope you like this even if it might be a bit rushed bc i wanna help add to the sam tag since im obsessed with her rn.

when you first moved to new york city it was a whirlwind. new people, new things to see, great food. granted when you got off of your first subway ride a rat tried to fight you over the grinder you had in your hand, but you still loved it.

but of course, everything didn't stay sunshine and rainbows for long. the big apple was expensive, and finding a job that fit your schedule and was able to pay your side of the rent was tough. but you managed. kind of.

your roommate and close friend convinced you to see a therapist she had heard about from a friend, and you decided it couldn't hurt to try. the guy was helpful if a bit annoying, but it was worth it when you saw her coming out of her session. now NYC was filled with a plethora of hot people, but you swear when she made eye contact with you and gave you a polite smile you felt your brain melting.

you saw her a few more times before you introduced yourself. she seemed wary but told you about herself as well, telling you her name was sam and that she had moved to new york not long ago as well with her sister for college. she seemed nervous, but you were a stranger so you chalked it off as anxiety.

you asked her for her number and did a small mental celebration when she said yes, deciding to text her the next afternoon to not seem too desperate.

luckily your efforts paid off! she was a bit distant the first few times you talked, but after inviting her out for lunch at some new restaurant in brooklyn she warmed up to you quickly, even enough to introduce you to her sister and her friends.

it was only after a few weeks of knowing her that you found out what happened in woodsboro. you had an inkling that something bad had happened, the way sam was hesitant with phsyical affection, the caution they all took when locking their doors and carrying mace and tasers with them to get groceries. when sam had let you in to what happened with ghostface - her ex - and how he had almost killed all of them. you had let her know it didn't make tou think of her any differently, that you still cared about her and her past wouldn't change that. that moment had led to the first kiss between the two of you.

and you had meant what you said to sam, that you would stick beside her no matter what. but it still took a toll on you, that danger was following you and the people you had grown to care about no magter what.

the one thing you didn't expect was for them to expect the danger could be you.

it was supposed to be a normal friday night at sam's apartment, spent talking to each other and her friends and maybe watching a movie with some takeout after her appointment. nice and simple.

the door opens and you turn to see if it's sam, smiling when tara, chad, mindy and anika walked through the door. chad's roommate. ethan, wasn't with them this time and you let out a small sigh of relief. he seemed nerdy enough

"hey guys, everything alright?" you asked the group, noticing the down and wary looks on their faces. tara mumbled something before quickly walking into her room, chad hot on her heels. anika rested on the couch next to yours with a sigh, mindy sitting next to her and farther away from you. a bit odd, but you chalked it up to all of them being tired from school.

"something happened over at fordham. some girl from blackmore was found almost butchered in an alley." anika wrings hers hands together, a nervous habit she told you she picked up as a kid.

"jesus christ, do they have any clue who might have done it?" you ask.

"oh please, how many freaks do you you think like to nearly carve out peoples chest?" mindy scoffed, busying herself with something on her phone.

"you don't think it's ghostface, do you?" your voice was wavering against your will. after sam had told you what happened you did some digging into the masked killer, and its safe to say you were on edge until it eventually showed its face again.

she shrugged. "we all knew they were gonna find us again eventually. nows just a matter of determining who it is." she looked at you, and you felt the strain behind your eyes at how far they widened.

"i hope you're not saying what i think you're saying..."

"dont take it too personally, y/n. she accused me and ethan too." anika waved your worries off, and even though her normally peaceful personality would calm anyone down, it wasn't really working right now.

"i'm just saying, you're also new to the friend group, coincidentally moved here a while before us and had the same therapist as sam? and then started dating her? it's suspicious." mindy lists off the reasons she suspects you, and with each item you feel your chest tighten.

is this really what they think of me? a threat? does sam think of me like this? does she not trust me? does she not love me?

you don't register the sound of mindy's voice or the sound of the front door opening before you hurry from the couch to the bedroom near the back of the apartment - sam's room.

you sit on the edge of the bed and put your head in your hands, trying to calm the racing negative thoughts in your head. it feels like hours when its probably been a few minutes of you failing to calm yourself down when the door opens slowly and a weight sits down on the bed next to you.

"is it ok if i touch you?" sam ask from next to you, making sure to keep a good distance so as not to overwhelm you. when you nod and whisper out a yes she moves to sit behind your body, wrapping her arms around you and allowing you to fall back and rest on her chest.

"do you wanna tell me what's going on? it's alright if you dont, i'll still be right here."

her soft tone makes you squint your eyes hard, scared that she's trying to get you to let your guard down. but there's a little voice in your head that trusts her more than anything. that desperately wants to let her in. so you do.

"it's just...mindy was talking about ghostface and she was questioning me. i know that you've all been through so much but...if they can't, if you don't trust me then i don't know what i would do."

sam doesn't interrupt while you speak, fully paying attention to your words as you let her know what's bothering you. you're just about to walk back your statement because of her silence when she softly turns your body to sit sideways in her lap, bringing her hand up to cup your face and turn it so you can't look anywhere but her eyes.

"hey, i want you to listen to me, ok? you know mindy. she's just looking out for us, she didn't mean to antagonize you im sure of it. if anything i'm pretty sure if ghostface comes back she's more likely to suspect ethan right away, the kid weirds her out," she says, unable to help herself from smiling when you giggle at her words.

"but more importantly you know me. you know i'd never have anyone around me, my sister or our friends if i didn't trust them, yeah? i trust you and i love you, more than anything."

you cant help but tear up and smile at her words. sam wasn't one for frequent words of affection, so you knew when she said something she meant it. she lets out a small grunt when you throw yourself into a hug in her arms, tackling the both of you onto the bed in a heap of giggles. you spend the next few minutes laughing and sharing small i love you's and sweet kisses.

after you've both calmed down sam asks if you're ready to head into the living room, squeezing your hand when you give a strained little nod. walking together back to the living room, your face lights up at the smell of your favorite takeout, rushing to the couch to see everyone munching down on some food.

mindy turns her head around to see you and purses her lips awkwardly. "uh, i was hungry so i ordered some (f/t). there's enough for the both of you."

"she's trying to apologize for calling you ghostface." tara butts in while taking another bite of her food, ignoring when mindy slaps her on the leg.

"aww, it's alright cheeks. i understand." you tease the brunette with the silly nickname you gave her a few weeks ago, reaching over to squish her cheeks together like a kid. she sticks her tounge out at you but doesn't move to stop you, figuring she'll let you have this.

"yeah yeah whatever, sit down and eat your food."

you sit on sams' lap on the squished couch, ignoring the kissing noises and fake gagging sounds of your friends. in this moment, nothing anyone says can get to you.

i believe in the lost art of ending the fic with a cheesy bit. happy pride gaybos.

#scream #scream 6 #scream vi #scream x reader #sam carpenter #sam carpenter x reader #sam carpenter fluff

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dwaekkiforpresident · 11 months ago

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okay hear me out

making gingerbread houses with bang chan (write fluff as reparations for the angst you made me read)

now i have to repent for my sins???? wtf???

anyway making the holidays with chan in general are always magical. the giddy feeling of delight that pours off of him is infectious, his good vibes rolling off in waves.

chan is a firm believer that christmas is for spending time together. he expects no gifts (even if he’s bought you one…. or four) and will get pouty if you lied about buying him a gift. he loves it, he loves anything from you, but he doesn’t see the importance of buying something for him. you ask how it differs from him buying you a gift and you buying him a gift, he stumbles over his words in such a adorable manner that you end up dropping the interrogations.

“what’s that?” chan had come through the front door with a large tupperware in his arms. he made his way over to where you were standing in the kitchen and handed you the container with a large smile. you suppose this is how he wanted to answer your question.

you pop open the lid to see what looks like homemade gingerbread and a decent sized bag of white icing. “felix asked me if we’d want some gingerbread if he made some,” he says watching you realize why the cookies are cut in large squares and rectangles. “and i said yes. i always made gingerbread houses with my family as a kid and i wanted to do it with you too… if that’s okay.”

saying no to him??? is he crazy??? his shy expression as he asks for the sweetest way to spend some holiday time together is enough for you to lean in and kiss his cheek, balancing the container on one hand while the other rests on his cheek. “of course i want to, baby.”

fast forward past a quick convenience store run for candies and some banter over the music that should be playing while you two construct a tiny home for cookie people, then you have a very wobbly foundation for your gingerbread house. chan insists on piping the frosting to keep the house together, brow furrowed in concentration and his eyes lighting up when the pieces stay together. he turns to look at you while you give him an impressed nod. he does a little celebratory dance and relinquishes the creative details to you.

chan can’t sit still, from watching you work with his elbow propped on the counter or hugging you from behind, it’s like he’s a kid on christmas eve.

because it is christmas eve. and your boyfriend is a big kid when it comes to you.

as you put the finishing touches of gumdrops and rainbow gumballs on the house, you take a dramatic step back like a chef on food network, smiling proudly.

chan would play along, walking around the counter to get a full 360° look at it while wearing his best serious face. once he gets back to you, he crosses his arms and nods silently.

“it looks awful.” he says while breaking into a small fit of laughter, your jaw dropping and a laugh of disbelief leaving your throat.

“you’re an ass!” you groan, lightly smacking his arm that causes him to laugh harder and fake that your hit hurt him. after a moment he stands back upright and catches his break, pulling you into a hug. you stubbornly keep your arms down although you’re not even mad; it really did look bad. smudged icing everywhere, a mess of rainbow candies and dents from where certain pieces had fallen off. it was fun regardless.

“that just means that we’ll have to hire an interior decorator when we move in together. that’s all.” chan says nonchalantly with a slick smirk on his face that you don’t have to see to know is there. you shake your head and finally hug him back.

every christmas with chan somehow tops the last.

#the only christmas related stuff i’ll write LMAO #apparently i’ve gained some haters #stray kids #skz #skz x reader #skz fanfic #bang chan #bang chan fluff #bang chan fic #chan #chris bang 😋#dwaekkiforpresi. asks :)

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popcornforone · 2 months ago

Text

Pride

A Marcus Moreno Fic

Day 12 of Pedrotober (Rainbow Pants Prompt)

Masterlist

Well this I didn’t know who to write this for & then a friend online said they really liked Marcus Moreno & I was like ahhh this is gonna be a good idea for him with this prompt so here we go. Let’s have some fun with our super hero.

Also we are all allies, & all people. To the girls, guys, they, them & I’s, I love you no matter who you love or who you are. Never be ashamed to be you.

Synopsis:- Marcus is not happy with his new super hero outfit.

Word count:- 700

Warnings over & above:- swearing, that’s about it really, a bit of teasing.

Thanks for the read peoples, thanks for the prompt @norththelemon @alyssamariag . I’m having so much fun.

“The fuck” he says as he hold up his new super hero outfit. “What are you making me wear?”you giggle.

“It’s not just you Marcus” you try to not laugh as he actually takes his glasses on & off again to check he’s not seeing things & that it is that bold & colourful. “Everyone in the team has something similar, it’s pride month after all”

“I get that but these…” he shakes his head, he’s trying to remain angry but he’s also trying not to laugh “it’s a bit over the top”

“Please Marcus just try them on & you should be lucky you’re not Lava Girl, she’s already complaining about too much glitter” he rolls his eyes & grabs the rest of the bag & pulls the curtain in front of him in the locker room to change into his new super hero costume, that the team had been working on for the last 8 months for everyone. The message needs fo be very on brand, after last year a couple of the older heroic had comments that were not very inclusive & had old fashioned values. Something you have been trying to remind them about. One of these heroics has since retired.

5 minutes later out he step & you laugh, bending over as you can’t even Keep it calm or quiet. He puts his hands on his hips & pouts. He smirking, he can’t hide it.

“I don’t see what’s so funny, it’s atrocious” there he stands swaying about & bending to his knees in his new rainbow styled super hero suit. The rainbow trousers were boot leg cut & he just keeps looking down at them & shaking his head. The more he gets pissed at them the more you love them. “Stop laughing” he says trying not to join you, your laugh he always finds contagious.

“Sorry Marcus, but it’s so funny that mr serious who’s almost always in dark blue or black is now in the colours of the rainbow. It does look cute.”

“I’m not meant to be cute or a certain brand depending on it being National coffee day or international cat day, I’m the leader of the heroics, what will aliens think if they drop in & have to fight me?”

“They will go oooh he’s an ally” you try to stop laughing, your face hurts from doing to much of it.

“You & costume know full well if I go out in this to fight crime & save the world that I’ll become a meme”

“& is that so bad”

“I have a teenage daughter…”

“She knows.”

“What” Marcus has no idea that Missy has been in on all of this & wanted her dad to be as vibrant as possible. He then finally does look in the mirror looking at the whole thing.

“I mean I guess it’s comfortable, they’ve made some worse outfits, but why is it so… colourful?”

“Cos you’re meant to be proud & out there” you stand behind him & run your hands across the back of his shoulders. “ & you are out there Marcus” you whisper & he turns to face you, looking straight into your green eyes. “You keep the world safe, & Missy & me are proud of you for doing that” you slowly stand on your tip toes & gently kiss his lips & slowly run your hands through his hair as he squeezes your bum.

“Hmmm if you weren’t head of marketing & such a good kisser I’d be very disappointed in you for making me put this on”

“Would it help” you say as you undo his belt. “If I said you don’t have to wear this if you really don’t want to but that I also have a rainbow tie, cufflinks & glasses for the next month?” You smile at him & see his frown soften. He then cups your face.

“I’d much prefer than sexy”

“Good,” you sigh before he caresses your cheek before kissing you again. A deep & sensual kiss. “Now let’s get you out of this stupid outfit”

“Only if you help me out of it”

#pedro pascal #fanfic #my fics #smutt #no minors #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal cinematic universe #over18 #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal fan fic #pedro pascal fandom #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal universe #marcus moreno fan fic #marcus moreno fanfiction #marcus moreno

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estrellami-1 · 9 months ago

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If I Should Stay

On the 15th, as promised! Ngl, I definitely almost forgot this. I have SO many feelings about this one, y’all check the tags if you want my ramblings. Buckle up. Also, happy stabbing Caesar day.

Part 1 | . . . | Part 64 | Part 65 | Part 66

Steve works his jaw, staring at Will. “Yeah,” he whispers. Will looks down. “Hey,” Steve says gently. “That’s not on you, okay? And Jonathan’s a really great guy. He and Nancy both had a lapse in judgement. They got together a while later and they were better for each other than she and I ever were.”

“But they hurt you.”

Steve chuckles. “In the moment, sure. But I’m fine now, I’ve moved on. It surprised me just now because I didn’t expect her to react like that. I know that’s not who she is as a person, and I’m sure as soon as Joyce talks to her about it and she’s had some time to think about it, she’ll come apologize. But none of that is on you, okay?”

Will shrugs, playing with the hem of his pants.

Steve glances at Eddie, who winks and plops down cross-legged next to Will, nudging their shoulders together. “My dad’s in jail.” Will looks up at him, surprised. Eddie shrugs. “I’ve had time to process, but it took me a while to realize he just isn’t a good person. Now, my momma was an angel among women, she just had a disease. It didn’t make her a bad person. But they’re my parents, so that must mean I’m a bad person with a disease, right?”

“No!” Will says emphatically. “Just because they-” he pauses, mouth a perfect circle, before flushing and ducking his head, smiling a little. “Okay. I get it.”

“Good kid,” Eddie says fondly, ruffling his hair. “Now, back to the planning?”

“Probably,” Steve nodded. “First things first, who wants out?”

“Papa hurt El?” Mike asks. Steve nods. “Then let’s kill this fucker.”

“Language,” say all the adults, and Mike rolls his eyes.

“I’m in,” Will adds.

“Me too,” Dustin says, and Lucas nods.

Steve looks around, and all the adults present nod at him. Robin squeezes his hand, and Alli pulls him closer to her by his shoulders. “Alright, little brother,” she says. He elbows her. “What’s the plan?”

Steve sighs and looks to El. “What do you think, Ellie?”

“Everyone else is dead,” she murmurs. “But if I go into the rainbow room, I will see them.”

Steve’s heart breaks. “You don’t have to go anywhere you don’t want to.”

She smiles sadly at him. “You cannot promise me that, Steve.”

He meets Robin’s eyes above El’s head, watches her heart break. “Watch me.” He looks back to El. “I know what he put you through, El.”

“He loves me.”

Steve takes a breath, shuts his eyes for a moment. “Remember what I told you, last time you said that?”

El nods. “You thought the same thing about your parents.”

“Exactly. It took me a long time to learn, but they don’t love me. And there’s nothing I can do to change that. Even if I was perfect, that wouldn’t be enough for them. Does that make sense?”

She nods. “You love me differently from how Papa loves me.”

“Yeah,” Steve whispers. “Which do you like better?”

“Yours.”

“Do you know why?”

She thinks about it for a minute. “You love me because you see Ellie. He loves me because he sees Eleven.”

Next to him, Alli makes a broken sound. Steve reaches back to hold her hand. “Yeah, Ellie. That’s exactly right.”

“I do not want to only be Eleven anymore,” she decides. “I want to be Ellie.”

“And that’s why I’ll do all of it myself if I have to,” Steve tells her. “So you can be Ellie. You don’t have to go in the rainbow room, okay?”

“Okay,” she nods, wiggling around until she can bury her face in his neck and whisper, “I trust you.”

He blinks quickly. “I’m glad,” he whispers back.

“Ellie,” Wayne says, voice not much steadier than Steve’s. She shifts to look at him from where she’s tucked into Steve. “We all want you t’be just Ellie if you want it. We’re all gonna be right there with you.”

“Thank you,” she says quietly. “Steve?”

“Yeah?”

“I won’t be strong enough. If I see Papa.”

“That won’t be a problem,” Hopper says, checking his gun. She shifts to look at him. “He’s not going to hurt you again.”

She frowns and buries her face back in Steve’s neck. “I’m happy,” she murmurs. “But I’m also very sad.”

Steve sighs and hugs her tightly. “I know how you feel.”

“I don’t like feeling this way.”

“I know, El. I don’t think there’s really any way to get rid of the feeling, though.”

“Just life,” Alli says quietly, scooting closer and laying a comforting hand on El’s upper arm. “I know it’s a cliché, but it’s true.”

El looks up at Alli. “Okay. What’s a cliché?”

Alli meets Steve’s eyes, a smile starting to spread, and Steve thinks everything’s going to be okay.

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kaytrawrites · 10 months ago

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QSMP - when a little bird wanders

Summary in which Cellbit is having trouble sleeping. Phil is also not asleep. they talk.

Notes this is noncanon. i also really really really want Richas to observe qCellbit calling qPhil 'dad', bc i think his reaction would be funny.

---

The upside of being a semi immortal being: you don’t need much sleep. The downside of being a semi immortal being: you don’t need much sleep.

Phil sat on the porch outside his new home facing the wide, calm river, carefully preening his dark feathers. Chayanne and Tallulah were deeply asleep after a long day of searching the new lands for interesting things.

The wind set the copper wind chimes that hung from the porch roof gently ringing, also bringing with it familiar footsteps. Phil glanced up and saw the familiar disheveled brown hair of Cellbit, who paused in his steps when he saw Phil looking.

“Hi mate.” Phil drawled, giving the much younger man a kind smile.

“Oh. Hello Phil. I didn’t expect you to still be awake.” Cellbit took a half step forward.

Phil chucked and stretched his arms up above his head. His wings followed his stretch. They had been freshly clipped when he woke from that long coma, but far more gently than the first time he arrived on the island. His muscles still ached from that flight in purgatory with Tubbo, but it was now much less.

Cellbit took another half step forward, his eyes drawn to the rainbow sheen of the lamp light across Phil’s carefully tended-to feathers. “They are looking better.” He said, his voice soft.

Phil chuckled, and settled his wings. “Yeah. They are feeling a lot better too.”

Cellbit cocked his head. “But. You flew on them just fine during Purgatory…”

“Pushed myself too hard, flying me and Toby to the boat. Hurt the muscles really badly. The meteors burnt my feathers pretty bad too.” Phil leaned back on his hands. “One of the Fed doctors dragged me into an exam after I got back and told me I needed to work the muscles if I wanted any chance of them getting back to full health. I did get a second opinion from Pac, who said the same thing.”

Cellbit stepped up to the porch and perched on the edge. “Watching you fly during Purgatory… was magnificent…”

Phil laughed. “It felt amazing.”

Cellbit let out a small sigh, and leaned back in his seat. “What’s it like?”

“Hmm?” Phil said. “Well, you flew with those temporary elytra during Purgatory.” He shrugged.

Cellbit shook his head at Phil’s words. “I mean flying over the world. Our world. Not that void of stars.”

“Oh.” Phil leaned back, looking up at the stars painted across the sky. “It’s the most freeing experience I have ever had. But also the most lonely. Watching the seasons change from among the clouds… watching civilizations rise and fall. Some by my own hands… It’s an experience I would both recommend, and caution against.”

Cellbit sat up, and turned to stare at Phil. “Wait. Back up. Civilizations? As in multiple?”

Phil chuckled. “Ah. That slipped out. Yeah. I’m… way older than I look.”

“How old…”

“Oh… bout as old as the concept of death.” Phil shrugged.

“What?!” Cellbit yelped. “How does that work?”

Phil chuckled. “Death is my Beloved Lady, and I her Angel of Death.”

Cellbit sat in silence, processing. “Is that why you chose the Death Entity?”

“It felt like Her. Not exactly, but close enough that it felt Right.” Phil shrugged. “But enough about me. What are you doing up so late?”

Cellbit stared at Phil, his eyes narrowing slightly. “I- I couldn’t sleep.” He admitted. “Às vezes, os pesadelos são demais.” (The nightmares are too much sometimes)

Phil nodded. “Well, if you ever need a place to talk through your night time thoughts, I’ve got a wing” he raised one of his wings, with a slight smirk. “you can whisper secrets into.”

Cellbit stared at the slice of void that Phil had extended, and shuffled closer. Phil held the wing out further, half wrapping it around the broader man.

“Eu menti quando disse que não senti nada quando vi o Cucurucho. Eu senti algo. Senti que não me importava. Que não me importava com o fato de ele existir. Como se ele não fosse nada para mim.” The words spilled out of Cellbit. Going faster and faster. (I lied when I said I didn't feel anything when I saw Cucurucho. I did feel something. I felt like I didn't care. That I didn't care that he existed. Like he was nothing to me.)

Phil nodded. “That’s it mate… Let it all out.”

“E agora que estou de volta, a ilha parece tão diferente. Todos se sentem tão diferentes. Richas se sente diferente. Roier se sente tão diferente.” Cellbit sighed, “Parece que ainda estou naquela maldita ilha…” Cellbit growled. “Do lado de fora, olhando para dentro.” (And now that I'm back, the island feels so different. Everyone feels so different. Richas feels different. Roier feels so different. It feels like I'm still on that damn island… On the outside looking in.)

Cellbit fell silent, then turned to look out toward the river; and the little village Em, Bagi, Mouse and Tina had built. “Só quero me sentir em casa de novo...” He mumbled. (I just want to feel at home again…)

Phil wrapped his wing a bit tighter around Cellbit. “Home is wherever you make it. It’s the people who you look for. The ones you forge a bond with. It’s ok if it takes time to make it.”

Cellbit leaned back to stare at Phil. “Sometimes I can’t tell if you are this ancient all knowing being, or just a silly old man.”

Phil burst into laughter, soon followed by Cellbit’s growing grin then his own laughter. “Oh. Oh man, Cellbit.” Phil panted as the pair’s laughter abated.

Cellbit jabbed an elbow into Phil’s side. “Dad’s giggly.” He teased.

“Mate…” Phil chuckled. “It’s been a bit since I heard you call me that.”

Cellbit chuckled and leaned into Phil’s wing. “While Baghs and I were stuck on that island, I tried not to refer to you as ‘Dad’ when I talked, or even thought about you. I kept on thinking about how disappointed you would be that we stayed behind-”

“Bruh.” Phil chuckled. “I thought you knew me better than that.” He teased. “I was never disappointed in you or Baghs. You both made the best choice you could with the information you had. That’s no reason to be disappointed in you.”

Cellbit smiled. “Thanks dad…” He leaned into Phil’s shoulder, letting his eyes drift half closed.

Rapid steps approached, and a familiar bright yellow shirt caught the lantern light. Cellbit sat up, ready to yell at Richas to go back to bed.

Richas slid to a halt, turned and plonked down one of his deep blue signs, rapidly writing a message. “YOU CALLED TIO PHIL ‘DAD’!?”

Another sign. “WHAT”

Yet another sign. “WHAT”

Phil burst into laughter. Richas whirled around and swung a fist at Phil’s knee. “Ow ow! Mate!” Phil managed to get out between giggles. Cellbit had folded over, trying to hide his bright red face with his hands.

“EXPLAIN. IMEDIETLY.” Richas wrote.

Phil extended the wing that was surrounding Cellbit a bit more so Richas could cuddle in as well. As soon as Richas was settled into Cellbit’s far side, Phil began to speak. “Well, it started in Purgatory. When Charlie Slimecicle suggested we start a gas mask cult.”

Richas plonked down a sign. “WAT??? KKKKKKKKKKKKKKKK”

Phil nodded. “Yep. There were some jokes thrown around that I was ‘Dad’ in a cult leader type way. It wasn’t until we had moved from Red Spawn to our second base location that Baghera, Jaiden,” Phil tilted his head toward Cellbit. “and Cellbit referred to me as ‘Dad’ in a less cult leader type way. It was Baghera who started that part, because she was having a Bolas day and was finally coming out of it. If I remember correctly, she said ‘Dad, I killed a silverfish. Are you proud of me?’ And Cellbit basically shoved her aside and said, ‘Dad, are you proud of me too?!’ We went a little insane on that island.” Phil shrugged.

Richas placed a sign. “KKKKKKKKKKKKKKKK”

Another sign. “does this mean i should call you ‘avô’ now? KKKKKKKKKKKKKKKK”

“If you want to, mate.” Phil drawled, chuckling.

#my fic #mcyt #qsmp #qsmp fanfiction #qsmp philza #qsmp cellbit #qsmp richarlyson #qsmp cellbit is not ok #(dont like that qCellbit's speaking portuguese? you sacrifice your knees)

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ladylooch · 11 months ago

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The Spiral [Lio Meier] - Part 4

A/N: One more part after this! things are starting to turn around for our Lio 🤭

Word Count: 5.3k

Warnings: allergic reaction, lots of medical talk, angst, childhood trauma themes

ICYMI Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

The morning after his concussion, Lio thinks it would have been better to have been crushed by a garbage truck. His head hurts so bad, worse than any hangover headache or migraine he’s had in his life. But worse than that is the fog that has settled into his brain. Details of last night are fuzzy- the game, Lucie, their conversation. He thinks things are better, but is worried about facing her this morning.

He rolls over to his back, tentatively opening his eyes. The world doesn’t swirl like it had been last night. But he feels like the front of his forehead is going to explode off from the pressure. Is that normal? Fuck.

Slowly, Lio adjusts his position to sit up. The smell of something baking hits his nose. He smiles. Lucie is still here. It takes awhile before Lio can get out of bed, changed, and hit the bathroom. By the time he is done with that, he feels like he could go back to sleep. Instead, he drags himself towards the kitchen. Lucie is at the stove, a large stack of pancakes to her left. As he gets closer, he can see the rainbow sprinkles poking out of the cakes.

“Lucie pancakes.” He chuckles, approaching her.

“They still hit even as an adult.” She shrugs.

“Doesn’t Stell think these are her creation?”

“Yeah because of her dad.” Lucie rolls her eyes. “Connor thinks she created everything, even though I made these all the time when I was pregnant with her.”

“So he thinks because she was there, she made them?”

“He thinks she created the craving for me, so it’s from her.”

“Your mom could set that straight.”

“Mmm, I don’t think anyone can set that man straight about his sweet girl.” Lucie takes off two more pancakes. “Sit down and eat. You look awful.”

“Thanks.” Lio mumbles, resting his head delicately in his palm. He sets his elbow on the counter watching as Lucie slaps two pancakes on his plate. “Still hate syrup?”

“Yep.” Lio confirms, picking up his fork to cut into a pancake.

“I heard from Ben. He wanted you to check in when you got up.” Lio nods, grabbing his phone.

While he eats small bites, him and Ben talk about how Lio is feeling. Ben is concerned about the intensity of Lio’s headache. He wants him to go to the hospital for a CT scan.

“Can you send a car? Lucie needs to go home to her family.”

“No, I can take you.” She says, waving away his worries. “Con is taking Stell to the rink for practice. She is loving her mommy-free life right now.” Ben and Lio chat more. The team doctor is going to meet them at the hospital and they will know more after the imaging is processed.

Lucie and Lio finish breakfast, then head into Newark. Lucie waits while Lio is being scanned and afterwards while they wait for the radiologist to do a quick read. Everything looks good. Lio’s brain isn’t showing any damage, but he does have one hell of a concussion. The news is good. Lio feels like he can breathe and be more at peace with where he is at.

“You’re going to have to take it easy.” The doctor reminds him. “At least two weeks before you do any exercise.” Lio agrees. He can’t imagine getting on the ice right now with how shitty he feels.

“Is it okay if I drop you off and head out?” Lucie asks Lio when they are back in the car. “Connor is going to the Children’s Hospital to see some of his kiddos. I need to get home before he leaves again.”

“Yeah, I will be fine. Thank you for staying with me. And.. um tell Connor thanks too. I appreciate it. Know he isn’t my biggest fan.”

Lucie drops Lio in front of his building, then heads back towards her city. Lio’s doorman greets him warmly, opening the big door for him.

“Thanks, Charlie.”

“Tough one last night, Mr. Meier.”

“Hey, boys pulled out the win tho.” Lio waves as he walks through.

“Your mama is waiting for you in your apartment. She was mighty frazzled this morning.” Lio stops in his tracks. There are two people who have unlimited access to his apartment besides him. One just dropped him off. The other lives in Switzerland.

“Ah, thanks. Moms…” Lio trails off with a shrug.

Lio seriously contemplates sprinting out of his building. Doctor’s orders be damned. The only woman to ever love him unconditionally is upstairs and he is not ready to face her. Not ready to see her after the horrible things he said to her. Not ready to face his own shame and self-hatred. It’s why he left Switzerland without seeing her even after telling his dad he wouldn’t do that. He doesn’t deserve her or her love.

But she is here. Already. He knows how many hoops she must have jumped through to get to him. He senses his dad’s involvement as well. The strings Timo Meier would have pulled for her are unlimited. So Lio Meier gets into the elevator and rises the 6 floors to his awaiting fate. Outside his apartment door, he takes a deep breath, then puts his key in the lock. He pushes the door open, not seeing her on the couch like he expected.

“Mama?” He calls into the apartment.

“Lee?” He hears her call from deep inside. She comes rushing out of his room. With zero hesitation, she grabs him and wraps him into her body for a hug. “Oh” She sighs, holding his head against hers. She sucks in a deep breath then lets out a relieved sigh at having him close to her. “Are you okay?” Her brown eyes are deeply pained. Lio closes his eyes, unable to see more.

“Um, well, I guess but also no. What are you doing?”

“Your laundry.”

“Of course.” He chuckles, shaking his head. He has been grown for awhile, but she still insists on taking care of him. It makes Lio less worried for whatever is to come.

“Well, I was very anxious waiting for you. I had to do something.” She insists, waving a hand in front of her face. “Now, go sit down. I have lemon water, hot oatmeal and toast ready for you.” She gently guides him forward. “And vitamins. You need extra nutrients to get better.”

“Mama.” Lio sighs when she turns to head back to the kitchen. He feels like such a piece of shit with how she is jumping right in to take care of him. The undeserving suffocates him, tightening his throat until he struggles to breathe. “Don’t do this.” He finally chokes out. “Don’t double down and love me harder right now.”

“Lee.” Emma comes back to him, putting her hands on his cheeks. She kisses his forehead, right over where his head aches so badly. “I am never going to stop loving you hard or taking care of you. I’m your mother.” She runs her fingers through his hair, then moves back into the kitchen. His blue eyes follow her.

“Is dad here?”

“Yes, of course. Boys are with Uncle Neeks and Auntie Lex, but Livy is coming this weekend.”

“You both didn’t have to come and Liv needs to stay in California. She has school.”

“Mmm, but we did.” Emma looks over her shoulder at him. “We needed to see that you were going to be okay.”

“Dad isn’t here now?” Lio looks down the hall towards his bedroom.

“No, we felt like it’s you and I that need to talk. Not the three of us.” Lio looks away. “Don’t be mad at daddy. It was me. He didn’t want to do it.” Lio’s blue eyes find her again in the kitchen.

“You don’t get to tell me to not be mad at him.” He whispers.

“Probably not. But I love your dad very much and if I can save him from your wrath, I want to.”

Lio goes to the couch, sitting down, laying his head back on the top. He is exhausted from his morning. He feels the air of his mom coming around the couch. She puts her hand on his forehead, smoothing the wrinkle of distress there.

“What’s the news?”

“Concussion.” Lio mumbles.

“Is your brain okay?”

“Yes.” Emma sighs in obvious relief. Her hand drops to his shoulder. She strokes her hand there, quietly contemplating where to go next. When Lio opens his eyes, she begins.

“Lio, daddy and I love you more than I even know how to say. I never thought I would have to find words to express how much and I’m deeply sorry that you’ve been so hurt.” She sighs, running her hand through her hair, then looking out the floor to ceiling windows to the city. His apartment is only a few blocks from where her and Timo lived when she was pregnant with Lio. That feels like so long ago, but she tries to go back to who she was then to give Lio more insight into their life.

“I was the one who wanted to fudge your story. I know daddy told you that this summer, but he doesn’t know all of the things that went into that. You and I had experiences when you were a baby that made me feel very protective of you. People judged. They were horrible and social media made our life so accessible, even as Daddy and I tried to hide you. But this was never because we were ashamed or didn’t love you.” Disgust and substantial disagreement scrunches Emma’s nose. “It was the exact opposite.” Emma puts her hands on her cheeks for a moment, then continues.

“When you were 10 months old, the Devils were playing in the Eastern Conference finals. Daddy was hurt. He was playing through it as he always does, so he wasn’t performing very well. People were upset.” Lio watches his mom become increasingly uncomfortable. “You and I were out at a store after the Devils went down in the series. There was an incident in public where someone came up to you, a little baby, and called you that name…” Emma closes her eyes. “They went on to literally blamed the entire playoff situation on the fact that you were born out of wedlock. Daddy’s play as well. We were being punished for our sin of having you.”

Lio can see how much this still hurts his mom decades later.

“I’m sorry, mom.” He says sincerely.

“That person got to me.” Emma shakes her head. “I felt you deserved a better story. A more picture perfect story because of how much joy and purpose you brought to our lives. I..” She sighs. “I felt like we ruined your childhood before it had even really begun. I tried to fix it the way I knew how. Instead I hurt you.”

“But Lio, please know, I have loved you since the moment I knew of you even when I was crying on a bathroom floor. I didn’t know what to do, but I knew I had to figure it out for you. When I got up off that tile, whatever decision daddy wanted wasn’t going to shake my decision. You were coming because I wanted you. It would be me and you against the world.” Emma stops, looking at him, then she chuckles. “But daddy wasn’t going anywhere. He was all in. He loved us so much. You’ve seen the videos from when I was pregnant with you. Nothing about that was forced.”

Lio remembers the one of his dad laughing hard as a three week old Lio tried to latch onto Timo’s big chest. The pictures of him on the ice at The Rock for the first time in skates that looked massive on his feet. Tons of videos of Lio and Timo napping together the year of the Devils first cup run. He looks across his apartment at a picture of his parents and him with the cup. It was only Lio and them at that time. Well, his mom was pregnant with Livy, but they barely knew that. Although the most difficult to win trophy in sports is right there, his dad’s hands are on a young Lio, engulfing him and his mom in his sweaty equipment.

“It felt like a lie.” Lio hears himself say. He gestures to the picture. Emma follows his gaze. “Like it looked like that. But then you and dad would make a comment about wanting me so bad you couldn’t wait and my whole life felt like a lie.” Emma swallows hard, nodding.

“I see that now, Lee. I’m very sorry. But that was real. That was our life, baby.” She reaches for his hand.

“It hurt me.” He whispers. Emma winces, then runs her hand up his arm to squeeze his shoulder.

“I know. I am so sorry. I hope you can forgive me.” Emma purses her lips together, then looks at Lio with tears in her eyes. She brushes her thumb over the hairs behind his ear. “So loved. So wanted. Never a mistake.” Lio nods, then reaches to hug her. They hold one another tightly.

“Love you, mama.” Lio inhales heavily. “I can see how you wanted to protect me.”

“I love you, Lee. So much sweet boy.” When they pull apart, Emma stands to grab Lio more water, then comes back to the couch.

“She wasn’t even pregnant.” Lio confesses. “False positive.”

“Oh.” Emma blinks. This is the first time she is hearing this. “How does that make you feel?”

“Relieved.” Lio answers honestly. “More than any of the other reasons I said this summer… I just don’t want kids, mama.” Emma nods. She has suspected so for awhile.

“It’s your life. You get to decide. But you need to be more careful because at some point, it becomes not your choice.”

“Kay, pot.” Lio jokes with a light-hearted smirk. Emma tisks, chuckling and smacking Lio’s leg.

“Don’t slut shame your mother. You didn’t see how good James Bond looked that night.”

- - -

A brisk and skin drying wind has picked up on the East coast in the middle of November. Old man winter is roaring its way to the East coast with a winter storm warning in effect beginning tomorrow. With the impending weather, things are sure to get dicey in the booming metropolis of New York City. Despite the lingering effects of his concussion agitating him today, Lio is currently being dragged from room to room in the Bubble Planet by Stella Wood.

“This way! This way!” She yells, struggling to pull his heavy weight with her little body.

“Stell, I’m coming. Just chill.” He laughs.

“She doesn’t know that word. She’s three.” Lucie jokes back to him.

They weave through room after room, each one more exciting than the last. Stella is having the time of her life, especially when she is on Lio’s shoulders, getting to touch the bubbles falling from the ceiling.

“Mama, this is the best day! I wish daddy could come!” Lucie and Lio avoid looking at each other, just like they avoid the giant elephant that is Connor Wood between them.

Although Lucie and Connor have discussed more about what happened this summer, he is not ready to move on. It got particularly heated when Lucie asked if Stella could see Lio. Connor questioned Lucie’s motives, worried about the implications and confusion Stella would have about Connor not being there. These were fair and valid points, but her inquisitiveness hurt less than her tears about missing Lio.

“Baby, you do what you need to do, but I’m not interested in spending time with him or fixing this. I’ve made concessions along the way. This is where I am at. Stell stays here with me.”

Lucie respected that. She dropped it completely. But suddenly the next morning, Connor had given her quiet permission for her to bring Stella to breakfast with Lio. That was a month ago. Connor heads to the rink on days when his girls are meeting up with Lio, always having an excuse about training or treatment or nutrition. Lucie kisses him extra hard on those days, wanting him to know she loves him deeply and understands so much of this is difficult for them.

Now, as she watches Stella up on Lio’s shoulders, all she can fathom is the immense hole Connor’s absence brings.

“Baby, are you getting hungry?” Lucie asks her daughter as they bop out onto the New York avenue.

“Yeah.”

“What do you want?”

“Mac and cheese!”

“You had that for dinner last night.” Lucie laughs.

“She is a good Swiss girl!” Lio nods approvingly.

“Her favorite is Kraft.” Lucie points out.

“We’ll work on it. She’s three, ya know.” He jostles Lucie’s shoulder, then immediately regrets it at the way the world swirls upright for a minute. “Oof.” He rubs at his temples.

“Careful, Lee. No setbacks.” Lucie cautions, gripping his shoulder.

The three of them head a few blocks down to a diner, settling into a red booth with huge, plastic menus and a coloring page for Stella. Lio sits on her side of the booth, taking turns coloring a troll in a field of daisy.

“Not pink!” Stella scrunches her nose, pushing Lio’s hand away.

“What? You said I could pick any color.”

“Yeah, any one but pink.”

“You love pink?”

“When I was two.”

Lucie and Lio both snort, attempting to pursue their lips to keep their laughter in. Stella Wood is an absolute hoot.

“Can I share a milkshake with you?” Lucia asks Lio.

“I was gonna share with Stell.”

“Oh, I see how it is.” She raises her eyebrows then looks away with a smirk at her menu. She decides on a simple Strawberry shake. “Stell, do you want to share with uncle Lee?”

“Yeah.”

“Which flavor?”

“Reese’s! His favorite!”

“No, you can’t have those, baby. You’re allergic to peanuts.”

“No peanuts in there?”

“Yes, there is peanut butter.” Lucie calmly reminds her.

“Sorry, Uncle Lee. I get sick.” She pats her little pot belly.

“It’s okay. I was thinking chocolate.”

“Oh yes.” The little girl sighs happily.

The waitress comes and takes their orders. The adults grab cheeseburgers with fries while Stella happily exclaims she needs Mac and Cheese. The waitress practically swoons out of her Keds at how sweetly Stella thanks her for going to get their food. More coloring is done and a quick few games of hangman using three letter words like cat and dog and hat. Stella is getting so good at her ABCs. The milkshakes come out first. Stella watches in awe as the shake is split between two cups for her and her uncle.

“You gonna be able to finish that?” Lio asks.

“Mhm.” Stella nods enthusiastically. With one hand she grabs the glass while the other helps her balance on the table top. She sucks up the milkshake quickly, then sputters, coughing.

“Oh, that was a big sip. It’s cold, huh?” Lucie chuckles, handing Stella her water glass. She holds it up to the little girl’s lips for a sip.

“Ah!” She exclaims. “Mmmm.” She sucks up more of the thick liquid. Lio and Lucie chuckle, watching Stella enjoy her ice cream. Lio leans back farther in the booth, looking across the table at his cousin.

“I’ve had so much fun with you today. I missed this.”

“Me too.” Lucie murmur. Stella coughs again, loudly, then seems to gag. Stella sits up straighter, looking Lucie in the eyes with wide orbs. “Are you okay, baby?” Lucie straightens. Lio sits up as well, reaching out for Stella. She makes a wheezing noise, then sticks her tongue out.

“Oh my god. Stell?” Lucie covers her mouth, watching a red, angry rash begin to form on Stella’s face. Lio grabs Stella as she begins to sway backward.

“She is very warm.”

“What is going on?” Lucie whispers, she looks around the table then she smells it, the faintest whiff of peanut butter coming from the ice cream in the glass Stella was drinking. “Oh my god. Peanut butter.” She reaches for her purse, fumbling around. “Um.. ohmygod.”

“Do you have an Epipen?”

“Um.” She nods vigorously, beginning to pant herself. Her stomach tightens, fear dashes down her spine. She rips her hands through the contents of her purse, looking for the injection she always carries with her since the first reaction Stella had a few months ago in Switzerland. But it wasn’t like this. It was nothing close to this.

“Luc, come on.” Lio calls to his cousin, picking up Stella into his arms. “You’re okay, baby. It’s okay!” He tries for a cheery voice as Stella being to sob. “Luc, dump the purse out.” Lucie picks the bag up, emptying it from the handles. Lio sees the EpiPen immediately, tossing the cap off hastily. He does the injection, pausing to watch Stella’s reaction. Her wheezing gets tighter, but she can no longer speak to him or even cry. Lio’s heart is racing in his chest as he watches her struggle.

“Do you have another one?”

“No! It’s with Connor at home.” She shakes her head frantically. “Oh my god. Someone call an ambulance!” Lucie sobs out to the restaurant. In the haste of dumping her purse out, her phone fell underneath the booth. But she is frozen in paralysis. She can’t move. She can’t breathe. She is forced to watch her baby struggle.

Adrenaline takes over Lio like he was injected with the epinephrine. He calculates out where they are in the city, the amount of time it will take for an ambulance to get there and he knows Stella’s chances of making it are slim with how much she is struggling even after her first injection. He has seen this before with a kid in school when they still lived in Jersey.

“There isn’t time for the ambulance. I’m taking her to Children’s.” The hospital is at the end of the three blocks they walked from Bubble Planet, close to Lucie’s car. Lio secures Stella to his chest and begins to run from the restaurant. He leaves Lucie at the table to scramble her things back into her bag. He runs as fast as his body will go. Stella jostles against his shoulder, going limper and limper and Lio quite literally races against time.

“You’re going to be okay, Stell. it’s going to be okay. I won’t let anything happen to you.” He promises the little girl in his arms.

Tears blur his vision. His concussion rears it’s ugly head, pulsing against his temples and making the sidewalk shift with his blurred vision. He can’t let that stop him. Stella needs him. He pushes his injured and weak body to go harder the next block, dodging pedestrians and cabs in walk ways and dogs on leashes. He hits the emergency entrance of the hospital, screaming for help.

“Help! Please! My nieces is going into shock! She was exposed to peanuts!” Nurses swarm him, snatching Stell immediately and taking over.

“Did you give her Epinephrine?”

“How was she exposed?”

“Is this her first exposure?”

Lio answers the questions as best he can. Yes, ingested and no. He looks over his shoulder, wondering when he can expect to see Lucie. But then they are taking Stella away on her bed. Another nurse holds him back as they rush down the hall with her.

“Sir, I need you to wait in the lobby.”

She is right. He needs to wait for Lucie anyway. But that doesn’t make it easier to turn around. He heads to the doors he just sprinted through, avoiding the gazes of curious onlookers. He walks outside into the cold air. His chest tightens immediately and he turns to the side, looking for something he can vomit into. But then he sees Lucie Wood, rushing down the sidewalk, clutching her purse to her chest, sobbing so loud he can hear every inhale and exhale of her shaking body.

“Luc, they’ve got her.” Lio calls to her. He opens his arms up and Lucie collapses into his body. His shirt is immediately wet from her face. Large hiccups shudder her frame against him. He squeezes her tight, smoothing her hair down. “It’s going to be okay.” Lio whispers to her, hoping that maybe if they chant that together, it will make it real.

Several minutes pass. Lucie continues to sob into Lio’s body, even after he moves her inside to get out of the wind. The doctors come out looking for him, finding him and Lucie together. Stella is stable. They can go see her, but she will need to stay for several hours for monitoring as they had to give her two more injections. Lucie heads right into her daughter’s room, curling up with the little girl who looks drugged and exhausted in the center.

“Mama is here. You’re okay.” She cries to her daughter. Stella is upset and shaken from the ordeal. She clings to Lucie like a monkey, balling her shirt up in her little fists.

“LuLu, do you want me to call Connor?”

“Yes.” Lucie whispers, barely able to get the word out of her shaking lips. She reaches into the back pocket of her jeans, handing her phone to him. “If you call he won’t answer.” She says simply. Lio tries to brush that off like it doesn’t hurt, but it stings as bad as the wind biting his cheeks during his sprint to the hospital.

Lio takes a deep breath, then clicks on Connor’s contact. His heart is pounding in his chest like he’s about to take a face-off in the final minute of a trailing game. He licks his lips, leaning agains the wall, waiting on the call to connect.

“Hey baby! I’m just about to leave.”

“Ah.” Lio coughs. “Hey, it’s Lio.”

Silence.

“Where is Lucie?” A definite snap tightens the words through the line.

“She’s with Stella. She asked me to call you and tell you what is going on.”

“What? Are they okay? What..”

“Lucie is okay.” Lio starts.

“Stell? Whats wrong with her!?” Connor’s voice is beginning to escalate. “What did you do, Lio?” Connor snaps. Lio closes his eyes.

“I didn’t do anything. It was a mistake at the restaurant.”

“Fuck!” Connor yells. “Where are you?”

“At Children’s hospital off 34th.”

“You have to tell me what happened, Lio.”

“I’m trying to, but you’re not letting me get much out here, man.” Connor sighs. Lio takes his silence as compliance. “We were out grabbing lunch and she had an allergic reaction and we had to bring her to the hospital. Her Epipen wasn’t enough.”

“Fuck, I have the second one. We usually have the two together, but Lucie and I had plans the other night and…” Connor’s voice is distraught.

“It happens. But you should get down here. They need you.”

“I’m on my way.”

Lio removes the phone from his ear, looking at the lock screen of Lucie, Connor and Stella. Lio took that photo of them this summer in Switzerland, before everything happened. He sighs heavily, then comes back into the room.

“Connor is coming.” Lio assures Lucie. She doesn’t take her crying eyes off the little girl in her arms. She sniffs and nods in acknowledgement, continuing to touch her daughter’s face soothingly. Lio can’t tell if it’s for Stella or Lucie.

Connor Wood arrives thirty minutes later with squeaking sneakers on the tile floor of the hospital hallway. Lucie and Stella are dozing in an overwhelmed sleep. Lio sits in the chair next to them with one hand on Stella, rubbing her arm. Lucie’s hand clings to his wrist, needing comfort in one of the worst moments of her life.

“I’m a terrible mom.” She had told Lio tearfully.

“You’re not. It was scary.”

“What if you weren’t there?”

“It doesn’t matter. I was.”

“Luc! Stell!” Connor rushes into the room then locks in on Lio. He shifts his worried eyes to the bed, seeing Lucie and Stella curled together. His lips pull into a deep frown, then his eyes seemingly dim when he takes in Lio in the place he should be.

“They’re resting, Lucie is pretty upset.” Lio says as he slowly works his wrist out of Lucie’s grasp. “I’m sorry, I know you don’t want to see me. I’ll leave now, I just didn’t want to leave the girls alone before you got here.”

“What happened?” Connor asks. Lio can see the way his chest rapidly raises and falls beneath the Rangers logo on his chest.

“Stella somehow got a peanut butter shake at the diner. Wrong order. She had some and started having a severe reaction.” Connor’s face gets ghostly pale. He puts his hand on his head over his blue hat, waiting for more. “Um, Luc, She… she panicked. It was all scary. Truly awful. But I gave Stell the injection, but it didn’t do enough. She became mostly unresponsive.” Connor closes his eyes, bringing his hands to his face in anguish. “There wasn’t time to wait for help, so I grabbed Stella and ran here with her.”

“You ran?”

“Yeah. Stell didn’t have time.” Lio reiterates. If he is mad at Lio for that, then so be it. Maybe it was reckless, but Lio had to make a judgement call and Stell is going to be okay because of it. Connor stares at Lio. Then suddenly he steps forward around the bed. Lio stands up taller, preparing for anything. Connor wraps an arm around Lio’s shoulders to bring him into his body. Lio brings his hands up, clasping Connor’s back as they share a deep, sincere hug.

“Thank you.” Connor whispers, tears coating his voice. Lio squeezes Connor tighter, not wanting to let go of his best friend. Suddenly, it hits Lio. How close they were to losing Stell. How dire she had looked when he ran through the doors of the ER. How Lucie had every right to be that terrified at the table. It had been bad. Horrible. Worst case scenario.

Lio can’t help it. He begins to sob. Everything that has happened the last few months weeps out of him. From losing Savannah, to screaming at his parents, to only having his little sister, to losing the three people in this room with him. His concussion… almost losing Stella on that New York street.

“It’s okay, Lee. She’s going to be okay.” Connor puts his hand on Lio’s head. “You saved our girl.” Lio nods, shuddering as he pulls away. Both men wipe their faces with their hands, then look over to the two girls laying in the bed. Stella has a sleepy grin on her face, watching them.

“Daddy!” She giggles, reaching out to him, flexing and unflexing her fingers for him to come closer.

“Hi baby.” Connor smiles brightly, leaning down to kiss her cheeks. “Can I lay with you and mama?”

“Yeah.” Stella yawns as she says the word.

“Sleepy.” Connor chuckles, kissing her again. He curls her and Lucie into his body, trying to be careful not to wake his wife. Lucie jolts up at the feeling of his hands on her. “Me, Luc. It’s me.” She visibly relaxes when she sees her husband. “I’m here.” He brushes her cheek with his thumb.

Lio watches from the end of the bed, then anxiously rubs at his forehead. He clears his throat, stuffing his hands into his pockets.

“Um, well I’ll head out so you all can be together.”

“No, don’t go.” Lucie shakes her head.

“It’s okay, Luc. I’ll see you later.”

“You should stay with us.” Connor says softly. “We want you here.” The insinuation of the we has the corners of Lio’s mouth sliding up.

Lio makes his way back to the chair by the bedside, sitting down in it. Him and Connor share a look of understanding. Lucie trails her nails along Stella’s back as another big yawn stretches her little mouth.

“Uncle Lee?” Stella murmurs.

“Hm?”

“You gonna be here when I wake up?”

“Yeah, Stell.” He sighs. “I’ll be right here.”

#lio & lucie #lio x savannah

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