#he was there for about fifteen minutes just listing off the people who have died since I left
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#my old cult leader came to my work again today#he was there for about fifteen minutes just listing off the people who have died since I left#he told me the people I was closest to are now on their deathbeds#he said they probably don’t even remember me#why would he do that#what does that accomplish#I was shaking so bad#I spent the rest of my shift making stupid mistakes#I don’t know what to do#so many memories#so many things my brain repressed are flooding back#I’m scared and I’m upset and I don’t know what to do#usually I turn to religion but everything reminds me of him#that church was horrible#I remember so much now#I remember how I felt#i hate this i hate this i hate this#I feel like I’m going insane#why#why won’t they leave me alone#why did I have to tell him#why did I want to go back#these people aren’t innocent#they’re monsters#they have never cared about me#i’m so scared#complex ptsd#vent tw#religious trauma#tw cult
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C'mon, It's Just One Night (Part 2)
Summary: After getting a fake love note in your locker, you ask Eddie to help you mess up some bullies plans.
Tags: Eddie Munson x Reader, smut later, fem reader, reader wears a dress at one point, mentions of bullying, actual bullying, three-shot
Master List
3.8k Words
Part 1
You and Eddie didn’t talk about the plan again until the night of Homecoming. Most of the chats you had about what was going to happen tonight was about the secret show that Corroded Coffin was going to do right after the dance.
Honestly, you had heard a few kids quietly whispering about the show, which surprised you. You wondered how many people were interested in the music versus wanting to see the Freak and his band play. After all, Corroded Coffin only really played The Hideout on Tuesdays, which wasn’t exactly the best time slot for high schoolers.
It was about a half hour before the dance was supposed to start, and you had spent the whole day distracted. You kept reading that stupid note over and over again, and anyone watching you would think that you were just excited about a secret date. The truth was that you hoped that the note would somehow give you any sort of clue about what was planned for you when you made your way into the gym that night.
You’d convinced the rest of Hellfire to try and gather any information on what was going to happen, but no one came back with any information. Even Lucas, who was a jock, couldn’t get any information from anyone.
Maybe this would be a Carrie situation.
Having telekinetic powers could be cool though.
You stared hard at the brush on your desk that night, trying to make it move with your mind. Nothing happened.
It might not have moved because as you were glaring at your brush, a knock came at your bedroom door. It was your mom, wanting you to come outside and take photos of you in your outfit. And yeah, you were a little excited to do that after all the work that you had put into looking this nice for a fifteen minute bit. It wouldn’t hurt to have proof that you looked good tonight.
You stood up and smoothed out your dress before walking outside into the front yard as your mom called out that she’d be out there in a second as she grabbed the camera.
You didn’t expect anyone else to be outside, but when you stepped out the door you were greeted with the sight of someone standing on the porch.
It was Eddie.
Eddie Munson.
His hair was freshly washed and his waves were framing his face perfectly. His leather jacket had been discarded for the night and he was wearing a dark gray button-up shirt that looked almost black with the top two buttons undone. The closest you’d ever seen him wear a button up were a few flannels that he wore in the fall and winter. His jeans looked... they looked new. New and dark blue with no holes in them to be seen. The only pieces of his outfit that you recognized were his rings and his reeboks. The twilight had cast a near purple haze over your neighborhood, and Eddie... Eddie looked good in that fading light.
“Holy shit.” You said, after staring at him like an idiot for a moment. “Who are you and what have you done with Eddie?”
“Ha Ha.” Eddie fake laughed. “I could say the same about you.”
You felt your cheeks grow warm, unsure if that was a compliment or not. “I... You look good.” you said more genuinely.
This caused Eddie to shift slightly on his feet. “You look better.”
You could have died on the spot.
“Wait, what are you doing here?” you asked. “I thought we were meeting up at the school?”
“You’re coming to the show with me after this anyway.” Eddie explained. “It’d be easier if I just drove both of us. We can still pretend that we didn’t meet up, I can drop you off at the school where no one will see us together and I’ll follow you inside after a few minutes.”
That made sense, you were going to be helping out with set up after the dance anyway.
“You might have made a mistake coming out here to pick me up, you know.” you said. “My mom will be out here in about two minutes and if she sees you, she’s going to make us take cheesy photos together.”
“I can humor your mom for a few minutes for this.” Eddie shrugged. “Besides, I owe her for being such a loyal customer.”
You stared at him. “Eddie... what do you mean by that?”
He gave you that trademark shit-eating grin, the one that he often used during club when he knew he was about to royally piss everyone off.
“How else do you think I was able to buy new jeans?” he asked, his brown eyes shining in the lingering twilight.
“Eddie Munson, you motherfucker, do not tell me that you sell drugs to my own mother-”
Speak of your mother, and she shall appear with a smile and a camera in hand. You were going to have a long talk with Eddie later about boundaries and selling weed to your mother, even though you knew it wouldn’t change anything.
Your mom quickly ushered you to take some solo pictures of you, and Eddie stood behind her watching with amusement as you awkwardly posed in the way you had seen in some teen magazine that you’d browsed when waiting in line at the grocery store. You felt stiff and awkward until Eddie started making faces behind your mom’s back that had you breaking out into a fit of giggles. He was totally going to give you shit for this later, but you knew he’d have his moment in the spotlight in a moment as well.
Eddie was next up, but somehow he had no problem casually posing and smiling for your mom’s camera. Asshole.
Then the couple’s pictures came and your mom made it clear exactly how she had wanted you two to pose. Eddie didn’t even hesitate wrapping his arm around your waist and holding your hand.
For a few moments, you forgot what was supposed to happen that night. In this moment, you could really believe that you were going on a date with your best friend, and that he was holding your hand because he wanted to, not just because he was being forced to because of a favor. Eddie had always been a good actor, and you thought that if he wasn’t such a metal-and-D&D nerd, he could have been great in the theater department.
Eddie really was a storyteller at heart. In music, in Dungeons and Dragons, in his doodles, the way he played up his Freak persona, and in this moment with his arms settled on your hips and his head on your shoulder. If Eddie wanted to captivate with a story, he could.
It’s a shame that a story was all this was.
Once the two of you were finally released from the watchful eye of your moms camera, Eddie led you to his van. He opened the passenger seat door for you, and even helped you into your seat as if he were a real gentleman. You didn’t think anyone had ever done that for you before.
“So... is there a plan for how we’re going to do this?” you asked. “We haven’t really talked about how this is going to happen.”
“What time is your secret admirer supposed to show up?” Eddie asked, the sound of his mixtape crackling through the air.
“7:30.”
“Then you’ll go in about five minutes early, stand in the middle of the gym, and at 7:30 I’ll burst in, sweep you off your feet, and then we can blow this joint.” Eddie said.
“I could use a joint.” you sighed, looking out the window as reality came back. You weren’t a princess, and this wasn’t a fairytale. Eddie was only doing this as a favor, nothing more.
“I’ll let you have one after we set up for the show.” He promised, pulling his van up to behind the school where no one was going to be dropped off for the dance. “I’ll see you inside in five minutes.”
You gave him a nod. “See you on the other side, Freak.”
You slipped to the entrance of the gym, and walked towards the booth where you presented your homecoming ticket. Homecoming had started at 7 pm on the dot and most students were already inside, dancing and giggling and having fun. The sound of the latest pop songs were echoing through the halls outside of the gym. The cheerleader running the ticket booth looked you up and down with a giggle.
“I love your outfit! It’s so... unique!” she gave you a smile that was way too wide and you grit your teeth at the false compliment. You shoved that anger down into your gut, and gave your best fake smile back, hoping that you sounded more sincere.
“Thank you, so much!” Your voice came out a bit higher pitched than anticipated, but the cheerleader didn’t seem to notice.
“Your Secret Admirer is going to love it.” She continued, and you felt your stomach twist. Shit, the cheerleaders were in on this too? You wondered how many people were in on this. “He asked me to give you this when you got here.”
She handed you a note, in the same sloppy handwriting as before.
Meet me in the center of the dance floor at 7:30.
It was 7:26 right now. You were tempted to make the assholes wait, after all, you wanted to make sure Eddie had a chance to get here before they could. But the cheerleader obviously saw you read the note, and there was no time to turn back.
Just show up for me. Eddie. You thought to yourself. Although this had been your idea, you were feeling nervous now. You really were about to put yourself out on full display to the school, willingly offering yourself up on a plate to your peers for humiliation. What if this didn’t work? What if Eddie didn’t make it in time? What if something worse happened with Eddie here?
The short walk from the entrance to the middle of the dance floor felt like slow motion. Your mind felt fuzzy and you hoped that you weren’t shaking from nerves. You stood in the center of the dance floor, and turned to face the single clock in the back of the gym. You could barely make out the time with the distance and dim lights, but you knew it was almost time.
7:27
7:28
You could do this
7:29
Almost time....
7:30
7:31
Where the fuck was Eddie?
7:32
Did he get held up?
7:33
Did he change his mind?
7:34
Fuck, you could hear the giggling.
7:35
You felt a tap on your shoulder.
This was it.
You turned around slowly, waiting for the worst.
Eddie stood before you, corsage in hand, on one knee as if he was proposing to you.
Maybe this was the real prank. Maybe the real prank was the one you played on yourself to be able to see your best friend kneeling and smiling up at you, offering you a corsage.
Time froze for a second as you took in the sight and committed it to memory.
“I’m glad you made it.” Eddie said, loud enough for anyone to hear. He really did have that natural projection that should have had the theater kids begging him to join them. “I knew you’d respond to my note.”
There was a dull murmur of confusion behind you, and you saw Eddie’s eyes flicker to something that you couldn’t see and he gave you a small nod.
Fuck, that was your cue.
You brought your hands up to your mouth, acting like all of the actresses you’d seen on tv who’s characters had been proposed to. You began nodding and accepted the corsage, letting him slide it onto your wrist.
How had he known what color to get to match your dress?
Eddie stood up and you threw your arms around him. “I was hoping it was you!” you said loudly, no need to act for this part. Eddie wrapped his arms around your waist and picked you up and spun you around once. He really was deceptively strong, and you giggled as he set you down. Your lips met his cheek. His arms stayed around you.
Eddie smiled at you in a way that made your cheeks heat up and your knees feel weak.
You two were staring at each other.
The music changed.
Eddie moved one of his hands from around your waist to grab yours, and the two of you were slow dancing before you even fully knew what was happening.
“Eddie, what are you doing?” You asked, following his movements.
“You said you wanted to really sell this that we were together now.” Eddie said, keeping his eyes on you. “I don’t know how many people would believe it if I showed up and we immediately left. It wouldn’t exactly be memorable.”
“Right, good point.” you agreed.
“I always have good points, that’s why I’m the dungeon master.” Eddie chuckled, “Besides, it’d be a shame that you put in this much effort to look good for little old me to not show you off. What kind of boyfriend would I be? I have to make sure that I get a reputation for being a mean and scary freak, but also a decent date.”
Boyfriend.
“Shit.” you said quietly.
“What’s wrong?” He asked, brows furrowing with a frown.
“I didn’t think about what happens after this. You agreed to be my fake date, but I don’t want you to feel trapped with me after this.” you said. “Yeah, this’ll get everyone off my back for now but when school starts again, I don’t want you to feel like you have to act like we’re together.”
“Don’t worry about that.” Eddie said. “It’s not like my dating life is thriving here anyway. Between you and me, I’m a little too old for those who dare try and get with the Freak here.”
You let out a small laugh. “Tired of one night stands with girls who just want bragging rights?”
“After the third time, I was starting to feel like I was cheating on my right hand.”
You pressed your forehead against his shoulder, erupting into a fit of giggles. This felt right, this relaxed moment with Eddie. This is how it was supposed to feel with someone, right? It was supposed to be easy, and with Eddie it always was.
“Thank you, Eddie.” you said after your giggles had died down. “I really owe you one.”
“I thought this plan was me owing you one.” Eddie asked.
“This is honestly above and beyond helping you get a passing grade for a test.” you admitted. “I know you have your show tonight, and you hate doing anything for school. Plus, you showed up wearing this and you spent money on jeans and the corsage- oh, thank you for the corsage-”
“Hey,” Eddie snapped you out of your rambling. “Don’t act like you forced me to do anything. You said I had full creative control tonight. I chose to do all this for you.”
“Why?” you asked, meeting his eyes. “You could have so easily told me to just fuck off and said no.”
“I’ll admit this wasn’t exactly my idea of how this night was going to go.” Eddie said. “But then you said that you wanted the Freak to show up for you. I wanted to know what would happen if it was just Eddie.”
“Just Eddie...” you said quietly. Not the Freak, not the satanic cult leader, not the dungeon master. Just Eddie, your friend. “I’m glad that just Eddie was the one to show up.” your mouth went dry. “I- ...Eddie I-”
The two of you had stopped moving in slow circles, Eddie was closer than he had ever been to you before. You forgot where you were and Eddie was leaning closer to you, his mouth opening as if he was going to say something.
And that’s when it happened.
Whatever it was, it was room temperature, and sticky. It dripped down from your hair, down your face and onto your dress. You looked down to see pools of red flooding below you on the gym floor, and then your head shot up to see Eddie, covered in the same sticky substance with a dumbstruck look on his face.
Blood? Was that actually blood?! Was Eddie bleeding? Were you? Wait, had someone actually dumped pigs blood on you?
Eddie wiped his face, smearing the substance on his skin and hand and carefully brought it to his face and sniffed it, and then gave it a small lick.
“Corn syrup.” he said and looked at you, his eyes wide in shock.
“You mean this was a Carrie situation?!” you asked in a loud whisper as the two of you stared at each other. You looked around, and saw the group of jocks laughing and high fiving each other. One of them was holding an old paint bucket. Your body froze, and you couldn’t believe that this was actually happening. Those assholes had thrown fake blood on you and Eddie. They won. You fucked up. Eddie did so much for you tonight and you never even considered that the jocks would be smart enough to adjust their plans to account for Eddie being here-
Then Eddie started laughing, like really laughing. It was that genuine laugh that you’d heard a hundred times when the party came up with a stupid plan to get past one of Eddie’s challenges in Hellfire.
He looked at you, with a spark in his eyes and a grin that was manic.
His laughter was so contagious, that you found yourself laughing as well. You heard the laughter from the jocks start to die down and turn into mutters of confusion. The whole gym seemed to go silent, and you think the DJ stopped the music but you were laughing too much to care.
How fucking rediculous was this? It was almost too obvious what they had set up, but you didn’t think they were this unoriginal. How did they even sneak in the bucket? How did no faculty or staff react to this?!
“I guess the Freak is showing up, anyway.” Eddie laughed and looked at you. “Let’s give them the show they want.”
Eddie’s hand wrapped around the back of your neck and started pulling you in. Instinct took over and you gripped at his stained shirt and then your lips met. The kiss was met with gasps and oohs and shouts from around you, but you didn’t care. Eddie was kissing you, and you were kissing him back. The two of you must have looked like a spectacle, covered in fake blood and making out with him in the middle of the dance floor after laughing like maniacs.
“Stop that, right now you two!” you heard a teacher yell, and that’s when Eddie pulled back.
“Feel free to kill me for that later, okay?” That wild smile was still on his face.
“I think we should run now.” you agreed, deciding that whatever had just happened within the last 30 seconds could be processed later. You could see a few teachers starting to finally take action and start to run over, and the jocks were now scattering. Even though you and Eddie were the victims here, you didn’t really feel like sticking around. Whatever would happen with the school, could wait until Monday.
Eddie grabbed your hand, flipped off the few jocks that were still gawking, and the two of you took off running through the exit doors of the gym, the two of you laughing and cackling like mad.
“Fake blood!” you yelled as the two of you dashed across the parking lot. “They threw fake blood on us!”
“They actually spent money to get that much corn syrup and dye!” Eddie laughed, opening the door to his van for you again.
“Shit, it’s gonna get all over your van.” you said, taking your seat anyway and buckling up.
“That’s the least worrying thing I’ve spilled in here. Don’t worry about it.” He said, hopping into the driver side seat. “Jesus Christ, I didn’t think they had it in them!”
“Eddie, they ruined your new clothes.” You frowned, looking at him. The fake blood was starting to dry to your skin, and you could see it starting to give Eddie’s hair an odd texture in certain areas.
“They also ruined your dress.”
“Yeah, but I was never going to wear this again.” you said.
“And I was going to ruin these clothes anyway.” he shrugged and started the car, peeling out of the parking lot like a bat out of Hell. Eddie’s lead foot hit the gas and the two of you were speeding down the road, out of town towards the quarry.
“Holy shit.” you said, leaning against the seat as the adrenaline faded.
“I think that could’ve gone worse.” Eddie said, still smiling. “I think the blood really adds to Corroded Coffin’s whole thing.”
You shook your head, grabbing some napkins from the floor and wiping your hands off. “Shit, do we owe them a thanks now? Should we send them a fruit basket?”
“Nah, they’ll get what they deserve. A slap on the wrist for pulling this stunt at a school function.” Eddie glanced at you with a wry grin.
“Right, why do I feel like they’ll get off easy but somehow we’re gonna be the ones in trouble on Monday?” You rolled your eyes and lowered your voice in a horrible imitation of Principal Higgins. “Yes, those two played a harmless prank by dumping corn syrup on you, but you two displayed unsightly behavior in front of everyone in some sort of Hellish ritual-”
“Ouch. I didn’t think I was that bad of a kisser.”
You stopped talking and suddenly the corn syrup felt sticky and uncomfortable. You still hadn’t been able to digest the fact that the two of you had kissed- no, you two had full on made-out in front of the whole student body. Had there been tongue? You honestly couldn’t remember.
An awkward silence settled over the two of you and you were unsure of what to say. You wanted to tell him that no, he wasn’t a bad kisser at all. You wanted to be smooth and say something like “Well, I wasn’t really paying attention before, how about we try again?”. You wanted to say anything to indicate that you liked it and very much wanted to do it again.
Instead the two of you sat in the loudest silence you had ever been in as the two of you drove the long strip down to the quarry. You scolded yourself, thinking that saying anything had to be better than saying nothing.
And yet no words came out.
This was supposed to be a one shot in April. Now it's a three-shot. Do NOT let me write more than three chapters. The third chapter is almost done. There will be smut.
Divider by @strangergraphics
Tag List: @supernaturalstilinski @wonderlanddreamer @princesssunderworld @kores-mun-son-n-more @munsonfiles
@ladysilence @ghcstpyre @avalon-wolf @huffledor-able541 @sheneedsrocknroll92
@i-trash-about-things
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| Aphrodite's Spell | Chapter One |
Summary: Aegon was the definition of fuckboy. He didn't care about people's feelings, fucked with no strings attached and used whoever he wanted. He never got attached. Never made friends. That was until he met you online. You didn't know him, nor his family. You were an innocent his family and their legacy tainted. Someone new. Something new.
Warnings: Talks of alcohol and drugs, some slight smut, angst.
Author's note: Welcome to chapter 1. This is basically story set up rather than much of the drama/slow burn. Aegon is troubled and I wanted to set up this part of the story before introducing the reader properly and the romance.
Taglist: @neithriddle @sab-falco @prp-butterf1y
Click here to be added to the tag list!
Divider: @fairytopea
He promised he would be good.
That was five hours ago. He now sat in the holding cell next to familiar faces and the same cops as every week. Drunks, addicts, underage drinkers, random men who never had a criminal record but got cocky with a bouncer and got arrested.
He promised he would be good.
But when did anyone really believe his promises?
"Targaryen. Your sister is here." Derrick shouted from across the cell, opening the door a crack to allow the blonde outside. He stood up with a bounce and walked past the other sorry looking idiots who managed to land themselves here on a Sunday evening. "Same time next week?" Derrick chuckled, passing Aegon his belongings, including his keys, phone and a dragon keyring he kept on his belt for good luck. "Most definitely, wouldn't miss it." Aegon remarked with smirk. He walked towards the front desk, pushing his blonde locks out of his face. Helena stood there with a less than pleased expression on her face.
"One Sunday night, Egg. That's all I ask." She started, slapped him around the head. "One Sunday i'll be able to relax and not have to be bailing you out of jail." She huffed, opening the front door to the station. "Maybe even one day you'll grow up?" She suggested with a slight smile. Aegon rolled his eyes, unsure of what lecture was awaiting him in the morning once news of his arrest made it's way to his mother. He was the disappointment of the family so he was just doing his job really. It made everyone else look good. "Maybe.." He said with a sigh and got into the passenger side of Helena's car. He had sobered up enough to not throw up in her car but still felt the buzz of the nights drinks and drugs. He emptied the plastic bag of hid belongings into his lap, replacing all the jewellery he was told to remove.
His phone started to buzz in his pocket seeing multiple texts from Aemond and his mother.
"Aemond was worried about you." Helena started, causing Aegon to chuckle under his breath. "Seriously Egg, he's never seen you that bad. Not since Dad died." Aegon released his breath, not even realising he was holding it. Dad. God he would be so dissapointed in him. "What's going on?" His sister continued, placing a caring hand on his arm.
"I'm fine Hel, just took shit too far...again." He replied, putting his hand on top of Helena's, reassuring his younger sister that all was well. They spent the rest of the car ride in silence, Aegon leaned back into his seat, watching the lights from the lamp posts whiz past as Helena drove her normal route back to his apartment. Not even fifteen minutes since she picked him up, she dropped him off again.
His apartment was cold when he opened the door. The winters in Kings Landing weren't as cold as in the North but they could be nippy. Aegon didn't bother turning on the lights, just went straight to his liquor cabinet and opened a bottle of whiskey. He started to drink it, enjoying the burning sensation as it went down his throat. Not bothering to close the blinds, or curtains, he collapsed into his bed, whiskey in hand.
"Why is it so hard for you to blah blah blah blah." Aegon pushed his hair out of his face as he lifted his head up off the table, unable to listen to his mother and grandfather's moaning anymore. "Am I done here? I have things to do." He pushed his chair away from the glass table and stood up. "Like what? Nurse a hangover? Or get so drunk you aren't hungover anymore?" His brother joked, raising his eyebrows at his older brother.
"Aemond, not all of us are prudes and can't handle our drink." Aegon crossed his arms before turning to face his mother. "Mother. I will see you tomorrow for dinner." He didn't bother saying goodbye to his grandfather or brother. They were cunts. As much as he disliked his mother, he had the decency to say goodbye to her.
He closed the office door behind himself, leaning against the door to steady himself. He could hear talking from behind the door. Most definitely him being slagged off. But he didn't really care. Aegon stood up straight and walked towards the elevator, pressing the button to the ground floor. "Bye Maria. See you later." He waved to the older receptionist who was bust typing away on her computer. She put a hand up to say goodbye to the young man before the elevator dinged and Aegon left the dragons pit.
Once Aegon stepped outside, the weight from his shoulders was suddenly lifted. He was back in his own head, rather than the Targaryen head. He walked over to his car and hoped into the drivers seat, watching in the rear view mirror as the paparazzi began circling his car like flies around a dead body. He took a deep breath before setting off home.
Aegon returned home, stopping only at a drive thru coffee shop to get his normal order as well as a hangover cure. He opened his door before walking straight into his bedroom and shutting the door behind him. Knocking the empty whiskey bottle onto the floor, he sat on his bed with his coffee and opened his laptop.
Opening his an online chat room he frequented he began to message his 'friends'. A few were online, many weren't as it was a Monday afternoon and many actually had to work for a living. He scrolled through the blog board, looking for anything interesting before he would crawl under his sheets and sleep off the horrible hangover.
Something caught his eye.
Y/N: Can a blonde bitch please come into my life and fuck it up? I'm bored of working and sleeping. I need a man to come and fuck me like a hound. Is that so much to ask?
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simmer down - chapter one
billy hargrove x hagan!oc
read on ao3 • masterlist • requests are open!
a/n: here is the rewrite!!! hope you all like it.
warnings: slow burn, secret crush, oc x steve, angst, underage drinking
word count: 10k
Gina Hagan had things easy. She knew she was pretty, she’d been told so her entire life. And okay, so Hawkin’s was a small midwestern town, maybe the bar was pretty low but she still had smooth sailing because of her looks. Her brother being popular helped. Freshmen year at Hawkin’s High was nothing short of a breeze. It meant a guaranteed spot with the cool crowd. People flocked to her because she was Tommy’s sister and who was his best friend? None other than the King himself, Steve Harrington. Hawkin’s one and only golden boy. His parents were filthy rich, rumors always swirling about their professions but Gina had the close connection to know the truth. His dad came from old money, had a shit ton of real estate across many states but was bred and born right here in quaint little Hawkin’s. He wanted his son to have a similar upbringing so well, they stayed here. However, with Mrs. Harrington’s job, once little Stevie could take care of himself, they were never in Hawkin’s much. Two months of the year, really. July and Christmas. They didn’t like winters in Indiana, so in all honestly it was about a month and a week. Barbara Harrington was a lawyer and a damned good one. Big corporations had her on the payroll and Steve says there’s a lot of schmoozing that comes along with the job. Gina’s met them a handful of times, mostly when she was a kid but they were always kind. She has a distinct memory of clinging to Tommy’s side when the Harrington’s bought them winter jackets.
Gina remembers feeling inferior to the Harrington’s when she was kid. Steve had called them poor a number of times. He’d say his parents were doing their charity when they brought over Christmas presents to the Hagan’s. Barbara told her she’d always wanted a little girl and so each year for Christmas and Gina’s birthday, she’d bring over at least ten gifts for her. Clothes, expensive clothes and shoes. Her mom was hesitant but Gina was excited to wear them to school.
Her parents were as well off. They struggled when her and Tommy were young. However, thanks to Tommy’s insistence on Steve in grade school, James and Barbara Harrington became close with her parents and offered them jobs. Their dad managed one of James’ properties and their mom practically ran Barbara’s headquarters here in Hawkin’s. Their families were close, they celebrated Christmas together. Steve was practically a brother. Except Gina had been harboring a fat crush on him since he was twelve and she was ten. A crush that got obsessive but she’d managed to keep under wraps until she was about fourteen. Damned her and Tommy’s unexpected little sister. Bridgette Hagan was born six years after Gina, a total whoops baby. In fact, their mother was scheduled to get her tubes tied but the doctor cancelled last minute and Bridgette was conceived shortly after. So one night at dinner, Steve was staying over and the spunky eight year old had spilled Gina’s dearly kept secret.
“Gina likes Steve!” she had proclaimed before digging into her mashed potatoes.
Gina about died. Her smattering of freckles disguised behind the redness of her face. It was the most humiliating moment thus far. Tommy had seemed just as embarrassed, telling Bridgette to shut up as Gina stood up and ran to her bedroom. Only for Steve to appear minutes later and tell her everything was alright and he didn’t hate her.
Then, Gina turned fifteen. Her parents threw her a sweet little party. A nice dinner at Enzo’s, the guest list included their five piece family, Steve, a few of her friends and Tommy’s girlfriend, Carol. It was nice, she felt fancy and pretty in her formal black dress. Carol had styled her hair that night, showed her how to do makeup. Gina loved Carol. She was like a big sister. Even if Gina got grossed about her and Tommy, she still felt wonderfully close to Carol. After dinner, they went back to the Hagan’s house for cake and once their parents went to bed, Steve had swirled his keys around his fingers and told Gina and everyone he had an after party waiting at his empty house.
Gina was nervous to drink that night, she’d never really had much alcohol except for sips off beers Tommy had offered. But Steve had mixed her a couple of cocktails, simple ones; vodka and juice. And Gina had never felt more special than that moment, her and Steve Harrington alone in his kitchen as he told her she’d like the drink and then tucked her curly brown hair behind her ear and told her she had the prettiest eyes he’d ever seen. He was so wonderfully handsome, big brown eyes and floppy hair.
“Come with me,” Steve had said, “I wanna show you something.”
Gina had followed him up to his pristine room, the one with plaid wallpaper. Steve bought her a pair of earrings. He put them on for her and kissed her. It wasn’t Gina’s first kiss but it might as well have been. The first French kiss she’d had. His tongue felt magical against hers, Gina was sure she’d combust right there on his bed when it’d happened. Never in her life had she’d felt that way from a kiss. Steve ignited every nerve ending, she almost cried when he pulled away and told her how beautiful she was.
Losing your virginity to Steve Harrington was something special, even if she knew of five other girls who’d had the same fate. She didn’t even think about those girls when it happened. Steve had made her feel like she was the only woman in the world. Made her feel like a woman. It was gentle and sweet and everything Gina had wanted. Afterwards, he told her Tommy couldn’t find out and she was on board. She knew he’d be upset, wouldn’t want anything to jeopardize his long-standing friendship with Steve. But after that, Gina was addicted. Infatuated. Steve Harrington was a God that walked among men.
Gina would fill her diary with how handsome and funny Steve was. An entire page was dedicated to her practicing her signature with Steve’s last name. Gina Harrington scrawled out repeatedly in her most practiced cursive. She remembers one time Steve found it, teased her about it until he straddled her on her twin size bed and kissed her dizzy.
They continued sneaking around for almost a whole year. Whenever Steve spent the night, Gina could expect the lanky brunette to creep into her bedroom and make her feel on cloud nine. It was a blissful seven months. That was, until her classmate, Nancy Wheeler caught his attention. The worst part was that Steve never broke up with Gina. Not that they were officially boyfriend and girlfriend but things just abruptly shifted. Steve stopped sneaking into her room when he spent the night, his eyes no longer found hers in a crowded room. But Gina held on. Steve would spend the night and she would lay in bed and wait for what once was. It never came.
Steve dove head first into Nancy. The real kicker was when Gina sat with Tommy, Carol and Nancy’s friend Barb in Steve’s backyard while he added Nancy Wheeler to the notches in his bed post. It was excruciating. She was just as miserable as Barb that night. Perhaps it was a lord opportunity to make a new friend but Gina didn’t want to be friendly with Barb that night. She was a gear in the workings that ruined what was most important to Gina.
Gina withdrew. She’d broke down one night and confessed everything to Carol, who held her close and told her Steve was the biggest asshole in existence. Gina couldn’t find it in herself to agree. Steve had made her feel so special. Carol had formulated all these plans to ruin Steve’s life, break him and Nancy up and make Steve regret ever hurting Gina. It was sweet. Carol was the best big sister, even if she wasn’t really.
It was much easier when Steve had gotten into a fight with Tommy. Her brother never told her exactly happened but Gina knew it was bad because Steve started acting like they didn’t exist. And the boys fought a lot through out the years but nothing like that time. It had to do with Nancy. That much was clear, but Tommy and Carol wouldn’t talk about it. Gina thinks it was because they’d done something horrible. Perhaps because Carol knew how much Steve had hurt Gina and she had to get revenge, even if Gina insisted she didn’t.
Therefore, it’d been a whole summer without Steve. Gina’s first since she was in grade school. It wasn’t that drastically different than the summer before— parties, swimming and lazy days lounged on the couch. Except this one was empty. No brown eyes and floppy, big hair to gaze at. No empty house to relax at. The swimming she’d done had been at the community pool and not the Harrington’s. The parties lacked one exceptional guest. Lazy days were lonely without Steve’s jokes and lingering touches. The boys she’d fooled around with never gave her the same feelings Steve did. Gina didn’t get the tingling in her fingers and toes when any of them kissed her neck. Her thoughts didn’t fizzle out when they went down on her. She’s slept with a handful of them but it wasn’t nearly as exciting as it was with Steve. They didn’t make her feel special. She didn’t want to even look at them whenever it was finished. But she remembered always cuddling with Steve, joking around and the compliments Steve would give her. No one compared. She’d found love and she’d lost it just as quick.
Carol and her grew even closer, but Tommy got upset when she didn’t join in on the shit talking. Gina couldn’t even find the energy to hate Nancy, as much as Carol insisted she should. Nancy wasn’t the problem here, she had no idea what secrets went on between Steve and his best friends little sister. It was pointless to hate her.
Even if Gina was bitter. She’d compare herself to Nancy but would be at a loss. Steve had told her how beautiful she was, how smart she was, how funny she was. Gina hadn’t changed, but Steve had. Steve was the problem here and the quicker Gina accepted that, the better.
;;;
“Hurry up!” Tommy bangs on the bathroom door.
Gina huffs as she grabs the wide tooth comb and rakes it through her tangle of loose chestnut curls. She was about due for another perm but that was a problem for another day. She’d overslept and would have preferred to shower but wouldn’t have the time. She’d washed her armpits and nether regions with a washcloth at the sink, Carol referred to this lovingly as a whores bath. Gina thinks Carol’s really funny and she’s pretty sure Carol thinks so too.
When Gina swings the bathroom door open, her equally as freckled brother pushes past her and shoves her out of the room before slamming the door. Their relationship was an interesting one. They were attached at the hip most their lives, the photos decorating the hallways show a young Tommy holding an infant Gina with adoration in his eyes. Their mom says he was infatuated with her when she was a baby, doting on her and it only started to waver when he started going through puberty. It felt like rejection at first but the older they got, the better they got along. When she started high school, Tommy made sure she sat with him and his friends at lunch. He brought her along to parties and always included her. He wasn’t necessarily protective but if Gina needed, she knew he’d punch in any man’s face who hurt her. Especially Steve Harrington. But that would mean admitting she betrayed her brother by falling in love with his best friend, and she couldn’t do that.
Gina dresses in a white tennis skirt, a striped polo and slouchy socks with her pink Ked’s. She puts on minimal makeup, a bit of rouge and mascara. It’s October, a skirts not the best choice but Gina loves wearing them enough to suffer through a bit of chill. She shoves her arms through a lavender colored zip up hoodie and ties half her hair up with a matching scrunchie. Tommy’s waiting impatiently at the door when she exits her room, mumbling under his breath as he opens the door for them and locks it. He’s always complaining about her being late.
His Toyota is messy, Gina steps on paper bags and cups as she climbs in the front seat. Any comments to clean it would fall on deaf ears. A rebuttal that she could walk her ass to school would be made if she said anything. It was a hand-me-down from their uncle, Tommy’s sixteenth birthday present. She remembers how he grumbled about Steve getting a brand new BMW for his and Gina didn’t complain when she wasn’t gifted a car on her sixteenth birthday. She didn’t have her license anyways. The hundred dollars from her parents was a nice enough gift. She purchased a Walkman and cassettes with it.
They pick up Carol on the way and Gina’s sentenced to the backseat which is even messier than the front. All is well though. She feels good about today. No reason to aside for handing out fliers her and Tina made for a Halloween party. Tina’s parents are going to a party in Indianapolis so it’s the perfect opportunity. They’d planned it as soon as they found out the girls’ house would be empty for the holiday. Gina liked planning parties, though it wasn’t much planning. The kids coming would bring the booze and they didn’t exactly decorate. Gina liked to be involved though. She was kind of close to Tina. They weren’t best friends and Tina was friendly with almost everyone at Hawkin’s High. But there were many a drunk night spent between the two where they told secrets. Like how Tina had slept with Tommy during one of his and Carol’s many break-ups and she really didn’t want Carol to find out. Gina didn’t tell her about Steve, though. But she told her a secret about one of her embarrassing hookups.
When they arrive at the school, Gina and Carol find their way to Tina, Becca and Stacy. The five girls lean against Tina’s car while Tommy talks to his basketball buddies. Gina watches as Steve’s BMW pulls into the lot, Nancy in the front seat and she tries not to let her disappointment make itself known on her face. It’s been long enough. She should be used to it at this point. It still stings. Gina wishes she was in Nancy’s place.
A rumble of a loud engine grabs everyone’s attention. A pretty night blue 79’ Z28 Camaro drives by and into the spot opposite the girls. Everyone’s eyes are glued on it. No one in Hawkin’s has a car like that. It belongs to an outsider, a stranger. Gina’s in love with the car the second she sees it. It’s fucking awesome. The California plates catch her attention. PCE 235. It’s hard to read until it comes to a stop. The loud music erupting from the car cuts off and the drivers door swings open.
Worn motorcycle boots and thick denim legs emerge, Gina couldn’t look away if she wanted to. The man who emerges from the Camaro literally takes her breath away. Blonde, curly mullet and a hint of a mustache. He’s fucking gorgeous. A young redhead climbs out the passenger side with a skateboard, she’s wearing a red Adidas sweatshirt. She throws the board down and skates up to the middle school. The guy takes a pull from his cigarette, gives a little smirk to the four girls and then tosses the cigarette before strutting towards the school.
Gina’s breath catches in her throat. An immediate attraction to the boy. The Scorpions song he was blasting helps. They clearly have a similar interest and she’s floored with the possibilities that could be. She wants to talk to him so bad.
“Who is that?” Stacy asks what they’re all thinking.
“I have no idea,” Tina replies, “but would you check out that ass? Just look at it go.”
Oh, Gina is. His Levi’s are so fucking tight, they show off his thick thighs and perfect ass. She’s almost embarrassed by the physical reaction she’s having to the newcomer. Tommy’s jogging over, looking amongst the girls.
“Who the fuck is that?” he asks, face all contorted in excitement.
“We don’t know,” Carol says.
“His car is fucking bitchin’,” he gushes.
;;;
Tommy moves fast. Gina realizes as much when she’s walking up towards their house and sees that gorgeous Camaro parked on the street. Her heart flutters when she sees it. The chance to meet the stranger is exciting.
She’d just been at the music store, used her allowance to buy a record and a cassette. They were the same album. She wanted one to listen to at home and another to put in her Walkman.
Gina passes by her parents as she makes her way up the sidewalk. She smiles at them. They’re preparing for the cold months about to come. Uprooting the plants that won’t make it, unhooking the house and whatever else.
“Tommy’s got a new friend over,” her mother says.
Gina points at the Camaro, “I see that.”
“Seems like a nice kid,” her dad offers, “Very respectful.”
“Yeah?” Gina smiles.
Her mom gives her a knowing look, “You think he’s handsome?”
“Well, he is,” she gushes. “I haven’t talked to him, yet. He was nice?”
“Definitely. Complimented my roses as I ripped them out,” her dad says. “Nice car too.”
“Really nice car.”
“Why don’t you go and introduce yourself?” Gina’s mom insists, “Ask if he’d like to stay for dinner.”
Gina nods with a grin before opening the front door. She’s greeted with the sound of Metallica blaring out of Tommy’s room. It seems he’s trying to impress the new guy with the only metal album he owns. Suddenly, she’s nervous. That boy was so handsome she felt on fire when she’d seen him. And now he was in her house. Hanging out with her brother. It was almost too good to be true.
She takes a deep breath before making her descent down the hallway. Gina stops at Tommy’s room and peers inside. Carol’s laid out on the floor, checking her nails while the blonde and her brother sit on the edge of Tommy’s bed. The gorgeous boy has a cigarette perched in between his lips while he nods along with the baseline of the song. Tommy’s head banging obnoxiously. Her parents smoke in the house so that’s not an issue, they just don’t know that Tommy and Gina also smoke. She wonders what they’d think of this kid their age, smoking in their house.
The stranger notices her and pinches his cigarette between his fingers as he pulls it away. His lips curl up and he drawls, “Hi.”
Gina’s throat tightens as she matches his gaze. His voice is like honey. Thick and sweet as it sends excitement between her legs. She gives a shy wave as her brother and his girlfriend notice her. Carol beckons her inside and she steps inside.
“Oh! Billy, this is my sister, Gina,” Tommy introduces her.
“Hi, Gina,” he purrs and extends his cigarette out for her to take.
Gina accepts it, taking a drag and tries to ignore the burning feeling on her lips. Or the fact that if her parents saw her smoking, they’d kill her. The panic is quickly squashed by the handsome blondes icy eyes on her. He’s even prettier this close. He’s got a hint of a mustache, it’s mostly rough stubble but it’s clear he can grow facial hair and that rouses something in Gina.
“Hi, Billy,” she says and passes the cigarette back.
He presses two fingers to the paper bag she’s got clutched against her chest, “What’s this you got?”
“An album.”
“Which one?” he raises an eyebrow and it feels like a test. Gina hopes she passes.
She pulls the record out of the bag, displaying Ratt’s Out of the Cellar for him. Billy grins wide, standing up and taking the album from her hands.
“Atta girl,” he praises and fuck, the praise goes straight between her legs. “I love this album.”
Gina would give anything to impress him more. He slides his thumbnail against the sleeve, slicing the cellophane open with the motion and walks over to Tommy’s record player. Carol grabs onto Gina’s wrist and pulls her down, giving her these eyes and Gina doesn’t miss the intensity in Tommy’s eyes as he shakes his head at her. Billy plops back down on the bed, oblivious to the silent interaction the three of them had. He pulls a can of beer from the sixer and cracks it open before he hands it to Gina. She accepts it with a small thanks. He’s got a little dangly earring and it catches on his curls. Gina has to stop herself from leaning forward and fixing it. She’s eager to touch him.
Billy sings along with the first track, low but Gina still hears him. She loves the sound of his voice. It’s sexy. She’s so close to turning into a puddle on her brothers floor.
“Did you see Steve with the princess today? Gag me with a spoon!” Carol gossips as she gestures gagging herself.
“I know,” Tommy scoffs.
“What’s the deal with that guy?” Billy asks, eyes trained on Gina like he expects her to answer.
Tommy sighs, “He used to fucking run school. King Steve. Then, he stuck his dick in the priss and he changed. Man’s totally whipped.”
“He used to be our friend,” Carol offers.
“Everyone was telling me about him,” Billy replies, “Said I’m gunning to be the new King. Whatever the fuck that means.”
“He’s an asshole,” Carol rolls her eyes. “But you are, this town needed someone with an edge.”
Billy snorts, eyes darting between the two girls on the floor.
“Steve’s nice,” Gina says meekly, staring at her knees as she speaks. No matter what, she couldn’t really bare them talking bad about Steve. He was nice and well, she was still in love with him.
“Whatever,” Tommy huffs, “He’s different. He used to be cool.”
“So you like metal?” Billy changes the subject as he nudges the toe of his boot against Gina’s knee.
She beams up at him, “Yeah.”
“Me too,” he smirks, biting his lip.
“Cool,” Gina’s sure she’s actually the lamest person he’s ever talked to. His eyes are the prettiest color she’s ever seen. She gets lost in them while he turns his attention back to Tommy, asks him where he can find weed.
“Oh, the freak, Eddie Munson,” Tommy answers but he’s up on his feet and walks over to his dresser. The freckled boy retrieves a joint. Gina and Carol meet each other with equally annoyed expressions. They’d had plans for the joint.
Tommy extends it out to Billy, “But here, you can have this in the meantime.”
“Ha, alright! Thanks man, I really appreciate it,” he beams as he tucks the joint in his pack of Marlboros. “Think we’re best buds, now.”
Tommy beams at the prospect, sitting down with a shrug, “Ah, it’s no big deal. A welcome gift.”
“Oh,” Gina interrupts, looking at Billy, “My mom wanted me to ask if you wanted to stay for dinner.”
“Wish I could, darling but, I better get home before my old man does,” the blonde says with a slight wince.
Gina stands up so she’s out of his way, but he stands up and they’re a little closer than Gina intended, almost nose to nose. She takes a step to the side and tucks her brown hair behind her hair, awkwardly smiling up at him. He smirks, biting his lower lip as his eyes scan her face. His gaze is pretty intimidating, she wants to crawl out of her skin from it.
“It was nice to meet ya, Gina,” he purrs.
Gina has to hold in the squeal threatening to escape, “You too.”
Once the front door shuts, letting them know Billy’s left, Tommy points to his younger sister.
“Off limits,” he says seriously, “I like him, don’t fuck it up.”
Gina holds up her hands defensively, “I didn’t even do anything!”
“I saw how you looked at him,” he argues with a tilt of his head.
“Oh, stop,” she sighs, “I don’t have a crush on him.”
“Yeah, right. I have eyes, ya know? He’s a good looking guy,” Tommy quips.
“Ya going queer on me?” Carol teases, “You don’t want Gina to go after him ‘cause you want a chance first?”
Tommy shoots her this flabbergasted, borderline disgusted look, “Get over here and I’ll show you how untrue that is.”
“Ew, disgusting,” Gina snarls, “I’m leaving.”
She shuts the door behind and goes to her room, trying not to think of Billy while she gets started on her homework. It’s a moot point. His eyes, thighs and bouncy curls flood her mind while she does her algebra.
;;;
Billy’s nice. He keeps Gina company while Tommy and Carol suck face, just like Steve used to do.
“They always do this?” he asks.
Gina nods, “Yeah. You’ll get used to it.”
He’s funny, likes to people watch. Right now they’re doing it, sitting on the hood of his Camaro at lunch. They share a cigarette and Billy points at a group of boys talking about fifteen feet away. He does funny voices while he makes up what he thinks the boys are saying.
“You’re not sensitive enough, Toby,” he puts on this whiny, exaggerated voice as one of the boys talks excitedly, “That’s why you can’t get a girlfriend!”
Gina giggles, not confident enough to join in with him but Billy’s funny enough on his own.
“Shut up,” he does the other kids voice now, “I don’t get girls because I eat my boogers.”
Another eruption of giggles come from Gina, she shoves Billy’s shoulder and covers her face. He chuckles and snatches the smoke from her fingertips, bringing it to his lips.
“You know those kids?” he asks.
She nods, “I had them in all my classes in elementary school. You’re spot on. He really does eat his boogers.”
The older boy cackles, “Yeah, he looks like he does.”
They’re quiet for a beat, Billy seems to be scanning for more victims but Gina interrupts him, “Are you going to the party tonight?”
“Yeah, think so,” he finishes the smoke and flicks it away, “Does Tina throw bitchin’ parties?”
“I helped plan it,” Gina admits and then shrugs, “They’re usually pretty fun. All the parties around here kind of bleed together. There’s gonna be a keg though.”
“Yeah? You do keg stands?” he snickers, lips pulled up in the cutest smile she’d seen.
“I have not tried,” Gina admits with a giggle, “I struggle enough shotgunning.”
“I’ll teach ya,” he insists as the warning bell rings. He stands up and looks over to Gina, “So I’ll see you tonight, then.”
“Yeah, see you there.”
-
Gina huffs as she attempts to curl a stubborn chunk of her hair. She really needed to get another perm. Reaching for the mousse, she sprays a glob of it and scrunches her hair up with it until she’s satisfied. She stands up and assesses her “costume”, it’s just a short skirt, fishnets and a ripped up t-shirt. She’s not necessarily trying to get Billy’s attention but she doesn’t mind if she does.
Carol saunters into the doorway, donning a similar outfit, “And what are you supposed to be?”
Gina scrunches her hair up some more, “Hot.”
“Maybe for a particular blonde with a great ass?”
Turning to Carol, she rolls her eyes and grabs her jacket, “He’s off-limits, remember?”
“Fuck Tommy,” Carol snorts, “you deserve to have some fun and he looks like he knows how to have it.”
“He’s so out of my league, anyways,” Gina shrugs on her jacket and reaches for her purse.
Carol stops her, placing her hands on Gina’s shoulders and looking at her, “That’s so not true, Gina. You’re totally gorgeous.”
Her cheeks redden at the compliment, she can tell that Carol really means it. She smiles at her brothers girlfriend, “He kind of did like give me a look in Tommy’s room, didn’t he?”
“Totally. He was undressing you with his eyes, I say go for it,” Carol grins.
Tommy yells from the living room, “How long does it take to get ready?! I’m ready to get drunk!”
“He sounds like he already is,” Gina grumbles before following Carol out to Tommy’s car.
Tina’s house is absolutely packed. It’s a struggle for Tommy to find a spot to park on the lawn. He grumbles something about Gina taking forever and making them late.
Carol shoves his shoulder, “It’s important to be fashionably late, moron. We’ll look like losers if we’re on time. Gina’s doing us all a favor.”
Gina rolls her eyes, her stomach is a bit upset due to her brothers rather erratic driving. He was a little too tipsy already and she’s hoping Carol will drive them home. Once he parks, she climbs out of the car and stands beside Carol.
“The whole fucking school showed up,” Gina notes, eyes scanning the front yard.
Just then, Billy comes barreling toward them before jumping on Tommy’s back. Billy’s dressed like the terminator, black fingerless gloves, a leather jacket over his shirtless torso and really tight jeans. He’s pretty clearly tipsy and Gina wonders how long he’s been here. He jumps off Tommy, wrapping his arms around Carol and Gina’s shoulders and guides them towards the house with a slurred, “My favorite girls!”
Gina tries not to focus on how close his lips are to her ear, it was like he was whispering that just for her to hear. His deep voice makes her chest and stomach tighten.
“You ready to take the new Keg King title?” Tommy asks, urging the group over to the side of the house where the keg is set up.
“I was born ready,” Billy says smugly, hands on his hips as Tommy pumps the keg up.
Gina stands next to Tina and Carol to watch. She notes Tina’s Madonna costume and smiles, “I love your costume, Tina. You look so good.”
“Thanks, babe,” Tina smiles, raising her solo cup to the girls.
After a beat, Tina groans and tells the two other girls, “Billy is so fine.” She gestures fanning herself, “God, look at his abs.”
“Isn’t he, Gina?” Carol nudges the brunettes shoulder and winks.
“Oh, shit, did you call dibs?” Tina’s eyes widen and Gina has to roll her eyes.
“No, Carol just wants to live vicariously through me. I’m not into him,” Gina explains and she’s met with two pairs of confused eyes.
“What do you mean you’re not into him?” Tina asks, “Do you need glasses? He’s literally sex on legs.”
“Tommy told her he’s off-limits,” Carol snorts, “but I say fuck him.”
Gina shakes her head, watching as they lift Billy up and he downs the beer from the tap. She remembers watching Steve do it all those times before and her heart aches.
“I’m not interested,” she insists.
“Well— I’m not gonna hold back,” Tina smiles, biting her lip.
“Go for it,” Gina says and hopes she doesn’t sound as bitter as she feels, “I’m gonna get myself a drink.”
She leaves the group and wanders inside, saying hi to classmates on the way until she finds herself in the kitchen and fills herself a cup of whatever toxic concoction is filling the punch bowl. It’s red and when she brings it to her nose, it burns her nostrils. Perfect. Gina absolutely loved alcohol. Maybe a little too much. But she had a handle on it, didn’t blackout aside from parties like this. She liked the way it burned down her throat and spread a warm, numb feeling across her chest. And Gina was pretty shy overall, she was nervous to talk to people but when she drank, the nerves slipped away and she was the biggest social butterfly on the planet. That’s how most of these people got to know her, she didn’t really talk to them at school. She kept close to her few friends, Tommy and Carol.
As Gina finishes her drink and pours herself another, she sees Nancy heading her way, Steve only steps behind her. Gina’s chest aches and she quickly moves away from the punch, rounds the counter in attempts to hide from them. She’s successful and from where she’s at, she can just see their torsos, the bar cabinet covers their faces. Nancy downs three cups consecutively and as she’s getting the fourth, Steve’s hands grab to stop her. They struggle for a minute but it ends up with bright red, alcoholic juice splashed on Nancy’s white cashmere sweater. Gina winces, there’s no way the stains coming out. Then Nancy storms off and of course, Steve’s chasing after her.
Seeing the brunette again brings all kinds of confusing feelings back for Gina. Steve had avoided parties once he and Tommy had their big fight. She’d only see him at school, in study hall where they sat next to each other. But these days, Steve didn’t even spare her a smile, a glance— anything. It was like Gina didn’t exist to him anymore. And feelings aren’t fun. So Gina wanders back outside, finds her group of friends. She wants to get wasted and forget about Steve like he forgot about her.
“So you still wanna teach me how to properly shotgun?” she asks Billy, the alcohol coursing through her makes her a lot less tense.
The blonde smiles wickedly at her, digging in the cooler for two cans of beer and hands one to her. He pulls out a pocket knife from his jeans and presses the blade to the aluminum, “Right here. Steady so the fucker doesn’t blow in your face and…” he trails off as he punctures the can and peels it open a bit with the blade before he hands it to Gina.
She does as he says, but she’s not as steady as he is and when she punctures the can, beer sprays out of it and all over her chin and white top. She squeals, dropping the can and looking up at Billy with her jaw hanging open.
“See?! I suck,” she whines and wipes her chin.
He cackles, “Maybe someone shook that can up. Here. Take this one.”
He hands her the can he had prepped and retrieves another, repeats his fluid motions and then slips the knife back in his pocket. “‘Kay, you’re just gonna bring it to your lips and pull the tab. I just kind of open my throat up and guzzle. Ya ready?”
Gina nods nervously, shaky hands bringing the punctured hole to her lips and pops the tab at the same time Billy does. It’s super cold going down, Gina can’t drink it nearly as fast as Billy can, he’s dropping the empty aluminum to the floor in seconds and she furrows her eyebrows as she looks at him, guzzling her beer down. When she pulls it away, he’s raising his eyebrows and grinning from ear to ear, pretty pearly whites on display. Gina melts a bit. Wants Billy to look at her like that more.
“Atta girl,” he praises and it goes straight between her legs, “You did it.”
She clears her throat, dropping the can as she wipes the sudsy liquid off her chin, “Not as fast as you.”
“Yeah, well, I’m the new keg king after all,” he winks and she giggles.
“Can I have a cigarette?” she asks, bouncing on her feet. Billy nods, pulls his pack out and grabs a smoke, brings it to his lips and lights it before handing it to Gina. He immediately lights himself one and nods his head over to a couple of outdoor chaise lounge chairs strewn across Tina’s front yard. Gina follows him to them, she sits down on one and fully expects Billy to take the other but he lounges on the one she takes, right between her legs and rests his head on her chest.
“It’s not like the parties back home but I’m having fun,” he says, looking up at Gina.
She smiles, slightly uncomfortable at his weight on her body but she doesn’t dare say anything. He’s warm, like a heater against her chest. He reeks of booze but there’s a hint of his cologne still there. She wonders if he feels as sticky as she does, with the beer splattered over both their chests. It’s kind of gross but Gina didn’t want to freak out and seem uncool.
“Me too,” she says. “thanks for teaching me how to shotgun.”
“Ahh, I have a feeling you’ve done it before,” he insists and he’s not wrong. Steve had shown her countless times but Billy doesn’t need to know that.
“Nope, I’m just good at opening my throat,” she explains and then realizes the unintended innuendo, her eyes widening.
“Oh, you are, are you?” Billy teases, wiggling his eyebrows.
“That sounded so wrong. I didn’t mean it like that,” she shakes her head frantically, cheeks flushed. “I just meant, I can— oh forget it.”
Billy just hums, she can hear the smile in it. She’s successfully mortified herself. Maybe she should cool it on the booze for a while. Though, Billy puts her right at ease, tilting his head up so he can look at her. The drunken smile on his face is very, very cute. She feels warm all over, a little floaty and genuinely happy. Until her mind gets the best of her again. Gina tries not to feel insecure, but she wonders how she looks from his angle.
“What are the parties like in California?” she tries to change the subject.
Billy takes a puff of his cigarette and she watches the smoke rise up and disappear, “Wild. People jumping off balconies, there’s usually live music but it’s never good. Just some assholes who think they're the next Motley Crue ‘cause they wear spandex and got guitars for Christmas. I used to go to punk shows a lot.”
“Punk?” Gina repeats, “You don’t seem the type.”
“Ah, I love punk music. The shows are something else. You get wasted and spend hours getting your ass beat in the mosh pit. Nothing more freeing,” he explains and sighs. “I take it there’s none here.”
“They might have some at The Hideout,” Gina offers, “Bands play there a lot.”
“Any good ones?”
“Not any I know,” Gina admits, though she’s never actually been to The Hideout on account that it’s a bar.
She’s incredibly tempted to run her fingers through Billy’s sweaty blonde curls. She wants to know if they’re as soft as they look or if they’re crunchy with mousse like hers.
“Maybe I can take you to a punk show, if they have ‘em,” Billy muses, sitting up and turning to face Gina.
“Maybe,” Gina smiles warmly, butterflies filling her stomach and her toes tingle. “It sounds like fun.”
“Yeah? Think you’d be thrashing around, knocking people out in the pit?” Billy cackles to which Gina rolls her eyes.
“Do you miss California?”
“No shit. This place sucks,” Billy snorts, “Nothing to do and trust me, this party is real fucking tame.”
Gina feels guilty, but she’s not sure why. It’s not her fault he hates Hawkins. Billy seems to notice her quick change in demeanor because he nudges his shoulder against hers and says, “You’re pretty cool, though. Even if you won’t do a keg stand.”
“It’s a boy thing,” Gina insists while blushing and Billy makes a confused face.
“What? No, it’s not a boy thing. You’re just scared,” he shrugs, smirk playing at the corner of his mouth.
“Am not.”
“Are to.”
“I just don’t think I could do it for long,” Gina shrugs.
“Well, yeah, there’s no way you’re beating my record. And I could’ve gone longer too, but those assholes pulled me down when I beat King Steve’s record,” he brags with a smirk, nudging Gina with his knee.
She tries not to falter at the mention of Steve. Even through his fall of grace, everyone still talks about him all the time. Even this new guy. It’s a little annoying. She wishes Steve would just disappear sometimes.
“Oh, I’m so sure,” she rolls her eyes, tossing her smoke when it’s down to the filter. Billy follows suit.
He slaps his thighs before standing, “Well, I need a beer. Ya coming?”
Gina nods, finds herself following him back to the hoard of teens surrounding the cooler. Carol’s there, getting a beer and when she sees Gina and Billy walking up together, she wiggles her eyebrows at the younger girl. Gina quickly looks around for Tommy and luckily, he’s nowhere to be found.
“Where’d you two run off to?” Carol inquires as she opens the beer, watching Billy retrieve two cans and handing one to Gina.
“For a smoke,” Billy explains, just as Tina bounces up and snakes her arm around his waist. She whispers something in his ear and he frowns, like he’s contemplating before he nods and saunters inside the house behind Tina.
Carol watches them with a disgusted look on her face before she says to Gina in a mocking tone, “Billy! Let me show you my room so I can suck you off.”
Gina shakes her head but smiles, her heart aches a bit but she gets distracted. A familiar face with floppy hair walks passed and he looks angry. Gina eyes follow him to his BMW, where he slams the door and peels out.
“Steve seems upset,” she mumbles softly, wanting nothing more than to be there to comfort him.
Carol snorts, “The princess left with fucking Byers. I’m sure he’s pissed.”
“Really? Oh, god. Poor Steve… I thought there wasn’t anything between Nancy and Jonathon,” Gina replies, eyes finding Carol again.
“Yeah, sure. Asshole is getting what he deserved. And with Nancy and Byers, I think there is,” Carol shrugs, “Come on, let’s go dance!”
The redhead grabs onto Gina’s hand and pulls her inside. They dance for a bit and it’s nice. Gina forgets about Billy and Steve for the time being. She downs a few more drinks, her inhibitions fly through the window and she becomes like a totally different person. Gina floats among groups, talking everyone’s ear that she can get ahold of off. It’s fun. She has so much fun at parties, except she never remembers the conversations she’s had.
She’s talking to someone from her English class, a boy who’s interested in her but right now, she can’t remember his name and she’s already asked him four times. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Billy walking towards her. He’s hard to miss, leather jacket without a shirt and his blonde mullet is tousled, a few curls sticking up and laying the way they’re not supposed to. He places his hands on Gina’s hips and whispers in her ear, “Smoke?”
Gina nods graciously at the idea. A cigarette sounds really good right now.
Billy looks to the gentleman she’s been talking to and grins, “Sorry. I’ve got to steal Miss Gina away. Hope you don’t mind, big boy.”
He pats the guys shoulder before he’s dragging her out the back door. Tommy and Carol are outside which is a bummer, especially when Billy abruptly pulls his hands away from Gina’s waist and tackles Tommy to the floor. They wrestle in the grass as the two girls watch them curiously.
Carol nudges her side, “Hargrove was getting real handsy with you just then.”
Gina sighs, “I’m pretty sure he and Tina just had sex. And it doesn’t matter! I don’t like him. He is very pretty, and funny, and really really nice but I don’t like him. I’m not allowed.”
Carol giggles, “You’re drunk.”
“Am not,” Gina slurs, taking a misstep and stumbling down to her knees. “Ow!” she whines, but lays on the grass, staring up at the sky.
Billy and Tommy lay on either side of her, giggling like they can’t control themselves. And since Gina’s also in a drunken stupor, she starts giggling too. Carol peers down at the three of them, an amused smile on her face.
“Tommy, come here,” she says, “I have something important to show you.”
The freckled boy shoots up quickly, following his girlfriend back inside the house. Carol did it on purpose, Gina’s sure. She wants her to spend alone time with Billy.
“Smoke,” Billy says, hands reaching into his pocket to retrieve his pack. He lights it for her before passing it, head turned to face Gina. He looks as drunk as she feels. Perhaps it’s not a great idea to lay here next to him in such a state. Inhibitions are low and Gina’s scared she’ll slip up and say something she shouldn’t. Or even worse, touch him.
“Thank you,” she sighs happily.
There’s a group of kids in the backyard with them but it feels like they’re alone. The kids are wrapped up in a conversation, it seems intense, whatever it is. If Gina wasn’t so drunk and focused on the muscular body lying next to her, she would try to listen in.
“You having fun?” he asks softly.
“Loads. I’m getting pretty sleepy, though,” she admits, turning on her side to look at Billy. He does the same, eyes scanning her face.
“We could crash right here. Sleep on the grass,” Billy mumbles, a smile twitching at his lips.
Gina giggles, “That wouldn’t be very comfy.”
He purses his lips, “I’m pretty comfortable.”
“We’d freeze,” she points out, bringing the cigarette to her lips and tilts her head to blow the smoke up.
“That’s probably true,” he admits and chuckles, “Maybe Tina has a blanket we could use.”
“I’m sure she’d just let you sleep in her bed,” Gina says, raising an eyebrow.
Billy makes a face, frowning and furrowing his eyebrows, “You sound jealous.”
“I’m not,” Gina reflects, shaking her head.
“Hmm,” Billy hums and cracks a smile, “I’m just messing with you.”
Gina shoves his shoulder and sits up, “They better hurry.”
Billy sits up beside her and snatches the cigarette, “I can take you home, if you want.”
“No, they’ll get upset if I just left and didn’t tell them,” Gina insists. “Thanks, though.”
“Is Tommy like super protective of you?” Billy asks.
Gina sighs and shrugs, “Sometimes? I try not to let him know my business. I think it just depends on if he’s bored or not. He beat up the first boyfriend I had in grade school.”
“What? Why?” Billy laughs.
“‘Cause he kissed another girl at recess and I cried,” Gina explains with a giggle.
“I’d do the same,” Billy muses.
“As my first boyfriend or as Tommy?”
“Tommy. My step sisters an annoying brat but I’d still punch any guy that hurt her,” he explains, stubbing his cigarette out.
“How long as she’s been your step sister?” Gina wonders.
Billy tilts his head, doing the math in his head, “Like four years? My dad started seeing Susan when I was 13, they got married kind of soon after.”
Gina wonders about his mom but she doesn’t want to prod too deep. She figures if he wants to tell her, he’ll do that.
“Huh,” Gina nods, “Well that’s sweet of you. A lot of brothers don’t care. Tommy and I have always been pretty close, though.”
“Yeah, I saw the photos in your hallway,” Billy says, “That’s cool. It’d be cool to have like real siblings.”
“Oh, god, those are so embarrassing,” Gina covers her face with her hands. She turns and looks at him, finding his comment about siblings a little odd. But she doesn’t know what it’s like to have step siblings. “So it was just you before your dad met her mom?”
“Yeah, just me and dad for a couple years,” he says but he sounds far away, like he’s in his head. He stands up and flicks his cigarette. Just then, Tommy and Carol come back outside.
“I think it’s about time we head out,” Carol says, “Billy, you okay to drive?”
Billy grins wide, “Peachy.” It’s a stark contrast to the stoic look he got on his face when talking about his family. Gina wants to know more because he seemed like something from his past hurt him. She can’t help but be curious, wants to know everything about him suddenly. It was like this mask fell and he was vulnerable for a second. Gina didn’t see that from men she knew. She hadn’t talked about feelings with one before but now she wants to know exactly what Billy's feeling and thinking. All of his secrets and memories.
Carol doesn’t look like she believes him so they compromise. The three of them follow Billy to Cherry Lane to make sure he gets home safe, Carol keeps repeating how impressed she is with his intoxicated driving during the ride. Cherry Lane is quite a distance away from Loch Nora and truly out of the way from where the Hagan’s live but the three of them want to make sure Billy’s gets home safe.
Billy pulls up this his house, parks the Camaro and struts over to the passenger window of Tommy’s car, where Tommy is hanging outside of.
“Safe and sound,” he says and pats the roof of the car. “See you at school, amigo,” he pinches the brunette boys nose, making him jolt back in his seat and swat at Billy’s hand.
“Asshole,” Tommy mumbles behind a laugh, rubbing his nose.
Billy leans down and looks at Carol and then at Gina in the backseat, “Bye, ladies.”
“Bye, Billy,” they chime at the same time before watching him walk up to the front door, unlocking it before sneaking inside.
Carol pulls off down the street, turning around back towards the Hagan house.
Gina gushes, “Billy’s so cool.”
“Yeah,” Tommy beams from the front seat, “He’s fucking badass.”
“And he’s so cute,” Gina slurs dreamily and sighs.
“No,” Tommy scolds, “I said no.”
Gina pouts the whole way home.
;;;
This hangover is one for the books. Gina managed to sleep a whopping four hours. Yet, she somehow managed to shower in the morning and get ready. She wore her most comfortable pair of jeans and her forest green Hawkins High sweatshirt. Her hair was a bit unruly but she already had a major headache, so a ponytail wasn’t a smart option.
When she makes it into the kitchen, she pours a glass of orange juice and sips it slowly. Her brother and Carol are eating a quick breakfast. Their parents have already left to take Bridgette to school. Which is good. Seeing her parents after a night of partying was the last thing she wanted.
Tommy still reeked of alcohol on the ride to school. And Carol drove, insisting that Tommy was still drunk.
Crazy enough, Billy looks good as new. Tight Levi’s and a white long-sleeve button up with his denim jacket. Gina tries not to drool. He leans against his Camaro, smoking a cigarette that he offers to Gina when they walk up.
She shakes her head, “I think I’ll barf if I have some.”
“Aw,” Billy pouts and asks in a teasing tone, “Hangover?”
“You're not?” she asks, bewildered and he shrugs.
“I don’t get hangovers,” he insists, taking another drag from his smoke as he looks over to her brother, probably taking note of his disheveled hair.
“I’m still drunk,” Tommy declares with a pleased smile to which Billy cackles.
“Just wait a few hours,” Carol snorts, “You’ll be hungover before ya know it, babe.”
Tommy frowns, reaches in his pocket and shows them the two whiskey shooters he has, “Nah, I’m gonna ride this until I have the sweet pleasure of my bed.”
Carol snatches the keys from Tommy’s other pocket, “In that case.”
Tommy doesn’t argue, he just shrugs and then snatches the cigarette from Billy. The blonde makes a face when Tommy gets close.
“You smell like a goddamn distillery, Hagan,” he quips and recoils back, pinching his nose.
Gina agrees, the whole drive to school was almost unbearable. Her stomach twisted and she had to focus on her breathing so she didn’t vomit from the smell of him.
“So, you hook up with Tina?” Tommy asks, wiggling his eyebrows and obviously trying to change the subject.
Billy smirks, shaking his head and says, “I don’t kiss and tell.”
“So you didn’t see her third nipple?” Tommy asks, frowning.
Billy’s face scrunches up, “She doesn’t have a third nipple.”
The freckled boy cackles, “Ha! So you did fuck her!”
Gina rubs her eyes, trying to mask the very intense jealousy she’s feeling. Carol’s laughing at Tommy’s trick but Gina can’t bring herself to. She’s just imagining Billy and Tina in bed and it’s making her even more sick to her stomach. She doesn’t want to feel jealous, knows she doesn’t really have a right to but she can’t help it.
“Shut up,” Billy rolls his eyes but he’s blushing, just barely. It’s kind of alarming to see.
“She’ll tell everyone,” Gina finally speaks up, “So like, no point in hiding it.”
She cringes a bit, the disdain is a little too apparent in her voice and her ears go hot at hearing herself. But she’s not wrong. Tina’s probably told the entire senior class already. And Hawkins is small, by the end of the day, even the middle school kids will know.
“I’m not hiding it,” Billy scoffs, “I just think it’s lame to brag about getting laid.”
“Hm,” Gina purses her lips, “I’m gonna head to class.”
She hurries towards the building, hoping none of them follow her because her heads pounding and she’s fuming with jealousy. She just wants to get the school day over with and crawl back into bed. The first four periods drag on. Particularly fourth period, which is the study hall she shares with Steve. They literally sit next to each other. If Gina leans over just enough, she can smell his shampoo. It smells like honey. She remembers shoving her face in it when they used to cuddle. Gina loved the smell of his hair and his skin.
However, that was long ago and she’s reminded of how much their relationship has changed during class. When she looks to Steve and their eyes meet, he quickly averts them and busies himself with his homework. It makes Gina’s heart ache. She wonders if he would just look her in the eye if things would change. She’d give anything to go back to how things were before Nancy Wheeler. Nothing made her feel the way she did when she was alone with Steve. He had this way of making her feel like she was the most special person. And the problem with that was how addictive it was. Gina was obsessed with Steve after the first time he kissed her and that never went away. She didn’t go a single day without thinking about him. So it stings when he acts like it’s painful to look at her.
She’s managed to go a whole two months of this treatment though. Today shouldn’t be any different. It’s probably because of the dumb jealousy she’s been harboring over Tina and Billy. A reminder of how Steve chose another woman. And well, Billy didn’t exactly choose Tina over her but she still didn’t like the thought of Billy with another woman. All throughout the day, she reminds herself how she really needs to suffocate her attraction to Billy. Nip it in the bud before she gets lovesick for two men who don’t want her.
It’s difficult when lunch comes around. Billy’s a full fledged member of their group now. Gina stands across from him, trying not to feel the effects of her hangover while they socialize. Tommy’s rambling about something or another, Gina can’t focus and he’s clearly drank both his shots of whiskey. All his words are slurred. She thinks he mentions something about ditching his last two classes to sleep in his car.
“You’re lucky you don’t have practice today,” Carol points out.
Tommy waves her off, “I could still play better than Harrington, blackout or sober.”
“Coach wants me to join,” Billy mumbles around his cigarette.
“Fucking do it!” Tommy cheers, jumping in place.
Billy cackles, looking at the freckled boy with amusement. Everyone agrees with Tommy and they all look at Billy expectantly.
“Baseball’s my thing but basketball is fun. I’m thinking about it,” he explains with a shrug.
Gina kicks the toe of her Ked against his motorcycle boot and their eyes meet, “You should.”
“Okay,” he smiles, “I’ll talk to coach.”
The moment between them is quickly interrupted by Tina swaying between the group of kids and sandwiching herself between Billy and Tommy. She leans her side on Billy and whispers something in his ear. The blondes eyebrows raise and he snorts, shaking his head. Gina turns her attention away, not being able to stomach the sight of them.
#billy hargrove x original character#billy hargrove fanfiction#billy hargrove fic#billy hargrove#billy hargrove x oc#billy hargrove angst
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Nephilim - Chapter One
Master List
Ineffable Dads AU || Crowley and Aziraphale are already married
Warnings: child abandonment
Word Count: 1k
Disclaimers: Nephilims are typically human/angel descent, but this will be my own take. Arden is AFAB non-binary, the picture I’ve used to depict them is exactly what Crowley found them in, hence his original assumption.
“Okay, okay, Angel just wait for me to get there, I can tell you’re excited about this, which usually means talking until one of our phones dies, so just give me fifteen and I’ll be there.” Crowley spoke into his phone, grabbing his jacket and shrugging it on as he went out to Bentley.
“Okay, okay, if I haven’t popped by then.” Aziraphale chuckled on the other end of the line.
“I’m sure you’ll be fine.” Crowley shook his head and hung up, a fond smile playing at his lips as he started up his beloved car, pulling out of the drive of his flat.
“The hell?” He murmured minutes later, passing by the park as he always did, but this time he noticed a child sitting right by the fence, seemingly just watching cars, but their mismatched eyes landed on the Bentley and it seemed to throw them into a fit of giggles. “Looks like you have an admirer.” Crowley said to his car, pulling to the side and quickly getting out and across the road.
“Hey, kid; where’s mum and dad?” He asked, hoping they were old enough to understand him and talk, he never could tell with humans. But the kid, a girl he figured out from her long hair and pink dress, simply raised her arms up to him. “Oh, dear.” He said, an eyebrow cocked as he picked her up. “What’s your name?”
“Arden!” She laughed, her small hand lightly patting his tattoo, and he couldn’t help to smile as he settled her onto his hip and began to walk around, looking for anyone missing a child. But as the sun set, and people began to leave, nobody came up to claim Arden.
“Okay, well, d’you like books?” He was answered by aggressively fast nodding. “Message received.” He chuckled, keeping her from falling out of his arms as he walked back to the Bentley, miracling a car seat into the back of the Bentley and strapping her in. “Whoever invented these ridiculous buttons better be in the farthest corner of Hell.” He grumbled, but smiling when Arden just nodded and affirmed his thought. “Clever thing.” He praised before closing the door and getting into the front seat. Hopefully Aziraphale hadn’t burst in the time Crowley took.
“Crowley! There you are!” Aziraphale called out when he heard the door open.
“Hey, Aziraphale! Sorry, I found this little girl-” Crowley was cut off by two hands grabbing his cheeks, Aziraphale watching curiously.
“No!” Arden said, “notta girl.”
“Boy?” Crowley asked, watching as they shook their head.
“Neither?” That earned him a squeal of delight and another round of aggressive nodding.
“Arden, you’re gonna fall, stop that.” He fussed lightly, fixing his hold on them. “Okay, I found this kid at the park up the road, waited until all the parents left before I did, no one came up to claim them.” He said to Aziraphale who was trying to coax Arden into his arms, his eyes full of love and awe as they settled onto him.
“I’m sure there will be an alert in a few hours, a tired parent probably didn’t notice you had them.” He said, stroking their light brown hair from their eyes. “Oh, Crowley look, such pretty eyes.”
“Almost like ours.”
“Yes, almost. Are you hungry, sweet thing, er, what was your name.”
“Arden!” They giggled, wiggling to try and get down, done with being held and taking off in a sprint to the small children’s section Aziraphale had.
“No running please!”
“Oh yeah, nearly gave themselves a concussion when I asked if they liked books, you saw how they nod, full body nod, I swear.”
“Indeed, appropriately hyper it seems.” Aziraphale chuckled, “Arden, how old are you sweetie?”
“Five and a half!” They called, arms full of books as they made way to Aziraphale’s desk.
“Oh, look at that, they’re basically you.” Crowley teased, going over to Arden and picking them up to put them into the chair since they weren’t letting go of any books any time soon.
Aziraphale chuckled and went upstairs to see what it was he had that a five year old could eat. “Crowley, I’m not sure I have any food that is best for their age.” He called down.
“What about Nina’s, I’m sure she’s got something.” Crowley called out, sitting next to Arden so he could keep an eye on her, and Aziraphale’s beloved books.
“Perhaps, I will run over and ask!”
“I like him!” Arden exclaimed happily when Aziraphale had left.
“Yeah? Me too,” Crowley felt his heart swelling with love, miracling a hairbrush into his hand. “Is it okay if I brush your hair? It seems the wind messed it up.”
“Mhm!” Arden hummed, “gently please.” Crowley nodded, carefully making sure not to tug their hair as he brushed it, apologizing each time he had to pull a little hard.
“I’m back! Nina had some chicken nuggets and a box of mac and cheese. Does that sound good Arden?”
“Yes sir!” They giggled, looking up to Aziraphale, who smiled as he looked at Crowley and the child, Arden perched in his desk chair, Crowley sitting besides them, slender fingers working a brush into their hair gently as they read over Little Monsters by David Williams.
With a quick ruffle of Arden’s hair, not messing it up terribly, and a kiss to Crowley, Aziraphale went back upstairs to his flat, beginning to cook dinner, sending Crowley a text when it was ready.
“Alright little duck,” Crowley said, standing with a stretch before he picked them up. “Dinner’s ready for you.” He carefully brought them up the stairs and into the quaint dining room. Sitting them down in front of the food and going to stand by Aziraphale’s side.
“No alerts on my phone.”
“None on mine… you don’t think,” Aziraphale left the last part unsaid, not wanting to think it true.
“If they did, I’ll drag them down to Hell myself. They’re too pure, didn’t really acknowledge me when I asked where mum and dad were.”
“Perhaps it’s not mum and dad? Maybe some other relatives?” Aziraphale tried to give the benefit of doubt.
“Still hardly excuses the lack of an alert, it’s been three hours.” Crowley frowned. “Are you okay with them sleeping here or should I bring them to my flat?”
“You both can stay here,” the angel said simply, holding Crowley’s hand, “you know I adore your company, and Arden is perfectly welcome as long as they need to be.”
#good omens#crowley#tdkab#thedemonknownasbilly#aziraphale#anthony j crowley#aziracrow#aziraphale x crowley#azicrow#good ineffable omens#ineffable dumbasses#ineffable dads#ineffable spouses#ineffable husbands#gn oc#gender neutral oc#nonbinary#nonhuman
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In Bloom (Arthur Morgan x Reader)
Quick Note before this chapter, I also posted this story on ao3 and wattpad all under the same name, in case anyone prefers those.
Originally posted on AO3.
Chapter 2 Freesia
The stain on your dress was a pain to get out, though you had enough experience to fade it down to something almost unnoticeable. Keeping your wound hidden was even harder, when you finally had a good look at it you almost hit yourself for being so reckless when out in the bush. The branch had left an almost four-inch gash that ran down the backside of your calf.
Long pyjama pants were your only option for any sort of concealment before bed the night before.
The dull ache of your scalp had been driving you mad since the early morning, your mother had put your hair in a tight updo because ‘unkempt hair is unsightly’. You had been lucky enough to receive a shopping list from her though, meaning you had a reason to go into town.
A reason to see him.
Despite the short conversation and him being a complete stranger to you less than twenty-four hours ago, when you had gotten home yesterday your mind had gotten filled with questions and queries about him. Why was he dressed like that? Especially in a place like this? Was it just the two of them out here? You couldn’t give yourself any peace, you just wanted to know more.
Smoothing out your blouse and skirt, you double-checked yourself in the mirror. If you were to see him again you wanted to look a little more presentable than yesterday. You donned your beloved sun hat, positioning it just right so the floral accent sat slightly off-centre in the back.
You always had a special love for flowers, anyone who looked in your room or your closet would be able to notice the abundance of botanic decoration. It was too hard to choose a favourite, but primroses had a special place in your heart for their pink colour and dainty appearance.
You dabbed your perfume on your neck and wrists, lightly massaging it into your skin, appreciating the myriad of flowery notes. Bouquet di Violette, a fragrance gifted to you on your last birthday, had been your go-to for the last few weeks, it was the perfect blend of powder florals and vanilla which melted down to a sweet violet after a few hours.
The scent trailed behind you when you made your way downstairs to find your mother and father having afternoon tea. Before you could head out the door your mother spoke up.
“Be home before seven and no unnecessary dilly-dallying, young lady.” She sipped her tea as your father nodded in agreement.
“I will, Mother.” You groaned, slightly annoyed, before bidding them farewell, closing the front door behind you as you stepped out.
Mother had always had a negative attitude when it came to letting you out by yourself especially when going into town. Too many people for you to talk to, too many things for you to get distracted by. It was a little insulting since you hadn’t had a major slip-up since you were a teenager. A slip-up that wasn’t even your fault but rather the stupid pedestrian who shouldered you, sending you back into a group of people who all fell onto each other. You didn’t hear the end of it for two years.
After saddling up and mounting your horse, you nudged at her side signalling for her to go. As she cantered down the trail, you took your time to look over the list you’d been given. Fresh fruit and vegetables, canned peaches, strawberries, corned beef and sweetcorn, assorted biscuits, crackers and cigars. It would be easy to just be in and out in a matter of minutes and be on your way home but, you wanted to see him again.
——————————
It took about fifteen minutes to reach town, though it would've been much faster if you hadn't taken the scenic route. You hitched your horse outside the general store, patting her before heading up the steps. The bell rang a familiar chime as you opened the door. Picking up your items and placing them in your basket, you wondered if Arthur had already been in town today if he had already come and gone. You put the basket on the counter, patiently waiting for the cashier to ring you up. You shuffled through your satchel for the bag of coins your father had given you earlier on and eventually pulled it out just as the cashier finished with your items, telling you the total.
“Twenty-three eighty for today, Miss”
The coins clinked and rattled as you searched for the correct amount, filling the quiet store with metallic sounds. After a few moments, you fumbled out the money, the coins splaying out across the counter, you muttered a sincere sorry as the shopkeeper began to count it, assuring you it was no worry. Stacking the items into a bag, the shopkeeper confirmed the amount and wished you a good evening. You returned the courtesy and hoisted the bag onto your hip before making your way back out the door.
As you were stowing your items on the back of your horse, you heard a vaguely familiar voice call out your name. You whipped your head around suddenly to see Arthur making his way over to you, swiftly avoiding the people around him. You had not missed him. A smile crept onto your face, greeting him.
“Nice to see you again, Mr. Morgan. I thought I had missed you” Sheepishly admitting that you were hoping to see him again wasn’t at the top of your to-do list today but you couldn’t take it back now. A small smirk tugged at the corner of his lip.
“Lovely t’ see you too, Miss. No, I jus’ rode in a couple minutes ago, actually.” He took a moment to register what you had been doing a few moments before. “Seems like yer just headin’ out”
His eyebrow raised as he glanced between you and your horse.
“Oh, yeah. Got what I came for, so..” Trailing off you began to notice his features, you couldn’t see them all too well because of his hat but you could see the lower half of his face at least.
“So..? You wouldn’t be able to stick ‘round for a drink?”
His suggestion caught you off-guard for a moment then you recalled what your mother had told you, ‘Be home before seven’. Checking your pocket watch you realised it was already pushing six o’clock. You went back and forth with yourself in your head before his voice snapped you out of it.
“Miss?”
“Sorry” You blurted, awkwardly laughing as you fiddled with the watch “I suppose I could, one drink wouldn’t hurt”
——————————
You hadn’t anticipated how much the amber liquid would burn your throat, only having consumed wines in your adulthood when your parents held fancy dinner parties. The whisky tasted of smoke and caramel, and the way it filled your nose when you sipped on it was captivating, something entirely new. You loved it.
It didn’t stop you from coughing and wheezing when Arthur made you laugh whilst you were mid-swallow. A stinging sensation made its way up your nose and your eyes watered whilst you gripped the table for dear life.
“You alrigh’ there, little lady?” Arthur couldn’t help but stifle a laugh at your struggle to remain composed.
Shaking your head, you choked on your own saliva. Luckily it only lasted a few more seconds before you could finally clear your throat and lean back into the chair, red-faced and a little embarrassed at yourself. You noticed the gruff men at the bar giving you a look that said ‘Get over yourself’ and you slid down into the chair more, turning your attention to the glass on the table.
“Well that was quite the show”
Arthur was sitting opposite you, swigging at his own glass with an amused look on his face. You leaned onto the table and buried your face into your palms, sighing to yourself.
“Your fault for making me laugh” All you heard was an entertained chuckle from across the table.
“I’ll admit I shouldn’t’a made you laugh mid-sip, but it was a bit funny”
It had only been ten minutes and you had already made a fool of yourself. You took your hat off and set it on the table, brushing the stray hairs from your face.
“It’s alright, doesn’t help that I’m not used to this type of alcohol either. It’s good, though.”
One drink turned into two drinks, then three drinks, then four. By the time you had finished your third, you were already feeling the buzz, time slipping away from you as the two of you shared things about yourselves and made lighthearted banter. Arthur had taken off his hat a while ago, giving you the chance to get a good look at him. Well, I’ll be damned. Your thoughts were loud in your head as you observed him talk and shift in his chair to continue on his ramble about whatever he was talking about, which you weren’t even paying attention to.
The way he ran his hand through his golden-blonde tresses had you hypnotised, he didn’t seem to notice you resting your chin on your hand whilst you looked over him for the first few minutes of his babbling, too consumed with the story he was telling you.
“Y’there?” He raised an eyebrow.
Your eyes met his as you shook out of it “Yeah, yeah. You were saying?”
“I was saying y’look a little out of it” He tittered, downing the rest of his drink.
“Me? Never!” You exclaimed, pushing yourself up from your chair and stretching your back, thudding against the wall behind you. Arthur had watched you stumble a little before shaking his head and standing up himself. Good lord, was he tall.
“I think it’s best y’ lay off the drinks for now, wouldn’t want ya’ hurtin’ yerself”
Arthur picked up both of your hats, placing his on his head and holding onto yours while he offered his arm for support “Let’s jus’ step outside for a bit”
Taking his arm, your legs wobbled before gaining any stability, letting him guide you out of the saloon and onto a bench next to the swinging doors. The cold night air nipped at your skin, raising goosebumps on your arms. You sat down on the seat a little too abruptly. Arthur sat down next to you, taking out a cigarette to smoke, making sure to blow the smoke away from you out of common courtesy.
“You sure yer alright, Miss?” He felt you lean onto him whilst he stamped out his cigarette under his boot, making his spur rattle.
When you got closer to him you could really smell the ashy scent he carried, you wondered how much he smoked for it to stick to him this much. You also smelt a little bit of sweetness, possibly from the whisky, you couldn’t quite put your finger on it. You nodded, looking out onto the street.
——————————
After a few minutes, Arthur looked down to find you asleep on his shoulder and a soft chuckle rumbled in his chest before wondering what to do, he didn’t know if you would wake up anytime soon.
The moon was out, faintly illuminating the now quiet town around the two of you. He hesitated for a moment before gently slipping your head onto his hand while he stood up, silently admiring the softness of your skin against the roughness of his. Sweeping his arms under your knees and behind your back, he carefully pulled you off the bench and adjusted you comfortably onto his body whilst he looked for a local inn to take you to.
He didn’t forget about your items on your horse, making his way down the saloon steps to grab your saddlebag.
——————————
“Jus’ a room for the night” He spoke low to the desk attendant who was giving him a funny look.
Nonetheless, the attendant passed over a key to him, keeping the hand there for payment.
Arthur slipped a few quarters out of his pocket and into the attendant's hand, keeping a firm hold on you before shuffling up the stairs and down the corridor to the assigned room.
The room was moderately sized and dimly lit by a light fixture that hung from the ceiling. There was a double bed that was snugly fit into the corner of the room, dressed in plain white sheets, a nightstand which held a small lamp that was adjacent to the bed, a dresser with a doily that had three candles and a box of matches sitting on top of it, a few shelves with various trinkets and decor scattered upon them and a simple-patterned rug that was sprawled across the wooden flooring. The curtains rippled from the breeze coming through the cracked open window and the floorboards creaked as Arthur moved into the room, shutting the door behind him.
He pulled back the quilt before laying you down, slipping your shoes off and setting them beside the bed along with your saddlebag and hat. Taking a moment to admire your peace, he sighed and shook his head before pulling the covers back over you.
The air coming through the window was cold, each gust making its way through more chilling than the last, Arthur gently pulled it shut, drawing the curtains before setting his hat down on the dresser. He didn’t mind sleeping against the bed, he’d been so used to having no permanent place to stay that he’d learnt to sleep anywhere, regardless of environment.
He lit one of the candles, shaking out the match before settling down on the floor next to the bed, leaning back and shutting his eyes. Was he wrong to let her get this drunk just to spend a little more time with her? Will she be angry with him when she inevitably wakes and finds herself not at home? He pushed the thoughts to the back of his mind, letting sleep take over.
Tomorrow is another day.
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oh sHIT I FORGOT TO POST THIS EARLIER i had an idea for an epilogue scene to an au I haven't written yet and I needed @jaynesilver to see it so I typed it as a warm up for once which i NEVER DO but because it's typed you all get to see it too!!
all you need to know if kylo is a beauty youtuber at abt jeffree star's peak fame levels and Hux is a guy with an engineering job who also streams stardew valley speedruns as a hobby and they're very in love at the end of the fic (that again I haven't written yet)
ANYWAY have 1.6K of beauty blogger au under the cut, I'm gonna keep it out of the main tag bc It's not for a current au and I don't wanna clog it up
Armitage doesn’t read Chat while he’s in the mines, with the small exception of checking to make sure he hasn’t missed a ladder. Most of his viewers are used to this. When the first good luck day of a run comes along, and he makes the loop for foregables around the map, when he skips several cutscenes using exploits and puts years of animation-canceling muscle memory into his keystrokes, Chat dies down, mostly talking amongst themselves.
Commentary is easier; he can talk and click, talk and type, talk and debate using a cherry bomb on a group of copper ore to save himself a few seconds.
“I’ll save it,” he tells Chat, shifting in his chair. “If I can use it on iron later, it’ll save even more time.”
This run is going well, so far. It’s his third reset of the stream, but Armitage already has all the copper he’ll need for basic sprinklers and he’s almost through the dark levels. Huffing under his breath, Armitage imagines explaining any of this to his coworkers, can already see the glazed-over look in their eyes. He’s familiar with how they stop paying attention when Armitage talks about his hobby. Gaming, they can understand. Replaying the same niche farming simulator over and over to get the fastest time on a silly leader board? More of a stretch? Do that for strangers on the internet to watch as they pay him money? A step too far. Most of them don’t know what Twitch is, let alone understand why anyone would watch it.
Kylo shifts in his chair on the other side of the room; it’s quiet enough that Armitage can’t hear it over his headphones, so he doubts the microphone picked it up, but the movement catches his eye. This is their first time having him in the room as Armitage streams. He’s editing, an oversized t-shirt hanging off his shoulder, and Armitage wishes there was time to have more thoughts about that, but he gets one last ladder and moves on to the iron floors.
“I’m suspicious of how well this run is going,” Armitage says, eyes darting to his second monitor as he works his way through dust sprites. “I’m good at the mines, but I’m saving this seed to see if I can work out a perfection run from it.”
It’s as he’s reading through other people agreeing that this level of luck is unusual, including a stranger accusing him of using mods as if Armitage would dare bother to cheat instead of just ‘getting good,’ as the kids say.
BornToSlay: what’s ur skincare routine jesus
The huff of laughter is involuntary; he upgraded his web camera at Kylo’s request, and now it feels like his every fucking pore is captured and streamed. He’s gotten a few comments about it, but beyond technical questions and a single curious person asking why he upgraded, something Armitage lied about, the new image quality has gone unnoticed. Because he’s a good mod, Mitaka has already messaged him that the same user asked about Kylo earlier, and Armitage just missed it.
They expected this, and they were prepared for this. Kylo’s channel has millions of subscribers on YouTube, he’s arguably a D-List celebrity at this point. Armitage speed runs Stardew Valley as a hobby. They’re operating on different levels of internet fame in different niches, but people have been curious, and some of those people are bound to stop in and watch him break rocks for fifteen minutes while hoping for a bounty of cave carrots.
Still. Most of them have dropped in, decided his content wasn’t for them, and gone away. Apparently, this user has stuck around for a few streams, and Kylo said it was up to Armitage how much or little they interacted. He’s right there, and the run is going well enough he can afford to waste a few seconds entertaining this line of questioning.
“My skincare routine is whatever Kylo forces me to do, now,” Armitage says, popping his headphones around his neck. “Kylo?”
When he looks over, Kylo is editing; he’s just also got Armitage’s stream up on his second monitor. He doesn’t bother to pretend he was working when he looks at Armitage, turning in his chair.
“Someone wants to know what my skincare routine is, and I doubt you trust me to explain it properly.”
Kylo laughs, and when he stands, Armitage can finally read the text on his shirt, and - Jesus, he’s wearing Armitage’s merch, they’re never going to hear the end of this. He can already see the stream compilations, and Armitage thinks he’s wearing Kylo’s sweater.
Armitage finally uses the cherry bomb on a chuck on iron and Kylo settles behind him, his chin resting on Armitage’s head and his arms around Armitage’s shoulders.
“It’s not consistent,” Kylo says, looking at the camera. Armitage can see him in the Streamlabs window, a lazy face of makeup and his hair piled on his head in a messy bun. He looks fantastic, which is to be expected when his entire internet presence revolves around beauty, but Armitage will never get tired of looking at him. Kylo keeps talking, but Armitage tunes him out, focuses on hitting floor forty, getting seven more iron, and then passing out so he can start building furnaces.
Chat has started speeding up; Armitage doesn’t even have to ask Mitaka to turn on slow mode so Kylo can read anything, he just already does it. Kylo doesn’t have his contacts in, so he shifts his glasses up his nose to read the screen.
“They want to know if I ever put makeup on you,” he says, and as Armitage makes his way into town to buy seeds from Pierre, he huffs.
“I’m wearing makeup now,” he mutters, and he knows the mic will pick it up clearly, but he almost wishes it could be an aside. “I’ve been wearing makeup from streams since my first few months. Someone wouldn’t stop talking about my freckles, so I bought some shitty foundation at the grocery store so I wouldn’t have to ban the word.”
Kylo laughs, and Armitage can feel him look down, can feel his thumb drawing circles on his chest.
EmilysWife: Beauty icon Hux PierreSucks: omg is that how you met
Now it’s Armitage’s turn to laugh. In the few weeks since someone recognized him out with Kylo, the few weeks since Armitage tweeted to confirm that was him, that he wasn’t Kylo’s assistant, it hasn’t come up how they met. They’ve not talked about keeping it a secret, although perhaps Armitage would like some parts of their relationship to stay between just them.
This seems harmless enough, though.
“Kylo tells this story better,” Armitage insists, because he loves Kylo, but he’s also cruel. Kylo’s breath is warm against his skin as he hides his face in Armitage’s neck. “Would you like to tell Chat how we met?”
“No...” The words are groaned, drawn out, a tone that perfectly conveys both Kylo’s embarrassment and his willingness to share. He stands up straight, and Armitage misses the press of his body, but he can hear the shuffle of his shirt, can see the chat as his absolutely ancient merch is on display, the screen printing cracked and faded from wear and hundreds of washes. “I was a fan.”
“That’s shorting them the full story.” Armitage’s tone is teasing as he sleeps, wakes up, loads his furnaces and waters his crops. It’s a cycle of days he could do with muscle memory alone, has done blindfolded for a video on YouTube. “Phasma is a friend of mine, and when she did a video with Kylo, they had to pick up something she left at my house. What were your first words to me, Kylo?” From his spot hiding again, Kylo’s words are muffled. “I’ll tell them, then. He said, and I quote: ‘You talk me to sleep every night.’ That, Chat, was his opening line.”
Kylo’s head pops up, and Armitage can see his pout on the screen, his playful glare.
“It worked.”
Armitage laughs.
“After seven attempts to make yourself not sound like a stalker, I suppose it did work. Or, alternatively, I didn’t know you were hitting on me until we were on our third date.” Armitage could sound sad here, but he decides against it. He hadn’t been able to imagine a world where Kylo found him attractive. It never occurred to him that Kylo might be interested, so he lusted in quiet, alone at night with his own hand. “I still maintain that those dates don’t count, since I was unaware they were dates.” Kylo’s acrylics dig into his shoulders, and Armitage hisses in mock pain, as if Kylo’s nails aren’t rounded at the tip. “Don’t put holes in your own sweater, idiot.”
Though he attempts to fake angry, the last word comes out soft and fond as he looks up, doing his best to forget they’re on camera for a moment, to forget that he’s streaming this live and that he’ll be hearing about this for weeks. Phasma has already messaged him on Discord; Armitage will deal with her after the stream.
The press of lips on his cheek is welcome, the loss of Kylo’s warmth less so. He waves to the web camera one last time before heading back to his own desk, putting on his headphones. Half of Chat is talking about his insane luck and all the pumpkins he’s going to plant while the other half still can’t quite believe Kylo was there, and is speculating how many streams he’s been just in the background of. Armitage won’t answer that; he doesn’t want to encourage them to ask for Kylo every stream, though he imagines they will anyway, now that the flood gate has opened.
KyloAmidala: I normally just watch from the other room, though now I have to settle for replays if my sleep schedule is messed up.
Armitage can hear Kylo snickering even as he puts his headphones back on.
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Mmmmmmm tell me about an izuleo au you have (or multiple). I lowkey want to write more for them (ignoring my other large project wips here 🙈🙈) and would love to know what ideas you have :3
answering this month's late oopsies but here's a few concepts I have :]
my knights (mostly izuleo) bad end au. this is the most fleshed out idea on this list it's like a child to me I surprise myself with my own genius tbh. the basic idea of the au is what if leo never came back to yumenosaki after checkmate and it's kind of a future au the main plot happens when leo and izumi are about 24/25? long story short leo never comes back knights decides to disband after izumi graduates he then goes on to leave japan quit his idol career and work solely on modelling I can talk more about this one if you want to hear
ghost leo au. this one is very inspired by one of my favorite fics of all time which I read a few years ago and it changed me as a person forever. basic plot is it's a non idol au so they're just at regular high school there's a rumor of a ghost in one of the music room izumi goes to check it out because his beloved yuukun was scared and he meets leo there and they slowly become friends and meet almost every night to talk, leo died at the school (how? that's for me to know and you to never find out because there's a minute chance I'll ever write this) and was given x amount of days to compose x amount of songs by idk the grim reaper or whatevers there after death because he died so unfairly. it ends on a bittersweet note of leo having to pass on because his times up and they never really had a proper goodbye but he leaves a song he composed for izumi a la lionheart
genei ap: empty heart au. just play the game. please I beg it's so good and the music is incredible and most importantly it's free and takes like an hour tops to completely play and it's soooo izuleo coded I'm sick. I think izumi spica and leo mikage makes the most sense but personally I'm partial to leo spica izumi mikage...
au where they never met in high school and meet for the first time because they take the same train for their commute so they see eachother for like fifteen minutes a day and move from strangers to Train Strangers to acquaintances to friends .. their first meeting would be leo asking izumi what he's listening to because music and all and izumi (who isn't listening to anything but wears headphones so people won't talk to him and it's Not Working) is annoyed but leo keeps talking to him every day and eventually grows fond of him and idk it goes on from here there's drama there's mental illness
finally here's one that actually takes place in the canon universe. I want izumi and leo to have a big fight and instead of taking it out izumi decides the best option is to run off and not say where he's going and so he impulsively takes the first train to paris and shows up on shus doorstep and there's izumi shu bonding and idk I just think about the parallels between them a lot and I really want them to be closer friends. they talk and stuff and izumi stays for like two or three days has some realisations and the conclusion would be him returning to Florence and I guess being honest for once with leo and genuinely apologising and idk. but this is izumi sena so I don't know if he'd fucking do that. whatever it's my au and if I want an emotional scene of genuine honesty I will fucking have one
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Steddie Fix-It AU, Deja-Vu
Walking into the formerly burnt down mall again, now completely untouched by fire, was strange. It was like a strange sense of deja vu. Eddie's eyes darted around from the stores to the people walking around. People he knew that died in the fire a week from now. The metalhead found himself pinching the skin of his inner hand just to make sure this wasn't a dream. The pain felt real. He could hear the boring elevator music the mall always played, smell the pretzels from the Orange Julius downstairs....it all felt real. Eddie remembered the one time he tried too much datura and woke up two days later from the weirdest fever dream of his life, but even that didn't compare to what he was feeling. Eddie was so lost in his thoughts, he didn't notice where he was going until he bumped into something.
"Hey, watch where you're going!" Or someone.
"Oh, crap-sorry, I..." Eddie looked up, trailing off when he saw a now familiar face. "Steve?"
Steve Harrington, in the flesh. Eddie was too surprised to even use just his last name. It was like staring at a ghost. Before Vecna, they never really talked to each other. Every now and then, they met up for a drug deal, but that was it. He didn't know anything about Steve before that. If everything was just a dream, that probably meant he still didn't know anything about Steve. Looking the other teen over, Eddie had to stop himself from snorting despite the confusion. Steve Harrington "King of Hawkins High" (was that former now? Eddie couldn't remember if he was still in school at this point) stood in front of him wearing a ridiculous sailor costume. His famous hair was currently hidden under a little sailor hat that completed the look.
"Ugh, do I know you?" Steve asked, and Eddie blanked. Right. Okay, so he didn't remember him. Staring blankly at the other young man, unsure what to say when a look of recognition crossed Steve's face. "Oh! Munson, right? Didn't recognize you without your getup." The record store didn't officially have a dress code, but Eddie distinctly remembered the store manager pulling him aside and saying he had to look "less intimidating" around customers. That meant no jewelry, his hair had to be tied back, and he wasn't allowed to talk about "Satanic" music. (According to the pastor who regularly came into their store to drop off religious pamphlets, Prince was Satanic. Prince.)
"Yeah, I almost didn't recognize you either. What are you even wearing? You look like you just stepped out of the Candyland board game." Eddie snickered. Steve's face flushed slightly as he struggled for words.
"I-yeah, well, ugh, you look like a girl." Eddie tried not to roll his eyes at the lame comeback and instead winked at him.
"Aw, you really think so? Am I pretty girl?" Eddie fluttered his eyelashes dramatically. Steve's face flushed even redder as he gaped a moment before practically running in the opposite direction of Eddie. The metalhead smirked as he watched the other boy retreat into the nearby Scoops Ahoy. He almost forgot how easy it was to bother straight guys when you even jokingly acted flirty. Scoops Ahoy. Eddie forgot Steve worked there before the mall burned down. The teen made a mental note to stop there on his break to continue his torment. In the meantime...
"Where the hell have you been?"
Entering the small record store, Eddie was greeted by Vicki Carmichael. The younger teen stood behind the counter with an annoyed look and crossed arms.
"Sorry, my alarm didn't go off." Eddie already had a list of excuses to pull from as a chronic procrastinator. Heading over to the time clock and quickly punching in, Eddie made his way over to the ticked off girl. "I was only fifteen minutes late."
"Ugh, you're lucky we're short staffed. Tammy called in, and I'm going to break, so you're on your own for the next half hour." Eddie couldn't object before Vicki was already out the door.
"Damn it." Eddie muttered under his breath. At least the store wasn't that busy. A few kids were in the corner looking at the new Michael Jackson album, and an old guy was browsing their discount shelf. Easy enough. Reaching under the counter, Eddie dug around for his issue of Kerrang when he noticed a person walking into the store.
"Welcome to Tower Records. Can I help you find anything?" Eddie asked, attempting a cheerful customer service voice and failing miserably.
"Yeah, do you have the newest Slayer album?" That voice. Looking up, Eddie saw one Billy Hargrove. Still alive and staring directly at him.
#stranger things#fanfiction#stranger things au#eddie munson#steve harrington#steddie#au#eddie x steve#billy hargrove#eddie: lol steve's straight af#robin: ...oh buddy
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so the artificer is now a goat and the bard fucking died
at this point, I've come to expect my OotA sessions to be just a little bit batshit, but this one. . . this one somehow outdid all the ones that have come before it. I'm too tired to write up a full play-by-play, and to do so would probably take me the better of five character limits, so instead, I'm just going to share the recap I sent out to my players after the session was over and give context to each major point via Numbered List. buckle up!!
“So. It turns out that Jimjar Silversinger—or Aitne Mehre, or Tamril Brenten, or Elthym T’sear, or any of the other names they’ve gone by(1)—has more than a few tricks up their sleeve, including both the means and the mission to unmask the man you thought was Elion Brybalar(2). It turns out the real Elion died years ago(3)—except no, he lives on (in a fashion) in the mysterious, fog-shrouded blob on your map known as the Labyrinth(4). Lucien freed him through one deal with a hag, but found escape from his own curse in perhaps the worst manner possible through another(5). Jimjar left to report back to the Vigilants of Aevus who had sent him that his mission was complete(6); Sarith decided to accompany the real Elion on a mutual journey of discovering what, exactly, had happened to them(7); and last you saw of Selaros, the demon rays were gnawing on his corpse(8), so that leaves just seven people in a band of what had started out as fifteen(9). Soon to be six, once you drop off Stool at their home of Neverlight Grove—something which the little myconid is very excited for.”
let's go.
if you missed my last update, the tl;dr is that both I and the moon deity pretending to be Jimjar Silversinger have been pulling a backstory for this fucking guy out of our collective asses. as part of the Big Flashy Reveal intended to keep the bard's secret under wraps for just a little longer, I had Jimjar cycle through some of the other guises his doppelganger spy/assassin has taken. in order of names, they are: a human priest of said moon deity (fun fact this is actually the original human form of said moon deity, and no one fucking knows this but me), a copper dragonborn paladin of Bahamut (it's fine, he gave the moon deity permission to borrow his holy symbol for a bit), and a drow mage (because I wanted to give a bit more spice, okay). not named but featured in the session was Ekha Rhuriak, aka the crow behind Jimjar's bullshit "yeah, uh, I know how to fly for reasons that are Absolutely Not Suspicious At All" story. the significance of these separate forms is that I decided to yoink wild shape mechanics, which led to a very...... interesting combat. shoutout to the ranger for being the only sane one in this party and being willing to talk things through with Jimjar as opposed to just Violence. this meant that Jimjar finally got to give context to his previous interactions with the bard. . .
so as it happens, two of Jimjar's forms are capable of casting dispel magic, and it only took him two tries to unmask the bard (I set the DC at 18 beforehand and rolled out in the open for both castings, just so my bard player could be certain I wasn't pulling any bullshit to screw him over). it was so fucking !!!!!!!!!!!!!! when the reveal dropped and everyone realized that the Philanthropist inverted was never about Jimjar, it was about Selaros Elpragh (the bard's real name, which I discovered in-session that I had been mentally pronouncing wrong for months) the whole time. the party then turned against him, and Jimjar-as-Tamril wound up nuking him (and healing the fighter, rogue, and ranger) with his radiant breath.
Selaros' backstory is that he was a drow man enslaved by a cruel mistress alongside a half-elf named Elion Brybalar. due to a deal with the setting's god of treachery, Analith, he murdered Elion in order to escape and took on his identity through a reworked version of the Mask of Many Faces invocation. this was a hot minute ago. now, the bard player was thinking about playing the real Elion as a reborn sporeblood sorcerer (a bit of homebrew I cooked up), and I was contemplating a way to introduce him organically. . .
at this point, we're back to what I had originally planned for the session, before the whole thing with Jimjar and the bard blew up in my and the bard player's face. shoutout to whoever it was that came up with this, because it was a blast to run. and, as part of the deal (I was planning this all the way back when I gave the ranger the Merchant inverted during his tarokka reading), I was going to have the hags offer the party a deal that could free them from their curses. . .
Lucien was the party artificer (and had recently multiclassed into wizard), and was the one who wanted the homebrew curse to turn him into a goat man. the artificer is making deals left and right with these hags as everyone else watches in amused horror, and when Nanny Plunk offers to free him from his current cursed form, he accepts. I warn the player out-of-character that the hag's "cure" is going to be turning him into a literal goat. he's like, "okay, I'm gonna roll a wisdom check, and if I roll below a 5, I'm gonna take the deal." he rolls a 4. ultimately, I do not stop him. he made this decision with full knowledge of what would happen next. the party left the goat behind with the hag, and is now looting the stuff he left on the boat (the rogue has already claimed his hat and his bag of holding). the player is now making Another new character, and I sincerely hope this will be the last time he needs one.
okay back to my Jimjar Backstory Bullshit. Aevus is the name of the shapeshifting moon deity, and their priests are often referred to as Vigilants, because I Think That Sounds Cool and it also fits with some of the other naming conventions in the world (some priests of the sun god are called Lightbringers, priestesses of the grave goddess are called Raven Ladies, etc.). so basically, Aevus-as-Jimjar is like "yeahhh, I'm here because.... my own church sent me......" and bullshitted a whole backstory about having been an assassin in the employ of the drow who was saved by the church of Aevus. this is all lies, in fact, but no one can verify it, because Aevus is a god of the surface and they're in the Underdark. before he left (in-universe because the jig was up, out-of-universe because his "greater doppelganger" statblock was not balanced to fight alongside the party), he gave the ranger a blessing that is going to help with the upcoming full moon. somehow. we'll figure it out before next session.
so while the party is in the Dark Mirage (aka the Labyrinth), they free Elion. the fighter violently objects to having Elion travel with them, and it's somehow decided that Elion is going to go on a journey offscreen to figure out how he came back from the dead with fungus powers, and that Sarith is going to accompany him. okay, sure. this is fine. (I'm going to miss Sarith, but oh well. they can always come back later!!)
the fighter (who had been affected most by the bard's manipulations) yeeted his corpse overboard as soon as she could. (little does anyone know that the ex-bard and I are plotting a possible eventual return of Selaros as a deathlock of sorts.... little does anyone know that I'm already doing this with Buppido in Gracklstugh......)
Ront, Derendil, Buppido, and Shuushar are dead. Sarith and Jimjar left, and we're down two PCs. backup characters won't arrive until Neverlight Grove. I think the only factor keeping the survivors together is the children (Topsy, Turvy, Stool) they're still responsible for. oosrp is sad and so am I.
to quote the fighter: "when you lay it out like that in a recap, this was easily our most deranged session, and it's not even a contest."
......yup.
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Well, it's been a year...
My dad died a year ago on the 21st of January. It's been a solid year's worth of existing in a world without him. That's less stress, less judgment, less anxiety, and less of family.
I spent most of my adult life wondering what it would be like.
My dad was a dichotomy: he both loved his kids, and would do most anything for them. This is in contrast to being a right bastard and emotionally (and physically) abusive throughout his life when he didn't get his way, or when others were doing things that he thought should go another way. He was manipulative, and cruel. I never bore that out as a youth, but both my half brothers did. I only experienced it later in my life.
To the outside world he was a saint. Everyone loved him where he worked, his friends would tell you about how he'd help the homeless out or any number of charitable deeds. I honestly do believe in the fact that he'd give the coat off his back for someone in need. It's just that this stands in such contrast to the absolute and utter chaos of his home life.
I could list a litany of things I put up with as a kid, which were treated as 'a funny story' which now would be considered 'abuse'. And my half brother Kevin and I have spent the better part of this year digging deep and coming to terms with events and kind of recategorizing them for what they are and healing from that.
Last Night I had a very lucid dream where I was walking through the neighborhood he grew up in. I stopped in at an old diner he used to frequent and ordered some cheese coneys and couldn't get the words out. I had to excuse myself and went outside and saw a procession carrying a casket with him in it. I got a call from my other half brother Gene who said he couldn't make it to the procession but wanted me to lead it.
I declined. He got mad at me and I said that I was done and began to walk away when the casket opened and he strolled across the street to me.
He said he missed everyone and didn't want it to be like this (pretty much the moment he died the family split). Those who back his ex-wife and those who don't. He said he didn't want the separation. I looked at this figment directly in his eyes and said "too fucking bad...you did this. This is your legacy. This is what you left behind". I then said "I still talk to my brothers. That's all I need. I was never close to any other family, they all back her and I don't really need to have heart to hearts with people I don't know, people who insult the memory of my mother, and insult my niece and her kids. No. The family is fragmented. In time it'll heal, this will all be memories but you've left it with her. This is not what you wanted, but it's your comeuppance." He then uttered "take care of each other at least". To which I said that I would. He then sat down and said he failed. I looked down at him sitting in a gutter and said "Tabetha told me that I had to stop the martyr complex years ago. You looked like a fool. You acted like one too. People aren't your puppets. They're gonna do what they're gonna do. You didn't drive them to this. They chose it. You can't control everything. And you sure as hell can't get everything you want".
He sighed and looked up and me and said "I'll see you around son. Tell Tabetha I love her too. I love Kevin and Gene. Tell them." I was about to say "they know". And he was gone.
I then spent another fifteen or so minutes this morning reflecting on things before coming to this conclusion: He's gone. You will recall the good times, forget the bad, learn from the mistakes, and go forth. All you can do is what you are capable of doing. You can only control yourself.
I remain in a gulley where I'm even keeled on his legacy of help, and wanting to forget the anguish he's caused.
The only solace is that there's peace now.
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Shinigami Eyes (II)
Pairing: Corpse Husband / Reader
Summary: After you distastefully kill Corpse in a game of Among Us, he wants you to make it up to him and invites you to come over for the week.
Notes: Thank you so much for the love on the previous chapter, I’ve never gotten this many notes before. I hope you enjoy, and maybe leave an ask if you want to? I can’t promise I have time to do them, but I’ll pick out a couple.
Also, I might rewrite this. I kinda rushed it because I wanted to finish it by tonight, but there will be a final and third chapter to this afterwards. Please do let me know what you think.
Tag list CLOSED!
Shinigami Eyes - Pt. II
5… 4… 3… 2… 1…
Impostor
You were teamed up with Sean.
Your fist violently slammed down on the desk. “Goddammit! I don’t want to be impostor anymore! This game has no compassion for my poor nerves.” It was the third time in a row now, and you were really craving to do normal tasks now without all the scheming. “Fuck it, I don’t care if they kill me. I’m just gonna do my thing without thinking about it.”
You decide to follow Toast for a bit to watch him do some task. You kill him in Laboratory. You vent back to Launchpad and take your time walking towards MedBay while the kill button restores. You meet up with Corpse, and follow him while pretending to do wires in the Y-hallway. You watched the green bar go up, and continued. Sabotaging and then fixing lights, you made sure your place with Corpse was settled. Then the body of Lily was reported.
As you expected, Corpse easily vouched for you as he’d seen you do a task. The round was skipped, though Rae was sussed for ‘chasing’ Sean, by his own words.
“Corpse, you’ve grown weak,” you muttered to chat.
You were in Greenhouse, and decided it would be best to kill him there and sabotage Reactor. “Sorry baby, but I can’t keep following you around.” You quickly set off Reactor and murdered him in front of the plants. “Your blood shall keep the plants hydrated.” You did an evil laugh. “Pretty sure that’s not how it works, though.”
You vented down to MedBay and as you walked out you met up with Rae. She’d be the vouch who would confirm you weren’t anywhere near Greenhouse. “I’ll just have to fix my own sabotage so they’ll never suspect me.” You helped her with the handprint, and noted Sykkuno and Felix being there. Sean sabotaged lights, you killed Sykkuno, and ran out to follow Lily into Laboratory. Felix reported the body.
“Holy shit,” Rae gasped. So far, five people had died. You only needed to kill one more person. “It was Felix!”
“Wait, what?” the man in question asked. “I was fixing Reactor!”
She mentioned that only you, Sykkuno, Felix and herself had been there and that you’d helped her do handprint. “Sykkuno must have fixed it, and then you killed him!”
Sean asked if you’d seen anything.
“No, the lights were out. I followed Rae into Laboratory after the scan.” Your voice didn’t tremble or raise, a tactic you’d taken up from the best lair in the group. Well, the one who was now dead. Oops. “I haven’t seen Felix this entire game, though.”
He was evidently at a loss for words, so the group was quick to vote for him.
Pewds was ejected.
Victory.
You thanked Sean for a good game who was laughing his ass off. “I can’t believe you did Corpse like that! Poor guy!”
“I deadass thought you were innocent,” Corpse replied, “I’m hurt.”
“Why do you still sound dark and menacing when you say something like that?!”
You agreed with Sean heartily, “He’s just salty I’ve bested him at his own game.”
“Hey now, no need to actually insult me.”
The group laughed. You decided to call it for the night, right before Corpse did the same.”
***
He was calling you again. “What is it this time, you salty?”
“Salty? Nah, never,” he said, but you weren’t convinced.
“Then why you calling?”
“What, I can’t call my friends after playing a nice round of Among Us?”
“Not when you lost the game and you call the person who you lost to. Kinda sus, dude.”
“Alright, maybe a little salty.” You smirked.
“Aw, you need me to make it up to you?”
He laughed. “What did you have in mind?”
A bunch of thoughts, most not rated PG-13, crossed your mind. You were suddenly starting to feel uncomfortable. This was probably just something innocent, which got twisted in your fucked-up mind. You shrugged, “Uh… I don’t know.”
“I got an idea.”
“What is it?”
“Come over this week. You said you needed a break, right?”
“That sounds more like you’re doing me a favour instead of me making it up to you.”
“I don’t have any friends. You’d be making it up to me by being the first physical person here in years. I usually don’t invite people over.”
“Wow, I’m flattered. So, you don’t consider me to be your friend after all?”
“You know that’s not what I meant,” he chuckled.
“Sure, sure. Tell me that again when my presence suddenly brightens your life making you not want to get rid of me, ever.”
“I’ll keep it in mind.”
***
You walk through the gates following a hoard of people, all the while still feeling drowsy from not getting any sleep during your flight. At least you didn’t have any turbulence and landed safely. Glancing around here and there with no result, you figured Corpse would be waiting outside, until you spotted a figure clad in black a little ends away by the escalator. You were glad you were still awake enough to have found him, because he appeared to silently linger halfway behind a fern.
At least, you hoped it was him. The only indications were his clothes, mask and dark hair. You saw him run a hand through it, and identified the chipped black nail polish and familiar rings. Oh yea, that was him alright.
He seemed to be paying more attention to the floor until he saw two feet appear in his line of sight. “Hey,” you awkwardly greeted. A bit taken a back, he replied, “Oh, wow. Hey.” A mask was covering the bottom of his face, but as far as you could see his eyes were a very dark shade.
“Wow?” you repeated. He chuckled, scratching the back of his head. “Yea, sorry. It’s a compliment.” You held your elbow out in a safe-distance gestured hello, but he shrugged you off. “You’re gonna be staying with me anyways.” Suddenly in a daze, you felt him wrap his arms around your waist and instantly hugged him back. His baggy sweater felt warm and soft to the touch, and strands of hair tickled your face. You very much tried to repress your smile and blush, but how could you? Hugging someone wasn’t supposed to feel this good. When he pulled back he reached down to take your suitcase from you. “I don’t own a car, is it okay if we take a cab?”
“Y-Yeah, of course,” you stuttered, “But it’s on me. Same with food and stuff.” “Don’t worry about it,” he chuckled. “No, you’re letting me stay with you and a hotel would’ve been a lot more expensive than this. It’s my treat.” “Yeah, we’ll see.” He gave you a look and even with the mask you could tell he was smirking underneath it.
It’s about half an hour drive to his apartment complex, and it’s rather nice. “All that YouTube money paying off, huh?” you asked in amusement. “You’d know,” he replied. You insisted on carrying your suitcase up the stairs yourself, which he silently shook his head at, until after a few flights he noticed you struggling and settled on carrying the thing in between the two of you. “How many clothes did you bring?” “Oh, it’s mostly filled with bricks I might need to throw at your head.” He laughed at that.
His apartment was simple, but cosy. “Home sweet home,” he said, almost sarcastically. You furrowed your brow at him. “I’m sure you could’ve had it a lot worse.” He reluctantly agreed.
He helped you set down your luggage in what appeared to be his bedroom, where the curtains were still closed and the black bedsheets fresh. He had a few pieces of fanart up on his wall, and some on his closet. You turned to him and gave him a look. “You’re not sleeping on the couch.”
He quickly shook his head, “You’re not sleeping there. If you won’t let me sleep on the couch I’ll sleep on the floor.”
“If you’re sleeping on the floor, I’m sleeping on the floor.”
“Yeah, we’ll see about that,” he murmured. “What?” “Nothing.”
He suggested playing video games as you were both too tired to do anything else. You’d landed quite late yet were still confused about what time it actually was. Flying is weird. You hopped onto his couch and grabbed a controller.
He sat down next to you, but suddenly seemed tenser than before.
“You okay? You can just go to sleep if you want to.”
He shook his head, “Nah, I don’t sleep a lot. It’s fine.”
You didn’t stop looking at him, though. He was still wearing that mask. “You don’t have to take it off, if you don’t want to. I understand if it makes you uncomfortable.”
“It’s not that, I just…” He took a deep breath. You hadn’t expected him to take it off then and there. You stared at him, your mouth slightly agape, controller barely held by your numb hands.
“Disappointed?”
It was as if he was expecting you to make a face or something, but you didn’t give him anything, except for a blatant “Nope” and an “Are we gonna play now or what?”
“You don’t have anything else to say?”
You shrugged, and looked him up and down again. “You’re kind of what I imagined you to be.”
“What’s that?”
“Handsome.”
Neither of you could stop smiling for the rest of the night.
You eventually forced him to sleep in his own bed, even going as far as to shove him into the room and keep your weight against the door so he couldn’t get out, so he eventually relented. “Inviting you here was a mistake.” “How come? All I’ve done so far is look after you!” “You’re a nightmare.”
You mostly stayed in for the week, which you didn’t mind at all. Being in such a closed-off environment with someone you got along with was nice. He attempted to get you to lift the weights in his room and succeeded for around fifteen minutes until you nearly dropped a dumbbell on your foot. You ordered take-out from his favourite restaurant, watched horror movies until you adapted to his sleeping schedule because you were too scared to close your eyes now, and even streamed a bit together with your friends.
“Wait, is Corpse with you?” Rae had asked.
“No, I’m at Corpse’s. He’s sitting across from me so I can’t see his screen but we’re gonna have to share the Discord unless you want to hear an echo.”
“Ah, man! You got to see his face, too?” Sykkuno whined.
“Stop simping, Sykkuno. You get enough attention from him already.”
“Don’t worry, I still love you,” Corpse said.
“Huh?”
It was probably a good thing that you got teamed up again, because you could indeed start to see his hands shaking right as the word ‘impostor’ appeared on the screen. You reached over and stroked it with your thumb. He smiled gratefully back at you.
“Just please,” he pleaded later that day, “Sleep in the bed. If only for one night.”
“No. I’ve heard about and now seen your sleeping habits. If you take the couch you’re never going to get any sleep.” You made a real effort to show him how comfortable you were – even though your back had started to hurt already after the first night – by crawling underneath your blanket and rubbing your head into the soft pillow. He snorted.
Next thing, you feel yourself being lifted by an arm underneath your knees and one around your back. “Corpse! Put me the fuck down!” you shrieked. You knew he lifted weights, but how the hell did he still have the energy as an insomniac? He ungracefully dropped you onto the matrass and turned the lights off. “Good night.”
You quickly got hold of the back of his hoodie before he could leave and pulled. He fell down next to you with a low huff. “Fine, I’ll sleep in the bed. But only if you sleep here too.”
“I snore.”
“Don’t care.”
For some reason, there wasn’t any tension or awkwardness. You were comfortable, and the soft rhythm of his breathing seemed to soothe you. He called out your name, to see if you were still awake.
“Hm?”
“…Thanks for coming over.”
“Any time.”
This was how you would spend the rest of the nights, and whenever either of you woke up suddenly curled up around the other, you didn’t mention it or move away from it. It was the first time in years Corpse got a few nights of complete rest.
#corpse husband#Corpse#corpse husband x reader#corpse x reader#youtube#youtube fanfiction#pewdiepie#jacksepticeye
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Stu(died)-Chapter 3
Summary: Cassian takes care of a sick Nesta
Nessian Modern AU-university setting.
Masterlist, Stu(died) Chapter List
(Rolls eyes hardcore) I am continuing this fic for literally five people. Smh.
~
Nesta comes to their tutoring session late and that’s the first thing that tips him off. Already his phone is in his hand ready to call 911. He has Nesta’s number in his phone saved. The first person listed in his text log under Nerd. He can always text or call her. He belongs to The Rat Pack in Nesta’s Snap Chat group, and he knows he can always contact Emerie or Gwyn if something is truly wrong. Yet he dials in 911 and his thumb hovers over the call button.
If she doesn’t show up in fifteen minutes, Cassian swears he’ll call.
Nesta’s never late. In fact, she’s annoyingly early. She practically has a stop watch in her hand at all times, counting every minute she waits. When Cassian comes running in five minutes later, as he so often does, panting with some excuse, Nesta doesn’t even bother looking up from her textbook. She merely gestures to the seat, a heavy sigh on her lips, like she’s running out of time to bore him death even as she fascinates him to pieces.
Her books should already be splayed onto the table, her pencils straight and neatly lined up. Today, the table is empty.
He’ll give it fifteen minutes and then he’s calling.
But Nesta shows up before another minute ticks by. She steps out of the elevator wearing that grey polo he’s seen on her a million times. She lugs her way to him, dragging her feet with the weight of those textbooks he’s sure are in her bag.
She’s wearing a mask, today, and that’s another thing that sends his brain screeching somethings not right here! It covers half of her face, and her eyes look tired from where they peak above the fabric. Cassian doesn’t even bother waiting for her to settle. Already he’s crossing his arms, his brows crinkling with concern and something like irritation.
How dare she think studying is more important than her health.
“Go home,” he says as she nears. Nesta only blinks as if as not understanding his words. The fact that she doesn’t immediately argue is enough for him to start gathering his things.
“What are you doing?” She says as he stuffs his notebook in his bag, “You have an exam in two weeks.” Nesta sets down her own, it slaps at the table with a heavy thump. Cassian can hear the zipper unzipping but not as well as the cough that roars out of her mouth.
It’s loud and wet, and Nesta pauses as if to get her bearings, covering her mouth with her arm. She coughs and coughs and Cassian lays a hand to his own chest. He can almost feel how much it hurts, how she gasps.
Cassian shakes his head, “No, I’m taking you home.”
Nesta’s brows furrow and she gets that look in her eyes. He just knows she’s going to fight him on this. “I--”
Cassian cuts her off, “please, save your breath. You’re going to make everyone sick.”
“I’m wearing a mask!” Nesta argues.
“It’s almost midterms.” Cassian gestures to the other occupants in the library. He sees one person with their hoodie pulled up over their head, clearly sleeping... and moves on to someone else. A group in the corner who’s standing by a whiteboard. “You want to take your chances with sleep deprived students?”
Nesta seems to think about that. While she does, Cassian zips up her bag and throws it over his shoulder. It’s as heavy as he thought it might be. Briefly, he thinks of making a joke about how she must have stuffed a body in here, but he doesn’t think she’d appreciate it, given how quiet she is.
Mentally, he starts making a list of everything she needs. Medicine? He’ll get the pills and the syrup, never mind if she scrunches her nose at the taste. He’ll get her soup. Not the canned. Cassian will buy the ingredients. He’s sure he can make something appeasing. Vaguely, he can remember his mom’s recipe. Beef broth and cabbage and squash. Hopefully she can stomach it. Never mind, the salt will be good for her.
“Hey,” she whines, blinking up at him slowly, “give me my bag.”
“Have you not heard me? You need to be home lying down. Not here, helping me study. Why on earth did you think this was a good idea? I’m taking you home.”
Nesta crosses her arms and the intimidation tactic seems ridiculous with her face half covered and her endless sniffling. “You can try, but I’ll just refuse to tell you my apartment number.”
Cassian scoffs, “I know where you live. I can see your room from the house when you study at night.”
“Who says that out loud?” Nesta shouts.
She must be terribly ill if she’s yelling in a library. That’s all he can think as he gestures to the elevator, bags in hand.
“Never mind that. Let’s go,” Cassian says, walking ahead without her.
He can’t hear her shuffling though, so he turns back to find Nesta leaning on a chair, holding her stomach. He can already feel himself sighing.
Cassian rushes back just in time for Nesta to rip off her mask, and move to the closest trashcan. It’s situated under one of the bulletin boards and as Cassian sidles up to her, rubbing at her back and pulling her hair away, he looks to the papers tacked to the board.
Join the rowing team. Looking for tutors. Research participants wanted.
He can hear the retching and Cassian reads on.
Babysitter wanted for professor, transportation needed.
“I haven’t thrown up since middle school,” Nesta says pathetically. She frowns as he hands her his bottle of water. Her nose and cheeks are red and for some reason he thinks of Rudolph, lighting the way for Santa through the storm.
He feels bad for little Rudolph...
“Now will you let me take you home,” Cassian sighs. He hopes it doesn’t sound like an ‘I told you so’ but she should really be lying down. He lays a hand to her forehead, but she brushes him off, moving towards the bathrooms.
“I’ll wait right here,” he says, but Nesta moves ahead as if she doesn’t hear him at all. Cassian can’t find it in himself to mind. A sick Nesta is guaranteed to be a stubborn Nesta, he just knows.
When she gets out, she looks surprised to see him and that’s another look that just proves how sick she must be. It’s a fairly obvious prediction that he’s going to wait next to the girl's bathroom, counting ceiling tiles. It’s a perfectly ‘Cassian with Nesta’ thing to do.
“You’re skipping class?”
Nesta coughs again, and she looks perfectly pitiful as she blinks her tired eyes. Cassian can feel his lips frown, and he shifts her bag more securely on his shoulder if only to keep himself from reaching out for her. Already he can feel his hands bunch into fists because he wants to grab her own and squeeze it until she's reassured. He wants to hug her until she feels better.
But he can’t.
Cassian lists every action he wants to do. Kiss her forehead where Nesta rubs her hand, because she must have a headache from how sick she is. Put on her favorite movie, so she can fall asleep to its sound. Run to every store, raiding every Walgreens and CVS until he comes back with a pharmacy.
What might she allow now that she’s sick? Will she let him fuss like he wants to?
But Nesta rolls her eyes in that haughty way of hers. “You can’t do that.”
“I can’t do what?” Cassian asks and he wonders if she can read his thoughts. If she studies him so well, reads him like one of her textbooks, memorizing facts and facial features.
“You can’t skip class,” she argues. “Why am I tutoring you if you’re going to skip class?”
At the words, all Cassian wants to do is sigh. She’s thinking about attendance at a time like this...
“Nesta, there is no class more important than you.”
Her brows crinkle at the center like she’s going to start arguing, but Cassian allows himself one touch. He places his thumb there, between her brows, smoothing out the lines. Nesta rips away, blinking up dazed and all too confused. Cassian would laugh at the look, if he didn’t need the distraction.
He juts his head to the elevator quickly. “Let’s go. We can walk slow, so don’t overexert yourself.”
Nesta scrunches up her nose, so cute and red, but she follows him anyway albeit a little petulantly. She holds her hand out for her bag, but Cassian turns toward the doors, pretending not to see.
“How does me being sick make you bossy?”
Cassian doesn’t dare to respond. He doesn’t know whether he’ll admit that he wants to take care of her, that’s he’s so worried a knot twists in his stomach, or if he’ll make some joke, he knows will make her mad. Maybe that’s the better option, he thinks. He can handle a mad Nesta. He likes a mad Nesta, but a Nesta who so easily rejects him?
Cassian doesn’t know about that.
“You don’t have any classes left this week, right?”
Nesta coughs into her sleeve before answering. Though she means to sound queenly, she only sounds sick, “you know where I live, and you also know my class schedule... seems suspicious if you ask me.”
“I’ve known you for two years.”
“And murder victims are three times more likely to be killed by someone they know."
Cassian huffs out a laugh, shaking his head, “Do you still go to sleep watching SVU? Or have you switched to Lifetime movies where the babysitters always try to kill the wife?”
“People should be wary about the people they know,” Nesta shrugs as if that’s answer enough.
Cassian snorts, “well you don’t have to be wary of me.”
As the elevator doors open, Cassian gestures for her to go first and Nesta does, but not before crossing her arms.
“That’s just what a murderer would want me to think.” She squints as if dissecting him, limb by limb. “You kill me, and I’ll haunt you. You won’t be able to sleep at night without thinking of me.”
Too late, Cassian thinks.
It’s much too late for that.
~
Rudolph has the patience of a five-year-old when she’s sick. Cassian learns this fairly quickly when he runs inside a Walgreens on their way to Nesta’s apartment.
There’s a bench that she can sit on, where she can wait if she feels tired, but no. Nesta decides she needs to run errands. She has an entire basket filled by the time he finds her again. She’s by the greeting cards, holding three open at a time. Cassian huffs with a receipt and medicine in hand.
“Here,” he says, giving her the cough medicine. “Take some of this.”
Nesta doesn’t even bother with pouring. He watches as she rips the cap away, taking a swig right out of the bottle, gulping it down.
“That’s way more than the suggested amount,” he cries, “you can get drunk on this stuff!”
“Good, maybe I’ll forget this day ever happened.”
Cassian sighs... it seems all he does is sigh when she’s like this. A sick Nesta is a petulant, irritated Nesta with a permanent furrow between her brows.
“I know you feel sick,” he tries to placate, “but I bet you’d feel a whole lot better if we get you home as soon as we can... so you can lie down and sleep.”
Nesta only picks up another Halloween card. She ignores his suggestion, laughing under her breath as she reads whatever inane joke is written there. Soon, she’s coughing though, and Cassian reaches for the basket just to stop himself from rubbing a hand down her back, combing his fingers through her hair.
Stubborn, stubborn, stubborn, his thoughts scream.
Cassian looks to the contents to distract himself from her watery eyes, and that’s when he notices what she’s grabbed. It seems that while he was in the cold and flu aisle, Nesta was raiding the snacks.
“What is this?” He gestures to the basket. Two boxes of cereal. Caramel corn. Baked Lay’s and cans of Arizona tea. Cassian takes one and holds it up. “Really Nesta?”
“What it’s green tea!” she argues, shoving another card back in its slot.
“This is all... junk,” he tries to explain, but Nesta’s already glowering.
“Look I don’t question your decisions. You don’t question mine.”
Cassian gives her a bland look. “You question my decisions all the time. Before we came in here, you literally said ‘why are we going in here, Cassian? Weren’t you supposed to take me home.’ You said that.”
Nesta simply raises her chin, pulling out another card. “I recall no such thing.”
“Fine,” Cassian grumbles, “if you want to eat yourself to an early grave and ignore everything that could potentially make you feel better than that’s just fine with me.”
“Good,” she says, putting back the other cards. Nesta settles for a pop-up that sings Monster Mash when she opens it. She sets it in the basket he holds, walking ahead without even looking back. “I’m ready to check out.”
“Really?” Cassian jokes, mockingly. “Are you sure you raided the candy aisle?”
Nesta stops in her tracks, peering through the section with printer ink and paper as if she can see the other side. He swears he’d facepalm if he wasn’t carrying all this stuff.
“You’re right,” she says, nodding.
“Wait!” Cassian calls. “Where are you going? Nesta!”
Too late. He can already hear crunching bags.
The variety packs.
Cassian sighs, lugging their things to the aisle next door.
~
“Can I use these vegetables?” Cassian asks, as Nesta shoves open the door to her room. He’s surprised she’s not still by the freezer. When they first get back to her place, she sticks her head in there and he wonders if he should suggest taking her temperature, or if she’s doing it just to show him she’s annoyed.
Perhaps her ears bleed from the sound of his voice.
That seems like something Nesta would say.
“They’re Emerie’s. Why?”
“To make soup,” Cassian explains, rifling through the contents. There’s zucchini and summer squash. Onion, fresh parsley and carrots. Cabbage and lettuce. Fresh fruit. He can make a nice stew out of this.
Nesta scoffs, “I don’t need soup.”
She enters her room, shoving the door back behind her until it leaves only a crack.
“You can leave now,” she yells. “I’m home like you wanted.”
“Are you lying down?” He asks, crossing his arms sternly though she can’t see him.
Nesta sighs loudly, “you’re annoying!”
“Maybe if you got some rest, I’d be less annoying,” Cassian sings brightly.
He can hear the soft sound of her voice. “Doubt.”
Cassian shakes his head with a smirk. He opens his snapchat where The Rat Pack is the first on the list, but the group name has changed... to People I Tolerate.
That’s got to be Nesta.
Cassian laughs under his breath and types. Can I use your vegetables? Making Nesta soup.
Emerie’s bitmoji pops up at the bottom, but the person who texts back first is not Emerie, but Gwyn.
You’re at our house?
Cassian can almost hear her voice. Stern and cautious. He’s almost certain she doesn’t like him. Gwyn looks at him with even more disdain than Nesta when he's around. That stay away from my friend look.
He sighs. Yes, Nesta’s sick.
Gwyn’s quick to respond. I can come home early. I need to drop off a paper, but I can be there in 30.
Cassian rolls his eyes and types, I’m perfectly capable of taking care of her.
Nesta’s face pops up. I can take care of myself.
“No, you can’t!” Cassian yells.
“Yes, I can!” Nesta yells back, but then she starts coughing again and he can hear her groan in the other room. Cassian raises a brow at her door.
I’m going to make soup. I’ll make enough for all of you, but can I use stuff from the fridge? I’ll replace it all.
Emerie’s face pops up and then disappears quickly. He’s about ready to go to the store himself or at least next door to the House, but Emerie’s text appears.
I have no objections to this.
Cassian smiles in relief, and he’s about to set down his phone when another notification appears. It’s Emerie again.
And if you make good soup, you can stay indefinitely.
Cassian sends a winking emoji. Nesta sends back the emoji with the straight mouth and eyes. Before he can frown at what that means, Cassian sees that the group name has changed... to Three’s Company.
That’s got to be Gwyn.
Stone cold, Emerie texts back.
Cassian decides he’s going to ignore that for the moment and focus on the objective at hand.
Soup.
Cassian pulls out the vegetables and looks through the cupboards. Emerie, it seems, has all the good spices. He finds the broth packets stored in the back, and he pulls out some beef from the freezer. It’ll need to defrost but he can start the broth now, get the vegetables soft, and brown the beef later. It’ll take a couple of hours anyway.
Occasionally, he hears a cough as he works. Then a sweet laugh... followed by a cough and a groan. Cassian feels bad for her he does, but he can’t help but find the whole situation amusing. She should be resting and yet she seems to be wide awake.
Nesta doesn’t come out of her room though. It’s as if he’s not even there, and he takes that time to look over her shared apartment. There are three doors, each with a letter at the front. The N is blue, the E, green, and the G, pink. He doesn’t know how it’s possible to have a living room that looks like all three, but somehow it works. It’s studious and bright. Colorful, but subdued. There are way too many throw pillows and books scattered everywhere, but there’s also a TV with a fireplace under it. He can just imagine Nesta laughing at scary movies. Some slasher fic she’ll watch like she’s taking notes.
He can imagine Nesta everywhere, in fact.
This is where she eats. Where she sits. Where she studies. This is where she trips over shoes if they’re not neatly lined up and where she complains about dirty dishes. This is where she cooks... if she does cook. Cassian doesn’t know.
Maybe he’ll get to find out one day.
Once the water starts boiling and the meat is in the microwave to defrost, Cassian goes to check how Rudolph is doing.
He knocks on her door lightly, pushing it open. “Nesta?”
Cassian’s never seen her room before, say for when she sits by the window with her curtains wide open, and just like then, it seems like an invasion of privacy to do so now. But Nesta’s plopped on top of her bed, tucked beneath her blue comforter, and she sets down her phone when he appears at the door.
Her whole room is filled with blues and creams, and it looks exactly what he imagines Nesta’s room to look like. The large calendar, an agenda on the desk, bookshelf after bookshelf lining her walls. There are also things he doesn’t know of her yet. Pictures and posters and a.... stuffed lobster? Cassian holds it up.
“Would you stop looking around?” Nesta groans. She has her arm resting over her eyes, and he wonders if it’s because she doesn’t want to see him looking or if she feels that bad that the light is bothering her.
She should be getting some rest, he thinks.
“Where did you get a stuffed lobster?”
Nesta coughs out her response.
The sound makes Cassian grimace, his chest ache with need, but he doesn’t rush over like he wants to. This is her house, her room... and this is Nesta who doesn’t like to be coddled by anyone.
“It’s a heat pack,” she says at last, after she catches her breath.
“A heat pack?” Cassian looks to the soft red claws that dangle. He’s never seen anything so soft be a heat pack.
“For cramps,” she says as if it’s obvious. Nesta must take his silence to mean ignorance for she lifts onto her elbows, raising a judgmental brow. “Please tell me you know what periods are or am I am going to have to go back to teaching you biology?”
“No,” Cassian draws out, “I know what periods are.”
Nesta mumbles a thank god and Cassian watches as she shifts under the covers, pulling them up until they hover just beneath her mouth.
“Are you cold?” Cassian asks, looking around her room. He spots his burgundy hoodie neatly folded and nearly yanks it from her desk. “Here. Wear my sweatshirt.”
“I just washed it,” Nesta whines, “I was going to give it back to you.”
Cassian’s confused by the words, but he merely gestures for her to budge up. He’s thankful when she doesn’t argue. He rolls the sweatshirt over her head and Nesta fits her arms through the sleeves.
“You didn’t have to wash it,” he says, watching as she pats down her hair. If only he could pull it up for her, comb his fingers through it. She could use his scrunchie too, if she wanted.
Nesta rolls her eyes, and he can only imagine what she thinks. He can practically hear the words. Of course, you wouldn’t care about clean clothes.
Her expressions practically give her away--everything she feels and thinks. Cassian wonders if he knows how open she is to the rest of the world. He wonders if she’d hate him if he told her this.
“It was going to smell like me,” she frowns.
Cassian wants to huff out a laugh. That is perfectly fine by him.
“Stop laughing,” she whines, “I’m being serious.”
“Yes, you’re being very serious.” He can’t help his smirk as he gazes up at her. He doesn’t even realize he’s on her bed, sitting to the side of her all bunched up in red. Her nose to the fabric. He almost wants to say she looks cute in his hoodie, all sick like that, but he knows she’ll only bite at him, remarking about how he has some weird fetish for sick girls.
Cassian holds back a laugh as he hears the microwave ding. He needs to turn the meat around, so it doesn’t cook through, but Nesta grips his arm. His head whips towards her and... Nesta’s gazing up at him. Her eyes are a soft blue. Just like her room.
“You’re warm,” she says. To explain herself, he thinks, and why she holds him as if she doesn't want him to move.
Cassian’s lips raise lightly, and he places the back of his hand on her forehead. “You must be worse than you’re letting on if you're okay with me being in your bed.”
Nesta scoffs, “you’re on it. Not in it. I’ll make that distinction very clear.”
“You can’t be that sick then,” Cassian shrugs, smiling. “If you’re making everything sound like a tutoring session.”
Her cheeks flush a bright pink and Cassian thinks she must have a fever. He wonders if he should search for an ice pack or make one, so she doesn’t get too hot.
“Are you tired?” He asks, noting how slowly she blinks. “You did drink a lot of cough syrup.”
“I also took a NyQuil,” she says, closing her eyes.
Cassian huffs, “remind me to teach you how read warning labels when your fully coherent.”
He can hear the microwave ding again, and it reminds him of an alarm. Wake up! It seems to say. Being in Nesta’s room does feels like falling asleep. Rather dream-like and hazy. The microwave dings incessantly, but Cassian doesn’t want to wake up just yet.
Her hand is still on his arm. It’s so much smaller than his and he wants to trace the skin there and see if it’s as soft as it looks. Cassian doesn’t dare look at her, in case she doesn’t just bang together two loud cymbals and tell him to get up and out and away.
Cassian looks ahead instead, fixing his gaze on the stuffed lobster on her desk.
“Nesta,” he starts and then swallows. He feels nervous, his hands clammy. “Nesta, I really think you and I... we’d be good together.”
Cassian takes a breath, and he stares at the lobster as if it’s her face. “We’ve known each other for a long time now and I... I haven’t hid how I feel about you.” His heart is beating way too fast, and he doesn’t feel any freer from speaking the words, but Cassian decides it’s time to rip the Band-Aid off. “I thought maybe... we could try it out. See if you might be comfortable with it. If you might like me... too?”
He doesn’t know why he words that like a question, but Nesta doesn’t say a word. Cassian looks back, hoping there’s no disgust in baby blue. He doesn’t know what he’d do if she just outright says he’s trash and she’ll never like him.
But Nesta’s fast asleep.
Cassian doesn’t bother sighing as he grips her limp hand, setting it on the blanket. He doesn’t bother being disappointed when he tucks the comforter around her. Her cheeks are a lobster-red and he rubs a thumb lightly there, wondering what it would be like to hold her face in his palm and kiss at her nose. Would she complain as he pecked her lips? You’ll get sick Cassian.
Then we can stay in bed together, Nesta.
No. Cassian’s not disappointed at all.
He’ll tuck away his dreams where tomorrow lives.
Today, he’ll stick to what he’s good at, so Cassian heads to the kitchen to make soup.
~
~ ~
~
~
Mwahahahaahah
~
In case you missed, here’s the stuffed lobster in the flesh.
~
Tagged:
@arinbelle @my-fan-side @sophilightwood @nestaarcher0n @duskandstarlight @soitsgorgeous @swankii-art-teacher @lordof-bloodshed @thewhelk @daisy-in-danger @highqueenevankhell @lovelynesta @sirendeepity @champanheandluxxury @ladynestaarcheron @moodymelanist @teagoddess99 @spoilersteph @angelic-voice-1997 @bo0kmaster69 @drielecarla @generalnesta @cozycomfyliving08 @confusedfandomslut @dread3r @sv0430
~
"Why am I still writing this fic?" I say angrily, as I angrily type it in my angry word document.
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Rescheduled Lesson
❦ PART. II
Fandom: Enola Holmes
Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x female reader
Word count: 3K
anon said: Can I request a Sherlock x reader where she visited Enola often when Sherlock left on long cases, so they became good friends? And when Enola runs away to find her mom, she goes to stay with the reader, which Sherlock deduces and tries to get her to let him find Enola and talk to her? -&
A/N: this request was amazing and I loved every bit of it!!! I put all my inspiration in this, tried to make the personality of the character good, so I hope you like this piece, love, I did my best!! (also I’m thinking about a part 2? if you guys like it let me know, I would be delighted to write it) (had to repost guys, I'm sorry!!)
also, the tag list for this fandom is open!!!
gif credit: @henrycavilledits
❧ You knew the Holmes family was nothing like the other families that lived in the countryside. The father had died many years before. The two oldest sons had already left home, to live their lives and follow the careers they desired. On that incredibly big house, where once lived a family, there was only a mother and her youngest child left. Perhaps the fact that you yourself was considered a little off by other people, was the fact that made you become friends with them.
You lived completely alone, surrounded by books in a small house. Your life was made of studying, researching and writing texts about science. You loved it, great authors of the matter being your inspiration. You tried to learn their teachings and with luck, wanted others to learn as well. You almost couldn’t believe when one day in the middle of a sunny afternoon, Eudoria Holmes had showed up at your door and invited you to her house, where she asked you to be Enola’s science teacher. She educated her daughter not for society, but for herself, so that she could find her own path when she came to grow up. That instantly made you respect that woman and accept her offer.
Twice a week you would go to the Holmes’s house and spend hours and more hours teaching the girl. Darwin, Copernicus, Newton, Galilei. She was eager to know and you were eager to teach her. She was the first student you had that actually wanted to learn and that was amazing. Made you proud and happy, more than you could say. At the evening, Eudoria would ask you to stay for dinner. You would put lessons aside and talk and laugh together. They were like your family, the one you didn’t had.
You were always excited for the days of teaching Enola to come soon. They were your absolute favorites of the week. In the beginning of the afternoon of one of those days, you had been incredibly surprised by a knock on your front door while you gathered the books you would make the girl read and study. Frowning, because you never had visitors or received letters, you went to attend the door.
And when you opened it, you saw that your visitor was Enola herself.
“Hi, Miss (Y/L/N)” the girl smiled at you, a little forced smile that instantly made your frown grow deeper. She was wearing boy’s clothes, even a hat, and her long brown hair had been hidden inside of it. “I’m afraid today’s lesson will have to be rescheduled”
“Enola, what…” you began, confused. You had seen her dressed in boy’s clothes before around her house, that wasn’t a big deal. She did find them more comfortable, she had told you before. But the fact that she concealed her hair as if she wanted to hide it and the expression on her face, something that you couldn’t quite identify but resembled urgency, was enough for you to get anxious.
“Please, Miss (Y/L/N), can I come in? I promise I’ll explain everything you want to know” she pleaded, eyes locked on yours as she did so. The tone on her voice made you nod and take a step to the side, locking the door once she was already inside. “I had never been here. Your house is really amazing” the girl seemed overwhelmed by all the books and unfinished texts you had around, laying on tables and shelves.
“Thank you” you said, mind still running fast as you tried to understand what was happening. You walked after the girl, that had advanced until she reached the next room of your house, one who only had two couches and a table. “Enola, what is going on?” her face instantly lost the admiration she was having for your belongings. Her eyes went to the floor, and she went silent. That made you sight. “Enola, you promise you would explain. And you know you can trust me”
That seemed to make her come around, because she sighted as you had just did and sat at one of your couches. Or better, she laid down on it, placing her head over a pillow and focusing her eyes on the roof. Her hands were joined over her chest. “I came here because I wanted to hide, Miss (Y/L/N). I’m running away”
Your eyes went wide at that declaration and you sat on the other couch, realizing that would probably be a long conversation. “Enola! Think about your mother! She loves you. Your disappearance will hurt her deeply”
“No, no, I’m not running away from my mother. I’m running away to find her” the girl sat straight on the couch, eyes meeting yours again like they had before at the door. She could see the confusion in your eyes grow by each word she spoke. “My mother went missing a few days ago, Miss (Y/L/N). She didn’t say goodbye or said where she was going. She only left me clues, here and there that I’ll have to use to find her”
Worry got a hold of you, the same worry you had recognized on Enola’s eyes. Eudoria. Where would she have gone? Was she fine? Not knowing you realized, was terrible. As you thought about what Enola had just said, another question got to your mind. “If your mother is missing, who are you running away from, Enola?”
“My brothers. Sherlock and Mycroft. Well, especially Mycroft, because he wants to send me to a finishing school, that prepares young women for society” the clear disgust in her voice would have made you laugh if you weren’t so worried.
“Where will you go to find your mother, Enola? What plans do you have? Do you want me to go with you?” all questions left your mouth in such a rush, that it seemed like you had just spit out the words one after the other.
The young girl smiled kindly and got up, going to sit right next to you on the couch you were on. She grabbed your hands in hers gently and squeezed them tightly. “Thank you for offering to go with me, to support me, Miss (Y/L/N). Is more than my own brothers have done. But this is something I have to do alone, I have to be the one to find her and know why she left. And I think that the less you know, the better it will be”
Oh, that girl. You smiled while you looked at her. Eudoria had raised her to be a force of nature and had achieved that goal, brilliantly. You squeezed her hands back in affection. “When will you leave?”
“At sundown today” she said, so quickly that you realized she had already thought about everything. At least, on that phase of that 'plan' to find her dear mother. “Will walk to the train station, not the closest one but the next, and get on the first train in the morning tomorrow. In this way, I’m quite sure my brothers won’t be able to understand my intentions soon enough as to catch me”
“Very well” you passed your arms around her and hugged her tight, sighting. “Let’s get you some food for your journey, then. If you find Eudoria and she finds out I let you almost starve I’ll get in trouble”
Enola laughed as she hugged you back.
════ •⊰❂⊱• ═══════ •⊰❂⊱• ════
Enola had left at sundown of the previous day, just like she had said she would. Carrying nothing more than money her mother had left her, a bag of food you had given her and her favorite book of yours, Origin of Species, you had watched her walk away into the night alone, as her name backwards spelled.
You had spent the whole night incapable of sleeping, wondering if she was fine and if she hadn’t encountered any dangers as she travelled on foot. You worried so much but all you could do, was hope that she would stay safe and find her mother. Soon.
On the next day, you had spent the morning and the beginning of the afternoon distracted. Tried to complete some of your works, but couldn’t. Your mind would always go back to the gone girl and her well being.
You had frustratedly been trying to read the same page of one of your books for fifteen minutes, without being capable of keeping any attention on it, when for the second time in a long time, you heard knocks at the front door.
You got up instantly, leaving the book forgotten upon the closest table as you rushed to the door, already smiling at the thought at Enola had came around on her idea of going alone and was back to ask you to go with her.
When you opened the door though, you realized that it wasn’t Enola who had knocked. It had been a man. A man you had never seen before.
He was tall, it was the first thing you noticed. The fact that he had no beard, was the second. And then, details of him came rushing into your mind through your eyes. He had short, curly hair, bright eyes and memorable features. He wore a white shirt, a brown vest with small white details in it and a brown suit as well as trousers of the same color. No tie which was insula for men that well dressed.
“May I help you?” you frowned at him, holding the wooden door firmly with one of your hands. To receive the visit of men, had always made you nervous. You lived alone, after all, and the world was becoming a more violent place day by day.
“I hope so” he said, which such confidence on his voice that it actually made you raise your eyebrows at him. His eyes were fixed in you, analyzing your face with much intensity. Far more than you thought it would be appropriate. “I’m Sherlock Holmes. And I suppose you are Miss (Y/L/N), my sister’s science teacher”
You took a moment to watch him again, trying to put into your mind that the man in front of you was the Sherlock Holmes, the detective who was making a name on England, solving the most incredible and difficult cases on his own. After long seconds of silence where you only stared at each other, you cleaned your throat. “I am in fact Enola’s teacher, Mr. Holmes. How did you know?”
“I found her works, studies on great science authors. They all had writings on the borders where she constantly mentioned a desire to please and make a 'Miss (Y/L/N)' proud. It only took me a visit to one of the closest houses to ask who it was and get pointed in your house’s direction” he explained, in an impersonal tone quite fitting to a detective. He saw the incisive tone look you were giving him, filled with suspicion, and smiled slightly as he looked at his feet, before focusing his eyes back on yours. “I came here because Enola ran away from home, Miss (Y/L/N). And I think she would come here to see you if she needed help”
You sighted, looking into his eyes. You remembered Enola’s words, where she had told you Mycroft was the one who wanted to send her to a finishing school, the one who had made her run away. If that had been Mycroft Holmes at your door, you would have denied being her teacher or even knowing the girl, wanting to cut the conversation short. But that was Sherlock Holmes. Enola hadn’t expressed much anger towards him and honestly, he would for sure find out the truth on his own. He was the best detective there was in the nowadays. You tell him, would just spin faster the process and you would be able to send him away sooner.
“Come in, Mr. Holmes” you took a step aside, motioning for him to come in. He did, in slow calculated steps and once he was inside you closed the door, sighting. You expected him to say something, but he didn’t. Not at first. Instead he walked around just like Enola had done, eyes floating through the uncountable books you had, all in a complete mess over the tables, piles and more piles of them . “She was indeed here, your sister”
He turned his head to look at you, a genuine smile on his lips. “I was already certain of that” then he walked towards one of the tables, fingers running through one of works. The paper was a bit kneaded, but he didn’t seem to care. “The works you did with Enola, the amount of things she learned… they were quite impressive”
You crossed your arms over your chest, trying to contain your surprise to know you had impressed the most impressive man of all, Sherlock Holmes. You waited for him to speak again, but he didn’t, just kept on walking through the room and inspecting your things with his perceptive eyes. “I don’t know where she is, Mr. Holmes. She left many hours ago”
He placed his hands on the pockets of his trousers, turning completely to you the resemblance of his previous smile on his lips. “And I believe she didn’t tell you what were her plans?”
“No and if she had, I wouldn’t tell you” you said and went to sit on a chair, at the table he had been studying with his eyes previously.
“Mind if I take off my suit?” he asked simply. You just nodded for him to go on, not giving it much thought. He took off his brown suit in gracious movements, then placed it in one of the other empty chairs close by. “May I ask why you wouldn’t tell me my sister’s plans, Miss (Y/L/N), if you knew them?”
“Enola said your brother wants to send her to a finishing school” you replied, watching as one after the other, he folded the sleeves of his white shirt until they got close to his elbow. Unconsciously, you noticed how his muscles could be seen from under his shirt. “To try to turn such a brilliant, incredibly smart young girl into a 'lady society' would be a terrible mistake. She shouldn’t be forced to do it” at the end of that sentence, Sherlock Holmes had grabbed two books in his hands and after reading the tiles, he went to the shelves and started placing them there. “Excuse me, what do you think you’re doing?”
“I am organizing your books, Miss (Y/L/N). In alphabetical order, of course. Like I’ve noticed you do after a quick inspection” he smiled at you again, placing those two in place. Then, he went to the table and grabbed a few more. “I personally agree with you. I don’t think Enola should be sent to such a place, but she is my brother’s ward. It is out of my hands” he read the titles, then turned around to return to the shelves. “I suppose you weren’t raised as a lady of society also, for you live by yourself apparently and your academic interests”
“You’re wrong” you said with a little smile taking a hold of your lips, and that made him stop organizing the books and look at you with a frown. She shouldn’t be wrong often. “I was raised to be a lady, until the point where my parents died. After that, I started to live on my own, for I had no more relatives. It gave me a chance to become who I wanted to be, instead of whom I was being carved into”
“You chose your own path” he said with a bigger smile this time and when you nodded in agreement, he returned his look at the shelves. “How did your parents die?”
“They were murdered” you tried to swallow the knot on your throat. Even though they had been controlling parents to the most when regarding your future, they were still your parents, and you loved and missed them. “The police never found out by whom”
“The police can be quite… inefficient” he turned back around with his hands already empty. “I’m really sorry”
“Thank you” you said, squeezing your lips in a thin line as old memories came to surface. Things you hadn’t you thought about in a long, long time. “If there isn’t anything else, may I escort you to the door?”
Your polite way of sending him away made him smile.
He placed the books he had just gathered back on the table, grabbed his suit and accompanied you towards the door, not bothering to dress the piece again. You opened the door and he stepped out, turning to look at you once more. His eyes were curious, interesting. Full of something you couldn’t quite identify, so mysterious as his sister’s.
“If you find Enola, don’t stop her from trying to find your mother” you told him, trying to repress the emotion in your voice. “Not knowing what happened… can be quite disturbing”
“I promise, stop her, is not my intention” he looked down at his feet once again, as if he was thinking for a brief moment, before his eyes went back to yours. “I could try to find out what happened to your parents. Who was their murderer”
“I don’t have much money, Mr. Holmes” you told him, your turn now to look down at your feet.
“I never said you would have to pay” he replied and with that your gaze snapped back up to meet his, and that made him chuckle. You couldn’t deny he looked quite beautiful when doing that. “You were there for my sister through much time and when she needed help, when I wasn’t. That is enough paying for me. Think about it, Miss (Y/L/N). After I find my sister and discover where is my mother, I am willing to take over your case. If you want me to” he nodded his head in your direction in a silent appreciation for your reception in your house and began to turn to walk away, but stopped himself in the middle of such movement. “May I know your first name?”
You smiled softly at that. “It’s (Y/N), Mr. Holmes”
“Please, call me Sherlock”
And after that, he walked away.
#imagine#x reader#fanfic#imagines#enola holmes fanfic#enola holmes imagine#enola holmes#sherlock holmes fanfic#Sherlock x reader#sherlock imagine#sherlock holmes x reader#sherlock holmes imagine#henry cavill imagine#henry cavill#henry cavill sherlock holmes#henry!sherlock
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What's It To You?
Corpse Husband x Reader (Female)
Warnings: Swearing
Genre: Angst, Fluff
Summary: To some people, relationship labels aren’t important. To some they aren’t important only in theory. Well, Y/N finds out she falls in the later category, leading to a falling out with her boyfriend Corpse.
Requested by Anon. You’ll know who you are when you read the fic 😉 Thank you for the ‘angsty argument’ request. I hope I captured what you had in mind and I hope you enjoy the read. Love, Vy 🥰
The time is nearing 7PM and Corpse has barely eaten anything. I always keep track of his meals and time spent in front of a computer screen, making sure he doesn’t spend too much time exhausting his eyes or starving himself. He never notices he’s hungry until he takes a bite of something and his appetite grows in matter of seconds. The real battle is to get him to take that first bite.
I get up from the couch, walking into the kitchen. I open the fridge, scanning its contents for any ideas that might pop into my head for dinner. When nothing comes to mind, I resort to my last option - asking him. There’s only a slight chance he’ll be of any help. He’ll most likely say he’s not hungry or that he’ll make himself something late. He never does. I’ve gotten used to him being a man-child when it comes to eating. In the eleven months that we’ve been dating, I’ve force fed him more times than he has eaten on his own terms.
I go upstairs, stopping outside the door to his recording room to see if he’s talking to someone so I don’t walk in and interrupt. When no noises come from the inside I knock.
“Come in.“
Upon opening the door, I’m met with Corpse nonchalantly sitting in his desk chair, leaning as back as he can without tipping over. Arms folded behind his head, legs stretched out in front of him. The whole nine yards, suggesting that he not streaming.
“Hey.“ He greets me as he turns his chair a bit in an attempt to face me
“Hey, what’d you like for dinner?“ He opens his mouth to reply the millisecond after I have spoken my question. I already know what that reply will be so I hurry to prevent it, “And no, ‘later’ and ‘I’m not hungry’ aren’t on the menu.“
He sighs, shaking his head as though he’s disappointed that I caught onto his game. The smile that slowly makes its way to his lips, however, suggests that he appreciates my concern. “Grilled cheese sandwiches? I mean, if you feel like it.”
I smile, relieved that the usual convincing portion of our interaction on this specific matter has been avoided. “Ok. Be down in fifteen then.” I give him a nod before heading back out into the hallway.
Before I am able to close the door, I hear someone else’s voice come from behind me. “Hey Corpse, was that on your end?”
Oh shit, he wasn’t muted
“Yeah man, sorry. Accidentally unmuted myself.“ Corpse sounds unbothered by this, but I am a little uneasy now.
Corpse and I have agreed to keep our relationship by a ‘won’t ask, won’t tell’ rule - if someone asks him if he’s in a relationship, he won’t lie and say no, but we haven’t gone public nor do we plan on doing so without someone asking us about it head-on. Well, not us. Him. His friends don’t know me and neither do his fans. I’m not in the same industry. I don’t stream nor film YouTube videos. The most I do for that platform is help Corpse with some editing when he needs to have a rest. So, if anyone were to reveal our relationship, it’d be him.
“Oooh, who was that?“ A girl’s voice asks teasingly. “Corpse, what are you not telling us?“
By this point, I’m out in the hall but I left my ears in the room. I know I’m not in the right here - eavesdropping is most definitely not nice, but I can’t help myself.
I hear him chuckle, “Nah, it’s just my friend Y/N.”
My heart drops so suddenly for a reason beyond my understanding. I feel like a kid feels when it’s told Santa isn’t real - I can’t believe what I heard.
I hurry to get back downstairs as soon as possible and also as quietly as I can. It’s tough, running with a pit in your stomach and a knot of I’m pretty sure is tears in your throat. When I’m finally in the kitchen, the aforementioned tears are blurring my vision. I try to blink them away but accidentally send one of them trickling down my cheek.
I’m aware this might be an overreaction and if I stopped to think I could probably find ways to justify what Corpse said. But I’m genuinely hurt, and I hate that I am.
I’ve never cared about what others know about me or think of me. Same goes for my relationships. I don’t put labels on things nor on my connection to people. I am surprised and disturbed by how much the label ‘friends’ bothers me. We’ve been dating for almost a year now, you’d think calling me his girlfriend would be second nature. Guess not.
I swallow the hurt and surprise, deciding to keep myself busy with the preparations for the dinner I was planning to make. However, keeping my hands full and giving my eyes a place to look doesn’t stop my thoughts from eating away at me.
* * *
Twenty minutes later the sound of a door opening echoes from upstairs, followed by the sound of footsteps going through the hallway and then down the stairs.
“It smells so good in here.“ He comments, his eyebrows raising when he takes in the freshly made sandwiches on the kitchen island. “You’re the best, Y/N.“
“Hmm, aren’t you lucky you have a friend who knows their way around the kitchen, huh?“ I reply sharply, not even sparing him a glance.
In the twenty minutes I was left alone with my wilding thoughts I declared that I wouldn’t beat around bush when he comes downstairs. That I would address the issue and tell him exactly how I feel about it. What I didn’t plan was being so harsh. I actually barely contain a wince when I realize how sharp of an edge my words had.
I feel ten times more guilty when I see the regret that flashes on his face, “You heard that.” He grips the edges of the table, leaning down and letting out a sigh, “I’m sorry, I panicked.”
The anger in me evaporates, leaving room for the hurt to keep spreading and take over me. I was never really angry with him, I’m just upset by the fact that his immediate reaction wasn’t to refer to me as his girlfriend.
“Why would you panic? What’s it to you if they know?“ My voice is barely above a whisper now, the tears I’m fighting back are clogging my throat, not allowing me to sound as clearly as I’d like.
“What’s it to you? I thought you didn’t care.“ He argues back, his gaze travelling from the tabletop to my eyes. I see the guilt in all his features and his body language.
“I thought so too.“ I shake my head, “But hearing you call me a ‘friend’...’just a friend’ stings. I don’t even know why, but it does. It feels almost like you are embarrassed of me. If that’s the case you can just tell me, you know?“
In a blink of an eye he’s crouched down in front of me, one hand holding both of mine while the other cups my cheek. “It’s not. It has never been and it will never be the case. You are one amazing person, Y/N. You deserve the world, not to be stuck with me. I’m just...” He trails off, his eyes not able to focus on mine any longer, “I’m scared of how people knowing about us will affect our relationship.”
My blood starts boiling again. I know I need to get away from him before I reach the point of saying something that’ll hurt him, so I untangle my hands from his grasp, pulling away from him. “Weak excuse, Corpse. You know it will change nothing except make me feel more included in your life. I will no longer feel like I’m a house rat no one knows about.” I stand up, unable to look at him, and start heading for the staircase.
“Y/N, please! ”I stop dead in my tracks when he calls out my name, his footsteps following behind me. “Don’t be...-”
I turn around, cutting him off in the process, “I need to be alone right now.” I tilt my head in the direction of the dining table, “Sit down and eat dinner. We’ll talk...later.”
* * *
Now that it’s been almost twelve hours with no contact between us I realize that my reaction was justified only to a certain extent. I understand his concerns and I could’ve expressed mine a little more calmly and in a lot less accusatory manner. But what happened happened and all I can do now is go over to him and apologize, establish a proper communication to resolve the issue that I so stupidly blew out of proportion.
My phone died sometime during the night and has been sitting on the charger but still turned off for a while. I go over to it and press-hold the start button. While it’s powering up I start changing my from my pajamas into my regular clothes, noticing a small stain on my shirt in the process. As I’m examining the stain, my phone starts going crazy with notifications, causing me to jump and drop my shirt.
“Fucking hell.” I mumble, disconnecting my phone from the charger and looking at the huge list of notifications on my lock screen. They are all alerts of new followers, likes and tags, non from people I know. Non except one.
@ corpse_husband tagged you in a post
Wait what?
I tap the notification which leads me to a picture Corpse posted two hours ago. It’s a picture of me taken in the living room without my knowledge. I’m an oversized sweater and yoga pants, my hair in a messy braid and my attention caught by the book in my hands. My glasses have slipped a bit down my nose, suggesting that I’m too concentrated on the contents of the pages in front of me that I haven’t noticed.
We started off as friends but it didn’t take long for her to become my best friend. And then she stole my heart. I know you’ll read this eventually, Y/N. So...hi. Love you.
PS - the sandwiches were bomb 🖤
I’m more than caught off guard. Like a surprise hug from behind, warmth spreading all throughout my body.
Without a second of hesitation I put my phone down and run to the bedroom door. However, I don’t make it very far considering I nearly run straight into Corpse’s chest as I exit the room. He catches me before I knock him straight to the ground, thankfully.
“Aren’t you a rocket this morning. Where are you headed?“ He chuckles, holding onto my upper arms.
One look at his smile, a single word out of his mouth and I’m melting. I walk straight into him, wrapping my arms around his torso, hiding my face in his chest. He comfortably rests his chin on the top of my head, not asking any further questions until I finally answer.
“Right here. I was heading for you.“ I whisper before I pull away enough to be able to look him in the eyes. “I wanted to tell you how sorry I am. I was being childish and overdramatic and I’m sorry about all I said. I was really upset.“
“It’s ok, baby. I’m sorry for making you upset in the first place. I understand now how much it means to you.“ He caresses my cheekbone with the back of his hand. “I...um...tried to make things right by...“
I push up on my toes, pressing my lips against his, putting an end to his timid stuttering. “I saw it.” I mumble in the kiss.
“Did you like it?“
“I loved it.“
“Did you read the comments?“
My heart skips a beat when I hear that dreaded term. Just the thought of reading through the comments terrifies me. I tell myself that some strangers’ words aren’t gonna have an impact on me, but I know they will. Especially since these ‘strangers’ mean so much to Corpse.
I shake my head. He pulls away, taking my hand and leading me towards the living room. “You have to. You’re gonna love them.”
I reluctantly follow him, plopping down on the couch next to him as he pulls out his phone and scrolls through the comment section of the picture he posted. He was right. All these people have said such things about me and about our relationship. Some verified names are also there, sharing their support much like the fans.
“See, this is why I was nervous. I’ll have to do duels for your attention now.“ He glances at me, leaning in and kissing my temple as he sometimes does so impulsively.
“You don’t do duels when you are already sitting at the throne. Right next to me.“ I once again capture his lips with mine, tempted to never pull away, but also tempted to keep reading the comments.
Damn, he might be right about the duels.
He takes his phone from me setting it aside as he slowly lifts me and settles me in his lap, never letting our lips detach.
Nevermind. Fuck the duels
@susceptible-but-siriusexual @simonsbluee @save-the-sky @hacker-ghost @itsminniekat @bi-andready-tocry @imtiredaffff @jazzkaurtheglorious @hereforbeebo @fandomgirl17 @chrysanthykios @maehemscorpyus @loraleiix @letsloveimagines @annshit @i-cant-choose-a-username-help @enigmaticmaze
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Just The Way You Are
also on ao3
written for the Monster March prompt list prompt: horns and fangs
Jaskier has never understood why people call witchers monsters. It's true, they're different, but so are cats and dogs and horses and people like them just fine. Jaskier just sees Geralt as Geralt and always has. He's no different than any other person he's met - a little more coordinated and he dies a little less easy - but otherwise the same. People are so cruel and dismissive of Witchers, but Jaskier is a firm believer that they deserve nice things as much as the next person, maybe even more, and so, he decides to take it upon himself to do nice things for Geralt. Like surprise him in Kaedwen when he comes down from the keep.
Only it turns out Jaskier is the one to get a surprise. He's never understood why people call Witchers monsters. Not until now.
He spots the hooded figure passing between shops and he's sure it's Geralt, but he doesn't want to approach until he's absolutely certain. So he sneaks between the buildings, trying to get ahead of him and catch a glimpse of his face. Maybe-Geralt pauses in front of a stall and for a moment Jaskier thinks he's stopping to buy something, so he sneaks away, but when he comes around the other side of the house, he stops dead.
His breath catches and for a second, he's certain that even his heart stops beating.
The man in the market is certainly Geralt, he knows that now, but sprouting from the top of his head are two thick, curled horns. He tries to call out, but his mouth is dry and maybe it's for the best because Geralt’s expression darkens suddenly and he sniffs at the air.
For the first time, Jaskier considers that maybe Geralt meets him further south for a reason. Maybe he doesn't want Jaskier to see him like this, he obviously takes measures to ensure that he doesn't. Fuck. He's gone and fucked this up, too.
Ducking back behind the building, Jaskier holds his breath, hoping that Geralt hasn't caught his scent. He knows if he has there's nothing for it, he's caught, but maybe-
"Jaskier."
Geralt's voice is low, right on the edge of a growl, and Jaskier winces. When he looks over, the hood is back in place, but Geralt's teeth are bared and they're barely teeth at all - at least the canines - more like fangs. He swallows hard and risks a glance up at his eyes.
"What are you doing here?" Geralt demands, moving at once to pin Jaskier's shoulders against the wall. Jaskier doesn't know what to say. He shifts uncomfortably, unwilling to look Geralt in the face.
It's not the first time Geralt's been upset with him, but this time Jaskier’s intentions were genuine, he just didn't think it through all the way. Or rather, he hadn't considered that after fifteen years together, there are still things Geralt keeps from him. Deflated, Jaskier wrenches out of his grasp and picks up the bag he dropped when Geralt shoved him. He's embarrassed, feels like an idiot for thinking Geralt might be happy to see him and now on top of it, he's intruded on something he was never supposed to see.
Geralt doesn't stop him from walking away and Jaskier tries not to think too much about that.
He books a room at the inn and doesn't bother to go down for dinner. He doesn't know what to do with himself, because if he can't travel with Geralt - and he certainly didn't seem like he was happy to see him - what can he do? Certainly not go back to Oxenfurt and admit to all his peers that yet again, he was a fool and thought someone cared when they didn't.
It's just that fifteen years is a long time. Nearly half his life. And for Geralt who rarely lets himself form attachments well, Jaskier had thought maybe it meant something to Geralt. It did to him.
Jaskier doesn't even bother to put his things away before flopping onto the bed and staring up at the beams. Geralt had been so angry. He had just wanted to do something nice, he should have known showing up himself would not be welcome. But maybe this is for the best, maybe everyone was right when they told him he couldn't follow Geralt around forever.
But he had wanted to. For the last fifteen years of his life, Jaskier has wanted nothing more than to have Geralt in his life, even if nothing ever comes of it. He's never been greedy, never wanted more than he thought Geralt would be willing to give. And look where it's gotten him? Geralt doesn't even trust him enough to show him what he really looks like.
Geralt lingers as Jaskier hurries off away from him, and he can hardly blame him. He wouldn't stay either if he’d found out the person he'd been travelling with was a monster. Jaskier tries to convince him he's not, but the thought has always been there, nagging at him. He just hasn't seen you, it says and Geralt knows it's true. He is a monster. Whatever happened to him during that second round of trials took away the remaining sliver of humanity. He'd tried so hard to hide it, to try and keep Jaskier for just a little longer, but Jaskier shows up here and how is he supposed to plan for that?
And what is Jaskier doing here in the first place? Geralt needs this time to himself. Needs a chance to hole up and file down the horns and the fangs, to make himself presentable. To visit the brothel before returning to the torture that is travelling with Jaskier.
Jaskier showing up here had thrown him off. He'd been overcome with shock and confusion and fear. Fear that Jaskier would see him like this and hate him. Fear that this one minor incident would ruin everything he's worked so hard for.
Fear had taken over and he had reacted... badly. It's no wonder Jaskier had left him there, no wonder he didn't want to be seen with him when the first time Jaskier sees what he really looks like, he practically attacks him. Fuck, he really is the monster everyone always says he is.
After everything Jaskier has done to try and prove to the world that Witchers have been given a bad name, that they're not mindless, emotionless killing machines, this is how he repays him. He has to fix this, if not for him then for his brothers' reputation and for Jaskier's peace of mind. The last thing he wants is for Jaskier to think he's in any danger with him. With a sigh, he pulls his pack higher on his shoulder and heads toward the inn.
He catches the scent of Jaskier's perfume as soon as he walks through the door and it tugs at something in his chest. It's bright and floral, but there's a tinge of despair, of sadness intertwined with it. It's not fear though, and while Geralt struggles to comprehend that, the innkeeper passes over a key. Geralt follows the directions to his own room, ridding himself of his pack and swords. He strips his armour, leaving him in only a thin black shirt and his trousers. Before he leaves the room, he pulls his travelling cloak back over his head and shoulders.
He finds Jaskier's room in a matter of minutes and stands outside the door. He's faced griffins and fiends and hired assassins and none have come close to the fear that surges through him now. Because if he failed there, he just died, plain and simple; a fitting end for a Witcher. If he fails now, he loses the person most important to him. He's glad Jaskier isn't the one with heightened senses, glad that he doesn't know how long Geralt stands outside the door before lifting to hand to knock.
But he does. And as soon as he does, Geralt’s chest tightens and he wants to leave. There's a shuffling from within and then the door pulls in and Jaskier is right there. It catches him off guard and before he can consider what Jaskier might be thinking, he blurts out,
"Let me explain," and then doesn't know what to say. What do you say? What are you supposed to say to a man who's known you half his life and only now learns you have horns. Geralt shifts, looking at him. Jaskier says nothing, but he moves aside, letting Geralt come into the room. The door shuts behind him and a wave of fear crashes down over him.
Jaskier looks sad, confused, hurt. He doesn't know where to start.
"I know you're mad and I understand-"
"You're the one who slammed me into a building," Jaskier chokes. The anger is there, Geralt expected it, but it's being smothered by something else, something stronger, like ivy around a sapling.
"I'm sorry," he winces. He is. He never meant to hurt Jaskier, not emotionally and certainly not physically. "I was... scared. I saw you and I didn't know what to do." His shoulders slump and he turns to look out the window, jaw clenched. "You're not supposed to see me like this."
"And why not?" Jaskier asks. The anger is toned down slightly, the other feeling still there but not so harsh. Geralt doesn't like it, doesn't like the feeling of it or the way it makes Jaskier's voice breaks and he wishes it would go away all together, but he doesn't know how to do that.
"I'm- Look at me, Jaskier. I'm a monster. I'm exactly what they say I am. A mutant, a freak." The anger scent remains, but it takes a sharp turn, twisting into something much more recognizable. Something he knows from tavern brawls and holding Jaskier back when they’re on the road when someone makes a snide comment.
"You absolutely are not. You're a liar and a terrible friend, but you're not a monster."
"What-"
"Why did you keep this from me?" Jaskier asks, that other feeling creeping up to regain dominance.
"I thought you'd-" Geralt drops his chin, staring at the floorboards between them. There's a crack down the center of one of them and he focuses on that instead of the sound of Jaskier's voice. "You were the only one who stuck around. You met me during the spring when they're shaved down and I- I was selfish."
"How?" Jaskier prompts. He sounds impatient, but excited, like he's anticipated what Geralt is going to say. But if he had, he wouldn't be happy about it.
"I didn't want you to hate me. I didn't want you to leave me. So I hid it from you. I became good at keeping them filed low during the warmer months and let them grow out during the winter. I didn't- it's why I never asked you to join me in Kaer Morhen."
Jaskier squints at him, disbelieving or confused, he's not sure, but the look is piercing and Geralt feels transparent under it, like Jaskier can tell every thought in his head. But he knows how that feels and this is not it. Jaskier is making assumptions if anything. Not that that thought is any less horrifying under the circumstances.
"So let me get this straight," Jaskier says, calmly, cooly. Too calm. "You once rescued me from the den of an incubus you thought would kill me if he tried to fuck me. Again, I might add. If you recall you walked in in the middle of it. You stopped me from leaving the bar with a vampiress one time because, and I quote, you don't need any help losing blood, and one time you intentionally gave me space to continue a quite lovely conversation with a, particularly amenable centaur. But you thought horns were a bit too much for me? Is that what I'm to understand Geralt?"
He doesn't know what to say to that. It's not just the horns, he supposes. But he doesn't need to give Jaskier another reason not to travel with him. Melitele knows there are enough of those already.
"Am I to believe that you're daft enough to believe that after fifteen years of traipsing over the continent with you, of writing you songs and cooking you supper and tending to your wounds- that horns would be the final straw? Geralt if you haven't noticed I've fucked dozens of people who are, to put it indelicately, much less human than you."
Geralt isn't sure how Jaskier's sex life is relevant, but he says nothing.
"I actually like them," Jaskier says, eyeing the hood. "Could I... look at them?"
Reluctantly, Geralt reaches up and pushes the hood back. The air feels cool on his head and he feels incredibly exposed letting Jaskier see him like this, but he shuts his eyes and ducks his head as Jaskier takes a step toward him.
"Can I touch?"
The air is punched from Geralt's lungs with that one simple question and he nods slowly, tucking his chin a little closer into his chest. Jaskier brushes his fingers along the curve of the left horn and the only way Geralt knows he's touching him is the way he hums with intrigue, similar to the way he hums at his lute when it's newly strung. He takes his time, reaching right down to the base and touching the more sensitive skin there. It doesn't hurt, but it ignites Geralt's instinct to protect himself, makes him feel like he should pull away, hide this from Jaskier again.
When Jaskier touches his head, he does. He's not sure what it is about the touch, maybe that he can fully feel it, but it snaps his restraint and he pulls back, breathless.
"Sorry," Jaskier whispers, "did it hurt?"
"No," Geralt admits, "just... unusual. No one's ever touched them before. Maybe Eskel when he helped me file them down the first few times."
"Why don't we," Jakier suggests, "come sit on the bed, take your cloak and your boots off. I'd like to get a better look at them. if that's okay?"
Geralt nods and Jaskier's hands are on him before he removes his cloak himself. He undoes the clasp with no effort, draping the cloak over his arm before directing Geralt to the bed. This is... not at all how he expected this to go down, but at least Jaskier hasn't turned him away yet. He toes off his boots and sits back on the mattress, leaning against the wall with his feet at the edge.
In a moment, Jaskier climbs up over him, making himself perfectly at home in Geralt's lap.
"There," he says proudly, "it's much easier to see like this and you won't' end up with a crick in your neck." Geralt remains silent, worried that he doesn't know the situation well enough to comment.
Jaskier's hands slip into his hair again, fingers looping around the base of both horns and he feels the faint tug and Jaskier slips up, following the curve of them with his hands.
"Do you brothers have them?" he asks. Geralt shakes his head.
"Second trials" he explains. "Lost the pigment in my hair and grew fucking horns."
"I like them."
Jaskier continues his ministrations, apparently happy to just sit and touch and nothing else. And Geralt relaxes under the touch, even if he can barely feel it. Jaskier isn't angry with him, doesn't hate him, and for now, that can be enough, But the air between them grows thick. He doesn't notice it right away, too preoccupied with Jaskier touching his horns, but the scent is what alerts him. Spicy, earthy, floral.
It's nice, he thinks absently, familiar and enticing. But he doesn't think too much about it. Not until Jaskier's little hums become softer, sweeter. The realization hits him so abruptly he nearly snaps his head back up, but he doesn't want to give Jaskier any more reason to leave him, although, maybe that's not as much of a problem as he thought.
"Are you... aroused by this?"
Jaskier huffs a little laugh, awkward, but not uncomfortable. "I just think they're sexy."
"Oh."
"Why, does it turn you on?"
"No," Geralt snorts, "I can barely feel it. If I could filing them down would be excruciating."
"Right," Jaskier realizes and Geralt can sense the thinly veiled horror in his voice."Anything else I should know about?"
Somewhat reluctantly, Geralt opens his mouth and pulls his lip back. He'd be horrified at the way Jaskier gasps if he couldn't smell the arousal wafting off of him.
"Fuck, Geralt, that's-" he reaches out, pressing the pad of his thumb to the point of Geralt's fang and smiles. It's a faint sort of thing, more amusing than outright joy, but he's fascinated and right now that's good enough.
Jaskier's finger slips along his bottom teeth, but Geralt shifts under him, dislodging him, and Jaskier's fingers brush his bottom lip before slipping forward, sliding between his lips and pressing against his tongue. Geralt's skin prickles just at the thought of it and when he looks up at Jaskier, he finds him wide-eyed and intrigued.
Their eyes meet and Jaskier holds his gaze. Then, cautiously, withdraws his fingers and runs them along the swell of Geralt's bottom lip, eyes dropping to watch the way they press against it.
"Geralt?" he whispers and Geralt realizes he's been so focused on Jaskier's fingers that he hasn't been paying attention to anything else. He's surprised to find he's got his hands settled on Jaskier's hips. His eyes flick down to his hands, then quickly back up to Jaskier's. The moment they meet again, his willpower snaps and he hauls Jaskier forward, one hand slipping to the back of his head to guide him.
The moment their lips collide, Geralt realizes this was inevitable. That one day Jaskier was bound to find out and want to know about them. His reaction though, Geralt never could have anticipated.
Geralt is... kissing him. It takes a second for his brain to catch up with what his body has already realized and he breaks the kiss with a jolt.
"You're not mad at me," he pants and Geralt just stares at him for a moment.
"No, I told you, I was afraid-"
"That I'd leave you." Jaskier finishes. Geralt nods. "I'd never leave you." He leans in again, trying for a softer, gentler kiss, but the way Geralt's hands press against him sends sparks across his skin.
Jaskier leans into it, parting his lips to deepen the kiss and Geralt's hand slips to his waist, one big, warm hand curling around his side. He pushes into the touch. It's not often he feels small or delicate with a lover, but Geralt does that for him and it's hotter than it has any right to be.
He parts his lips, deepening the kiss and Geralt moans softly against him. It's the most beautiful sound Jaskier has ever heard and he responds in kind, desperate to hear that sound again.
When they part again, Jaskier's breathing heavily and, much to his delight, so is Geralt. He leans back a little, far enough to look at Geralt's face, but not far enough to keep from touching him. He takes in the golden eyes staring back at him, the point of his teeth where Geralt's lips are parted, and the horns. Fuck, Geralt must be an idiot to think he wouldn't want him like this.
"Can I touch you- the rest of you?" he asks and Geralt grunts a yes, surging forward to hold him again.
Geralt gets both arms around him this time, lifting him off the mattress and rising to his knees. He shifts them so he's facing the head of the bed and as he settles, gently lays Jaskier back against the mattress. His head hits the pillow and Geralt settles between his thighs, slipping his hands over Jaskier's hips.
Jaskier reaches up to him, running his hands over Geralt's shoulders, down his arms. He follows the lines of his chest through his shirt, straight down to his trousers where he tugs the fabric free. His fingers slip beneath it and he sighs at the warmth of Geralt's skin on his fingertips. Geralt shudders against him and it gives Jaskier the encouragement he needs. Carefully, he curls his hands around the hem of Geralt's shirt, lifting it up and tugging it over his head.
He inhales sharply and Geralt pulls back just slightly. Jaskier is quick to explain his misunderstanding, slipping his hands around the back of Geralt's neck and sliding them down his shoulders.
"You're beautiful," he whispers.
"You've seen me naked a dozen times this week, Jaskier."
"Not like this."
And it's true. He's seen Geralt naked more times than he can count and he knows Geralt is sexy, knows the lines of his chest better than he should for never having seen them up close, but he's never seen him like this. Geralt is soft like this, so close, and Jaskier is allowed to touch him, Jaskier is allowed to look.
He brushes his fingertips over his nipples. Geralt gives a little gasp and his eyelids flutter.
"Wouldn't think it makes a difference," Geralt mumbles and Jaskier realizes he thinks he's talking about the horns.
"Oh it does, my darling, but I mean like this," he says, pulling Geralt lower over him. "Where I'm allowed to touch you."
"You're always allowed," Geralt mumbles, chin dripping to inadvertently give Jsskier a better look at his horns. He reaches out, slipping his fingers down to the point again. "I just... can't help the way I react when I'm too close to you."
"What do you mean?"
"You make me want things I shouldn't, make me think about things I can't have-"
"Bullshit. What shouldn't you have? What can't you have?"
Geralt lifts his head to look at him, meeting his eyes for a moment and then, "you," he says sadly. Jaskier doesn't give a chance to respond before Geralt continues, evidently relieved to get this off his chest. "You spread your affection so wide, in every town and village and I- it's different with me. You're soft and kind, but how could you want... you have your choice of any person on the continent, how could I-'' he cuts himself off with a sound that Jaskier would call a sob from anyone else.
"What are you saying, Geralt? You don't think I could want you? Do you know how ridiculous that sounds?"
Geralt just snorts at him and moves to pull away, but Jaskier rolls him onto his back and straddles his hips.
"Do you know how wonderful you are?" He pushes his hands through Geralt's chest hair, pressing his fingertips into his skin. "How could I not want you? Do you see me following anyone else around?"
"You're always with someone, always inviting someone else into your bed-"
"Because you wouldn't have me. Or, I thought-" He shifts a little, and suddenly Geralt's hands are sliding up his back, pressing him down against him.
"You thought wrong," he breathes, and then he's kissing him again, soft and slow. One hand slips up into his hair and Jaskier sighs against his lips, letting his eyes fall shut.
He slumps against Geralt's chest, pressing his hands to either side of Geralt's face and he kisses him softly. He pours all of his affection into ever, every feeling he's never been able to share with Geralt, every little thought that he's thought would be too much for him. He rocks against him, pressing their bodies together. He wants to feel Geralt, to be as close as he can for whatever time he has with him.
But then Geralt is pressing back, arching off the bed and wrapping one arm tightly around Jsskier's back until they're so close Jaskier can barely move. He nips at Geralt's lips, pushing back the words that bubble to the surface, the words he wants so desperately to say. He's been holding back for years and maybe now he's allowed? Maybe now Geralt would be amenable - her certainly seems to be so far.
And Jaskier is so caught up in the thought, in the idea of being able to tell Geralt how he feels, that he doesn't realize he's being rolled over until he's on his back and Geralt isn't touching him anymore. He rises to his knees, breaking the kiss only to mouth at Jsskier's jaw and down the side of his neck.
Geralt nips at his collarbone, runs his tongue along the ridge of it and sucks at the skin just below. There will be marks in the morning, Jaskier is sure of it, and he's already itching to look at them. But Geralt doesn't give him much of a chance to think about it before he's nuzzling at Jaskier's neck again, the tips of his fangs just barely brushing against his skin. And Jaskier shudders. The motion goes through his whole body and a soft whine escapes his lips. How the fuck Geralt ever thought seeing him like this would be a bad thing is beyond him.
"Jaskier," he whispers, "I want you. Can I?"
"Anything," Jaskier gasps, "please Geralt, anything."
Geralt hums against him and meets his eyes for just a second before lowering them again to Jaskier's chest. He presses soft kisses into the skin, slipping down to nuzzle into his chest hair and Jsskier is preoccupied with the warmth of his breath and then Geralt's fingers brush over a nipple and he cries out, arching off the bed as Geralt pinches it between his fingertips. It's still gentle, still softer than he's used to, but it's Geralt.
It's Geralt touching his chest and kissing his neck and playing with his nipples. It's Geralt kneeling over him and Geralt breathing against his skin and it's... a lot. Automatically, Jaskier reaches out to him, pulling Geralt close so he can bury his face in his neck.
Geralt works a hand between them, slipping down to fumble with the clasps on Jaskier's trousers and then he's pulling away just enough to be able to undo the clasps. Jaskier groans as his trousers are shoved away, discarded off the side of the bed, but then Geralt is fumbling with the buttons on his own and a wave of heat engulfs him.
This is really happening.
In his 33 years, Jaskier has slept with kings and queens, counts and countesses, and he's never wanted someone so badly as he wants Geralt. It makes him a little anxious and he has to swallow back his self-doubt as Geralt shifts out of his clothes and settles on his knees between Jaskier's thighs.
Without breaking the kiss, he slips his arms under Jaskier's knees, pressing them back against him until he's leaning over him again. Geralt deepens the kiss, pressing down on him and Jaskier groans despite himself. Geralt's cock brushes against his hip and he's hard. It tugs at something deep inside him and Jaskier wraps his arms around Geralt's neck, fingers pushing into his hair.
He shifts against the mattress and Geralt pulls his arms back. His mouth doesn't leave Jaskier's, even as he reaches for something off the side of the bed. When he settles again, he's got a bottle in his hand and Jaskier whimpers at the thought of it.
Geralt draws away, breaking the kiss with a hum and kissing down Jaskier's chest. He doesn't hesitate to wrap his mouth around the head of his cock and then he's bobbing gently, sliding halfway down his cock and slipping back to the head. Jaskier's eyes drop shut and he focuses on the feel of him, the warmth of his mouth, the softness of his hair in his hands.
When one of Geralt's hands presses against him, he hums encouragingly but doesn't move otherwise, afraid of breaking whatever spell he's under. He doesn't want to risk ending this, doesn't want to risk almost losing Geralt again.
Geralt slips a finger into him and Jaskier reaches up, smoothing his hands up the curve of Geralt's horns. He tries to keep steady, to keep from getting too worked up, but it's hard. Because this is Geralt, this is something he's wanted for years - what if it goes badly? What if it's terrible and Geralt no longer wants him?
A second finger presses into him and Jaskier gasps, startled from his thoughts. Geralt's eyes meet his and he looks worried, questioning.
"Is this too much?" he asks, "we don't have to-"
"No. No, I want you, I want this. Please." Jaskier's fingers slip to the base of his horns, brushing almost nervously where the flesh meets horn. "I just want to be good enough for you."
"You are," Geralt says immediately, "more than enough."
Their lips met again and Geralt's fingers press in a little more firmly. Heat rolls up Jaskier's spine, but he's not aching for it, he's not desperate to come. His cock is hard against his hip, but he wants to be close to Geralt. He wants his arms around him, wants to wrap his legs around Geralt's waist and just press himself against him. He wants the press of skin on skin, unhindered by clothes or blankets of any number of things that have kept them apart in the past.
He just wants Geralt and it doesn't matter how.
When Geralt finally pushes into him, Jaskier groans at the stretch. It's good, so good, and Geralt presses down against him again. Jaskier takes the opportunity to wrap around him and they move together easily, as though they were built for each other. Geralt kisses and nips and Jaskier loves so deeply he can't cope.
He hates the tears that bead in the corners of his eyes, hates the emotion that threatens to tear him apart and he buried his head in Geralt's neck to distract himself. Before he can get his arms around him properly, Geralt pulls back. As soon as he sees his face, Geralt's features pinch together.
"Jaskier-"
"Fuck," Jaskier whines weakly, "Geralt."
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing," Jaskier whimpers. He reaches up to Geralt, wanting to pull him close again. He doesn't want Geralt to see him, doesn't want him thinking he's too much, too emotional.
Geralt guides him back against the mattress and detangles their arms, leaning up on one elbow. Jaskier is embarrassed. He's a renowned lover, known for giving his partners the greatest pleasure and in the face of Geralt and one tiny bit of genuine affection, he breaks down.
He crosses his arms over his face but Geralt just wraps gentle fingers around his wrists and pulls them back.
"Hey," he whispers and there's worry in his voice that only makes Jaskier shudder. He chokes on a sob and turns his face, pressing his forehead against Geralrt's wrist.
"I'm sorry," he mumbles, but Geralt just brushes his thumb over his forehead.
"For what?"
"I'm... " he doesn't know what to say. A mess? too much? not good enough for you? "okay."
"Jask, you're crying. Is it me?"
"No," he blurts, "no, Geralt, I-" a gentle thumb presses beneath his eye, wiping a tear away and that only makes it worse. "I love you," he whispers, so quiet he's sure no one will hear it. But Geralt, aside from his horns and his fangs, has sensitive hearing.
"And that's... bad." He says. It's not a question.
"No. No, but I- I fucked up. I almost lost you-"
"Jaskier," Geralt says softly, "you didn't. I was afraid you'd hate me like this, that you'd see me as the monster everyone else does. I was angry because I thought I was going to lose you."
"I know I'm a lot to put up with-"
"You're not."
Jaskier huffs a wet laugh. "I talk too much and I get in trouble you have to get me out of and I'm too slow and too annoying and too-" Geralt quiets him with a soft kiss to the tip of his nose.
"Once," he says, "at a tavern in Posada, I would have believed those things. I don't anymore." He brushes his fingers down Jaskier's side, settling his palm against his hip. "If I really thought you were too much, I wouldn't be here now." He dips down, kissing him on the mouth again.
Jaskier can't help but sink into it and when Geralt shifts back on top of him, Jaskier winds around his neck again. Geralt breaks the kiss, kissing Jaskier's jaw and down his neck.
"We can stop if you want?"
"No," Jaskier mumbles.
"What do you need?"
"Just... you."
"Yeah," Geralt breathes, "yeah, okay."
He shifts his hips, resuming his slow but steady rhythm and Jaskier clings to him. He can't believe he came so close to losing Geralt tonight, to losing him and losing this forever. A swell of emotion threatens to rise up again and overwhelm him, but he kisses Geralt, holds him tight and focuses on the weight of his body against his own.
His fingers trail absently around the base of a horn, bumping over the uneven skin there. The horns themselves are smoother than expected, probably because they're so fresh, but he likes the sensation of them under his fingers and Geralt seems pleased about it.
Sparks skitter across Jaskier's skin as Geralt's pace quickens and he gaps against his mouth as Geralt rocks into his prostate. Even when Geralt's lips aren't on him, they hover above his skin, hot breath creating goosebumps in its wake. And when he kisses him, it seems a tremor audit through Jaskier's body, making his heart beat quicker and his toes curl in the sheets. He's never felt this way with anyone, never found himself chasing closeness before an orgasm, but he likes it.
He likes the sleekness of Geralt's horn under his palm, the tickle of his hair as it brushes his bare skin, the tackiness is dying away on Geralt's skin. All of it. He draws him close again, just as Geralt's hips give a little snap and it knocks the breath out of him.
"Can I touch you?" Geralt asks and Jaskier knows he won't last long with Geralt's hand on him, but for once that doesn't seem important.
"Please," he whispers and Geralt's palm slips up the underside of his cock, making him shudder.
"Good?" he asks and Jaskier just nods, a small sound escaping his lips as he rocks his hips into the touch.
Geralt's fingers wrap around him and it's like a wave of heat washing over him. Jaskier's entire body burns for him, arches off the bed to get closer to him. Geralt takes him apart so easily and it's only a matter of minutes before he's gasping for it, groaning his need into Geralt's shoulder.
Geralt rocks into him, stroking him in time with his thrusts and when he kisses him again, Jaskier shatters. He groans against Geralt's lips, rocking back onto him as he spills between them. His thighs shake and his arms feel like noodles around Geralt's neck, but he holds him closer anyway.
He's still breathless when Geralt's hips snap forward again and Jaskier can tell he's close in the way he shudders as he rocks into him. He tangles his fingers in Geralt's hair, kisses him hard. He wants this to be good, wants Geralt to know that he's safe here, he can be happy here.
When Geralt comes, it's with a quiet moan against Jaskier's chest and he stays there for a moment, breathing against his skin. When he pulls away, he wraps his arms around Jaskier's shoulder, pulling him onto his side so they're still facing each other. Neither speaks and Geralt kisses him again, slow and gentle. His hand comes up to cup the back of his head, and Jaskier hums softly against his lips.
They part again on a shaky breath and Jaskier bumps his forehead against Geralt's. He doesn't want to ask him to stay, he's still too afraid to hear him say no. But he doesn't want Geralt to go. It's already hard enough losing him over the winter, he can't bear the thought of being parted any longer than that. He shuts his eyes and presses close, pacified by the way Geralt's arm tightens around him.
"Next winter," Geralt mumbles, abrupt, "come with me. There's nothing left for me to hide and I... miss you over the winter. I worry about you." Jaskier's heart soars, despite his best efforts to keep his emotions restrained.
"You'd want me there?" he asks, "with your brothers?"
"Yeah. And they've been bugging me about it since I first mentioned you."
"You talk about me?" Jaskier asks, pulling back to look at him. Geralt tips his head up, golden eyes shining even in the dim light.
"Of course. You're-" he pauses as though unsure of what exactly Jaskier is. "I love you, too," he whispers at last, eyes lowered.
It feels like a dream, like any moment Jaskier will wake up and be back hiding behind that building or worse - alone in his room. But when he kisses him, Geralt is warm and solid against him and Jaskier buries himself in that warmth.
He will never, could never, understand how anyone can see this man as a monster.
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