#he's like madonna. no last name

[gibblegabber]

old KB art circa 2011 bc i'm in the mood

[eightspringdays]

"i think" idk what that makes me a lil sad

[finelinevogue]

under wraps

summary - you and andrew are on a talk show together & you are also in a secret relationship

word count - +1k

pairing - andrew garfield x actress!reader

🍿• 🍿• 🍿• 🍿• 🍿• 🍿• 🍿• 🍿• 🍿• 🍿• 🍿

“Andrew, have you ever met Y/N?”

“I-um - yes! Briefly.”

“Where?”

Well that was a long question that would have to be answered with a lot of lies.

Going on chat shows where you and Andrew were both on at the same time were rare, but when it did happen it was very difficult to keep your relationship a kept secret.

You and Andrew had been dating for 7 months now and were doing well to keep it under wraps - which you both wanted to keep that way for as long as possible - but going on live chat shows was always a risk.

You’d both set up all your fake stories ages ago so that when you got asked questions like he’d just been asked, it would be okay.

“I believe - this is going to sound so douchey to say - but I believe it was at Paul McCartney’s birthday party last year?” Andrew looked to you for confirmation.

It was even harder to keep everything under-wraps on this chat show as you’d been placed next to each other on the chat sofa.

It was nice to be sat next to your boyfriend.

He smelt great and he was an immense comfort to you - as he is clearly a huge, global, mega-star whereas you are best-known for your role as a main character on a well-known British TV show.

It’s always a little nervy being sat next to the big names in the leagues, but Andrew always had a way of being the bridge and bringing everyone together.

“Oooh la-di-daaa!” Graham Norton - the host - teased. “Paul McCartney! You have gone up in the world.”

The audience and the rest of the celebrity guests laughed - including Florence Pugh, who was here to promote her new movie that also starred Andrew, Paul Mescal and Pedro Pascal, who were here to promote their new movie.

“Paul was also there.” Andrew pointed out, to which Paul nodded along.

“And Pedro?” Graham prompted.

“Oh, Paul McCartney doesn’t know who I am.” He said, which got a laugh from the audience. Once the audience had died down he spoke again, “But, Madonna however….”

After people had quietened down, Graham returned to asking questions.

“Y/N. You’ve got your new series of ‘The Lovely Life’ coming out.” Graham said.

Andrew started clapping immediately, prompting other people to start clapping with him and giving you a cheer or two.

You blushed slightly as you took note of the celebrities clapping for you, inching ever so closer to Andrew to try and hide the endearment.

“Brilliant show.” Andrew commented - as if he doesn’t tell you that every day you go to work and every other day of your life.

“Thanks.” You smile, giving him a few extra words of kindness with your eyes as you look at him lovingly.

“But it’s not really a show about lovely life, is it Y/N?” Graham asked.

“No, no it’s not.” You sighed.

“Have you seen it, Pedro?” Graham asked.

Pedro pushed his glasses up his nose a little and focuses his body to face you as he speaks, “No. I apologise, but no I haven’t.”

“That’s okay.” You smiled at him, feeling no untowards him.

Some of the audience gasp.

“Oh no.” Florence laughed.

“What? What did I just say?” Pedro looked alarmed, sending you into a giggling fit.

“You’ve just burned the hearts of the UK. Cancel culture will be coming for you.” Paul answered for his friend, patting him in the shoulder solemnly, making everyone laugh and you shake your head at how overdramatic it was.

“No, no!” You shook your head, not wanting to upset Pedro or anything even though it was all in jest.

“How dare you!” Andrew bellowed beside you, also sticking up for you and your programme as a joke.

You leaned back on the sofa, covering your face with your hands as you tried to let the couch swallow you whole.

Once everyone had calmed down again Graham returned to asking questions.

“Y/N, do you want to tell us a little bit about this new season?” He asked.

You crossed a leg over the other, making sure your flowy dress didn’t flash anyone as you did.

“I’m not sure how much I can say, but my character - Ruby - does not catch a break this season! She is back with her ex-boyfriend Jake but there’s also, maybe, potentially, someone new too. Obviously she still is in a lot of trouble from last season so we get to see a lot of that story brought over into this season too.”

“Do we find out if Ruby did kill her dad?” Florence asked, on the edge of her seat.

“To that I will say… The answer has already been revealed.”

That caused the audience and the celebrities to gasp. You giggled as you watched their faces - Andrew’s in particular because he’s constantly asking you questions like that but never gets an answer.

Andrew is super passionate about the work that you do and is constantly encouraging you to try new things and different types of acting. You wouldn’t be as confident as you were today had it not been for Andrew showing you how amazing you really are.

“I have no idea whether this show is streamed in America–.” Pedro said.

“It’s not.” Andrew cut in.

“Well then I will just have to stay in England for longer to binge your show, Y/N. I’m hooked already!”

“Thank you.” You smiled kindly.

“Now, Andrew and Florence. Your new movie is coming out in January, am I right?” Graham asked.

“Yes. January the first.” Florence answered.

“I’ve always wanted to know whether as actors you find it difficult to do intimate scenes with one another - ‘cause I imagine they’re quite intense but it’s also not someone you’ve built an intimate connection with let’s say.”

“Well Florence and I were lucky in that we really trusted one another and felt safe with each other in that space, so I don’t think either one of us felt uncomfortable, right?” Andrew answered, prompting Florence for a response.

“Yeah and I think also there’s an element of knowing in the back of your mind that this is a piece of work that we’ve committed to, and we want to do it well. We have to look convincing to do the job well, which then helps make the acting look more convincing as well.” Florence answered.

“Well you’re very good actors because from the trailer alone you look like you’re a fully committed couple.” Graham laughed, causing other people to agree.

“We’re in a platonic relationship in real life.” Andrew grabbed Florence’s hand to gesture their friendship bond.

You smiled as you watched them.

At the beginning of your relationship, it had been a little difficult to adjust to dating someone who is so high profile in comparison to you. Now, you’re feeling more and more confident within yourself and your own worth each day which makes seeing on-screen chemistry with Andrew’s co-stars easier.

Yours and Andrew’s relationship was - just like any other relationship - built on a pillar of trust and you were very fortunate that you had a lot of trust for each other because you respected each other.

“Well your chemistry is very convincing.” Graham said.

“That’s because we’re great actors.” Florence smiled - earning a cheer from the audience.

No amount of Graham’s meddling would cause Andrew’s gaze to shift from yours.

Once people had settled back down you noticed Andrew’s hand sitting on the chair next to his thigh.

You convincingly, pretend to tuck a hand under your own thigh, pretending like it was a comfort thing, and ever so slightly reached out your pinky finger to touch Andrew’s.

He clearly was on the same wavelength as you because you felt his pinky finger stretching too.

The comfort alone when your pinky fingers grazed each other was warm and lovely. You tried your best to not let your reaction visibly show, but it was hard not to slightly smile or blush when Andrew made you feel so much. So so much.

[ultimate-shipper-blog]

‘Wrapped’ Around My Finger

“Good evening everyone! I’m your host Ann Romano joined tonight by two of the biggest names in music….please give it up for Corroded Coffin frontman Eddie Munson and Grammy winner Steve Harrington!”

The crowd goes wild.

This is a big deal, two of the biggest names in history with a giant rivalry.

Everyone knew the story. They grew up in a small town together and were on different levels of popularity ultimately ruining what could’ve been a fantastic friendship. Even now ten years since high school they can’t get over it. They hate each other always trying to one up each other.

Eddie trying to make a point that even the freaks can become famous. Stating, “I didn’t need money like Steve Harrington to win a Grammy I have my talent to thank for that.”

The two walk out onto the stage and sit on the couch making sure to leave some distance between them.

“Thank you both for coming out tonight! I know it’s a big trip from LA to New York. It probably helps that you live here huh Steve?”

“Actually I moved to LA.”

Eddie turns to look at him shocked.

“You moved? When did you move? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Would it have mattered? It’s not like we see each other anyway. You can barely look at me and you’re sitting two inches from me.”

Eddie huffs in his seat and turns towards Ann, trying to remember what little of his media training he had.

“I only care because I’m a good neighborly fellow of course.”

Ann laughs flicks her hand at him.

“Oh you guys are just too funny. I knew you secretly cared for each other which brings me to my next segment, a game I like to call, “Wrapped Up!” You see gentleman, both of your agents gave me access to your Spotify wrapped and now we’re gonna let the audience in as well!”

The two turn white.

“Is that necessary?” Eddie asks through gritted teeth.

“Why not?” Steve adds in. “I have nothing to hide.” He narrows his eyes at Eddie.

Eddie rolls his eyes at him.

Ann laughs nervously. “Fantastic! Let’s jump to it!”

She gestures behind her where a giant screen shows Steve’s wrapped.

“Alight fellas, Eddie gets three points for every artist he guesses on the first try. He gets three tries, one point if he gets the artist by the third try.”

“Easy.” Eddie smirks.

Steve raises an eyebrow. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. You always were easy.”

“Alright guys let’s focus on the game here!” Ann jumps in.

“Alright number 5….Wham.”

*a bell rings*

“Fantastic start Eddie!”

“What’d I say, easy,” he smirks.

“4. Tears for Fears.”

“3. ABBA.”

“2. Queen.”

“1. Toto.”

*incorrect buzzer sound*

“Ok…Madonna.”

*incorrect*

“Alright Eddie this is your last chance. You’ve done fantastic so far so I think you’re going to win no matter what. Sorry Steve.” Ann says.

“Hey none taken. I definitely didn’t even think he’d do this well.” Steve smirks at him.

“Alright big boy hold onto your pants. I got this.”

Eddie takes a deep inhale.

“Brittney Spears!”

*louder more incorrect buzzer*

“Ugh!”

“Sorry Eddie! But I don’t think even you could’ve guessed this one. Are you ready folks let’s see what it is-”

The crowd goes wild.

Steve’s smirks goes crazy.

Eddie is pale.

Up on the screen in big obnoxious letters is “CORRODED COFFIN”

“That’s right folks! Since Eddie did so well let’s let him play a similar game for Steve’s top songs. Are you ready Eddie!”

Eddie is not breathing.

“Um-”

“Great let’s start!”

“5….Girls just wanna have fun?”

*DING*

“4.Dancing Queen”

*incorrect buzzer*

“Material Girl”

*incorrect buzzer*

Eddie sighs.

“Crown of Thorns.”

*DING*

“That’s right Eddie! Your very own song Crown of Thorns was his number 4? Wanna take a guess at the rest?”

Eddie grits his teeth. “I’m not sure I have a choice.”

“Haha of course you don’t! Now! Number three!”

“3. Heavy is the Head.”

“2. Reign.”

“1….”

He looks nervous.

“Kneel Before the King.”

*DING*

“You got them! Fantastic work Eddie! Were you surprised that four of his five were songs written by you? How could you possibly guess them?”

“At first I was surprised…you know we have this rivalry thing going on but…I’ve been watching Steve since I was fourteen. I know him well. As soon as I saw his top artist I knew his top songs would be the ones I wrote about him.”

The crowd gasps.

“Don’t get me wrong I wrote a lot more about him but these in particular…”

“They’re about forbidden love.” Steve chimes in. His eyes are watering.

“Yeah.”

“That’s why they were my favorite.”

Eddie gives him a sad smile.

“You wrote them about me?”

Eddies smile turns into a frown. “About you, for you, it was always for you, all of them.”

“All of them?”

“Everything. My entire discography. Every performance. Every press tour. Every photo shoot. You just had to worm your way into my life Harrington…my heart.” He whispers that last part but they’re so close together Steve can hear it.

Well barely hear it…his heartbeat is so loud in his ears.

“Anyways Ann what’s next.”

Ann is staring at him in open mouthed shock.

“Wow. This so perfect.” She turns to Steve. “Ready for your turn?”

“Nah.” Eddie says. “Skip to my number one artist.”

Behind them a video starts playing on the screen.

“Hey it’s Steve! Thanks so much for being my number one fan! I mean top .01 percent is a tough spot to get! It means so much to me that I’m your number one artist-”

Steve can’t take his eyes off of Eddie, when could he ever?

“I’m your number one artist?” he asks so softly Eddie can barely hear it.

“Of course…I like the sound of your voice.” He shrugs his shoulder like it’s no big deal.

“Can we talk? I mean after the show?”

Eddie smiles at him.

“Of course Stevie, I’d like that.”

“I would also like to know!” Ann cuts in.

They forgot this was being streamed to millions of people and filmed in front of a live studio audience.

—————

Later Backstage:

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU’RE MY NEW NEIGHBOR HOW DID I NOT KNOW THIS!!!????”

“Honestly Eddie I don’t know. For someone who claims to be obsessed with me-”

“I didn’t-“”

“Obsessed.” Steve puts a finger to Eddie’s lips to shut him up. “You didn’t notice I’d moved in next door.”

“Hell just move in with me.”

“…alright.”

[vampireimiko]

i loved your most recent steve work! i was wondering if i could request an eddie work similar to that where the hellfire club just doesn’t believe that he could have a gf

Full of Surprises

warnings, none! note, this was fun to write !! also i didn't include the whole hellfire club i didn't feel like writing the extras in💔

"Eddie, you expecting a call or something? You keep staring at the phone like a maniac." Mike pointed out.

"You noticed too?! I didn't wanna say anything but holy shit, every few seconds he stares at it." Dustin agrees.

Eddie rolled his eyes, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. "Yeah I'm uh, just waiting on my girlfriend to call." he muttered, his tone nonchalant, but the room instantly fell into a stunned silence.

Mike’s eyes widened. “Girlfriend?”

Dustin snorted, crossing his arms. “Sure, Eddie. And I’m dating Madonna.”

Eddie shot them both an annoyed glance. “I’m serious.”

The skepticism in the air was palpable. Lucas raised an eyebrow from across the room, tossing a pencil onto the table. “Eddie Munson... with a girlfriend? That’s rich.”

"What's that supposed to mean?" Eddie asked, defensively, leaning forward.

Dustin shrugged, an innocent grin on his face. "C'mon, man. If you had a girlfriend, we would’ve heard about it by now."

"And met her," Lucas added.

Eddie groaned, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms. "Not everything revolves around you guys, y’know. Some relationships are private."

Dustin, Lucas, and Mike exchanged skeptical glances before bursting into laughter. "Yeah, right! What, does she go to another school or something?" Mike teased.

"Yeah there's no way in hell Eddie Munson gets bitches." Dustin laughed.

"Well news flash, Dusty boy! I do infact gets bitches. Not that my girlfriends a bitch or anything." He said adding that last part very quickly. Even though you weren't there, he'd never disrespect you like that or in any way for that matter.

Dustin raised his hands in mock surrender, still grinning. "Okay, okay, so you get bitches. Prove it."

"Yeah, let’s see some evidence," Lucas added with a smirk. "I mean, it’s kinda hard to believe when we’ve never even seen her. Is she invisible or something?"

Eddie huffed, tapping his fingers on the table, clearly annoyed but trying to keep his cool. "She’s not some trophy I need to parade around, alright? She’s busy. She’s got... a job! School stuff too."

"Uh-huh, and I’m guessing she also lives in Canada and only writes letters?" Mike quipped, earning a round of chuckles from the others.

Eddie sighed dramatically, throwing his hands in the air. "Fine! You wanna meet her so bad? She’ll come by Hellfire next week."

Dustin raised an eyebrow, his grin widening. "Oh, really? Can’t wait."

"Yeah yeah, I'll believe it when I see it. Now enough about his imaginary girlfriend, I'm hungry." Mike interrupted.

The next week couldn’t have come fast enough for the Hellfire boys. The anticipation was thick in the air as they sat around the table, pretending to focus on the campaign, but their eyes constantly darted to the door. Even Eddie, who usually basked in his Dungeon Master role with enthusiasm, seemed a little distracted, checking his watch more than usual.

Dustin nudged Lucas under the table. “You think he’s actually gonna pull through? Or are we about to witness the most embarrassing bluff in Hellfire history?”

Lucas smirked. “I dunno, man. He’s been pretty confident. It’s either the truth, or he’s about to go down in flames.”

The whole week leading up to this very moment, Eddie talked about you to the guys. They obviously did not believe him one bit. Eddie had told them about some of your hobbies, favorite movies, he was even close to telling them where you worked but quickly decided against that.

They always asked him to just give out your name, but then they'd know who you were obviously. Eddie wanted to keep a little bit of mystery surrounding your identity. News flash, you were a quite known person at Hawkins High.

"Can't wait to see him squirm either way," Mike added with a grin.

Eddie, sensing their whispers, glared across the table. “You know, you guys are real supportive friends.”

“We’re just preparing for disappointment, Eddie,” Dustin shot back, hands raised. “Don’t take it personally.”

Eddie opened his mouth to respond, but before he could, there was a knock on the door. The room fell silent, and all eyes shot toward the entrance. Eddie’s cocky grin returned as he stood up, walking over to the door with a confidence that even had Dustin second-guessing his skepticism.

He swung the door open, and there she was—you. Dressed casually, you gave Eddie a warm smile before stepping into the room, completely unaware of the stunned expressions plastered across the faces of his friends.

“Hey, babe,” Eddie greeted you, pressing a quick kiss to your cheek. “Told you I wasn’t making her up.”

The room was deathly quiet, the boys blinking in disbelief as you walked further into the room.

Mike was the first to break the silence. “Holy shit. Y/N Y/LN?

You laughed softly, glancing at Eddie before turning back to the group. “I take it he’s been bragging about me?”

“More like we didn’t believe you existed,” Lucas admitted, still wide-eyed. "Much less did we expect the girlfriend to be you?!"

Dustin was still frozen, mouth hanging open in shock. “Eddie... how?”

Eddie grinned smugly, draping an arm around your shoulders. “Told you, Dustin. I get bitches. Not that I'm calling you a bitch." He quickly clarified, knowing you didn't tolerate any type of getting called out of your name.

You playfully elbowed him in the side. “I know you'd never do anything like that."

Eddie chuckled, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Noted.”

"Anyway, nice to meet you guys! I've seen you around and Eddie talks about you guys all the time." You exclaimed cheerfully, extending a hand to the nearest person to you, which happened to be Mike.

Mike, still in shock, shook your hand cautiously, like he couldn’t quite believe you were real. “Uh, nice to meet you too…”

Lucas stood up, still blinking. “Okay, I have to ask—how the hell did Eddie Munson land a girlfriend like you?”

You laughed, glancing over at Eddie with a playful smile. “What can I say? He’s full of surprises.”

Eddie grinned proudly, leaning against you. “See? Told you guys. I’m not just some lonely metalhead.”

Dustin finally regained his composure, shaking his head. “This has to be some kind of cosmic glitch. I mean, Y/N Y/LN... and Eddie Munson? Something isn't right."

Lucas nodded in agreement, still processing. “Seriously, I gotta know—what did he say to win you over?”

You smirked, crossing your arms. “Well, he didn’t try too hard, if that’s what you’re thinking. Eddie’s actually... kind of sweet once you get past all the theatrics.”

Eddie gave a mock bow. “Thank you, thank you. Theatrics are part of the charm.”

You giggled and gave him a loving look.

Mike snorted. “Yeah, we’re still trying to figure out what charm you’re talking about.”

Eddie shot Mike a look, then turned back to you, clearly soaking in the validation. “See what I deal with?”

You shook your head, laughing. “They’re not so bad, Eddie. Just a little... doubtful.” You glanced at the group, your expression softening.

Dustin nodded. “You’re like, Hawkins royalty compared to... well, Eddie.”

You raised an eyebrow, giving Eddie a curious look. “Royalty, huh?”

Eddie rolled his eyes, but you could tell he secretly liked the sound of it. “They exaggerate. A lot.”

You smiled warmly at him. “Well, royalty or not, he’s good to me. And that’s what matters.”

Mike finally cracked a grin. “Alright, alright. Maybe you’re not completely full of shit, Eddie.”

Dustin laughed, pointing a finger. “Still can’t believe it though. You lucked out, Munson.”

Eddie smirked, wrapping his arm around your waist. “Told you, man. I’m full of surprises.”

additional note ! my requests are open if you wanna have me write something<3

𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐦𝐲 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐭 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧

[wannabespacesmuggler]

L.H. | When You Call My Name

Masterlist | Buy me a coffee

Summary: Decades after the events of 1973, Logan finds himself drowning yet again at the bottom of the Potomac River. Luckily, you're there to help pull him out of his nightmare.

Pairing: Logan Howlett x Reader

Warnings: depictions of drowning, mentions of death, discussion of nightmares, Logan's claws make an appearance, mentions of religious trauma and biblical imagery, mentions of abuse (it's on sight when I see you, William Stryker), mentions of self-deprecating thoughts, hurt/comfort, angst with a happy ending, not really a warning but set after the events of Days of Future Past, loosely based on "Like a Prayer" by Madonna, Logan's POV, gender-neutral reader

Word Count: 2.4K

Author’s Note: So this one got away from me and my own religious trauma may have taken over a tad bit — sorry in advance (If you find comfort and solace in religion, more power to you. This is simply written from my own perspective and lived experience.) This came to me while listening to "Like a Prayer" by Madonna for the thousandth time since seeing Deadpool and Wolverine. Intended this to be shorter, but then I got possessed by some fanfic phantom and this was created. Super proud of the finished product though — hope you all enjoy.

As Logan’s eyes shoot open, he’s only got one thought running through his mind: his lungs are on fire. He attempts to move but is met with a sudden searing white pain shooting through his veins. His eyes, still adjusting to the eerie darkness surrounding him, search for the source of his injury. Panic rises in Logan’s chest as his gaze follows the metallic glint of rebar weaving through his body. He attempts to draw in a shaky breath, and his chest burns as water fills his lungs. 

No. 

It can’t be.

He’s drowning at the bottom of the Potomac River.

Logan wants to scream out of frustration, but it’s impossible. He has no more air left in his lungs, and he has no hope of reaching the surface to take a much-needed deep breath. Even if he could endure the agony caused by his body’s movements, the weight of the rebar Erik impaled him with is pinning him to the riverbed. He’s going to die here. 

Cold. Alone. Suffering.

And yet, a sudden tranquility washes over his body and mind as he realizes that maybe he can finally rest in peace. He knows he placed his trust in the right people — somehow, Charles and Hank will find a way to stop Erik, and finally, the world will see that not all mutants need to be feared. He did his part — he brought everyone back together against all odds.

Logan knew the risks before Kitty sent him back in time, but there was no other choice. Because he also knew what the future would hold if he did nothing — he’d watch the sentinels eviscerate the last of his friends until he was the only one left. And that’s not a future he can live with. But what he can live with is no one remembering his life before 1973 as long as they’re safe — as long as you’re safe.

His body relaxes at the thought. He may not have a future with you in this new timeline, but knowing you’ll have the life you’ve always dreamed of puts Logan’s mind at ease. You’ll finally be able to live a peaceful life teaching at Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters instead of being forced to play the part of a loyal soldier. Although Logan is deeply saddened by the fact he won’t be a part of this new life, he has more than enough memories of you from his timeline to keep him content in the afterlife.

Logan’s eyes flutter closed as he begins to feel himself slipping into unconsciousness. His regenerative abilities may be able to keep the rebar from killing him, but it cannot save him from asphyxiation. But before he can completely drift off, something grabs his body, pulling him towards the surface. Once free from the river’s grasp, he begins coughing up water. His body desperately gasps for air, and it feels like his lungs cannot get enough oxygen. 

Logan finds the strength to open his eyes and takes in his surroundings. It’s bright — too bright. He blinks several times to adjust his vision to this sudden change. His attention gets drawn to the sound of several men talking in hushed voices. And as he looks up at his rescuers, the panic in his chest starts growing like a wildfire through his body. Logan might have let out a dry laugh at the sight if he wasn't in excruciating pain. Because instead of being met with any type of salvation, Logan seems to have been cursed with eternal damnation, no matter the timeline,  in the form of William Stryker. Some things never change.

He’s younger than when Logan met him in his timeline, but as Stryker smiles down at him, Logan knows this is the same man — the same sick, twisted man he knows all too well. Panic turns into terror as he realizes what he’s about to endure. Agonizing years of torture and torment that he’ll be burdened to forget. He can’t do this again. Not after knowing a life full of not only hardship and loss but also friendship, laughter, and love. He can’t let Stryker take that from him — all those years of happiness. He can’t let him take you.

Stryker opens his mouth to speak, but instead of his condescending tone, Logan hears your voice call his name. Logan’s brow furrows at the sound. Maybe his extended lack of oxygen caused some sort of brain damage. But then he hears it again — a voice he’d recognize in any timeline. Your voice.

And suddenly, it hits him. This isn’t happening. There’s no river, no pain, no Stryker. This is a memory — a nightmare. 

His eyes snap open, and his body jolts forward until he’s sitting up. He coughs hoarsely, as if his body is still trying to expel imaginary water, as he attempts to catch his breath. A layer of sweat has formed over his toned body, and his muscles flex as he rolls his shoulders back. He shakes his head roughly, trying to get a grip on reality.

And then you say his name again. 

His head snaps up, and he looks at you with wild eyes. You’re standing across the room — arms wrapped around yourself tightly as you watch him worriedly. You take a hesitant step toward him. Logan’s brow furrows at your unsureness, concerned about what he might have done in his sleep. But then he follows your gaze to his extended metal claws, and your hesitancy becomes understandable. This isn’t the first time Logan’s claws have come out in the middle of the night. His eyes nervously scan over your body for any injuries he may have inflicted as he retracts his claws. 

“Did I hurt you?”

You immediately cross the room as he speaks. Logan watches as you climb onto the bed and sit crisscross before him between his legs. You gently take both of his hands in yours and pull them onto your lap — the hesitancy long gone in your actions. 

“No, Logan. I’m okay.”

He lets out a relieved sigh as he leans forward until his forehead meets yours. He takes a moment to simply relish in the warmth of your touch. Logan relaxes his tense shoulders and melts further into you as you draw lazy circles into the palm of his hand. 

“Where’d you go?”

You pull away slightly to meet his eyes, and his breath hitches. Regardless of how many lifetimes he spends by your side, he’ll never get used to the fondness in your gaze as you look up at him. He remembers waking up in this timeline, thinking he actually did drown at the bottom of the Potomac River. Because this had to be heaven: having you tucked neatly into his chest, legs tangled up with his, steady breaths fanning across his neck. But as he felt you stir in your sleep, arms tightening slightly around his waist, he realized that this was real. He’d come to terms with his own death because at least his two hundred years spent suffering on this earth would mean something. But then he woke up from that nightmare, and he’s spent every day since then wondering when he’d inevitably be pulled out of this dream — waiting for history to repeat itself yet again. But he’s still here — and so are you.

“D.C., 1973.” 

You hum quietly before bringing his hand up to your mouth and placing a tender kiss to his palm. Logan waits for you to ask another question about his nightmare, but you silently return to tracing circles into the palm you just kissed. He shouldn’t be surprised; you know him better than anyone by now — better than he knows himself. You know not to push him. And he appreciates it more than you’ll ever know. After years of having his autonomy stripped away, you wait for him to come to you — allow him to open up at his own pace. Soothe him whenever he feels that he is sliding backward instead of moving forward. Healing isn’t linear. This has become your mantra for him on the nights when he’s sure that he’s slipping back into the past — when he longs for the familiarity of his vices and self-destructive tendencies. And you sit next to him with relentless patience through the highs and lows as he continues to navigate and grieve the fifty years he lost.

He’s come a long way since he first woke up. And he still has a ways to go before he can say that he’s processed everything he’s lost. Truth be told, he’s not sure he’ll ever truly heal entirely from his past. But you tell Logan that it doesn’t matter. Every time he begins to think that he’s too damaged — too broken — you reassure him that you love him as is. But he still tries to piece himself back together, for your sake. Tries to open up — to show you that he trusts you more than anyone he’s known during his two hundred years across two separate timelines. And so he continues, letting you into the depths of his tortured mind.

“I was drowning. Again. And it all felt so real. I couldn’t breathe, and I was sure I was slipping into the darkness, but then Stryker was there…”

As Logan trails off, he notices how your body tenses at the mention of Stryker’s name. Your hands tighten ever so slightly around his, and Logan lovingly sweeps his thumb over your knuckles. He knows that name holds as much weight to you as it does to him. He knows about the years of abuse you endured at the hands of William Stryker. He vividly remembers when you confided in him. After months of running into each other in the middle of the night, Logan found you silently crying with your back pressed against the railing of your favorite balcony in the mansion. Without a second thought, he slid down next to you and wrapped an arm around your shoulders. He didn’t know you — not like he does now. You’d recounted how you first met on Three Mile Island when Scott and Jean brought him to the mansion. And he was thankful for the small piece of his past that you gave back to him. But under the dim light of the night sky, you revealed precisely what you endured during your years of captivity at Stryker’s facility. And that night, Logan made it his life’s mission to get revenge against the man. Not for his sake. No — for you. He would tear Stryker apart limb from limb for what he had done to you. 

“You aren’t there. He can’t hurt you anymore.”

Although the words are directed towards him, he knows you’re equally trying to convince yourself of that fact. He knows that even though William Stryker is long dead — after Logan made good on his promise to you — he still haunts you. Unlike Logan, your trauma does manifest in the form of nightmares but insomnia. He thinks maybe this is why the two of you work. After years of feeling alone in this world, Logan finally found someone who understands him and what he’s been through. Although your torment isn’t identical, the similarity in your stories bonded the two of you together. You help him piece together the shared fragments of your past as you heal alongside him. 

“I know, you pulled me out.”

Your brow furrows at his confession. He lets go of your hands and gently holds your face. Your face flushes as he openly admires you. The faint light of the single side table lamp that Logan had left on softens your features, making you look damn near angelic. Logan isn’t a religious man, but his mother was. He was a sickly child before his mutation restored his body. His mother would often sit by his bedside with a bible in hand. And on the nights when he wasn’t delirious from his fever, he would listen to his mother read to him. One verse always stood out to him: “God is faithful, and He will not let you be tested beyond your strength but with your testing He will also provide the way out so that you may be able to endure it.” She meant for the words to comfort him, but the words only angered him. 

He remembers finding himself down on his knees multiple times during his years as Stryker’s mindless, faithful soldier. Praying to that same God that his mother once trusted to save her baby boy from the illness slowly degrading his frail body. He begged Him for salvation — to be given the way out that was promised in the bible verse his mother once recited. But instead of an answer, Logan was met with silence. So if the years of physical and psychological abuse he endured were nothing but a test from the Lord above to prove his faithfulness, then that’s no God worth following. 

“I heard you call my name, and it brought me back home.”

God never did anything for him. He didn’t bother protecting the innocence of a broken, misguided child. He refused to provide respite from the harshness of humanity. He never offered him any form of help or guidance during his times of greatest need — but you did. Without even knowing, you came into his life like an answered prayer.

Seemingly at a loss for words due to the intensity of his gaze, you grab onto the front of Logan’s t-shirt and pull him into a tight embrace. Your hands slide under the white fabric and slide across the contours of his back. He melts into your touch — finding relief in the direct contact of your skin on his. He’s never considered himself desirable, but you hold him like he’s something to be coveted. And then you murmur his name again. It’s barely a whisper, but the sound rings in his ears because your voice is heaven-sent.

“You’re a goddamn saint, you know that?”

A melodic laugh escapes your lips as you shake your head at his words. You pull away from him slightly and tilt your head up to meet his gaze. 

“I’m nothing special, Logan.”

You don’t mean it in a self-deprecating way. Logan knows that — knows that you simply see yourself as ordinary. But you couldn’t be more wrong. Because you might not actually be a saint or an angel, but you are the only person in two hundred years who’s managed to restore his faith in what this world has to offer. 

“Well. You’re special to me, sweetheart.”

[superblysubpar]

<- part six | part eight -> | series masterlist

chapter summary: No more bets.

the song: Read Your Mind by Sabrina Carpenter

also for your listening pleasure: Girl Can't Help It by Journey, Open Your Heart by Madonna, U Got The Look by Prince, and The Lady in Red by Chris de Burgh

5,328 words | please see masterlist for gen warnings / brief descriptions of scars-previous head injury / SPICE/SMUT - really just some dirty talk and a teensiet tiniest start to oral (reader receiving) | my blog is 18+

Hawkins, Indiana - the past

  His hand was in yours, and then it wasn’t. 

  “Well, well, well,” a voice sneered in front of you as you blinked at the boy who just dropped your hand at the sound of it. “What do we have here, Stevie?”

  A group of boys around your age leaned against a falling apart fence just outside of the ride, eyes surveying you up and down, then looking at Steve Harrington standing next to you. The leader of the pack a face full of freckles and a grin that made your stomach unsettled when he pointed it at you and took a step forward.

  “I’m Tommy, and you,” he grinned wider, like if he showed off more teeth, he’d placate you into thinking you enjoyed his company, “Well, you must be new to Hawkins. Think I’d remember a face like yours.”

  “Knock it off Hagan,” Steve grit out of his teeth, a fist clenched at his side. 

  “I’m…I’ll…” you stuttered out at the boy named Tommy, backing away and looking at Steve as you did. “It was…I’ll see you around?”

  You scrambled away from the boys as Steve took a step towards you, but Tommy’s voice rang out, making his head turn. 

  “Does Harrington have a little girlfriend? Gonna share all the juicy details with us, Stevie?” 

  “What? No!” He answered too quickly, cheeks pink, no longer looking at you. “She’s just some stupid girl, I got stuck with her on the ferris wheel…”

  You didn’t stick around to hear more, swiping at your wet cheeks with the back of your hand. 

  Glittery green and gold smeared across it, freshly smudgable after Steve Harrington held your hand until it was over. 

A house on Cornwallis Street - Sunday

  Your hands shifted on the steering wheel, even though the car was in park. Clammy and shaking as you rubbed them on your denim shorts and took a deep breath. With your window rolled down you couldn’t help but smile at the sound of Journey coming from the backyard, the large splash that followed the shout of ‘Don’t you dare Henderson!’. Peals of laughter and the distinct smell of something grilling only added to elements encouraging you to join them. 

  But you were still sitting in your car. 

  You didn’t question it, when after the party last night, Eddie didn’t drive you home, but to the shop, dangling your keys in front of a shocked face as he proclaimed it was finally fixed.

  “But…I didn’t pay you, I thought you couldn’t…” 

  Eddie had waved you off and smiled, “I’ve been working a lot.” He dropped the keys in your lap and grinned wider, “Besides, Harringon’ll be paying me three hundred bucks tomorrow.”

  You looked down at your thighs, thinking about who’s hands had just been pushing them apart a few minutes ago as Eddie quietly probed, “Right?”

“Of course.” You nodded, telling yourself that technically you and Eddie had won the bet.

  Nobody had slept with anyone. 

  Which is what you tell yourself again as you take another deep, bravery seeking breath and step out of your car. 

  Each step on the sidewalk then up the driveway is a little easier, your chest feeling a little lighter as the laughter and music only gets louder.

  But then you see the sign. 

  The same color of the suit you have in your bag.

  The same color he told you he can’t concentrate when you wear it. 

  Bright, bold, outlining four white letters.

  SOLD. 

  You’re still looking at it when the door swings open, Robin greeting you, dripping wet from the pool and a slice of watermelon in her hand.

“Finally! I’m outnumbered, and Max is too busy canoodling with Lucas and I need more girl power!”

  She grabs your arm and pulls you into the Harrington’s foyer as a louder call of, “I told you, as soon as Lucas apologizes for what he did-“

  “And I told you, that I cannot apologize for something if I don’t know what I’m apologizing for!”

  The pair walk out of a room on one side of the foyer as they argue, Max mumbling under her breath as they exit your sights and into the den.

  “You know exactly what you did.”

  Robin rolls her eyes and points up the stairs, “This downstairs bathroom is all packed up and,” she makes quotes with her fingers around the watermelon as she recites, “ ‘It’s cleaned and if any of you idiots fuck it up, you’re dead’ , but there’s one by Steve’s room, change and come help me seek vengeance on the boys!”

  She’s gone as fast as she arrived, the silence of the house now overpowering, but at least it gives you space to take a moment to breathe and collect your thoughts.

  Steve’s moving. 

  Why didn’t he tell you?

  Your fingers glide on the wood banister as you climb the stairs, something sitting heavy in your gut from the more important question that’s gnawing at you.

  Why does it matter that he didn’t? 

  Once you find the bathroom, your fingers tug on red nylon and strings. The suit you rummaged around for in your drawer this morning pointing out the glaringly obvious answer. It matters he didn’t tell you because-

  It was a good suit, that was the only reason why it was picked for today.

  Not because of where you were wearing it.

  Not because of the boy who lived there. 

  Because he definitely still does live there, at least for the time being.

  It’s easy to spot his room when you exit the bathroom, bare feet padding across hard woods as you tug the hem of your white tshirt over your hips a little lower. Worried you shouldn’t be walking around the house so uncovered despite the fact that you’re about to be even more so outside in the pool, when you catch your reflection in the mirror above his dresser. 

  The room is in shambles, half packed you assume. Boxes open, and only half filled, litter the floor, the white plaid wallpapered walls bare, whatever hung on the nails left behind now packed away. Your fingers linger on the top of the dresser, thumb catching on his watch, a Polaroid of him and Robin, the worn brown leather of his wallet. A tight squeeze pulls at something in your chest when the slip of paper with the name ‘Brit’ and a heart shifts beneath it. 

  You can’t help but wonder if he called that number that night like he said he would. 

  Wonder if he took her out to a movie, held her hand, let everyone know that Steve Harrington was on a date with her.

  Your bag drops on his bed that’s unmade with sheets that match the walls as you wonder if she was here too. As you wonder how many other girls have been in this room, this bed. 

  A loud shout outside, just below his window makes you jump, pulling you out of the spiral of doubt you’ve fallen into and down the stairs. 

  The cream carpet is plush beneath your bare feet, the framed photos are gone, the desk as well, so nothing stands between you and the sliding glass doors out to the pool.

  It’s a different view than the last time you were here. The bright turquoise littered with even brighter inflatables and swimsuits. It’s warm, it’s light, it’s loud, as bodies splash in it and compete with the radio playing top hits for the loudest thing. Eddie’s shaking his curls out back and forth all over Robin who’s shrieking and running past him. 

  The thought of stepping outside and arriving late has you turning into the kitchen, searching for something your hands can fiddle with before joining the party. 

  Which is how Steve Harrington’s lungs finally give out, and he dies. 

  He knows he’s not actually dying, but he’s sure that the process has to feel eerily similar to this.

  He rounded the corner to find his fridge door opened, the glow of the interior light silhouetting around your curves hidden under a white shirt making his breath stutter in his chest. And as you bend at the waist, red fabric cut high and only climbing higher, reveals the perfect swell of your ass and his lungs fail to function, like one’s collapsing because he’s been shot, or he’s taking on water and they don’t know to expel the air anymore. 

  “Jesus Christ.”

  It slips out of him much like the yelp the words startle out of you, the shoot up of your body involuntary, causing your head to smack into the top of the fridge and a litany of curses to tumble out of your lips. 

  Steve rushes over as you hold your head and spin, blinking and looking dizzy.

  “Shit, shit, sorry.” He’s across the room in seconds, hands cupping your cheeks and tilting you gently while his eyes focus on your forehead, inspecting. He frowns and moves to the left slightly, towards the sink,  though he leaves one of his hands in contact with your skin. 

  The furrow of his brow deepens as he dampens a towel and you try to breathe out of your nose and in with your mouth so you don’t focus on how his normal smell is stronger with his shirt off and mixed with sunscreen and chlorine that clings to his skin. Skin that shines with a sheen from each, that’s somehow not gross, but tantalizing. So much of that skin on display revealing more freckles than you can fathom counting. Skin that looks more tan from the dark chest hair curled against it or the swim trunks that sit low on his hips. 

  Steve looks at you with raised eyebrows and you realize he’s asked a question and you absolutely didn’t hear it. 

  “Um,” you swallow, your tongue taking up too much room in your mouth, “Wh-what?”

  Steve’s lips twitch as he stands fully in front of you again, damp cloth raised as he whispers, “Something distracting you, honey?”

  Your throat has something stuck in it, and no amount of clearing it seems to fix the problem. You focus on the freckle just to the left of his lips instead of his smug eyes as you admit, “Can’t concentrate when you wear that color.”

  The reward of his low laugh and smile has you wondering if someone hand sculpted his lips and cupid’s bow. 

  “I’ll be sure to wear it every chance I get just to torture you then,” he murmurs while fingers adjust your chin into the light. Your back rests against the center island, legs sandwiched between his spread ones so he can raise the cloth to your skin, apologizing with his eyes as he tacks on, “Only fair, since you woke up and decided evil today.”

  The damp material of his swim trunks sends a shiver up your spine when it hits your thighs, and your hands grab his waist in a wince when the cloth makes contact with your still fairly fresh head wound. You’re in a staring contest with a gold chain around his neck as you fib, “This is the only swimsuit I own. Just happens to be red.”

  Steve finishes with your forehead, but two fingers curl under your chin and lift so you have to look at him as he speaks through a smirk.

  “You’re pretty cute when you lie.”

  “Come on Steve,” you whisper, fingers curling into his hips without thought, “You’re better than cheesy lines and rookie moves like this. Besides, the bet’s over. We can go back to hating each other now.”

  He shakes his head, nose bumping yours as he does and he exhales, “Never hated you.”

  Your swallow is loud as he leans closer, one hand on your hip and fingers playing with the so to speak fire of the strings holding your suit together as you offer, “Despised?”

  Another shake of his head, another step closer so your lower halves are pressed together and your eyelashes are fluttering. Your head falls back with a gasp as his mouth trails along your jaw, hot breath and wet lips against it as you stutter out, “De-detest?”

  He responds into your skin, just below your ear, something that sounds like the word, “Never.”

  His name leaves you breathlessly as his tongue lightly licks down the side of your neck, lips following in a delicate brush. 

  “Steve-”

  He hums into your collar, nose dragging around the curve of it while your hands grip his sides. “Stop saying my name like that honey, or I’m gonna get down on my knees and make you say it much,” he nips at your earlobe, “Much, louder.”

  The space between your legs throbs, thighs push even tighter together at the thought of Steve’s mouth there. 

  “Steve,” you scold, cheeks warm, body even more so in all the places it touches his. 

  “Baby,” he groans, nose knocking your cheek, “What did I just say?”

  He starts to lower himself, hands drifting so too, on the outside of your thighs. Brushing bare skin and aching to push it further, cup your ass and roll your hips against his. Especially when your fingers hold his jaw in place so he has to look at you. Only slightly distracted by how kissable your lips are as they say, “You’re moving.”

  Steve shakes his head no and you laugh again and he wonders how many more times he can make that sound come out of you. 

  “Harrington, there’s literally a sold sign in your front yard.”

  He leans in closer, unable to resist the chance to taste your lips again, to feel their lingering sting against them all day. He’s got this insane thought that he wishes you were wearing lipstick, so it could be smeared against him, marking up his mouth and neck, shit, even his dick, so everyone knows he’s yours, it’s yours.  

  “You worried I’m gonna be too far away?” He somehow manages to ask through the fog of images of your lips surrounding his cock, big eyes blinking at him as you-

  “I’m actually worried it isn’t far enough,” you swallow around the tight feeling in your chest.

  His forehead knocks yours, hands squeeze your waist and then climb higher on your curves as he tsks, “Even cuter. You gotta quit lying baby.” But he relents some of the upperhand, the thought of you being worried about him leaving making him admit, “I’m crashing at Robin’s for a bit. And we’re trying to save up for a place together.”

  “Oh,” you nod, distracted by the way his nose traces the bridge of yours, how his eyelashes flutter and the freckles on his cheeks stand out more from a morning in the sun as he does. “Th-that’s good.”

  “Yeah?” The corner of his lips rising in a smile making them brush yours. 

  “Mhm,” you hum, “So you can take Brit on that date still.”

  “Who?” He blinks, cheeks turning pink as your fingers scrape up his stomach and through his chest hair. 

  “Brit,” your eyebrows raise, “Smells like peaches, and giggles and dots her eyes with hearts? The picture perfect girl to take out around town and proudly hold hands with?”

  “Again,” Steve leans the few centimeters closer, whispering against your lips, “Who?”

  You push at his chest, as much as it pains you to do so, needing the distance from the intoxicating mouth that smells like mint and lemonade. But

Steve remains strong in his position, fingers curl around your ear and hold your neck in place gently as he speaks like each word might spook you into running.

  “I’m staying in Hawkins. I have no idea who you’re talking about. The bet is over. Can you stop being so stubborn and let me kiss you like I’ve been wanting to since we were twelve?”

  Your heart rumbles low and slow, like thunder rolling in, it cracks in your chest like lightening hit it. Every ounce of your body is buzzing, like the strike tore your body in two. One part that can’t believe you’re hearing him say it and another that wants to run even though you know it doesn’t strike the same place twice. The fear of being caught in the storm with no way out has you stalling. 

  “Ask me nicely.”

  Steve laughs, and you wonder how you never noticed how much you like making that sound bubble out of him. 

  Or how much you like the way he licks his lips before he says something important. 

  “Please,” he murmurs against your mouth, “Can I kiss you?”

  Your lips part the same time a shriek calls from the den, “Steve! The food is burning!”

  He curses under his breath, hand grabbing yours as he pulls you through the kitchen and into the den.��

  His frown only grows as the smell of burning food does when the two of you exit the sliding door. He tugs you with him across the warm pavement of the patio, the cool summer breeze has goosebumps arriving on your legs as he shouts at the curly haired boy fanning a smoking grill.

“Henderson! You had one fucking job, man! These aren’t just burning they’re-“

  “Scorched,” Lucas supplies around a cough, smacking the air with his hat. 

  “Torched,” Mike pipes up, squinting and pinching his nose closed.

  “Dead,” El delivers morosely.

  Will snorts and covers his mouth and Max mutters under her breath, “Imbeciles.” 

  But then she’s smiling at you.

  Then they’re all smiling at you, even Eddie and Robin who stand just beyond them, staring at Steve and yours intertwined hands. 

  The attention on it makes your hand feel too heavy in his and you go to slip it out, but Steve only squeezes it tighter, waving his other at them, “Take a picture, it’ll last longer. Now get lost, or I’m not making more and you can eat these disgusting things.”

  The “kids” take off and Steve turns to you, thumb swiping over the back of your hand, cheeks pink and swallowing loudly. “Um, about my really nicely asked question that was rudely-“

  “Yes.”

  The just as interrupted response stuns him as much as it does you. But when he smiles, and takes your cheeks in both of his hands, and leans in slowly, you’re sure the answer was the right one, the storm clouds dissipate, the threat of another crack gone. 

  This kiss, is like rain. 

  The good kind of rain. Slow. Steady. Steve’s lips capture yours sure, calmly, breathing out just as the pair of his mold around your top one. He holds them through an exhale against your cheek as your hands fall to his chest naturally. You can feel the thud of his heart beneath your palm as his mouth parts to do it again, deeper, stronger. Each beat against your skin the rain hitting a window until it’s so natural, so steady, it’s a simple background noise. 

  It’s only when loud whoops and whistles break the calm that you hear yours in your ears and feel his heart again, the calm disrupted. Your cheeks warm beneath his palms as he kisses you again, a chaste and over too quick peck around a smile. 

  That pesky thing is still stuck in your throat, suddenly unsure how limbs and words and human things work anymore. You stumble a step back and trip on a pool noodle when your stomach flutters with a swarm of butterflies intent on trying to escape. He catches your waist before you fall as you gesture to the water, “Alright, well, that pool’s not gonna swim in itself.”

  Steve smiles, but he narrows his eyes, squeezing at the outside of your thighs, “Honey, I thought we were done being mean to each other.”

  Your eyes blink at him, confused, butterflies constructing a roller-coaster in your stomach now as well, as you ask, “How is me swimming being mean?”

  “Kissing me like that then parading around in a little red bikini?” He swallows as his fingers play with the strings of said suit, whispering, “Mean. Incorrigible, baby.”

  This feels surreal, his hands on you, calling you baby while your friends are only a few feet away and absolutely watching. Even more so when you whisper, “Big brain word.”

  Steve taps your chin, lifting it as he asks, “What’s my prize?”

  Looking into Steve’s, Buttercup’s description of Westley’s eyes being like the sea after a storm can’t help but float through your mind. But Steve’s are a lot more like the forest after one. Wet and darkened earth soaking up all it was just given, richer in color and waiting to be explored. 

  “What do you want?” 

  Steve grins, his mouth parts, but then you’re both being drenched with water, two buckets dumped over your heads as you shout in protest against the cold. 

  Robin and Max yell something about the fire in the kitchen being too hot and they needed to put it out as they run away from you both with laughter. 

  You peel off the white shirt that clings to your body now as you mumble something about payback. Steve groans at the reveal of your body in only the suit. It’s easy to look over your shoulder as you walk away from him and ask, “Tell me later?”

  Even easier to shove a grinning Eddie towards the pool as you walk past and mumble, “Shut up.”

  He grips at your shoulder as he flails, pulling you in with him, your double splash drowning out your shriek and the beginning of Madonna’s Open Your Heart booming out of the stereo. 

  When you resurface, swiping water from your eyes and laughing, you turn to find Steve again and aren’t surprised when he’s already looking at you. Your arms rest on the ledge when you swim up to the side and mock his voice, calling up to him.

  “Take a picture, it’ll last longer!”

  He sticks his tongue out at you as you laugh and swim away, but he can’t help but wonder where he packed his Polaroid, and if he can get you alone long enough to snap several his eyes only photos. 

  He’s still thinking it, later, as the sun inches closer to the other side of the sky, and you’re relaxed on a lounger next to Robin. 

Eyes hidden from him behind sunglasses, hands resting on your stomach, brushing back and forth over your skin as you roll your neck. 

  Prince’s U Got The Look fills the now much quieter backyard, the kids all having disappeared under the excuse of getting movie snacks and a video rental from Keith an hour ago. Robin’s voice interrupts the lyrics with, “How much you wanna bet they’re at the arcade and they aren’t coming back with the snacks?”

  You groan and sit up, “No more bets. But,” a sigh leaves you, “Yeah. I’ll go order a pizza? Steve’s got a billion contraband rental’s downstairs too. I’m sure there’s something halfway decent in there.”

  “Ha-ha,” he says dryly, watching you stretch has him sinking lower in the pool so only his eyes show. He squeezes them shut when your top slips just a smidge higher as your arms raise, the curve of each breast peeking out from the bottom and giving him a heart attack. 

  He’s certain that’s exactly what’s happening when he opens them to find you slipping your white shirt on. Only it’s not your white shirt.

  It’s his.

  Steve watches the collar linger on your nose, then slip over your chin as you smile at him and hook your thumb over your shoulder, “I’m - phone…pizza.” Stumbling over your words and shuffling towards the house quickly. 

  He waits exactly sixty seconds before he’s swimming towards the ladder and climbing out. Eddie’s voice taunts from the tube he’s floating in, with his arms behind his head, even with closed eyes he looks smug, “And where are you going?”

  “To…help. With the calling for pizza.” He towels off quickly, Robin snorts and Eddie makes a booing sound. 

  Robin calls from her lounger, “Don’t say we never did anything for you, Dingus!”

  Steve slides the glass door on their snickering, the house quiet and much cooler than the Summer outside. He glances in the kitchen, the hallway, searching for you, when he hears a creak upstairs. 

  He finds you in his room, in his shirt still, sunglasses pushed onto the top of your head as you sift through a bag and pull out a pair of denim shorts.

  “Hi,” he whispers, when you look up at him.

  “Hey,” you smile, voice quiet too, “Why are we whispering?”

  “I-“ he starts quiet and clears his throat, returning to a normal volume, “I don’t know. Guess I thought if I spoke too loud I might wake up from this great dream.”

  The grin spreads on your lips and you shake your head, “Wow. That’s bad, even for you, Steve.”

  He takes a few steps towards you as you continue to shake your head with a smile, only stopping when he asks, “Say my name again? Please?”

  Steve takes the shorts from your hands, dropping them on the ground as you murmur, gently, “Steve.”

  His tongue darts over his bottom lip before he says, “Can I tell you what I want for a prize now?”

  You’re only able to manage a small, “Mhm,” between pressed together lips as your hands sweat and your stomach burns, and your chest constricts while his fingers toy with the strings of your swimsuit bottoms. 

  He kisses you, slowly, licking out over the seam of your lips until you open for him. His hands guide you backwards gently until he’s climbing over your body on his bed and Prince’s voice fades into Chris de Burgh’s. 

  His body presses against yours, weight heavy and making your eyelids flutter as his hand cups your cheek, then traces your shoulder, the curve of your breast down to your hip. Your stomach burns with want, fingers dig into his hair as he releases your lips and kisses your chin, your chest through his shirt. He only travels lower, pushing it up and kissing your stomach, along the seam of your suit. Your legs rise on either side of his head, fingers leaving his hair to curl into his sheets that surround you and fill the space with a cedar and mint haze. 

  “St-steve,” you hiccup as he nips at the inside of your thigh. 

  He moans, palms pressing you open wider, mouth leaving a wet and hot trail of kisses and breaths up each leg. This wasn’t the plan, he wanted to take it slow, but he can’t help it anymore. He speaks into your stomach, kissing your skin between every few words. 

  “Baby, please, can I taste you?” His fingers tug on the strings of your suit and his vision blurs when you make a sound that sounds like a whine and roll your hips, searching. He’s gone fully blind as you tug on his hair again, drunk off of you without a single taste. 

  “Yeah? Gonna let me put my mouth on you?” He noses at your cunt through the suit, dragging it up against the fabric, babbling anything that comes to his mind without a filter. “That what you want, honey? To come all over my tongue?”

  Your palms press to the bed as you sit up, fingers tugging at the mess of brown waves between your thighs when his tongue licks over your suit.

  Your mouth parts in a gasp, eyes fluttering from the barely there friction, the minimal release of the tension you’ve felt since the kitchen downstairs hours ago. 

  Steve looks up at the sound and nearly comes in his shorts, the image of your dazed eyes and pouting lips, the heave of your chest under his shirt having him really thinking about where his camera is again. 

  “Oh,” his voice falls into a teasing lilt, playing with his food before he eats it, “Look at you. You’re already fucked dumb and I haven’t done a thing.”

  Your body is engulfed in flames at the taunting words, somehow turned on and irritated in the same sentence.

  A Steve Harrington special skill, you think. 

  He curses the words almost immediately after they leave him, thinking he’s pushed it too far too fast but then you’re saying his name like that again, saying the word please so softly, so sincerely, his vision goes white and scratchy like the tape of all of his abilities to think clearly was just ejected from his brain. 

  Steve sits up with a groan, backing away from the bed with the shake of his head. 

  “You’re trouble,” he rasps, breathing heavily from across the room, back against his dresser.

  “What’s wrong?” The mood shift jarring and making your legs close, your arms cross over your chest in a hug, wondering what you did.

  “This,” he says then immediately waves his hands, “No, not like that! I-“ he cuts himself off with another groan, a hand swipes through his hair only making it messier. You clench around nothing at the wild hair, the pink cheeks, the dark chest hair and tan skin as he paces.

  “I wanna-“ he starts.

  “Harrington! Quit making out up there and bring down some of what I gave you! I’m tapped and the pizza guy’s here.”

  Steve curses and he spins on his dresser, grabbing his wallet.

  His wallet. 

  Bring down some of what I gave you.

  His shoulders hunch as he swears again, “Those…brats. I swear to god I’m gonna kill them.”

  He spins to find you yanking your shorts on, muttering, “I cannot believe I fucking fell for this.”

  “Fell for…what are you talking about?” Steve steps closer and you back up quickly, waving your hand at him.

  “Save it.” 

  He watches you storm out of the room, confused, and then looks down at the wallet and quickly rushes out after you, “No, no, no, honey it’s not-“

  “Don’t,” you spin on the stairs, voice icy, “Call me honey.”

  Steve takes another step down, pleading with his eyes as Eddie, Robin, and a stranger stand in the foyer, blinking up at the two of you. “Eddie didn’t give me money for that. He…” his hand swipes through his hair again, tongue over his lip as he lowers his voice, “Can we please go somewhere else to talk about this?”

  Your arms cross and Steve sighs.

  “He gave me money…for a different bet. Sort of bet. Bet is a bad word for it.”

  Something rumbles in your chest once more, though no storm was forecasted, you should have known there was bound to be more. 

  Steve’s lips pout as he waves his hand while explaining in a ramble, “After the bet started, I told them how much I actually liked you. And they agreed to help me. And if I got you to actually give me a chance, with their help of course, Eddie’d pay for a real date and Robin would cover our shifts when we went.”

  The explanation should be sweet, but all you can focus on is that Steve didn’t just have the guts to tell you right away. That your friends all helped manipulate you and lied. You start to wonder if the power even went out, if Eddie knew Steve would be at that party, if Robin put In Your Eyes on on purpose, the diner, your car being busted - all of it. 

  What was real between you and Steve, and what was made with movie magic? 

  The storm cracks in your chest, letting the first drops fall down your cheeks. 

  “I have to get out of here.”

  The calls of your name and his steps behind you on the stairs ignored as your vision blurs. 

  Leaving a boy standing in a yard on Cornwallis street while you disappear without your shoes again. 

BICFTF TAGLIST: don'thatemedon'thatemedon'thateme there's still two chapters left! As always, thank you for your support!

@ash5monster01 @madaboutjoe @foreverinwanderlust @the-fairy-anon @scarletwitchgf

@curlsincriminology @siriuslysmoking @redbarn1995 @starry--sarah @starksbabie

@taccobelle @angst-lasagna @blckburd @crownofdecit @torntaltos

@sanniegirl1214 @yourmommilf @khena @ytgus @starryeyedpoet17

@halfburntout @belle101200

[midnightwinterhawk]

The People* have been asking and I have finally done it! (*a handful of friends)

Here is a canon compliant and canon divergent/adjacent list. I capped it at 20 which wounds my soul but that just means I'll need to do a part two sometime.

It also pains me to do it but I'm excluding one of my favorite fics because I've decided to do a modern AU list next.

Dedicated with special thanks to the terrible enablers in the FeydPaul server.

As with anything Dune, mind the tags.

Last Stand of the Sardaukar by AnimationFan2006

2k | Mature | Sardaukar 

The Last Stand of the Sardaukar as witnessed by the Last Bashar...

The desert shall take the weak…

Obsidian and Wisteria by ashleigh

53k | Explicit | FeydPaul

The wedding of Princess Irulan gathers the lords and their families of the Imperium together for the first time in living memory.

Maybe I'll Show You the Way by battle_cat (@fuckyeahisawthat)

27k | Explicit | Paul/Chani

He doesn’t have to be doing this. She was born on the front lines, and she’ll be in this fight until they win or someone kills her. He could have gotten off-world by now, gone to live a safe life somewhere else. But he’s here, beside her.

If you saw that two-minute montage of Paul and Chani falling in love while fighting in a guerrilla war together and thought "I would like a novella-length elaboration on that theme," this is the fic for you. There's drama, action, romance, Fremen culture, politics, and meditations on what it means to be part of a generations-long armed resistance movement. Also, they fuck.

The Duke, The Baron, His Madonna & Her Monster by @darthpeezy

87k | Explicit | FeydPaul

Before he was named Harkonnen and long before he was inducted as Na-Baron, he was Feyd-Rautha Rabban, unimportant second son of an unimportant Count ruling over an unimportant fiefdom. The history of Empire would remember him as the most prolific killer in human history.

At the center of Imperial power, he would encounter another who he was inextricably drawn to. A boy with green eyes and a hawk as his heraldry that challenged Feyd at every step. It would not be the last time Feyd-Rautha met Paul Atreides.

Were the currents to time kinder, it would have ended then. But theirs was a union ten thousand years in the making. The shackles of fate are not quite so easy to break and the Known Universe bled for it.

Or, Feyd is down bad for Paul, Paul is equally obsessed, and everyone else suffers.

what gentle violence (a future untold series) by @desert-mouse

10k | Explicit | FeydPaul

"You would’ve been a prize,” Feyd said. He drew back, hovering above Paul. Their noses brushed. When Feyd spoke again, his raspy voice hummed against Paul’s mouth. “If the Bene Gesserit would’ve had their way, if you’d been mine, Giedi Prime would’ve called you god and Arrakis would’ve called our child messiah.”

“And what would you have called me?” Paul asked.

heshiigiishii by doomcountry

5.4k | Mature | FeydPaul

Feyd-Rautha dreams of his bride.

in its own house (here we aren't, so quickly series) by en passant (@katabaesis)

7.5k | Mature | FeydPaul

the ego is not master in its own house - Sigmund Freud, 1917

Feyd-Rautha does not die in the duel, and things change. Both Paul and Feyd go on some journeys of self-discovery and in some ways, self-annihilation.

I Learned The Voices Died With Me (I Learned The Voices Died With Me series) by @foxgloveinspace

30k | Explicit | FeydPaul

He could still feel sand beneath his finger nails, and despite the fact that he had many dreams come true, none had felt so real, and to have dreams within his dreams was unheard of. He flipped his hands over, resting his palms against his knees, his real skin and flesh knees, warm beneath his hands and slid his eyes shut. He took a deep breath, kept taking them until they didn’t shake him to his core, let himself get lost in the rhythm. When he opened his eyes again, he was still in his room, and nothing had changed. It was early, early enough that even the kitchen servants would just be waking up. He was so much colder than he had been in years. - After a year of being the Padishah Emperor, Paul Atreides wakes up as a seventeen year old again. He doesn't know how he got there, but he's willing to do anything too keep his father from going back to Arrakis, even if that anything is a plan that he had thought of years ago and never thought would come to fruition.

shadowplay by @hootaran

3k | Mature | FeydPaul

“What's this play about again?” Paul asks, remembering some of the details but more so to fill a bit of the uncomfortable space between him and the murmuring guests dotting the lobby, darting their eyes at him from under harsh makeup and brocades. One woman narrows ink-lined eyes at him.

“It's a simple story, really,” Feyd answers softly, following his line of sight and flashing a grin at the woman, who—thankfully—responds with a tight smile and looks away sheepishly. “A fairy tale. A princess is locked away in the mountains and waits her whole life for someone to save her, and eventually someone does. But it…goes wrong. You'll see. It's better experienced than explained.

--

feyd-rautha takes paul to see a harkonnen shadow puppet show on giedi prime.

Like A Slow Blade by @jolinarjackson, @acabspocky

77k | Mature | Paul & Gurney, FeydPaul

After House Atreides suffers a devastating attack by House Harkonnen on Arrakis, a now orphaned Paul is forced into an arrangement to live as Baron Harkonnen’s ward, alongside the Baron’s nephew Feyd-Rautha. With only Gurney remaining as his protection and Feyd-Rautha unexpectedly becoming something like an ally, Paul is determined to find a way to escape before they lose their lives… or themselves.

salt water and sand by @ladybundle

7k | Teen | Feyd & Paul

This planet is too cold and wet. Feyd’s boots sink into the soft, damp sand as he makes his way towards the rocks. The thick mist clings heavily to his body, dampening his jacket. It's like walking through a fucking cloud. When he reaches the rocks, it becomes clear that they are actually a series of small pools with odd sorts of vegetation in the clear water. Feyd crouches beside one curiously, sticking his finger into the pool and then bringing it to his lips. He licks his wet finger, wrinkling his nose immediately at the awful taste.

“You can’t drink salt water.”

Feyd jumps a little at the sound of Paul Atreides’ imperious voice.

the sweetest thing by ladybundle

17k | Explicit | FeydPaul

“You wanted to kiss me before,” Paul says, referring to when they came in. “You like kissing?”

Feyd doesn’t say anything. He wants to reach forward and grab him, pull him close and feel his unblemished skin under his mouth, his teeth. Feyd does like kissing. But he’s not going to say that. He already feels a little unbalanced, cock definitely interested now, breath picking up as Paul moves closer. He smells good.

———

The Atreides and Harkonnen houses are joined by marriage after all.

Corrida by mnabokov

19k | Explicit | FeydPaul 

“It is not a good morning,” Gurney growled, “When the son of Duke Leto is to be married to a Harkonnen.”

lost in the citadel by nighimpossible

11k | Explicit | FeydPaul

Lady Jessica, the royal concubine of Duke Leto and wife in all but name, bore her first child on January 1st, 10175. The Bene Gesserit were pleased with the result and considered Lady Jessica’s mission complete. But there was a great secret that House Atreides held during these first fragile years of the child’s life: though no one knew it at the time, Muad’dib Atreides had been brought into this world. The name Muad’dib was born with has been stricken from the interstellar record, and not a single scholar in present day knows what Duke Leto and Lady Jessica originally selected. What we do know is that by age three, Leto and Jessica started referring to Muad’dib as Paul.

By the time Muad’dib turned five years of age, the Bene Gesserit knew that they had been fooled. 

— From “Manual of Muad’dib” by the Princess Irulan

AFAB Paul Atreides is forced to wed Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen after centuries of careful breeding by the Bene Gesserit falls into place.

A Time to Rise and a Time to Fall (orphan_account)

14k | Explicit | Paul/Duncan

Duncan Idaho's mission to the desert planet of Arrakis to find the Fremen is overshadowed by Paul's prescience dreams.

bloodright (bloodrites series) by @rebelontherocks  

9k | Explicit | FeydPaul

Feyd-Rautha sees the future and it changes everything. Paul finds freedom in captivity.

bloodties (bloodrites series) by rebelontherocks 

13k | Explicit | FeydPaul

“I’ll teach you how to resist the Voice,” he said, turning Feyd-Rautha’s head this way and that, as if examining an animal before deciding whether to buy it. “Why?” “Because it will be more rewarding for us both when you give in of your own free will.” --- Feyd-Rautha is spared, and given new purpose. The blood will flow same as it always has.

And a few of my favorite WIPs (as of post date)

The Archer (The Prey) by doeheart 

14/15 | 63k | Teen | Paul/Duncan

    Duncan reaches up to cup Paul’s face; he brushes a thumb over Paul’s cheek. He tilts Paul’s face this way and that.

    “You look like you never sleep.”

    Paul can barely breathe. He doesn’t know what to say. He hasn't slept, not well, anyway. He wakes up early or in fits in the night, and he can never escape those strange dreams. They’re getting harder to shake during the day.

    Duncan’s hand drops away.

    “You can stay with me,” Duncan offers. “Anytime you need. Tonight, if you want. If it will help you sleep.”

    ***

    Paul has trouble sleeping. More accurately, he has trouble with his dreams. Duncan Idaho notices something off with his boy, and he offers Paul a place to stay. Paul only has to take him up on it.

All Paths Lead Into Darkness by @kalipeda

21/? | 26k | Explicit | FeydPaul

He who can destroy a thing controls it.

This Paul knows.

Yet slowly, despite all of his efforts, he is being corroded away by this thing that exists between them. This terrible, agonizing thing.

Truly, it is the slow blade which penetrates the shield.

Maktub by @lacrymosa-91

8/? | 36k | Explicit | FeydPaul 

The threads the Bene Gesserit weave are intricate and ever enduring, schemes within schemes, contingencies within contingencies.

Jessica gives birth to a son instead of a daughter despite explicitly given orders. It should have altered the path forced upon her, the sacrifice that was to be made of her child in the hands of a brutal and violent house. Instead her choice triggers a dormant Bene Gesserit gene engineering not witnessed for millennia.

—o0o—

Paul can feel himself hyperventilating, mind spinning from the sheer implications of everything he has just heard.

“The Reverent Mother instructed me explicitly. We were to let him touch you. It was a curious sight, the way he held you, almost despite himself…so incongruously gentle for such a brutal creature.” She nearly smiles and Paul shakes with the sudden urge to snarl in her face. “Your fever broke. You settled calm for the first time in weeks.”

“This is a lie-“

“You are connected now. A change has been triggered in you and in the Na-Baron Harkonnen as well. The Reverent Mother says it is in your blood. There is no cure for it.”

[chrisbitchtree]

But I Realized That I Need You

It may be my birthday today, but per my now annual tradition, I'm gifting you guys with Harringrove fic!

2.2k - T

***

Steve knew that he should just feel lucky that he’d had the amazing summer that he’d had. It was a million years away from what he’d imagined as he waited to be called to accept his diploma at graduation, which was scooping ice cream for bratty kids at the mall by day and sitting alone in his room counting down the weeks, days, hours until his dad forced him to grow up and join his company, put on a suit, tie around his neck like a noose, and get a real job.

Finally, his name was called, and the principal gave him a firm handshake and a rolled-up piece of paper, which he’d managed to earn only by the skin of his teeth, and with a lot of late nights spent studying with the reluctant help of Billy Hargrove, who’d turned out to be just as good an English tutor as Steve’s teacher had promised he would be.

He’d helped Steve understand the book he had to read for his exam, and in exchange Steve had handed him a hefty cheque from his father, which Billy had pocketed with a sneer, and Steve thought that would be the last time they’d have to interact, if he was lucky. It’s not like they’d be running in the same circles once Steve fled Hawkins High for good.

But of course, Steve hadn’t accounted for the possibility that his new coworker, Robin, would have secretly landed one of the hottest girls in school, Heather Holloway, or that when Steve got back from the fancy steakhouse graduation dinner that his parents had insisted on dragging him to, Robin would call him and ask him to hang out with her and Heather, or that when he’d get to Robin’s house, Billy, Heather’s new coworker at the pool, would be there too, changing the course of his entire summer.

Things hadn’t gone well that first night, both Steve and Billy trying to leave before Heather had told them to stop acting like children, sit their asses down, and watch the movie. They’d bickered through the first half of it, at which point Heather paused the movie and tried to force them to both leave, but Steve was stubborn and so was Billy, so they’d shut their mouths and sat in silence until it ended.

Neither had stayed very long after, but the ice started to thaw between them the more they all hung out, as Steve realized that if he wanted to hang out with Robin, which he did, he’d have to deal with Billy being there too, so he might as well try to make the best of it.

He’d say that it was Billy’s turn to pick the movie when it wasn’t or let him pick the third topping on their shared pizza, and he’d compliment Billy’s rings or his hair. Slowly, Billy started to reciprocate. He’d grab Steve a beer when he was getting another for himself, or he’d offer him the last hit off the joint, and when he’d come into Scoops with Heather, he’d not only pay for his ice cream, but he’d also leave Steve a tip.

Then, one night, while they were hanging out at Steve’s house, Robin and Heather went off to find a room for some alone time, leaving Billy and Steve out at the pool. One minute, they were engaging in their ongoing debate about whether Steve should be able to play Madonna on his own stereo system while he had guests over, and the next, Billy was kissing him.

It wasn’t a particularly nice kiss, given that Steve was blindsided by it and didn’t even have time to react before Billy was pushing away and running for the gate from the backyard to the front. Steve sat stunned for a minute before he realized that if Billy was headed for the driveway, he was most likely going to drive drunk, so he hopped up and followed him.

He finally caught up to him just as Billy was opening the door to his car. “Billy, wait,” Steve said, placing a hand on the other boy’s shoulder. “You don’t need to go, it’s ok. I won’t tell anyone.”

“Won’t tell anyone what?,” Billy replied. “That you tried to kiss me?”

Steve sighed. Oh great, so that’s how this was going to go. Whatever, he’d agree to almost anything if it meant that Billy wasn’t going to drive right after having six beers. “Sure, yeah, if you just come back with me and sober up, I won’t tell anyone that I tried to kiss you.”

Billy nodded. “Ok then, yeah.” He closed the car door and followed Steve back into the backyard. Steve went into the house and grabbed a tall glass of water and a bag of chips, and they sat in silence while Billy drank and ate.

Neither of them mentioned what had happened, but just three days later, they kissed again, this time in Heather’s basement while Heather was out picking up Robin from work. Neither of them had really initiated it that time, both just meeting in the middle. They didn’t even notice that they had company, as wrapped up in each other as they were, making out like their lives depended on it on the loveseat until Robin flashed the lights, telling them to get a room, and Heather congratulated them on finally getting their shit together.

Their faces flushed, hair a mess, and their lips kiss swollen, they reluctantly pulled apart, and Steve willed his dick to go down, thinking of his elderly math teacher, Ms. Cotes, and the smelly garbage he had to take out when he got home. Finally decent, they sat up, a pizza was ordered, and a movie put on the tv, and the night went on like usual. The only difference was how close Billy sat to Steve, practically in his lap.

It wasn’t something that was really discussed amongst the four of them, but now that Robin and Heather could trust that Billy and Steve could be left alone together for over an hour without trying to kill each other, the nights they all hung out were clearly divided into two parts.

Either they’d swim or watch a movie and have dinner or snacks, and then separate into pairs to find empty rooms, or they’d do the opposite, none of them willing to wait to be alone with their significant other.

Over the next couple months, Steve got to know Billy in ways that he never thought he would. He mapped every inch of his body with his hands and lips and tongue and got to experience the incredible pleasure of being inside Billy and having Billy inside him.

He also told Billy about his broken relationship with his parents, and about his fear for his directionless future, how he was scared that he’d die never having amounted to anything, and he listened as Billy told him about the pain of losing his mother, and the horrific abuse from his father, and how it felt like no one in this world truly loved him. Steve wasn’t brave enough to say it, but he knew that couldn’t be true because he loved Billy so much it hurt.

Late one night, in the heat of the moment, they’d made the decision to become an official couple. Steve had a boyfriend, and his boyfriend was Billy Hargrove. He still couldn’t believe it, and he couldn’t be happier.

Which was why it was so painful to think that he’d now have to break things off with Billy, but Steve knew it was the right thing to do. Billy was about to start his senior year of high school, he was almost certainly going to be the captain of the basketball team, and he was going to be applying to colleges, and he’d need to keep his grades up so that he could get scholarships to help pay for school. Plus, he’d probably want to spend his weekends at parties and was picking up a part time job at a garage now that the pool would be closing for the year. He didn’t need a hopeless loser like Steve hanging around and fucking things up for him, dragging him down.

Steve had tried to delay the inevitable as long as possible, but the evenings were getting chillier, the sun setting earlier, so Steve knew it was time. Not wanting to cause a scene in front of Robin and Heather, Steve had asked Billy to come over to his house so they could hang out just the two of them. Hearing the doorbell ring, Steve took a deep breath and stood to rip off the band aid.

“Hey, pretty boy,” Billy greeted Steve, a smile as bright as the sun on his face. Fuck, of course he had to look so happy. That was only going to make things harder.

“Hey,” Steve replied, closing the door behind Billy as he stepped inside. “Can we talk?”

“Sure,” Billy said, a frown replacing his smile as he took in Steve’s tone.

They sat down in the living room and Steve decided to just spit it out. “I’m sorry Billy, but I think we need to break up.” He continued on with his list of reasons for ending things and finished by saying he’d always be happy for the summer that they shared. He couldn’t keep the tears from his eyes by the end.

He braced himself for Billy to yell or storm out, but to Steve’s surprise, the other boy started laughing. He squinted through his tears, failing to understand what could possibly be funny about this. “Did you hear me, Billy?” he asked. Billy just laughed harder. Yeah, maybe that was it. Maybe Billy had misunderstood what Steve was telling him. Oh god, he was going to have to go through it all again.

“Billy, I’m breaking up with you.” He said it slower this time, hoping Billy would catch on.

“I know, princess, I heard you the first time,” Billy smiled, taking Steve’s shaking hands in his own. “I’m not accepting the breakup though. You say that this is what’s best for us, but did you ever ask me what I wanted? If I thought this was the best thing for me?”

Steve shook his head, more tears falling.

“Exactly,” Billy continued. “You never once asked me, and if you had, I would have told you that that’s definitely not what’s best. I hate that you’re making me get all emotional, but did you know that since dating you, it’s the first time I’ve felt a real sense of hope about things since my mom died? I can’t help smiling every time I think about you. It’s disgusting.

I can’t imagine a future without you, Steve. I was going to ask you to move to California with me next year. Well, I’m still going to ask, actually. Since you know, you’re still my boyfriend. And if you’re my boyfriend, I think it stands to reason that I’m still yours. You’re gonna look pretty fucking stupid when you’re out at the bar trying to pick up chicks with your boyfriend hanging off your arm, don’t you think? And imagine moving in with some girl, getting married, starting a family, and there’s your boyfriend in the room down the hall. Are you gonna tell her goodnight, then come cuddle with me? I don’t think that’s going to fly with anyone, so I think it might just be best to stick with me, ok?”

Steve shook his head. “No, I’m sorry, I know what you’re saying, but trust me, it’s better this way. Just go.”

Billy stood, walked to the door, and slipped on his shoes. “Alright then, if you’re really sure, I’ll go.”

“I’m sure,” Steve said. “Just go.”

Without another word, Billy left.

Steve stood in the silence, his weeping echoing in the cavernous room. For a minute, he was able to tell himself that he’d done the right thing. He’d done Billy a favour. Then he realized what a fucking idiot he was and went sprinting for the door, hoping he could catch Billy before he was gone. He ran out to the driveway only to find Billy sitting in his car, watching the door, a small smile on his face.

He stepped back out when he saw Steve and walked back up to the house.

“Thought I told you to go,” Steve grumbled, even though he couldn’t be happier to see Billy right now.

“I know, but I figured I should wait around for a bit. I had a funny feeling you might make your way out here eventually, and I wanted to be here when you did. Like I said before, whether you like it or not, you’re stuck with me. I’m not breaking up with you.”

Steve nodded, too shocked to say anything as he let Billy wrap him in a hug.

After a minute, he steered Steve back into the house, where he got him a tissue then they sat on the couch as he rubbed soothing circles on Steve’s back. “Next time you decide to make a decision for both of us, consult me, ok, pretty boy?”

“Yeah,” Steve choked out, laughing through what were now tears of joy as he held Billy closer, tighter, vowing to never try to let him go again. “Yeah, ok, I’ll ask my boyfriend next time. I promise.”

[disacurveball]

The Terror characters as an American college fraternity

Sir John: Obviously the president. He’s an upperclassman, but is a junior. He wasn’t anyone’s first pick, but the former President and VP (Barrow and Ross) had to step down after the house gets a hazing investigation opened on it by the college. John isn’t doing a great job of stopping future hazing incidents from occurring. His house name is Puss in Boots (ate his boot while drunk).

Crozier: Very tired senior Vice-President. He has never run for an executive position before, but his situationship Sophia Cracroft asked him to make sure her cousin John doesn’t get arrested. He doesn’t go to house parties after brawling with Fitzjames over the last drops of beer in their keg, and is on mandated sobriety by the college for this incident. His house name is Gallon (nobody ask how much he drinks).

Fitzjames: The greatest Social chair that the brotherhood of Epsilon Tau has ever seen. Every year he hosts the infamous ET Toga party, which gets the cops called on it every year. He secretly is obsessed with Rupaul’s drag race which is why he’s always able to curate the most fire playlists. His house name is Madonna (it’s not a secret).

Dundy: Jock chair, obviously. Makes sure the boys are in good shape. I needn’t say any more. House name is Dundy, because that already is one.

Little: Stressed out House Man. He’s in charge of the physical upkeep of the house. That shit is literally falling apart. There are crushed beer cans everywhere, the floors are sticky, their windows are broken and there is a foul smell coming from all the couches. He’s constantly calling repair men on the weekends and crying when he has to clean up a toilet flood in the basement. His house name is Little because let’s be real, the dick jokes there are immense.

Hodgson: Recruitment chair! He makes fun Canva posters to promote Fitzjames’s parties and makes the house seem like a really fun and welcoming place to incoming freshmen PNMs (potential new members). Will he haze them when they become pledges? Sure. But he’d rather be playing Piano Man drunkenly at 2 am and yapping about linguistic facts at a party. His house name is Hodge Podge, after his assortment of fun facts.

Irving: Treasurer (treasuring the house <3) He was the only one who has experience handling funding before because he did so fundraising for his church. Giving back to the house and being in a supportive all-male environment is a Christian pleasure after all. He engages in hazing of biblical proportions. Part of the college hazing investigation was freshman pledge Magnus Manson being forced to stay in the cemetery all night. His house name is Cherub, obviously.

Jopson: The Secretary! He sends out all campus emails and takes really comprehensive meeting notes. If you need to know anything about house lore or precedent, you go to him, he knows the house constitution inside and out. This was especially helpful during the Hickey judiciary council case. His house name is just Jop because people respect him.

Hickey: Used to be a member of Epsilon Tau, but he got kicked out for being found out as the one who tipped the college off about their insane hazing. He did so because he ran for both President and VP and didn’t get elected to either. He didn’t even get elected when Barrow and Ross had to step down either. That sent him over the edge to the point where he started planting hard alcohol bottles around the house and calling the campus police to find them. They finally caught him when he recruited his friends Billy and Tozer to steal the house’s pong table. This table still resides in his off-campus rental house which he has started spreading the rumor is an unofficial new frat called “Sigma Mu”

Billy: He has never been affiliated with Greek life but joins Hickey’s new frat Sigma Mu as its Vice President. He may have been a vital part in Hickey’s decision to do this. He also unofficially acts as its treasurer and Secretary because he was already Hickey’s roommate in the rental house, so really he has no choice but to keep it afloat.

Tozer: Also used to be a part of Epsilon Tau, but gets kicked out too for helping Hickey steal the pong table, and also getting into one too many bar fights. He’s now the new Social chair/Recruitment chair at “Sigma Mu” and gets Pilkington and Armitage to join.

Des Voeux: Freshman who somehow becomes best friends with Fitzjames and Hodgson and so immediately gets into Epsilon Tau without much hazing involved. Nobody knows he’s the one who gave Hickey’s crew the new door code and info to go steal the pong table. He’s still part of ET but frequents the parties at Sigma Nu because he’s not about to say no to any rager. His house name is Des Hoeux.

Goodsir: Not part of Greek Life but he’s treated like an honorary brother of Epsilon Tau because he’s the student EMT who always gets sent to their house every party and he takes care of their drunk brothers. Somebody asks him for drugs every time he enters the building.

Blanky: Fuckmaster Blanky needs no description. He is a legend that gets past down amongst the brotherhood. Legend has it that Fuckmaster Blanky was a brother who lost his leg while doing what he loved……Recruitment chair will tell this story during initiation every year to encourage pledges to honor the house and be like Blanky.

[sceletaflores]

•｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅ wip wednesday!

thanks for the tag angel baby @guiltyasdave <3 • 18+ under the cut! MDNI!

wip #1 • far too familiar a stranger…feat. logan howlett (& crimson!)

a long time ago, logan howlett knew a woman with your face…

i couldn’t not write a ‘worst!logan coming face to face with his tragically dead love interest but from wade’s universe after wade forced her to help them stop the TVA and hating her for bringing up that time in his life until he doesn’t anymore’ fic.

it's crimson because i felt that making whole new mutant reader would be sort of confusing so this fic is in the to the bone universe but it's not the same timeline...if that makes sense lmao

Wade Wilson is the worst neighbor in the entire fucking world. It’s really something you should have known sooner, like ‘the very first day in your new place ending with him breaking in through your window fully suited up after counting the floors wrong and bleeding all over your brand new pottery barn throw rug because he was still a little too concussed to walk’ sooner. Even after that whole fiasco left you with a broken window latch and a beyond fucked non-refundable $80 carpet, you still let yourself entertain his crazy. Just like everyone else whose life Wade crashed into, both physically or metaphorically. And once he's in, you can never really get him back out again. So yeah, maybe this whole thing is your fault. Maybe getting thrown into a barren, dusty void with two somewhat failed X-Men is just all your bad karma manifesting in one huge finger from the universe.

wip #2 • red and yellow kill a fellow! feat. logan howlett & wade wilson

logan doesn’t appreciate you letting wade get one up on him…

finally finally finally getting off my ass and writing logan x reader x wade! i was inspired by this one episode of satc (which is like my favorite show ever bee tee dubs) where charlotte goes out with two guys at the same time and she has sex with one but not the other until one of them catches her with the other guy and they all break it off.

my vision is a little different cause instead of getting mad and leaving when logan finds out reader fucked wade and not him, he figures it's his turn to get even. aka wade in the cuck chair and loving it.

The three of you pass a BMW sitting in a no parking zone, all four windows rolled down as Madonna blasts through the speakers. "So," Wade says, voice breaking the silence for the first time in five minutes. "Who white-washed your guts better?" You nearly trip over your own feet, whipping your head to gape at Wade. "Fucking excuse me?" "You know," Wade shrugs, like it's a perfectly normal thing to ask. The leisurely pace of his stroll not slowing, his hands still stuffed in the pockets of his jeans. "Who carved the lyrical railway better?" He just keeps going as you stare at him with a repulsed look on your face. "The number one stud that's stuffin' your muffin? That's takin the ol' bald-headed gnome for a satisfying stroll in the misty forest. Pick one hot stuff, they all mean the same thing." Before you can even answer there's a rough, questioning grunt from your right and your stomach flips. Oh. Logan, he was still here too. Still here and right next to you, listening. Oh yeah. "You fucked?" You still haven't slept with Logan yet. You turn to him face slowly, eyes a hair wide as you take in the sharp raise of his brow. "Um..." "Whoops," Wade snorts from somewhere behind your shoulder. "Cat's out the bag."

wip #3 • it's the easiest thing (just love me and eat me) feat. logan howlett

it’s not often that logan needs this, but you’re always more than happy to give it to him when he does…

the same requested sub!logan fic from last wednesday just with a new name and weirder energy! like this has really gotten away from me and turned into something that i can't really explain well enough to make it sound like chill...

lots of religious imagery and symbolism...and some metaphors of cannibalism...idk i'm just a girl with religious trauma and a weird blood fetish sue me.

You've come to think that being in bed with Logan is like being in church. The familiar weight of his body pressing you into the mattress is the alter. The heat of it like laying in the burning flame of a candle. The strong planes of his muscles each a different scripture that you take in by touch alone, skating your hands over his skin with something close to worship. Each bead of sweat on his skin feels sacred, a testament to the intensity between you, as though every part of him has been crafted for this moment of devotion. The hard length of his cock carves a place for itself inside you, each heavy smack of his hips punching another desperate sound out of your slack lips. His breath, deep and ragged, is a chant that pulls you into reverence. It puffs against the wild beat of your pulse, his lips brushing over the fever hot plane of your skin. The sound of your name pulled from his mouth sounds like a prayer answered. You can’t help but close your eyes, not in exhaustion, but in a kind of spiritual surrender, like by shutting out the world, you can truly grasp the divinity of it. There's a holiness to the way he holds you—like you’re the only thing worth believing in.

kisses!

no pressure tags! @ebodebo @artemis-b-writes @avocado-writing @superhoeva

[ladykailitha]

Batshit Soulmates Part 7

Hey guys! We're almost back to where we started and I fix a glaringly obvious plot hole. Why use alcohol to make Molotov cocktails that could back fire and hurt you when FLARE GUNS FUCKING EXIST AND HAVE FOR DECADES IN THE 1980s?!

GIF by thehound-and-thebird

We also get Eddie and Steve having a moment in the bathroom of Max's trailer. And the reason Eddie didn't want to use his handkerchief.

In Medias Res| Prologue|Pt 1|Pt 2|Pt 3|Pt 4|Pt 5|Pt 6|

****

Steve looked back over his shoulder and into Eddie’s eyes. “We need music!”

Eddie scrambled to his feet. “Robin! We need music!”

They both turn and run into Eddie’s bedroom, rummaging through his stack of cassette tapes.

“What the hell is this?” she held up Iron Maiden. “Where’s the real music? Blondie, Madonna, Cindy Lauper...”

Eddie snatched the tape from her. “This is real music!”

Dustin came running in. “Hey guys! You really need to hurry!”

Then they heard it, Steve and Lucas harmonizing. Eddie grabbed his acoustic and ran out there. He listened to them for a moment and then started playing. It was rough and barely music, but it worked.

Nancy gasped, startling to life.

Steve pulled her in for a hug as everyone breathed a sigh of relief. She babbled about monsters and guilt and horrible visions of the destruction of everything she held dear.

“Let’s get you topside,” Steve murmured, “and we can talk about what this all means.”

They got everyone out of the Upside Down and safely over to Max’s trailer.

Steve was exhausted. He just wanted to take Robin and Eddie and run. None of them had skin in the game. Nancy had made that clear enough. Over and over again.

They also weren’t going to listen to him. He felt like he was screaming into the void. Echoless and empty. His last nerve had been beyond frayed for the last five days. He just wanted to rest.

“Fine.”

Every head snapped his direction.

“But if we’re going to do this,” he growled, “we’re going to do it properly. We need weapons and supplies. And the four of us,” he pointed to the older teens that had been in the Upside Down, “need showers and food. Also, in case anyone forgot,” he pointed down at his ripped and badly bandaged torso, “I need to have this properly bandaged so I don’t bleed out at a crucial moment!”

The silence was deafening.

Nancy folded her arms and rocked back on one heel, staring at the floor.

“I’m sorry, Steve,” she murmured. “I did forget you were injured. Let’s get everyone all cleaned up.”

“And I know where to get supplies,” Eddie said softly.

Steve turned to him and nodded. “Let’s get us all cleaned up, did anyone think to grab Eddie some clothes while we were at his trailer?”

All he got in return were blank stares. Steve pressed the palms of his hands into his eye sockets as he fought the urge to scream.

“I’ll go!” Max said. “I’ll be less likely to be noticed poking around.”

Eddie grimaced he wasn’t sure how he felt about Red getting into his underwear drawer, but she was right. Anyone else would have stuck out like a sore thumb.

He watched as she snuck back out and then turned to Steve. “We need to get you taken care of first. There won’t be much hot water for the rest of us, but Stevie here needs it to clear out his wounds.”

Robin and Nancy nodded.

“Fucking demobats,” Dustin huffed.

Steve snapped his fingers. “I knew they would be called demo-something. It’s always demo-something.”

Dustin turned to him slowly. “What did you think they were going to be called if not bats, Steve?”

Steve shrugged. “Some kind of bird, I don’t know.”

Suddenly there was an uproar from almost everyone. Except Eddie.

“Why would you think that, Stevie?” he asked over the din.

“Because demogorgons don’t look like demogorgons and you originally thought the demodogs were some new species of reptile, so how I was supposed to know you were actually going to name it what it looked like.”

“What does their version of a demogorgon look like?” Eddie asked, suddenly curious.

“Tall, thin, leafy, with a head that opens like a Venus fly trap,” Robin said excitedly.

Eddie turned to Lucas and Dustin and raised an eyebrow. “That sounds more like an umber hulk than a demogorgon. You know, the thing with tentacles and two heads?”

Lucas shrugged. “We were like eleven years old when named it and hadn’t had a lot of experience with the game yet.”

Eddie nodded. “Fair enough.”

He tugged on Steve’s arm and led him into the bathroom.

“Strip and into the water, pretty boy,” Eddie said, turning on the shower. “I’ll go grab some towels and the first aid kit.”

Steve nodded. He gently took off the denim vest and set on the sink. Eddie’s expression softened and smiled.

He got back out just as Max had returned.

“I grabbed two pairs of boxers,” she said. “One for you and one for Steve. I hope that was okay.”

“Just what were you doing in Eddie’s underwear?” Lucas asked, wide eyed.

Max rolled her eyes. “Eddie hasn’t been able to change his in almost a week and that lake water can’t have been good for Steve, so I made an executive decision.”

Eddie grabbed the backpack she had used to stuff the clothes in with a thankful smile. “One I deeply appreciate, Red.”

He also got the first aid kit from her and went back into the bathroom. Steve was as clean as he could get all things considered. He was toweling off his chest when Eddie came in.

“Red brought you a change of underwear, if you don’t mind wearing some of mine,” he muttered.

“As long as they’re clean, Eds,” Steve said, “I would wear Tommy H.’s at this point.”

Eddie chuckled. “Fair enough. I just didn’t want to offend your rich boy sensibilities.”

Steve scoffed. “I don’t have any of those anymore. The Upside Down has a lovely way of getting rid of that kind of shit, fast.”

Eddie nodded, but turned away so Steve could pull on the boxers.

“Thank fuck,” Steve muttered. “I prefer briefs, but they’re dry and that’s like heaven right now.”

Eddie turned around and breathed through his nose. Seeing Steve in his boxers was really doing something for him that it really shouldn’t.

“Let’s get those wounds wrapped up,” he said hefting the first aid kit.

Steve nodded. He leaned up against the sink and let Eddie put on gauze and proper bandages on the wounds on his sides.

“I hope wherever you plan to get supplies has shoes, man,” Steve said as he struggled to put on the sweats, “because I really need to stop running around barefoot.”

Eddie looked down at Steve’s feet and back up at Steve. “Shit. You walked all through the forest and to Nancy’s house barefoot and then rode a bike all the way to Forest Hills, again WITHOUT SHOES?!”

Steve blushed. “I don’t see what the big deal is.”

“The big deal, Stevie,” Eddie huffed, “is that you’re our tank and if you are too hurt to protect the squishy ones, then everyone gets hurt, okay?”

Steve nodded. “Sorry. They don’t usually care.”

Eddie looked back at the closed door and then back at Steve. “I think you’re wrong. But if you don’t tell them you’re hurt, they can’t take care of you.”

Steve nodded again, he went back out there while Eddie took his turn. Quickly get the worst of six days of being on the run off of him. He merely rinsed his hair out of the dirt and whatever the hell that shit is that is constantly falling in the Upside Down.

He stepped out and dried himself off, using the towel Steve used. It didn’t look like Max had a lot of towels and they still had Robin and Nancy to get through.

He run his hair out and got dressed. When he pulled out the Metallica t-shirt and the one pair of black jeans he owned that didn’t have rips in the knee, he almost wanted to kiss her forehead. God, this was perfect. She even put in socks. He put his shoes on and yeah, they were still kinda wet, but it was much better than everything being kinda wet.

Nancy went next and then Robin, each girl just taking the time they needed to get the Upside Down off of them.

Eddie pulls out a phone book and lays on the table. He goes flipping through it and lands on the section for camping gear and guns.

He points to the biggest ad. “This is where we are going to get our supplies, it will have everything we need. Guns, ammo, whatever you need to take this bastard out.”

Steve pressed up against Eddie and leaned over his shoulder to see what he was pointing at. The War Zone.

“What about alcohol?” Robin asked. “Last time we used Molotov cocktails to take out these monsters.”

“Yeah!” Dustin said. “Fire works great on these guys. And the further away we are to light them up, the better.”

“So flare guns,” Eddie said nodding. “They’ll have those too.”

Nancy and Dustin shared a confused glance.

“What’s a flare gun?” Nancy asked.

Eddie looked around at all the confused faces. “You’ve seen the flares they shoot up when someone is in distress right?”

There were a couple of nods.

“Those are fired from guns,” he explained. “Essentially they are fireworks in a gun.”

“Yeah,” Lucas said, “we’re going to want a lot of those.”

There was a murmur of agreement from everyone.

“Now all we need is transport,” Nancy said. “We don’t have bikes for everyone.”

“Oh,” Eddie said. “I’ve got that covered, too.”

Steve frowned. “What, have you got a car hidden around here somewhere?”

Eddie straightened up and smiled at him. “It’s not a car, and it’s not mine. But it’ll do.”

Steve frowned, but Eddie turned to Max. “Hey you got a bandanna or a mask I can use?”

Max tilted her head and looked up. “Yeah, I’ve got something.”

“Why don’t you use your own hankey?” Nancy asked, pointing to his back pocket.

He held it up. “You mean this? The thing that has been through Lover’s Lake and the Upside Down and I’m pretty sure the smell alone would kill me?”

Nancy blinked for a moment and then waved her hand in concession.

When Max came out of her bedroom carrying the mask, Eddie grinned.

“You’re my favorite.”

“Hey!” Dustin protested.

But Eddie and Max just grinned.

****

Part 8 Part 9 Epilogue

And if you saw this last night, no, no you didn't. Boops distracted me.

Tag List: @mira-jadeamethyst @rozzieroos @redfreckledwolf @emly03 @itsall-taken

@spectrum-spectre @estrellami-1 @zerokrox-blog @itsall-taken @swimmingbirdrunningrock

@gregre369 ​@a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson @chaoticlovingdreamer @maya-custodios-dionach

@goodolefashionedloverboi @messrs-weasley @val-from-lawrence @i-must-potato @danili666

@carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog @justforthedead89 @bookworm0690 @vecnuthy

@bookbinderbitch @littlewildflowerkitten @yikes-a-bee @awkwardgravity1 @scheodingers-muppet

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@mogami13 @samsoble @xandriumbat @ellietheasexylibrarian @lololol-1234

@y4r3luv @disrespectedgoatman @king-zacharyy @chameleonhair @tinyplanet95

[dealbrekker]

When You Call My Name

Here's my Sylus fic! I figured I'd get it up before everyone is scrambling for Caleb XD Inspired by Sylus's myth and the choir version of Madonna's Like a Prayer (yes from the deadpool wolverine soundtrack, trust me).

Warnings: violence, blood, evol related violence, reader/mc is kidnapped but no violence is shown being done toward her, Sylus isn't as lucky, but he's okay, promise.

Word Count: 2500 Summary: When you're kidnapped by an unknown faction, it's not hard to determine it has something to do with Sylus. But the men who have you seem to know something you don't about Onychinus's leader, and that something could kill him. Too bad for them you remember everything in the process.

Ao3

The last thing you remember is leaving the Association. You’d waved goodbye to Tara and Nero, checked your watch for any final comms from Xavier, to see if his mission had finished up. When there wasn’t anything, you’d started home.

You don’t even know if you’d made it a block.

There is a black void in your mind from that moment to now. Now, where you’re tied to a chair in a nondescript warehouse. Your feet are bare, and your clothes torn considerably. You feel like you’ve been hit by a truck. You can tell a black eye is forming, by the way you can’t see much out of the right. Your bones are very unhappy with the current state of affairs, but you don’t think anything is broken.

You’d stopped calling out to see if anyone would answer. You’d been doing it for what felt like hours. No one has yet come along. You feel like you should start again, as even your hoarse voice is better than the ringing silence of the place.

They’d taken your watch. There is no way to communicate with anyone on the outside. No watch, no phone, and seemingly no kidnappers.

Which is far more unnerving than if someone had greeted you upon waking.

You close your eyes and run through your mind. Who can this person or these people be? You doubt they’re targeting the Association, but Ever could potentially be behind it. But you rather think that Ever would be more communicative with their hostage.

Are you a hostage, if there are no kidnappers?

You shake your head and keep thinking. Zayne doesn’t have any enemies. Rafayel probably does, but you doubt this is the work of some art world stalker.

Which leaves…

“Sylus.” You murmur.

As if on cue, men enter the room. You sit up straighter, trying to see if you can recognize any of them. They’re not wearing masks.

One of them steps forward, but does not touch you. You stare up at him.

“How long have I been here?” you demand.

You’re surprised when he easily answers, “6 hours and twenty minutes.”

“Why am I here?” You try not to let the length of time rattle you. “Who are you?”

“We would like a word with Sylus.” He is still staring at your face, as if searching for something.

“So just call him like all the other dealers do.”

The man smiles softly. “We prefer a more direct action. Take his finest treasure, and a dragon is sure to react.”

You glare up at him. “You’re severely overestimating my status.”

The man’s eyes flick to his watch. “I think, I am not.”

He motions, and more men stream into the room. You can hear them in the catwalks above you. And several settle into other chairs to wait. You clear your throat, desperate for a drink of water.

“Even if Sylus does come, he won’t be alone.” You wriggle your wrists. Your fingers are going cold. “He’s not an amateur. You should know that.”

“No,” your captor agrees, leaning against a pillar and lighting a cigarette. “Not an amateur. But easily goaded. Besides,” a ring of smoke puffs from his lips. “His minions are engaged with some of my men across town in a gambling den.”

You swallow. Luke and Kieren…

You aren’t worried about them. But that means Sylus will most certainly come alone.

The nameless man continues to smoke. You can see the embers dropping. The odor makes you cough.

“Why?” you ask again.

He doesn’t answer you. Another hour has come and gone while the men wander and say very little. You are completely ignored; left to wonder, left to ache.

After a while, you almost feel sorry for the group pacing the floor. If you could manage to get free, you’d try to take them down quickly and efficiently, granting swift deaths if necessary. Sylus, on the other hand, will likely make a mess of the men around you. You’ve been gone too long for him to show any sort of patience, or allow you to help take your own revenge on this lot. It has always confused you, the way he vacillates between murderous wrath if anyone touches you to seemingly reverent faith that you can take care of yourself. There are days you swear he could incinerate someone with a glance, and days he lets you lead and defend yourself against enemies with nothing but a soft chuckle.

Your gut churns when one of your captors eyes you from across the room. You stay still, hoping none of them come closer. You haven’t been trying to work your hands free for a few hours, because despite the glow of pride you begrudgingly feel when Sylus applauds your abilities, you can’t help but feel hollow and scared right now.

You don’t know why these men make you nervous. But they’re different from the usual thugs and sketchy dealers Sylus normally contends with. Petty criminals you can handle; these men, though…

It’s like they know something you don’t about the man ostensibly on his way to save you.

And he has to be. Mephisto, your ever vigilant shadow, would have reported. As far as you know the men haven’t sent any sort of word of your kidnapping. You don’t imagine they think they’ll swindle a ransom out of Sylus. Not these people, who communicate in glances and quick, whispered monosyllables. These men who haven’t asked you a single question. No. You’re simply bait. They have no wish for money or weapons or deals.

They want blood. His blood.

Your fingers clench and you start wriggling your wrists again. I need to get out of here, he can’t come here, he can’t…

The five men who had been seated stand silently, intent on the door. You freeze, straining your ears, willing it to have been nothing, silently screaming for Sylus to go away, you’ll handle this, go away, you’re in danger, you’re in danger, please don’t come.

The group is converging in toward each other, closing in on the main door. Several others wait in the shadows, apparently casing the windows. Silence reigns from the catwalks.

Sylus won’t bother with windows, you think. He’ll come right through the front door like he owns the place.

Don’t, don’t, don’t.

The leader unsheathes a blade you hadn’t noticed before. It gleams inky black, the hilt studded with vicious red gems that look horribly like—

“Aethercores,” you breathe.

Suddenly you feel in your very battered bones that this dagger might just kill Sylus.

The floor starts vibrating and your ears pop. It’s like all the air has been sucked from the room.

“DON’T!” You scream.

Too late.

The door explodes open, and he’s there, larger than life, shirt and hair billowing in the force of his own wake. His eye burns red, as red as the dagger’s hilt. The whips of his power surge, cutting through the warehouse like swords through flesh, impaling a few unlucky souls. Blood sprays in wild arcs, and the dead men never even had time to scream. Gunfire erupts.

You know he hasn’t even seen you, hasn’t registered that you’re alive and mostly well, tied in the center of the room. It does not matter to Sylus that the blood of these men has made it to you, spattering across your bare feet. He does not see it. He just knows you are here; he knows that you are hurting, and he knows that every person in this room responsible for your current state will die. Badly.

Except, you think, your mind pooling thickly, time slowing and slipping in a cruel, sticky way, he cannot know about the dagger.

The dagger that is plunging toward his chest. The dagger that sings somehow, a horrible requiem, a promise of goodbye. His eyes watch its descent, and then slip past it, finally, to you. You marvel at the surprise there. Someone has finally caught him unawares.

The dagger rips into his chest and you are caught in a fly trap of dawning horror, of a dropping heart rate, a pain so resounding, tearing at your insides.

Your ears ring.

Your throat is raw with a scream you do not hear.

Men wrench his arms behind him, and the dagger wielder strikes again, again, again. The gunfire has stopped.

When the sound comes back, you wish you’d simply gone deaf. The wet crunch of the blade sawing in and out of Sylus’s chest is a poison in your soul. But it’s his gasp that you know will follow you to your grave.

Sylus stumbles. And you watch the titan of a man fall. The man who has become so much to you, so much that you’ve not been able to define it, falls to his knees. You feel his blood speckle across your face, warm like summer rain, an anointing.

He looks at you, and you look back. Your name is a whispered prayer on his lips.

The world cracks open.

And so do you.

Your vision fails as your body bends, head thrown back, tears trailing down your temples into your hair.

Your eyes are wide open, but it isn’t the warehouse ceiling you see.

It’s a night sky.

And a shimmering cave.

It’s a vaulted chapel.

An ancient city.

A crowd of cold guardians, an organ, and chains on your wrists.

A tavern and a man on stage.

Treasures and weapons and gems and silks. A dagger with a studded hilt…

It’s your world crashing around you as you’re thrown into a pit. It’s claws around your throat and a tail around your waist.

It’s the sky rushing by like you’re flying.

It’s a field of flowers.

And a warm body beneath yours.

It’s the sunlight in his eyes.

It’s Sylus.

But not...quite.

A dragon carries you, sweeping through those who wronged you, cultivating your desires. He threatens and cajoles, he growls, and he bites. Your neck stings with his mark. Your skin is alight with it.

He lies in the field, and preens as you put flowers in his hair. Your lips barely brush his, and your heart screams when the vision within the vision fades.

You sob as the sword in your hands thrusts deep, and your dragon disappears on a warm breeze, your enemies slain in his final act of love.

And then it’s Sylus as he is now. Him in the boxing ring, sliding a ring onto your finger. It’s you and he in the snow, your hands brushing flakes from his hair. It’s you and he in the Grasslands, it’s you and he on a ship, silly little cat ears and all. It’s him making you dinner, helping you fight, smiling softly in the dark.

Beautiful garnet eyes are the last thing that vanish from your view.

As they’re fading now.

The cold air of the warehouse slams into you as your chair crashes forward back onto all four legs. You see the men standing around Sylus, watching the man—your man—dim. You see…and you do not see.

You do not know where you pull the sword from. You do not comprehend the way the air around you freezes, and then goes searing hot. You only feel the hilt in your hands, the weight of the weapon pulling at your arms. The rage that pumps the blood in your veins and the utter silence with which you wield the very weapon you once used to kill your beloved.

This time when the blade finds flesh, it is of those who deserve the death you deal.

The men never know how you got out of your binds. They never know where the dragon slaying weapon came from. And none of them would ever get the chance to whisper about it either. After all, what is a man to a blade forged against dragons?

But Sylus knows. In the dimming light he’d seen your binds melt away, had seen you stand and the sword settle into your grip like a lover’s hand, pulled from thin air, from time itself. The pressure and pain in his chest had ceased when you grasped the blade, and with it, eons of longing and anguish vanished like dust on the wind.

And then the room goes golden.

You sense your Evol, more than see it. The air crackles with the energy as your sword cuts through body after body. More men converge, forgetting to run, blindly thinking they’ll stop you. Maybe numbers will stop you. You are vaguely aware of the flash of the gunfire beginning again.

But your Evol meets another, and you gasp at the way flames fill your body. Power pours into you, curling around your Evol, stroking it tenderly. For the first time in all your life, you feel complete, and you pause for a moment to appreciate the power purr over your skin, before exploding from your pores and shattering the windows like a nuclear blast, reducing the shrieking men to mist. You never saw the way the lead man had eyed your weapon with a wild hunger as you cut through his men. But, your mouth curls into a nasty grin, you do watch his body turn to dust.

The sword clatters to the ground, and your body seems to hang, momentarily. You’re barely putting any weight on your feet, as if poised to spring forward and eliminate more threats. Sweat and blood drips down your face and arms. Your shoulders burn and your scalp tingles. You feel like you’ve been flying.

A soft moan brings you back to your body. Sylus is on his feet. Blood thick on his shirt, but not on his skin, and the sweat and blood of your face mirrors itself on his, and his wound is knitting itself back together under the glow of your resonance…

Your shared resonance.

A sob punches from your throat and you’re running and tripping and reaching for him. He reaches, too.

His hands are so large, yet so gentle as they thread through your hair and cup the back of your head. Because of the claws he’d never wanted to hurt you with. His shoulder is strong beneath your cheek, his body warm against yours as he pulls you impossibly close, alive and in your arms. He’s strong enough to keep you both standing, even as you shake uncontrollably.

You’re babbling as the last vestiges of the resonance fades. A tight, wounded, barely coherent torrent. “I’m so sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, forgive me, forgive me, I remember it all now, forgive me—”

And he: “Shh, shh, I know, I know, there’s nothing to forgive, my love.”

Over and over the hiccupping sobs and the body-wracking apologies. Tighter and tighter your fingers on his shirt. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I love you, I love you, I love you.” And you do. You have, it would seem. Even now, without the memory, you know you have.

“I know,” he whispers. “I know. I was just waiting for you to know, too.” His fingers are soft on your chin and your lips, beneath your eyes as they wipe away the tears.

“I love you, too, sweetie.”

And, gods, has he. For millennia; forever.

[prettyoddfever]

the Seattle Ryden story is fake.

Tumblr's new post format is way better than 2020, so I’m expanding my old post here.

THE GENERAL STORY:

I just googled this...

REAL-LIFE AUGUST 2007 EVENTS:

The band did a string of shows & appearances in the UK (Decaydance Fest, Kerrang Awards, Reading, Leeds) in late August 2007. The last show was on August 26th and then the band flew back home (they lived in Vegas & Chicago btw... not California). They had a few days off before they needed to be in Seattle for their Bumbershoot performance on September 1st. Brendon and Ryan had a work obligation in NYC on August 31st, so it looked like Ryan went to stay with Keltie in NYC. There were pictures of them hanging out in places like Central Park and they did this photoshoot.

Yes, Keltie threw Ryan a bday party at Angels & Kings on August 30th. Ryan hung out at Angels & Kings with Keltie and her friends earlier that summer too. Plus, Travie McCoy had a birthday party at Angels & Kings that summer with a cake that looked very close to the one Ryan got. Their bday parties were good publicity for the new bar. Angels & Kings had opened around early May that year and other Decaydance bands invested in it, but the P!ATD guys had been too young.

Ryan's friends who lived in NYC were at the party, like Gabe Saporta, Eric Ronick, and Travie McCoy (who also performed at Bumbershoot). However, Ryan's crew of Vegas friends he'd been hanging out with that year weren't there. It just seemed like a NYC thing. I didn't think it was weird that the band members who weren't even in NYC were absent, even though I didn't know specifically why. A lot of fans assumed that the guys wanted a few days off nbd. Also, even if Brendon was in NYC in time for that party, he was still underage. A couple weeks later he and Spencer were turned away from Crush Management's party before the VMAs lol.

Anyways, on August 31st Brendon and Ryan needed to do the interview for Fuse that was chopped up to use in all of those Videos That Rocked The World daily episodes that came out after Thanksgiving:

These episodes covered some big names, so it was very cool that P!ATD's opinion was included... even if the ads seemed to feature Brendon & Ryan more than the actual episodes did lol. Here's an example of the first episode (others were for Madonna, Aerosmith, OK Go, Guns N' Roses, Van Halen, Britney Spears, Public Enemy, Alanis Morissette, and Beastie Boys):

here's more from that episode.

The band's Fuse interviews were usually done in New York City while they were on tour. A few years ago I emailed someone who worked on the VTRTW set because I wanted to double-check the date and location of Brendon & Ryan's interview before sharing that it wasn't Seattle. She gave me some other contact info and three very kind people looked into their old emails & call sheets. The director and the executive producer for the VTRTW series separately confirmed the NYC location and 8/31 date. Maybe they were both mistaken about the location, and Fuse randomly decided to film in Seattle despite the fact that their studio was in NYC... but the romantic motivation for Ryan to join Brendon is still erased.

Also, whoever made up the Seattle story seems to think that birthdays were important and meaningful to Ryan to the extent that he would fly across the country in the middle of the night to spend it with someone ~special. Ryan talked to Upbeet Music in fall 2005 about touring on his birthday and said "Birthdays were never a really huge deal in my family so it’s not like I’m bummed out that I didn’t get a party or anything so it’s cool." Obviously people can change over the years, so I'm just adding that as a side detail.

THE PICTURE:

Does anyone know who the fan is who shared the picture above? and what their original story was? It’s repeated a lot but I’ve never seen a source, a direct quote, or anyone who even saw the original person’s post (which is super weird). The whole Seattle story sounds about as reliable as the current fandom’s “funeral picture” tbh. There was also a problem in the pre-split years where some fans would steal other people’s pictures, claim it was theirs, invent a story about meeting the band, and then crop out or draw over the original person (and spin a story about how they looked ugly that day, didn’t want their face online, didn't want the band to know who was sharing the story, etc). Maybe that happened here too.

side tangent: idk why people are saying that since Ryan's outfit in the picture above is the same as his birthday then he must have arrived in Seattle without luggage. Why even add that part lol. He clearly wore a different outfit of his for Bumbershoot.

Anyways, I do agree that the picture at the top of this post looks like it was taken around the same time as the interview based on small details with their hair & outfits (the fact that they're wearing the same general clothes isn't reliable because those guys could repeat outfits for daysss). Fuse was located on 7th Avenue across from Madison Square Garden. The background of the picture looks like it could potentially be in that whole area. Maybe a fan got a picture with them while they were heading to their interview, who knows.

OTHER SEATTLE THINGS THAT *SHOULD* BE UNRELATED:

Yes, Brendon changed a line in That Green Gentleman to joke about Ryan while they were doing an acoustic show at the Space Needle in Seattle in October 2008. That was a normal thing and shouldn't stand out in any way.

Please don’t ruin Northern Downpour by dragging it into the Seattle theory and/or making it a Ryden thing. People are wildly misinterpreting some interview quotes & events (possibly because they don’t understand Ryan’s role in the band), so there’s more in this post about Northern Downpour.

Brendon, Ryan, Spencer, and Brent all talked about how much they loved the Pacific Northwest starting from the first time they played a show there in fall 2005. The boys were from a desert area and talked a lot in the early months about how they hadn’t had the chance to travel much (except Brent had been to Canada). Each time they visited Seattle or Portland at least one of them would mention how they loved the weather, trees, etc. Their strong appreciation of Seattle started in 2005 and has nothing to do with a fake affair in 2007.

There are a lot of assumptions surrounding the Seattle story in general, most of which seem to come from a lack of knowledge about the band. Even this post still assumes & projects a lot:

Brendon was not Ryan's best friend in 2007. That was pretty easy to spot (there's more in this post).

idk what else people are saying about Seattle, but I'll probably add more here later

[airas-story]

Hey, so have you seen Gilmore Girls? There is this episode where there is a 24 hour dance tournament- danceathon or something. Basically, the competitors (in pairs) have keep dancing for 24 hours and the pair who lasts all 24 hours is the winner. (There are breaks now and then) so I was thinking about that and then I thought about how both Tony and Stephen are pretty competitive........

so can you please write a drabble where college ironstrange participate in such a competition and their friends finding it ridiculous?

I have never seen Gilmore girls, but I did a bit of research. I didn't actually make it to the competition, just the set up of them getting there.

“Why the hell are we here at 6:00 in the morning?” Rhodey groaned, rubbing at his eyes and ignoring his date. Rhodey was normally better than that… Admittedly, Tony didn’t remember her name. He’d have to ask Stephen. Stephen had found her for Rhodey and had been in charge of getting her here, while Tony had been in charge of Rhodey.

Tony focused on Stephen, ignoring Rhodey. “Did you bring your comfy shoes?” he demanded. If they were going to torture themselves with this 24-hour danceathon, they were going to win the damn thing. 

He didn’t care about the prize money, but it would go to Stephen’s med school fund. Stephen wouldn’t let Tony help the traditional way, Tony could help this way.

Stephen rolled his eyes. “Obviously. I’m not an idiot.”

“Here. 6:00 in the morning,” Rhodey repeated. “Why?”

“No one forced you to be here,” Tony said. 

Rhodey glared. “You threatened to throw a bucket of water on me if I didn’t get out of bed.”

Tony ignored that, helped by the announcer informing them the event was starting.

Stephen grabbed Tony’s hand and pulled him onto the dance floor amidst the other contestants. Rhodey groaned, pulling his date with him as he joined them on the dance floor. Tony expected them off the floor by noon. The quitters.

The music turned on, blasting loud. Madonna? Tony grimaced. “Seriously?”

“Get over your music snobbery,” Stephen told him. “We’re not leaving because you don’t like their music choices.”

“Why do I like you?” Tony grumbled.

Stephen snorted. “The sex is nice.”

“True.” Even if it was more than that… at least for Tony. Except Tony could never say that; maybe for Stephen the sex was all they were. “Get your dance on, Stephen. We’re winning this thing.”

[jtl-fics]

Fluent Freshman - Part 23

PREVIOUS

There were a few reasons that Andrew and Neil could not get past reception to go see FF or get updates on his current condition.

The first reason was that visiting hours were long over by the time they had arrived a little after midnight.

The second reason was that hospitals, in general, don’t just give out information on their patients to any random person that walks in and asks for an update on their condition. They are ESPECIALLY hesitant to give out updates on patients when the people who are asking can’t give you anything other than a first name, general description, and the reason that the patient is in the hospital.

Somehow “Completely average looking guy with the last name Smith who was stabbed in the stomach” is not enough for the receptionist to go off of.

“There are multiple people here that fit that description. I would need at least a first and last name before I could even begin to start seeing if you were someone who we even could give updates to. No, I will not continue to play your fun little game of guess the first name.” She says when Andrew opens his mouth to start listing off names alphabetically again.

So now Andrew and Neil found themselves under the watchful eye of a security guard as they sat in the back corner of the front reception area.

“I can’t believe we still don’t know what Smith’s first name is.” Neil says his face is buried in his hands as he and Andrew sit in the uncomfortable chairs trying to figure out where to go from here.

“I think she knows exactly who we want to see.” Andrew scowls towards the receptionist who, long used to the ire of the public, pays him no mind. Andrew just refused to believe that there were that many brown haired, brown eyed, average height and weight guys who had suffered a stab wound to the stomach that would have been admitted in the last two hours.

“I just hope they actually are looking after him and that no one went and forgot about him in an hallway somewhere.” Neil says hands sliding up into his hair to grip.

“That wouldn’t happen.” Andrew dismisses despite knowing that Wymack had ABSOLUTELY forgotten FF at a stadium once during the period where FF had been low presence to keep his family from bothering him.

The U-turn he had pulled had definitely been illegal when FF called and asked where the bus was when they had been on the road for five minutes. Wymack had felt terrible about it but FF had just seemed relieved that the bus had come back for him.

Wymack.

Andrew pulls out his phone and dials a familiar number. Wymack, reliable as always, picks up on the fourth ring with the sound of cursing as he got the phone up to his ear. “What.” He asks and Andrew can hear the sounds of driving and Kevin’s infamously train-like snoring in the background.

“What’s Smith first name. You know it.” Andrew demands.

“Classified.” Wymack clips back immediately.

“I need to know it so that we can get updates.” Andrew hisses.

“He isn’t interested in people knowing it and you wouldn’t be able to get updates anyways.” Wymack dismisses.

“We want to be able to head back to see him.” Neil tries.

“Visiting hours are long over Josten. You know that I’m not settling that bet that you little fuckers have floating around about this.” Wymack responds back.

Andrew grits his teeth and then forces himself to relax his jaw, “It’s not about the bet.” Andrew shuts his eyes in irritation.

That stupid bet.

The betting culture within the Palmetto State Foxes Exy team that Reynold’s had cultivated held strong even after her graduation with the remaining Foxes. The Bet had started when one of the other freshmen had mentioned that it was funny that FF went around like Cher or Madonna. The realization that none of them knew FF’s first name was one that had them placing bets on a multitude of things. Things like: “Do you wanna bet it’s a super normal boring name?”, “Do you wanna bet that it’s a weird foreign name?”, and “Is FF intentionally not giving it out to people or since he goes by his last name normally he has no idea that anything is amiss?” Had lower pools since you were betting on a spectrum. The bet with the highest pool is: “What is FF’s first name”.

Wymack had categorically refused to answer it and all other attempts to discover FF’s first name had been met with frustration. There was a solemn agreement that no one could just go and outright ask him since that would ruin all of the fun. Andrew had agreed to not ask when the team had collectively filled his freezer with ice cream cake and he was a man of his word.

The general belief (after the revelation of his major and the number of languages FF spoke) was that FF’s name was just not easy to pronounce for English speakers.

Andrew hadn’t participated but he know that the Foxes do have a running list of names they know it’s not. (Greg, Will, Smith (again), Matt, Kevin, Neil, Andrew, Aaron, Nathaniel, Jack, Beyonce (Sheena’s drunken guess), Nicholas, John, Fred, Garfield, Frank, Alfred, Augustus, Adam, etc. (Andrew had been trying to guess with the receptionist for a while))

“You’re coming here aren’t you? We can get updates when you get them.” Neil says.

“He’s in emergency surgery right now and will remain there for the next few hours most likely. There’s not going to be any updates hopefully.” Wymack says with a sigh loud enough that they can hear it over Kevin’s snoring.

“Surgery? He needs surgery?” Neil asks sounding surprised s if FF hadn’t been stabbed to the hilt into his stomach with one of Andrew’s knives. He’s about to give Neil some shit for the question before remembering that if there was any person who would think that a stab wound to the stomach wouldn’t necessitate surgery it would be Neil “I’m Fine” Josten.

“Yes Josten, he needs surgery. They have to stitch up his stomach and the surgeons are also going to be dealing with some of the ulcers that were ruptured by the knife.” Wymack explains likely coming to the same conclusion that Andrew had on Neil’s stupid question. “They were a bit worried about him bleeding out but he stabilized before the surgery.” Wymack sighs.

“I’m going the hospital since I’m Smith’s medical proxy. If anything goes wrong with the surgery I want to be there so I can make an informed decision on his care.” Wymack says and… Andrew figured there’d be surgery but to hear it and the possibility that something could go wrong, that the last thing FF had said to him had been something non-sensical about “Gracie Hart wouldn’t have gotten stabbed. I’m Cheryl at best.”as he’d started succumbing to all the blood loss. “If you could stick around long enough for me to drop Kevin off with you I would appreciate it.” Wymack says.

“What if he needs a blood transfusion?” Andrew says.

“Smith is AB-, it’s the second easiest blood type to transfuse into. Go home Andrew.” Wymack repeats.

Andrew works his jaw irritated that there didn’t seem to be a path to getting his way.

“We’ll stay here until you get here.” Andrew agrees, “But you’ll get an update before we leave.” He adds.

Wymack sighs, “Fair enough.” He says before hanging up.

It’s 45 minutes of waiting and tossing a few more name possibilities at the receptionist who seems more amused than anything at their continued attempts to guess their friend’s first name (Neil goes through the entire list of names that he’s gone by and none of them get the thumbs up).

Wymack comes through the doors with a half awake Kevin Day following his steps. “I have another favor to ask you.” Wymack says instead of any form of greeting.

“I’m not going to leave Kevin in the car overnight again. It was just that one time.” Andrew says with a roll of his eyes and honestly he’d been punished enough listening to Kevin bitch, moan, and sneeze for the following week while talking about all the supplements he was taking.

“Not that,” Wymack pauses, “I have two favors to ask you. First don’t do that. Second, would you be able to pick up Smith’s grandma from the airport tomorrow?” He asks.

Andrew blinks.

“She’s coming here?” He asks.

“I updated her on my way here. She booked a flight and will be arriving around noon tomorrow.” Wymack says and Andrew doesn’t know why he’s confused by this. FF’s grandma got him two still warm pies to cheer him up on Thanksgiving.

He’d stabbed that woman’s grandson.

“I’ll pick her up.” He agrees.

Shorter one today

NEXT

MASTERPOST FOR ALL PARTS OF FLUENT FRESHMAN AU

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