#i guess i’ll put this in the salt tag

[labyrynth]

okay so. prefacing this with “people can and should curate their online experiences, and block whomever they see fit” etc etc

BUT. after a certain point this is just annoying??

like it’s one thing if you’re on opposite sides of the site but like.

there’s this person who has me blocked even though they 1) run in similar circles as me, 2) appear to follow or are mutuals with some of MY mutuals, and 3) appear to be mutuals with one of my irl friends???

i’ve literally never interacted with this person??

and it’s not like i can just pretend they don’t exist because it feels like i’m CONSTANTLY stumbling across them. like they made an earlier addition to a post, or someone reblogged a post from them, or tumblr says there’s more replies than it’s actually showing me.

it’s like i can only see them out of the corner of my eye but every time i try to look at them they vanish. it feels like a fucking GHOST man.

who are you?? what is your beef with me specifically when you interact with my friends??? it’s driving me insane

[maiamore]

PASS THE SALT, MR MILLER

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female!Reader - No Outbreak Rating: 18+ | W/C: 4.5k

Summary: Joel finds out the hard way that leaving a pretty girl with blue-balls isn’t the smartest.

Or, Joel fucks you in his garage.

Tags: christmas-y vibes, fucking on Joel’s car, implied age gap,unprotected p in v, grumpy!joel, lots of yearning, squirting, sexual games, brat taming, outdoor sex, creampie

A/N: merry christmas folks! tbh this is just a game of how many fics can I write that has to do with (a) joel's truck or (b) joel yearning. side note, looped Disease - Lady Gaga track on repeat while writing this oops

MASTERLIST | MAIN STORY

Holidays have never really been something you celebrated. Fuck it, your own birthday even. It just wasn’t a priority you considered worth fussing over. Admittedly, your lack of enthusiasm for these events was probably why you ended up avoiding them. You would do the most for the people you loved but never for yourself.

Take Halloween for example. Your friends from Columbia were begging you for a slutty girls' night out, but you’d opted to stay home to help chaperone your younger brother Oscar’s party. Even so far as to set everything up, you’d made sure Oscar had a shot at being the coolest damn guy in his school. Fret not, jobless big sis is there to help ya. 

Of course, it hadn’t gone unrewarded, to put it loosely. All that really happened was some broody hot middle-aged dad jerking off in front of your face. Nothing out of the ordinary.

You found yourself staring at the pale green piece of paper your younger brother, Oscar,  handed you when he came home from school that evening. Eyeing the morbidly cliche design that screamed of some bored old receptionists' handiwork, you tilt it to get a better read.

Oak Ridge High School Annual Christmas Potluck.

Great. Another one. You were often the stand-in for his PTA Meetings in place of your ever so busy parents. While you had your fun with the free buffets and whatnot, you were getting tired of people asking how old you were when you “had” Oscar. 

*Calling all Parent Volunteers. Please Contact Joel Miller at +1 (512) 555 XXX for details. 

Now that got your attention.

Joel Miller. The man who, after that night, weaseled his way into your glorious collection of mental spank bank. Evident in the plethora of stolen nudie mags your mom stashed underneath her mattress—you’d gone as far to dog-ear pages of men who had the slightest resemblance to him. 

You couldn’t get him out of your mind. By him, his dick. All eight fuckin’ inches of pent-up old man dick. 

The desperation in the way he thumbed his slit, coaxing his milky cum into your waiting mouth in your bedroom flashed in your mind like post-traumatic-sex-disorder. You were robbed of a good fuck.

The beeps of your dial-pad echoed embarrassingly loud while you dialled the number on the flyer before fully seeing the idiocy in this move. The line connects after a few rings. 

“Miller. Who’s callin’?”

A shudder runs down your spine. His voice hit you like a freight train, low and gravelly, cutting through the faint clatter of what sounded like construction work on the other end.

Fuck. Fuck fuck. Hang up. Hang–

“Hi.” You blurt out, forcing a higher register in your voice in a desperate attempt to disguise yourself. “I’d like to register. For the Christmas…thing.” There was a pause, followed by the clunk of something heavy and the sound of boots against a hard floor. 

“Right. You’re the parent of…?” 

You clutched your phone tighter when Joel’s voice rang clearer than ever, throat dry as you scrambled to speak. “Oscar.”

He repeats your last name when you offer it, slow and deliberate, like he was trying to place it–a flicker of recognition almost.

“Alright then,” he finally says, the faintest edge of suspicion still lingering.

 “Guess I’ll see ya there.”

—

Impulsiveness was something that fucked Joel over most times. 

Messing around with someone he’d consider uncomfortably closer to his daughter's age than his own settled within him like poison. 

It’d been two whole months since the incident at halloween and he was still hung up over you. He was certain that a pretty girl like you had far better prospects than a washed up crotchety shit like him. 

You plagued his mind every time his fist wrapped around his cock. Every time he’d tried to fuck the stress of working long hours of grunt work at the site. Your soft and sweet expression offered him instantaneous, sticky reprieve. 

Guilt, or something he should’ve been feeling over using your face as masturbation material didn’t quite blare the alarms in his head through post-nut clarities. 

He knew he had fucked up the second he had you on your knees that night. 

You parked your sedan in front of a navy chevrolet in the driveway. Hopping out of the car as you looked up at the quaint home, clean white siding, neatly trimmed lawn. 

You figured by the bustling noise from the backyard that a volunteer offered up their home and all. Generous, you thought. And then you catch it. The worn down navy mailbox that sprawled the letters–

M I L L E R

The swirl that was now your mind dragged painful throbs in your head. To be in his own backyard felt stalker-ish even for you. 

With a weary exhale, you click open the boot of your car. Worrying had to come later, you had to formulate a game plan for the boxes of fairy lights you somehow had to haul into Joel’s backyard.

With a heaving effort, you propped up two boxes into your arms when the shuffle of footsteps catches your attention, coming from beside the opening garage. 

“Hey! Sorry, could use a little help...” You call out instinctively. 

Only managing to catch a glimpse of a hand bracing against the rickety garage door to shove it all the way up with a loud metallic clang. 

The sound startles you, but not as much as the sight when one of the boxes lifts from your hold, revealing your apparent savior.

The both of you pause, staring at each other in slight shock. Well–for him at least. You had ulterior motives that came delivered to you all wrapped up in worn-out denim.

Joel’s expression was less than welcoming, which in his defense—he wasn’t quite expecting to see his ghost in his own yard. 

“What are you doin’ here?”

The curtness of his voice throws you, but it’s too late to think of turning tail and driving off.

“I’m…one of the volunteers.”

“Sweetheart,” Joel begins, lifting the last box out of your arms like they weighed nothing. “You signin’ up under your mama’s name just to come sniffin’ round’ me? That it?”

“What? No. She couldn’t make it,” you shoot back, a little too quick, a little too defensive. Joel wasn’t buying it, his unimpressed stare making you shift on your feet.

“Uh-huh,” he mutters, already stepping over to your car. With a grunt, he hefted another box from your trunk, the effort drawing a low sound from his chest. 

The bitterness (and arousal) pools in your mouth at the noise he makes. 

Yes. You’d admit. You sniffed out Joel’s trail like some stray, chasing after the smallest crumb of him. It wasn’t irrational for you to think that you deserved some sort of closure. 

His voice cuts clean through your spiraling thoughts. “If you’re expectin’ somethin’, you best stop right there. I ain’t messin’ around.” You grimaced, fumbling for words. 

“I’m just here to help—” 

“S’enough outta you. Stay out of trouble.” He interrupts, not quite looking at you. 

Joel wills himself to flick his gaze anywhere but at you, one look at your face was enough to remind him of the fact, one look was probably enough to pop a damn boner. He sets the boxes down by the patio, knees cracking as he stretches back up with a grunt.

“Get someone to hang ‘em up. ‘Cause clearly,” he says, eyeing your sweater and skirt, “you ain’t dressed to actually help.”

He gives you a short, dismissive nod before turning away, leaving you standing there. Warmth pools your cheeks, feeling foolish to have gone this far for the attention of a man who made it clear that he didn’t seem to give a fuck whether you were here or not.

—

Joel spends the better half of the afternoon hovering around you. 

Approaching you normally was out of the question now that Sarah and the other kids began to flitter into his backyard to help with preparation. His daughter’s presence acted like a highly effective cock-block–not that he had any business entertaining those kinds of thoughts in the first place.

At least, that’s what he told himself.

Risky didn’t begin to describe it, so he kept his distance. That resolve went straight out the window when he spotted you, half-balanced on a ladder, hanging Christmas lights along the edge of his roof. Candy cane printed panties peeking out from under your skirt–god almighty, Joel nearly doubled over.

You could feel Joel's eyes on you while attempting to hang the lights over the siding. Purposefully going against what he said, purposefully giving everyone a goddamn show. 

"You ever learn how to listen?" 

“I can do it myself.” You shot back. Coyly soothing the back of your skirt. A proper fuck you to him at his insinuation that you’d been here just to man-trap him. Not that the notion did much. 

You felt the ladder steady with Joel’s hold. Effectively blocking everyone else from seeing what you were flaunting. 

"For the love of christ, darlin’, get down." 

“For the love of christ, I’m almost fuckin’ done.” You parroted his words back to him with an annoyed huff. It was hard not to let Joel infiltrate your mind but lack of his attention was eating you up–making you do crazy things, evidently.

With a satisfied huff at the placements, you brought your hands down. Why did that feel heavy?

A sharp crackle and metallic clatter fills the air, the chains of lights came tumbling down. You froze. Lowering your gaze to see the single goddamn twine snagged onto your sweater that you’d effectively yanked down with you. 

The bulbs burst into chaotic pops as they hit the ground, shards of glass scattering like tiny fireworks across the patio.

Joel doesn’t hesitate, his hands found your waist as he lifted you off the ladder and set you firmly on the ground to safety with a grunt, his eyes snaps to the shards of glass glinting in the light and the fresh scratches marring his freshly varnished patio.

"You gotta be shittin' me..." He mutters, the irritation sharp in his drawl.  

“Mr Miller…”

Joel held up his palm as a sign to get you to be quiet so he could speak. Damn if you calling him Mr Miller now of all times didn’t make him want to haul your ass up to his bedroom. Which he might add, seemed conveniently close.

He closes his eyes for a few seconds, pinching the bridge of his nose. "D’you think before you do anythin’ at all? Or do you just act on impulse?" He asked in a sharp and biting tone, looking directly at you as he spoke.

You cock your brow at his words. Surely he wasn’t seriously reacting this way to a couple of broken lights. To mention, your lights.

“What? Think about being a decent person to help?”

"A decent person would've listened the first time when I told you to leave it the hell alone," he snapped, stepping closer. "A decent person wouldn’t have shot me attitude n’ thrown a damn temper tantrum when I told you to get down."  

“What are you getting so bent out of shape for?”

“For starters, you wrecked my patio, darlin’.” He grumbles. Rubbing the back of his neck in the slightest amount of awareness that he’d overreacted, though he’d rather chew rocks than admit it. 

You don’t answer him. But your pouty-ness showed in the way you stomped over to get the broom that lay in the corner. He watches you regardless, arms folded taut.

“Goddamned train-wreck.” He mutters under his breath after a long pause, not even giving you the chance to let an apology leave your lips before he turns his heel to leave.

—

You didn’t take it well when people spoke to you like you were stupid. 

An Ivy League degree hung the walls of your room for fucks sake. Who the hell did Joel think he was? As if that wasn’t humiliating enough, you’d tucked your tail between your legs to sweep it all up without a word. The embers that lay dormant were further fanned as time passed. You were pissed.

Joel, on the other hand, begins to feel guilt at the way he’d reacted. Even in the corner of his eyes, he sees you helping set up with the rest of the parents. It wasn’t the behaviour of some reckless nympho he imagined you to be when you stepped foot into his yard. 

You didn’t have to stand there to stand under the sun in the unforgiving Texas heat, refilling lemonade for the parent’s committee. Entertaining Sarah and the rest of the kids. Turning his backyard into a damned Christmas Wonderland.

You were a good girl, he figures after a long while of brooding.

And he tries. He tries to approach you to apologize but you didn’t seem to be having it. Going out of your way to swerve at the slightest sight of him near you. Which he gets.

You were over it, really. Chalked it up to his personality being generally the way it was. But what really helped you get over your humiliation? Seeing Joel Miller fucking grovel. 

Which you were acutely aware of with the way he lingered around you, waiting for an opening that you deprived of him.

—

The skies grew to a dusky violet, the backyard gently lit up with the soft twinkle of the fairy lights you’d painstakingly hung up (and re-hung). Lull of familiar Christmas classics playing by the speakers. 

The warmth of the chatter and laughter surrounding the table tugged at your edges, coaxing a reluctant smile to your lips. You weren’t ready to admit it, but the festive mood was infectious.

You sat near the end of the committee’s table, the seat next to you conspicuously empty. The kids–Oscar, Sarah, and their friends were huddled at their own table. You briefly wondered if you should join them instead, given that the current hot topic at your table being mortgage rates.

The thud of a melamine crystal glass landing next to your plate broke your train of thought. You flick your gaze up, your expression hardening the moment you caught sight of Joel dragging the empty chair over next to you and lowering himself into it with a creak.

Without a word, he slides the glass closer to you, taking a sip from his own. His movements were deliberate, careful, like a man trying not to step on a landmine.

Joel wasn’t quite well-versed in apologies, as evident by Sarah’s constant reminders that one of these days he was going to piss a woman he actually fancied. His hand stretches over your lap, unfurling the napkin on the other side of you to drape it over your lap. 

“Could you pass over the salt, sweetheart?” 

You tilt your head, arching a brow, not moving a muscle. Instead, you shot him a pointed look.

With a heavy sigh and a muttered curse under his breath, Joel stands up, his knees popping audibly as he leaned across the table to grab the salt himself. He slumps back into his chair, setting it down with a huff. How could a little thing like you hold so much anger?

“Done torturin’ me yet?” 

A scoff leaves your lips. 

“Who said I was?” 

“I’m tryin’ to apologise, sweetheart.” You shudder at the manner he whispers the words out. As though it was a secret reserved for just you and him. 

You rest your cheeks on your palms, shooting him an uninterested look. His eyes darts down to your plate that you were pushing to him. Joel doesn’t hesitate, reaching over and starts loading your plate up again with generous portions of the dishes spread across the table. The sight of him doing so, quiet and almost reverent, made your chest sing.

Oh this. This you could get used to.

For the next twenty minutes, you’d milked Joel’s newfound contrition for all it was worth. Needed a refill? Joel was already reaching for your glass. Running low on napkins? He was up and grabbing a fresh one before you even asked. You’d even braced yourself for him to snap when you made a fuss over your creaky chair, but to your delight, he stood up and swapped it out without so much as a grumble.

Unfortunately for you, your luck runs out.

The flutter of your napkin onto the makeshift mat spread across the lawn catches his attention, his eyes darting to the rogue square of fabric before slowly flicking back up to meet your gaze. You leaned back in your chair, looking at him expectantly, lips quirking just enough to toe the line between innocent and insufferable.

Joel’s jaw twitches.

“Fuckin’ pick it up on your own, sweetheart.” his voice was laced with just enough irritation to make your smirk widen. Still, you couldn’t resist one last little prod.

Your legs shifted, one crossing over the other, the toe of your shoe brushing lightly against the denim of his jeans. His eyes darted down to the motion before snapping back up, a muscle in his jaw tightening.

“Didn’t you say you wanted to apologise?” 

Joel leaned back in his chair, arms crossing over his broad chest as he gave you a look that sent a shiver down your spine. “Think I settled my debts, crackles.”

You roll your eyes at his taunt, the warning laced in it only served to burn in your gut like uncontrollable lust. You felt yourself grow bored now that he’d ruthlessly cut you off from your only source of entertainment. 

The thrill begins to wane, you’d grown impatient at Joel’s lack of well, giving in. Though the idea, a possibly stupid one, that you might’ve needed to give him a little push crosses your mind. 

With a deliberate stretch, you rose from your seat, leaning over the table to reach for the salt shaker resting comfortably on Joel’s side with a hand placed on his thigh. It was perfectly positioned for him to hand it over to you–if you’d bothered to ask. But that wasn’t the point.

For a moment, he didn’t move. Didn’t speak. His jaw clenched so tight you could see the faint tick of his pulse. Slowly, you eased back into your seat, dragging your fingers in a slow deliberate curve as you went.

The sharp grip of his hand on your wrist came next, firm enough to make you gasp. Joel’s dark eyes locked on yours, his nostrils flaring as he tried to keep whatever storm was brewing behind them at bay.

You pressed your tongue against your cheek, a smirk tugging at the corner of your lips. He’d taken the bait all right. The unmistakable rise against where your hand was placed told you what you needed to know. Hook, line, and sinker.

It doesn’t quite matter to him whether you’d forgiven him anymore. 

With a sharp tug, Joel pulls you up with him. “S’cuse me. This one isn’t feeling too well.” 

The protest dies in your throat when Joel practically hauls you across his yard, away from the nosy glances from the rest of the parents. 

You frown at the dusty old garage he leads you to up front where you’d parked your car. A hand comes up the back of your head to force you to duck underneath the half opened door, cringing at the loud sound it draws. 

You tip your head up to watch Joel grab the edge of the half-opened garage door to full slam it down shut.

Fuck. You felt your cunt clench with the way his sleeves tighten around his forearms, wetting your lips subconsciously at the sight.

“This where you murder me, Mr Miller?”

His jaw ticks at that. There it was again. Mr Miller.

“Shut up.”

You mouthed the words wow as you looked to the side. As though there was a camera you were monologuing to. Joel approaches you tentatively. Backing you up until you feel sturdy metal stop your path. 

A firm slam against the hood causes you to jolt. 

“You’re fuckin’ with me.” He begins. Shifting closer until he had you snug against him and the truck. “You’ve been fuckin’ with me.”

You tilt your head up. Neck stretched uncomfortably to its limit. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Joel sighs. Looking towards the side, as though he might back off and run away again. 

“This ain’t right.”

You frown. Why was he getting cold feet now? You gaze darts to the side, following his line of vision. A frilly pink bicycle parked in the midst of the dusty old boxes stacked up against concrete walls. Some labelled with years of mementos of his daughter growing up. 

Joel groans when he feels a much smaller, soft hand cup against the growing strain on his jeans. “Judging by this, I think you’re full of shit.”

His restraint teeters on the edge. “Don’t.” He grasps around your wrists to stop you, though, he half asses it, barely with the amount of strength he could’ve used if he’d really wanted you to stop.  

You palm against his erection, feeling it quickly harden beneath. You suck in your breath at the way his brows furrowed in concentration, the slight twitch of his lips. A whimper leaves your lips at how receptive he’d been to your touch. 

“You’re trouble.” He manages. Finally meeting your gaze. You can tell he’s conflicted, but the way you cupped around his balls through the denim has him keeling over with a rough exhale. 

He finally gathers enough strength in him to force your hand away from his cock. Just as you were about to whine about it, he flips you over. You steady your palms against the hood of his truck. 

“Gotta be quiet. You understand me?” You nod quickly. Not daring to speak considering how his voice already echoed in the garage even at its softest.

Your elbows move to rest against the dirtied metal. Folding it so you could comfortably rest your head on it. 

Joel lets out a low whistle at the way you bend your hips. Hiking your skirt up slowly. “Fuckin’ hell sweetheart.” He mutters. Thumb swiping against the growing dampness of your panties. 

A dull noise from his zipper is the only other thing you hear when you feel him grind his clothed cock against you. 

“Mr Miller—please.” You breathed out. Your thighs tenses, wiggling your hips higher to relieve the ache you felt. Feeling his hardness prod against your folds. 

Joel sighs softly, thumbing against your clit before you curl into yourself. “Don’t need it.” You breathe out quickly. There’s a pause in his movements before you feel a thumb hook around the waistband of your panties. Dragging it down to your ankles. 

The sound Joel makes at the sight of your slick stringing down the gusset of it makes him wince out audibly. Two fingers gather the slick of your folds, messily dragging it up and down your clit in a repeated notion. His fingers dipping in and out of you with a squelch. You groan out. Hips stuttering at the sensation. 

“Hurry.” You urged.

You feel his other palm carefully twirl around the back of your hair. The breath knocks out of you when he heaves you backwards into his chest with a sharp tug. Fingertips entwined with your locks.

“Been patient with ya all fuckin’ day and ya think you got the right t’rush me now?”

Tears threaten to prick in the corners of your eyes at his tone. You grip around his wrist where he holds your hair. “…hurts” , you whisper, guiding his other hand back to your clit, “..here.”

Joel swallows thickly. He clenched his jaw so damn tight you audibly heard just how hard he ground them. How could he deprive you further when you were begging so sweetly? 

He shucks his jeans down further, guiding his twitching cock out from his boxers. A drawn out groan leaves your lips when he nudges the head of his cock against your soaking pussy. Your moan echoes loudly into the space around you both. 

He growls into your ears. Before you could apologise, your voice gets muffled around the heavy palm that comes to cover your mouth. You whine against it. “Told t’be fuckin’ quiet.” He grits, voice hushed against the side of your head. 

Your eyes nearly roll back at the way he begins to thrust into you with the tip in an effort to get you used to his size. But it didn’t matter. The way his cockhead stretched your pussy out stung. But it was quickly replaced by the nauseating need to be fucked full. 

Joel leans down to trace kisses up your neck before he fully sheathes himself into you. The muffle around your mouth grows tighter to suppress the loud moan. “Shh shh…you’ve got it.” He praises, breathing heavily into your ears. 

The tears trickle directly over his knuckles. He releases the grip he had on your hair, looping around your abdomen. Snapping his hips into you at a punishing pace. You babble incoherently, practically slobbering into his palms, whining about how deep his cock was pounding into you. 

The obscene slaps of where the two of you connected fills the garage, only spurring his need to fill you deep with his come. 

Joel lets out a groan when you clench around his dick like vice. “Fuck. Pussy’s chokin’ me.” His head drops to the dip of your neck. Pressing kisses onto your pulse point. 

“Don’t think I can last much longer.” He admits, dragging his hand–slick with your saliva down to your throat. His head flush against your shoulder blade. He takes a moment to breathe you in. Joel isn’t quite the man he used to be and coming this embarrassingly fast wasn’t on his docket. Least of all tonight. 

You squirm a little at the sensation of Joel’s stubble against your shoulder. A deep exhale leaving your lips. 

“M…me too..” You pant out heavily. Resting your head back against his chest. Joel’s free hand slides underneath your sweater, yanking your bra down. 

A rough palm kneads the softness, tweaking your hardened nipples in a circular motion. “Shit. Mr—…Miller.” You manage. Squirming at how his palm gropes your tits clumsily. You give yourself the final push you needed, your fingers coming down to rub against your clit. 

Joel’s hips stutter at the sensation of your pussy convulsing around his cock, following your orgasm soon after. But he doesn’t stop. He fucks you through it. Both his hands firm around your hips. 

Your hands hastily come up to grab around his wrists. “Wait—stop—…stop.” You gasp out. Joel doesn’t quite register your pleas with how his mind was whirring around wanting to fuck his come deep into you until he feels a warm splatter of your release trickle down his thighs. 

Your bated breaths fill the garage. Mortified, you watch the liquid drip from the radiator grill of Joel’s truck. 

“I’ll be damned.” He muses, earning a warning look from you. Joel shakes his head, a low rumble from his chest makes you feel a little less embarrassed about squirting onto his truck. He turns you around to press a kiss onto the apple of your cheeks. 

“Been meanin’ to get er’ washed. Guess I don’t gotta anymore.”

[djarins-cyare]

(Angsty) WIP Weekend

Thank you to the following lovelies for tagging me in various WIP posts over the past month (you are all wonderful 💚):

@ace-turned-confused @almostfoxglove @quinnnfabrgay-writes

@secretelephanttattoo @the-blind-assassin-12 @the-mandawhor1an

Once again, I’m humbly offering up a snippet because I’m still eyeball-deep in the writing stage of my (now several months late) Secret Relationship fic for the Roll-A-Trope Writing Challenge. It now stands at just over 57k words, but I swear I only have two more chapters to write. Happily, I have a whole 3 weeks off work over the holidays, so I’m aiming to release it next month.

I won’t bore you with why I had to expand it again, but let’s just say angst fans will be well-fed.

In fact, since my previous WIP offerings from this fic (see here, here, and here) have mostly been smut-adjacent, I’ve decided to give you a taste of the angst for a change…

(Sorry it’s shorter than my usual snippets; it’s tough to find a decent chunk I can share without spoiling anything)

You fight for a week. Each day, he comes over, imploring you to calm down, eat something, see his point of view. He tries every tactic – soft words, hard orders, pleading eyes – but every attempt only feels like salt in a wound that will never close. Each day, you hurl back insults, curses, and even whatever objects are within reach. A glass shatters against the wall near his head. A boot catches him in the gut. You hope each impact carries a fraction of the pain he’s inflicted on you. You scream a lot. You scream until your throat is raw and you taste blood. Sometimes, your screams are molten with fury, blistering the air. Other times, they collapse into broken, keening wails, your voice trembling with the weight of all the misery you can’t contain. You cry a lot. You cry until there’s nothing left – until the tears burn instead of soothe. The memories torture you whenever your eyes close, echoes of your dreams being torn apart in a single evening. With every tear you try to blink away, your losses replay on the back of your eyelids with excruciating clarity. Your body can’t handle the strain. Your hands tremble constantly, whether from exhaustion or rage, you no longer know. Your chest feels tight; every breath is an effort. Sleep offers no relief; it’s a battlefield of nightmares that leave you thrashing and gasping awake. Yet you don’t stop fighting. You can’t stop. It’s the only shield against the endless void threatening to swallow you whole. Fighting is all you have left now.

The high level of angst will be balanced by an equally high level of smut, don’t worry 😏. But the good stuff needs to be earned.

As usual, if you’d like me to tag you when I release the chapters, please raise your hand or communicate your wish however you see fit. You can also join my tag list if you like.

Apparently, Tumblr is now limiting the number of links per post, which includes tags 😡. Since my WIP posts aren’t particularly frequent, I always try to tag as many people as possible, so I guess I’ll just put them in a reblog…

[makeitmingi]

Cause Baby You’re My Muse [Chapter 9]

Genre: Romance, Idol!AU, Music, Slight angst

Pairing: Mingi x Reader (y/n)

Characters: Producer!Reader, IdolLyricist!Mingi, IdolProducer!Hongjoong, Idol!Seonghwa, Idol!Yunho, Idol!Wooyoung, Idol!San, Idol!Yeosang, Idol!Jongho, cameo(s) by other celebrities

Summary: You always preferred producing underground, having an unknown face and governed by your own rules. But when you start freelancing for idol groups, you say goodbye to your lone wolf lifestyle as you learn to work with idol producers and lyricists.

Word count: 3.1K

“Wooyoung, come on, we need to go cook. Before Seonghwa scolds us. And I don’t want to be a part of the washing up crew.” You patted his arm. He whined, tightening his hold on you. You continued to squirm to try and annoy him into letting you go.

“Fine.” Wooyoung surprised you by kissing the side of your face, the small spot of skin that the mask didn’t cover on the side. You blinked in shock, holding the spot where he had kissed.

“Y-Yah, Wooyoung. You can’t do that!” Yunho, who witnessed the whole thing, yelled. Wooyoung shrugged and held your hand to bring you to the kitchen. 

“We’re here.” Wooyoung said to Seonghwa and Mingi, who were taking ingredients out. 

“Let me help season the meat before we grill it.” You shocked them by suddenly removing your hoodie. Mingi and Wooyoung looked away while Seonghwa naturally came over to hold your inner shirt down for you.

“Thanks.” You laughed, going to put your hoodie aside, leaving you in a plain shirt and jeans. After that, you washed your hands thoroughly. 

“What?” You asked Mingi, who was staring at you.

“N-Nothing.” He blushed and cleared his throat. From what you watched on Ateez shows, the boys didn’t really seem like good cooks, except Wooyoung, who had an interest in cooking. Luckily the people you were with were the most decent cooks out of the bunch. You seasoned the steaks and chicken with salt, pepper and olive oil. 

“What else should we make? We bought a lot of food from the store and the managers stocked some staples in the cupboard.” Seonghwa asked you.

“Since we’re having grilled meats and sausages, I can made some sort of pasta, roast vegetables in the oven and prawn cocktail.” You said as you looked over the ingredients.

“Alright. You’re the head chef. Just tell us what to do.” He laughed. You requested for him to grill the meats since you were not confident in grilling. Wooyoung tagged along with the oldest, leaving you with Mingi. 

“I guess it’s just us, Mings.” You laughed.

“Mings?” 

“Sorry, I meant Mingi.” You shook your head as you corrected yourself. 

“No, it’s okay. I like it.” Mingi smiled. You met his smile before the two of you burst out laughing. Even if Mingi wasn’t a good cook, he followed your instructions well. 

“I’ll do it. Just pour.” He rolled his sleeves up. You drizzled more olive oil, salt, pepper and some herbs into the bowl with the cut up vegetables. 

“I toss it now?” He asked. You nodded and he got his hands in there, tossing the vegetables and making sure they were all coated well. You started baking the potatoes and pumpkin first.

“They take longer to cook so we’ll start them off. After 15 minutes, we’ll add the carrots and onions, then wait another 10 minutes before we add the remaining vegetables like the asparagus.” You explained to him. Mingi’s mouth formed an ‘o’ as he understood your logic. 

“What pasta do you guys like?” You asked as you sliced the mushrooms. 

“Honestly, we eat anything. The common favourite food of ours is meat. The thing we’re most picky on is vegetables but I think you know that.” Mingi laughed sheepishly. 

“I do.” You giggled. He took over slicing the mushrooms for you while you sliced the garlic for the pasta. 

“How much pasta do you think we will need?” You held up the packs.

“Two, at least... No, two and a half.” Mingi said. You put the three packs of pasta on the counter, ready for when the water came to a boil. A nice silence fell over the two of you, only soft hip hop music playing in the background. 

“How have you been? We haven’t got a chance to go out again after that night.” Mingi broke the silence first.

“Busy. A lot of companies are outsourcing their producing for their groups’ comebacks now. I guess because it is more competitive with so many new groups emerging.” You shrugged.

“I hope you aren’t overworking...” Mingi said softly. 

“Don’t worry, Mings. I’m not.” You giggled. You sliced the cherry tomatoes in half to put in the pasta. While you handled the cooking of the pasta, Mingi boiled the prawns for the prawn cocktail. He sat on the counter to peel the prawns once they were cooked and cooled. You tossed garlic and oil in the pan before throwing in the mushrooms and halved tomatoes. 

“Something smells so good~” Hongjoong and Yeosang came out. You stirred the ingredients before lifting a strand of pasta up from the boiling water to test the doneness. 

“Indigo, want to come live with us? You can cook for us.” Hongjoong asked.

“No thanks. I’ll stick to producing.” You scoffed. Once the pasta was cooked enough, you put it in the frying pan and tossed everything together. 

There was actually so much pasta to cook, you had to cook two pans just to be able to fit everything into the pan. 

“Help me put some salt and pepper. Just sprinkle it around.” You said. Yeosang did a few pinches of salt and cracked the pepper grinder around. After a final taste, you turned the flame off.

“What else is there to do?” Jongho asked.

“I’m gonna try and make cocktail sauce or some sort of sauce with what we have. To eat with the prawns.” You looked through the cupboards. 

“Hmm, let’s see.” The boys all gathered around you as they watched you make the sauce. You mixed ketchup, gochujang, rice vinegar and chopped garlic together. Yunho helped you mix the bowl. 

“It needs something...” You said after tasting. You squeezed some lemon inside and added some plum syrup for sweetness. After that, you nodded in approval. Yunho copied you, dipping his finger into the sauce for a taste. Then all the boys did the same. 

“Mmmm!” They all nodded happily at the taste. Dinner was done. Mingi pulled the tray of roasted vegetables out of the oven. Wooyoung and Seonghwa brought the meats in. They were in awe of the food that was prepared.

“Everyone grab a plate.” Hongjoong said. The boys insisted you sit at the head of the table while they sat on either side of you. You wore your cap low so you could eat. 

“Thank you for the food!” They chimed.

“It looks so good. Indigo, you’re amazing.” San said. 

“I had great help.” You waved him off. They all dug in. Although you couldn’t see them with your head lowered, the sighs of happiness and slurps were an indication that they liked the food.

“Never thought vegetables could taste so good. They’re nice and sweet.” Wooyoung commented, making you laugh. 

“I like the pasta. It’s so good.” Seonghwa complimented. 

“I learnt a lot of small useful tips from Indigo when cooking with her.” Mingi said. You felt your cheeks heat up, you weren’t used to all these compliments from so many people. 

“Honestly, Mingi is the trooper. He sacrificed his fingers and peeled all those prawns on his own.” You said. When the dinner was over and all the food was demolished, the cooking team relaxed on the couch while the others cleaned up. Although, from the sound of it, it seemed like there was some sort of deal going on between the remaining members.

“Alright, San hyung and I are on breakfast duty so the rest are cleaning.” Jongho declared as the two sat down with the rest of you. 

You sat down to let the food digest for a bit before going to shower. You were starting to get uncomfortable with the smell of cooking fumes on you. Thankfully you had your own shower. 

“Hyung! I’m supposed to go first!” 

“Why can’t we just shower together?!” 

“You know I hate that!” You laughed as you heard Jongho and Wooyoung bickering for one of the bathrooms outside. Picking up a clean mask, you wore it and emerged from your room. 

“Whoever needs to can use my bathroom. I’ve finished showering and am fine with it.” You said to no one in particular. 

“Are you sure?” Seonghwa asked. 

“If I wasn’t sure, I wouldn’t have offered.” You raised an eyebrow. The oldest two took turns to use your bathroom since the queue for two shared bathrooms were way too long. You sat on your bed, hair in a messy bun. 

“Ugh, peace and quiet here.” Hongjoong fell onto the bed the moment he came out. It was quiet unbelieveable how polite, shy and cautious he was around you when he first met you. Now, he was boldly laying on your bed, not that you minded anyway. You snorted, ignoring him as you continued looking at some stuff on your laptop. 

“Seonghwa, Hongjoong’s out of the bathroom.” You informed, poking your head out. Seonghwa came in with his shower stuff a few minutes later. He hit Hongjoong’s butt. 

“Yah, don’t sleep on her bed.” Seonghwa scolded. Hongjoong mumbled something incoherent, which neither you nor Seonghwa could make out.

“What?” Seonghwa laughed.

“I’m not gonna sleep here. I just want some peace and quiet away from the chaos.” Hongjoong repeated. Seonghwa scoffed and rolled his eyes before going to the bathroom to have his shower.

“Are you working on things already?” Hongjoon asked you, hauling his body closer so he could lean over to see your screen. 

“Just thinking about what I can work on with all of you.” You replied.

“Ah, work tomorrow. It’s only a few more hours until you have the whole day.” Hongjoong patted your knee. 

“This isn’t work. Don’t nag at me all the time.” You tapped the top of his head, making him look up at you with a glare. You giggled playfully while he rested his head on top of your knee, facing away from you, deciding to scroll on his phone. Distracted by the device, he didn’t bother you anymore. 

Hongjoong couldn’t see your face but you were deep in thought, thinking about how Haneul would love all the boys. She would think that they’re so cool and funny. You can just imagine her face. 

“Move.” Seonghwa shoved Hongjoong’s legs aside dove onto the remaining space at the foot of the bed. Luckily you had a queen sized bed. 

“I thought you told me not to sleep here.” Hongjoong scoffed.

“Yes but I need some peace and quiet too.” Seonghwa rolled his eyes. You felt like a kid sitting with her parents in bed while they bantered. After that, they just laid there in silence, which was what they wanted. 

“Kick us out when you’re tired and want to sleep. We’ll leave.” Hongjoong said to you, reaching to the back to pat your leg with his hand.

“Please, if you say that, that means we’ll be here until sunrise. She doesn’t sleep.” Seonghwa replied.

“Hey! I do sleep!” You protested. The two actually lifted their heads to give you looks. 

“Just not at the same time as you.” You added, sticking your tongue out at them. After a while, with Hongjoong starting to fall asleep, Seonghwa guided him out o the room. 

“Goodnight.” You wished each other before closing your room door. Checking the time, you knew you should go to sleep if you were going to wake up in the morning. But as you laid on the bed, you found it hard to fall asleep. Maybe because you were not in a familiar place and this wasn’t your bed. You sighed in frustration as you sat up. 

“I need a drink.” You got up and went downstairs. It was dark so you used the flashlight from your phone to navigate to the kitchen. There wasn’t much in the fridge but you did find San’s chocolate milk. 

“Sorry, San. I’ll pay you back.” You opened the carton and drank the beverage. You leaned against the counter, scrolling on your phone.

“Ah!” Someone shouted and you jumped, immediately lifting the collar of your shirt to try and cover your face. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know you were there.” You reached for the light switch and turned on the see Mingi standing there with his hands over his eyes, like a child playing peekaboo.

“Oh, it’s just you.” You sighed.

“I-I’ll go.” He squeezed his eyes shut as he tried to blindly reach for a wall to guide himself back to where he came from. 

“It’s fine.” You didn’t care. Or rather, you were dealing with the frustration of being unable to sleep that Mingi seeing your face was the least of your problems. Especially since he has seen your face before.

“Y-You sure?” 

“Yeah. What are you doing up? Can’t sleep?” You asked, taking your previous position on the counter, leaning on your elbows. Mingi chuckled when he saw you drinking San’s chocolate milk. He nodded in reply to your question, sliding onto the bar stool across you. You turned to the fridge to get him a drink. He took one of Wooyoung’s strawberry juices.

“What about you? Can’t sleep too?” Mingi asked back. He was trying his best to keep this conversation normal and not as if you were openly revealing your face to him. 

“Mhmm, I think it’s an unfamiliar surrounding... Or maybe I just have a lot on my mind.” You shrugged. 

“Want to move to the terrace to sit? Just like our late night coffee runs.” Mingi suggested. You liked the sound of that, so you agreed. 

“Careful.” Mingi brushed the seat before you sat down. It was dark so your face was more hidden but Mingi thought it would make you more comfortable around him, knowing that he couldn’t really see you.

“Is it the work that’s bothering you?” Mingi asked. You hummed in contemplation for a while.

“No. I think work is the only thing that’s keeping me going now. And being with you guys just makes work that much more enjoyable.” You replied. 

“What about family?” You really paused at Mingi’s mention of family. How much were you willing to tell him now? Things that no one else has ever known before. Even the ‘friends’ you had, didn’t know about your family. 

“I’ve not spoken to my parents in years. I don’t know where they are now, how they’re doing. And to be honest, I don’t even know if they’re alive.” You replied. Mingi thought for a while on how to proceed, mentally scolding himself for touching such a sensitive subject. 

“Sorry, that was cruel of me to say.” You corrected.

“No, it’s okay. I shouldn’t have just asked so casually.” Mingi shook his head. You looked at him, letting out a soft chuckle.

“Why not? It’s normal to, right? My parents were just never around. I started working underground and producing very young, would sneak out to work and earn money. Once I was old enough, packed up and left.” You explained. 

“Is that why you keep your identity a secret?” 

“Yeah, that’s part of the reason. I wasn’t supposed to be working so everything had to be a secret.” You said.

“Must have been hard...” Mingi couldn’t imagine, a younger you, being alone and having to work in such a harsh, critical industry. 

“But it made me the person I am today, which I am grateful for. I gained a lot of independence and my love for music hasn’t died. It only grows stronger.” You smiled with a giggle. 

“My parents let me join a dance academy because I loved to dance. That’s where I met Yunho. But sometimes I wonder if they regret letting me join it since I decided to become an idol.” Mingi confessed. 

“Why?” 

“Besides my members, my parents are the ones who saw all the hardships I’ve gone through and am still currently going through as an idol. My mum was saying the other day that maybe I wouldn’t suffer so much if I hadn’t become an idol. But I guess the reality is that every career, every life has it’s own share of harships.” Mingi shrugged.

“I agree, there’s no life without hardships. But parents feel the... need? The purpose... To protect their children from as much hardship as possible.” You tried to reason. 

“What about Dean sunbaenim?” Mingi asked.

“Oh, he’s just a friend. Honestly, Hongjoong and Seonghwa are more of my parents than my real parents, or older brothers. Hyuk and I are friends but he doesn’t know much about me, personally.” You explained. 

“I don’t mean anything insulting when I ask this or rather, I don’t know how to ask this but... doesn’t it get lonely?” 

“After so long, I think I’ve internalised it. I throw myself into work.” You said.

“But not having someone to talk to or share your bad days with... It takes a toll on someone... I can’t imagine having to just always keep it in...” Mingi frowned. You turned to him, eyes widening.

“Why are you crying?” You asked softly, reaching out to cup his cheeks and wipe his tears.

“Ah, I don’t know! Sorry.” He pulled back in embarrassment. He turned away and wiped his face with the sleeves of his sweater. 

“It’s okay. I think Ateez has helped me be more open with my emotions. I’m learning to depend on people, thanks to you guys. So I don’t have to keep everything in anymore when I have all of you.” You smiled crookedly. Mingi laughed through his crying.

“Mings, don’t cry! Really, my life isn’t that tragic.” You slapped his arm. Reaching over, you hugged him tightly. Mingi slowly put his arms around your waist to hug you back, his actions full of hesitation. 

Mingi felt you bunch the material of his sweater in your fists to keep yourself stable. You were trying not to let your emotions get the best of you. 

“We should go to bed before Hongjoong kills us for being late.” You giggled. Mingi nodded but waited for you to break the hug first. You kept your smile but your eyes were glassy.

“Please don’t tell anyone I cried.” Mingi chuckled, trying to make the atmosphere more lighthearted.

“Whatever we share here is always a secret, right?” You nudged him. He nodded, knowing you were referring to you revealing your face to him. 

“Let’s go.” You grabbed your empty milk container and threw it away. 

“Goodnight, Mings.” 

“Goodnight, Indigo.” He smiled softly, watching you disappear into your room before going to his. As he quietly slipped into his shared bed with Yunho, Mingi felt a warmth in his chest. For some reason, he found it a lot easier to fall asleep than at the start of the night. His mind was at ease and his heart wasn’t racing, he felt relaxed. 

~

Series Masterlist

[littleredwing89]

PRINCE OF GOTHAM - PART 8

PRINCE OF GOTHAM - PART 8

CEO!Jason Todd x Reader

Warnings – Language. NSFW. Smut.

A/N: Hope you all enjoy the next chapter! :) apologies for no tag list, still trying to get it working and get back into the swing of things xoxo

——

Jason looked up as you wandered into the kitchen with three bags of popcorn under your arms. He chuckled and put down the newspaper he had, “What are these for?”.

“Movie night, duh!”, you grinned and grabbed some bowls out from one of the kitchen cupboards. You emptied the salt popcorn into the plastic tub, ignoring the small frown on his face.

“Which movie?”, he sounded suspicious and rightly so. The last film you’d both tried to watch ended with you under him on your couch. Not that you were complaining about that too much.

“It's a good movie, I swear”, you winked and slipped a piece of popcorn into your mouth.

Jason made his way across to you, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, “It better not be like the last one”.

You scoffed, ignoring the blush covering the bridge of your nose, “I think you enjoyed the last one thoroughly”.

“Hmmmm”, he pretended to think, his voice dropped low, “I don't believe we ever finished that”, he dipped his head and trailed kisses up your neck.

You bit back a moan working it’s way up your throat, “We could try again if you want?”.

“Is that a smart move?”, he breathed against your flesh, enjoying the way your skin prickled against his stubble.

Sliding your hand down his front you sighed in bliss, “Mmhmm”.

Just as your fingers hit the waistband of his joggers, everything in the apartment went pitch black.

“What the-”.

You laughed and pressed your forehead into his chest, “I’m guessing that's a no from the universe then”.

Jason grumbled under his breath, tearing himself away from you and wandering across to the fuse box. He growled irritated and started flicking the red switches on and off repeatedly with no luck.

“Oh for fucks sake!”.

“It’s just a power cut”, you chuckled to yourself and stroked your hand down his spine delicately, “Relax, don’t you have any candles?”.

He sank into your touches and closed his eyes, enjoying the waves of calm you radiated into his stiff body, “I do”.

“And you never thought to use them to set the mood?”.

Jason grunted, “That’s a fire hazard…plus I don’t need candles to get you in the mood”.

You grinned, “You’re such a buzz kill!”.

He rolled his eyes and moved across the kitchen, “I think I have them here somewhere…”.

“Why don’t you go light the fireplace”, you moved him out of the way, “And I’ll sort out the candles”. You opened the cupboard next to the oven and found the candles easily. You’d spent so much time here now you knew your way around his kitchen, often finding things quicker than Jason.

———

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d actually used the fireplace. Maybe he hadn’t. He watched you potter around the living room, dotting the candles around sporadically creating a soft romantic glow.

“Maybe I should use these candles more often”, he mused, unable to take his eyes off your beautiful smile.

“I thought it was a fire hazard”, you teased.

Jason huffed out a puff of air. He didn't want to admit that seeing you smile was all he needed. Regardless of the impending fire risk.

“As long as they’re under control it’s fine”.

You giggled more and finished lighting the last few candles around the living room before heading over to the fire, “There goes our movie marathon”.

“I can think of a way to pass the time”, he winked across at you, patting the space in front of him.

“You’re insatiable”.

“Only for you”.

You sat down on the soft fur rug facing into the blazing logs, with your arms wrapped around your legs and clasped in front of your shins. Jason pulled you between his open legs and you relaxed, leaning back onto his chest. You let your head relax against his shoulder, eyes fluttering shut at the gentleness of his actions.

Jason folded his arms alongside the outside of yours, to match their bend and bring a little extra warmth to them. It was a moment of sheer bliss. His senses were filled with the citrus scent of your hair. Your shampoo bottle pressed up against his in the bathroom. His head leaned down to inhale the fragrance of your skin, and his lips kissed the intersection of your neck. Jason smiled and smoothed his touches along your shoulder. You released a long and rather languorous sigh, with just the hint of a moan floating on it. The first kiss led itself to a long, slow series replicating the first wherever his lips could reach.

“Jason…”.

You let your head and shoulders droop forward, and in doing so let the shirt's right shoulder slide slowly down your arm, bringing the neckline along. Jason leaned forward again and gently kissed the back of your neck enjoying the way you shivered, his stubble scratching you perfectly. He saw that the shirt’s; his shirt; other shoulder had fallen as well. The elegant silk cloth was now loose and slowly uncovering your strapless bra, along with the perfect curves of your breasts.

Jason’s hands still covered yours, and he lifted them up to touch your supple flesh, pulling you into him tighter. He felt a tremor somewhere inside you when both of your paired hands reached the soft skin left exposed by your lace bra.

The thrill of your hands touching your soft breasts together made him groan into the nape of your neck, hot breath fanning over your skin. You purred at the sensations. You slipped your hands out of his and pulled the bra down, letting his hands envelop your bare breasts.

Jason forgot to breathe momentarily. You melted into his touch. His hands alternated between palming your breasts and teasing your nipples with his thumb and fingers. You moaned, arching further into his hands, the sensual delights sending tremors across your whole body.

Slowly you twisted round to kneel between his legs, rising up on your knees in front of Jason. Your breasts bounced tantalisingly in front of him, tongue darting out to wet his lips. He reached around behind your back, now warm and damp from the heat of the fire, and pulled you towards him.

Gentle kisses brushed over each of your nipples before his tongue traced over the tips. You gasped, hands tugging his hair sending sparks of desire down his spine. His teeth grazed them, tugging them to hardened peaks. Jason looked up and fell under the spell of your smouldering eyes, radiant again with their own light in silhouette from the fire burning next to you. 

Rising to your feet, you reached down and quickly pulled his shirt straight over your head, tossing it aside leaving you in nothing but a pair of black lace pants. His hands had slipped up the velvet softness of the back of your thighs to pass over the lush curves of your ass, tracing the edge of the lacy fabric. Your teeth sunk into your lower lip, suppressing the obscene moan. He pressed his face forward and kissed the front of your pants, his hot mouth working over your clit.

“Jay…”, you whined low, legs shivering with pleasure.

He slid his fingers into the waistband of your panties before dragging them tortuously slow down your legs. The lace created a delicious friction against your heated skin. They dropped to your feet leaving you completely bare in front of him. The amber glow of the fire lighting your body perfectly to Jason. He knew you were stunning but this was completely different. The way the flames highlighted every inch of your curves, making you look like a goddess emerging from the flames.

Your fingers bunches in the material of his T-shirt, tugging lightly. You didn’t say anything. Jason’s arms bent behind his head as he lifted it off revealing the expanse of his solid chest.

“Lie down princess”, he kissed the insides of your thighs.

You sat down gently, Jason guiding you slowly back onto the rug. The fur felt like silk under your skin. He hovered over you, nose tracing yours before he kissed your lips. Your legs fell open, letting him settle between them perfectly. His lips curved at your reaction.

He let his hands travel the lushness of your body, followed closely with hot, opened mouthed kisses. You writhed under him, the coil tightening in the pit of your stomach. You needed him impossibly closer.

Jason’s tongue dipped into your navel before dragging down your body, settling between your wide open legs. You murmured his name repeatedly, fingers twisting into his dark locks, trying to guide him where you needed him most.

His tongue ran along your dripping slit and your thighs clamped around his head. He groaned against your pussy and pushed your legs back open, holding them there. The vibrations of his moans sent waves of pleasure through you. 

He swept his tongue through your folds several times, before wrapping his lips around your clit. You cried out and gripped his hair, tugging harshly. He smirked and flicked it, earning more beautiful whimpers.

Your hips thrashed against his mouth, aching to tip over the edge. Jason followed the spasms of your body, allowing you to chase your high. He slipped two fingers into your gushing core, feeling the wet heat instantly wrap around him. The thought of sinking his cock into you and feeling you cling desperately to him made his shaft twitch with excitement.

You released his hair when you felt the first wave of your orgasm crash. You gripped the rug behind your head and sobbed his name, your desire soaking his face. Jason didn’t let you go, coaxing you into another earth shattering climax with his tongue. Shuddering spasms wracking over you.

When he pulled his face away from your dripping core, he looked up at your slick body covered with a thin sheen. Damp from the sweat of the fire and your orgasms. Your chest heaved as you took in greedy gulps of oxygen, steadying yourself. Jason couldn’t tear his gaze away. The glare of the fire bathing you in a mystical orange glow. You looked serene.

When he made his way back up your body and kissed you deeply, it took you by surprise to feel the length of his naked body pressed into yours. He’d rid the rest of his clothes. Your hands rubbed down his back, nails dragging down his spine when you felt his cock stroke through your sopping folds. His muscles flexed and he groaned into your mouth. You could taste your arousal on his tongue as it caressed yours with a softness you weren’t used to with him. The kiss shook you.

One of his hands inched down your side, feather-light before hooking your leg around his waist. You sighed happily into the kiss, nails scraping against his scalp. Jason pushed his hips forward and sunk into you slowly, groaning huskily as your tight wet walls wrapped around his cock perfectly. 

Hearing your muffled cries against his lips encouraged him to thrust deeper, the drag of his shaft eliciting ripples of pleasure across your body.

“Fuck”, he muttered against your kiss swollen lips, his stubble prickled your cheek when he rubbed his to yours, “You feel perfect”.

Every sensation heightened the want coiling inside you. Ripping through your core and up your spine. Every touch was euphoric with hidden sensuality.

“Jason-oh!”, your voice threaded through his mind. Your desire made his cock pulse inside you.

He propped himself up with his elbow next to your face twisting with delirious passion. The silken fur brushed against his skin, it was a nice sensation, but nowhere close to how you felt under him. You lifted your hips to meet his thrusts, aching to feel him deeper. The way he caged you with his arm made your pussy flutter around him. He growled in your ear, his thumb stroking over the dip of your hip bone.

You tilted your head back, murmuring delicate praises. Without thought his lips traced the line of your throat, littering it with kisses as he drove harder into you. The moans escaping your mouth vibrated deep from your chest and Jason felt it as he kissed along your collarbone, nipping occasionally.

Like the surf crashing against the shore, your climax washed over you with the force of a tidal wave. You saw a blinding white light behind your eyelids as you sobbed his name. Nails clutching the back of his neck as you rode your high, thighs quivering around his waist.

The intensity of your orgasm and the way your core clenched around him, Jason followed you off the cliff edge falling into his own powerful end. He groaned your name deeply, his damp forehead pressed against your chest. His cock pulsed as he emptied thick, ropes of cum inside your pussy.

You stayed like that. Entwined together as the flames of the fire danced away, licking over your bodies. Occasionally kissing, fingertips stroking over one another. A type of intimacy one would share only with their lover. Nothing was said. You didn’t need to. You both felt it. It was obvious. Something had shifted. 

Jason carried you to bed that night. His strong arms lifting you into his king sized bed. When he placed you onto the luxury linen, it was the only time you were out of his embrace. The second he slipped under the sheets, he pulled you back into his chest, moulding his body around yours. You hummed happily, your hand squeezing his forearm draped over your waist. The weight of it made you feel comforted. Secure.

“G’night princess”, his voice rasped, tickling your ear before he kissed the spot behind it.

——

[serickswrites]

Bring VII

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 8 Part 9

Warnings: captivity, torture, restraints, unconsciousness, wounds

All Right Hand knew was pain. They could smell their own burnt flesh. Could taste the blood that ran down the back of their throat. And it took everything in them to keep their eyes open. 

“If you pass out, Right Hand, I’ll return my attention back to Sidekick. You don’t want that, do you?” Villain whispered in Right Hand’s ear. “You will have sacrificed yourself for nothing.”

Right Hand glanced over at Sidekick. Sidekick still hadn’t regained consciousness and Right Hand was beginning to worry that Villain had done something to Sidekick in the time they had been gone to do other chores after pouring the salt and water on Sidekick’s back. 

“I’m awake,” Right Hand hissed. But they weren’t sure for how much longer. It was taking everything in them to stay awake.

Villain grinned. “I can see that. We’ll see how long you last.” Villain scraped their finger along an open wound on Right Hand’s back. 

Right Hand squealed in pain.Villain laughed as they pushed their finger into the wound. “This could all stop, you just have to say yes.”

Right Hand couldn’t say anything. All they could think about was the burning pain and the encroaching darkness. They had to stay awake or Sidekick would face more torture. 

“No yes? Then I guess I’ll keep going.” Villain scraped another wound with their other hand. “I gave you so many chances, Right Hand.” 

Right Hand’s grip on consciousness began to fade as Villain thrust more fingers into the wounds, pulling and tearing Right Hand’s skin. Right Hand gave a silent plea for forgiveness and mercy as the darkness consumed them.

Tags: @ha-ha-one@skys-fantasy@keeper-of-all-the-random-things@a-place-to-put-poetry@subval01 @smuwfy-side-blog @friendlylandcrustacean@annablogsposts@st0rmm@freefallingup13@lit-lists@saltyontheside@pieswhump@bookworm7543@st0rmm @whump321 @kyommommo @written-by-jayy

[steviewashere]

Rating: Explicit | Genres/Tropes: Drama & Romance, Angst & Hurt/Comfort, Slowburn, Future Fic, Canon Divergence | WC: 56, 917 | Chapters: 11/11 | Chose Not to Use Archive Warnings————————————————————————————————————————Relationships: Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson, Eddie Munson & Wayne Munson, Robin Buckley & Steve Harrington, Past Steve Harrington/Original Female Character(s), Steve Harrington & Original Child Character(s) Characters: Steve Harrington, Eddie Munson, Wayne Munson, Steve Harrington's Mother, Robin Buckley, Original Female Character(s), Original Child Character(s) Tags: Cancer Diagnosis in a Secondary Character, Mentions of Past Spouse Death, Implied/Referenced Past Alcohol Abuse/Addiction, Implied/Referenced Past Drug Addiction, Parent Steve Harrington, mailman!Steve Harrington, retired rockstar!Eddie Munson, Second Chances, Getting Back Together, Middle Aged Steddie, Tender Sex, POV Alternating, Eventual Happy Ending

You are at Chapter Two! Chapter One

———————————————————————————————————————— Ding. Ding. Ding…Ding…ding, went the bell above his head. The diner is a ghost town, despite it being around dinner time. Though, part of Steve appreciated how slow and small everything seemed. Despite his world expanding, recoloring, lighting gently. 

Benny’s was never a particularly big place, even under the new ownership, there was no plan to expand it. All the tables were freed from the walls, chairs able to scrape against the floor. Yet, instead of the drab metallic grey the chairs were back in the ‘80s, the seating was race car red. A jukebox still sat across from the front entrance. Majorly overused fan by the door, dome trash cans, white lace curtains. Grease popped in the kitchen. Cooked potatoes filtering through the air, lightly salted, probably deliciously crispy.

Before he came in, he’d replaced the mail van with his own car. He also removed his jacket and hat, stored loose on the backseat, so it could be seen clearly if anybody walked by his windows. It’s not terribly unusual that he’s seen around town without his work uniform on, but tonight he feels especially bare. He would’ve dressed himself up a bit, though he supposes he doesn’t need the whole horse and carriage for rekindling whatever scraps of his friendship with Eddie remains. Just wished he appeared a little more presentable. Maybe a bit more colorful, if anything.

Still, the new owner, Cheryl—a first name was all he was given some years ago—greets him with surprise. She pops out from the kitchen and meets him at the counter. “Well if it isn’t our trusty mailman, Steve! And in his natural state, who’s the lucky lady?” she gently teases. He chuckles nervously, trying to not show the pulse of hurt that surges through him. And he must be too readable because she adds, not even a second later, “Oh, I’m just teasing you, kiddo. What can I do you for?”

“I’m ordering for here tonight, Cher,” he says in turn. “Got a friend that’s meeting me here.”

“Oooo, that’s exciting! Do I know this friend?”

Steve shrugs. “You might’a heard of him. Eddie Munson? Guess he used to be a nuisance to everybody back in the day,” he explains, smirking with it. She laughs brightly, bouncing. He sighs. “Anyway. I’ll just order some shakes first. Wait until he gets here for the food. Can I just do a strawberry shake with extra whip and a plain vanilla? Maybe throw an extra cherry on the vanilla one—only if you got it.” He reaches for his wallet, digging around in his back pocket, but she speaks before he can bring out the cash to pay.

“Sure thing, kiddo. I’ll put that on a tab for you, have you pay after you eat. Could even wave it off, since you do so much around here.”

“Don’t wanna put you out, Cher. The tab will be just fine.” Tucks his wallet back down in his pocket. And turns his head to the jukebox. She disappears to the blender, already working on the shakes. “Hey, Cher?” She just hums. “This old jukebox…does it still work?”

“You betcha! It’s not all that updated, though. But have at it!”

He steps away from the counter and busies himself with looking at the music selections. Sure enough, there’s nothing new past 1989. Which, even if Steve wanted to listen to something more recent, he wouldn’t know what to pick. He can only hope that whatever he picks is fine with Eddie.

Just as he shuffles through the songs for a second time, the bell above the door jingles again. Heavier footsteps behind him. As he goes to look over his shoulder, a waft of cigarette smoke and musky aftershave fills his nostrils. “Anything good in here?” Eddie asks behind him. His arm reaches over Steve’s right shoulder, index finger tapping on the glass window of the jukebox.

Steve gives a half-hearted shrug. “Nothing that you’d like, I’m sure,” he mutters. “Unless you don’t mind my go-to pick.“

“You invited me out here,” Eddie murmurs. He’s close to Steve’s ear. Pressed in against his back. “You’d know your way around here better than me, yeah? Whatever you want is fine with me.” His voice echoes inside of Steve’s head. Soft and raspy and something he’s ached for for way too long. Steve wants to melt into him, but forces himself to pick a song instead.

“The Promise” by When in Rome filters through the tinny speakers.

Maybe it’s a bit…on the nose, but the other handful of artists he does enjoy on this old thing are Taylor Dayne and Madonna. Not exactly Eddie’s forte, if Steve is remembering correctly. Though—How would I know about his music taste, he asks himself. They haven’t spoken to each other in nearly three decades. And he may have an inkling, but they’re off to a good enough start. He wouldn’t want to push his luck.

Steve forces himself away from the jukebox at the sound of glasses clinking on the diner’s counter. Grabs the nearly overflowing cups and guides Eddie wordlessly to a table in the back. Away from where prying eyes could spot them if someone were to walk through the front door. He sorts them out as they take their seats—Eddie on the far side, facing the entrance and Steve opposite—doling out napkins and straws.

When Eddie sidles into his seat, he makes a small surprised noise in the back of his throat. Right hand gripping the milkshake glass tight. Steve settles further, taking a mindless sip of his own shake. Strawberry sweetness exploding on his tongue, but he chokes as soon as Eddie asks, “How’d you remember this shit? Vanilla? Even the extra cherry on top?”

He slams a hand on his chest, wheezing around the swallow. With a strained voice, “I don’t know, man. It’s just something my brain latched onto, I guess.” His line of sight inches up to Eddie’s face, unaware he was even looking down at the plasticky tabletop. Met with copious bewilderment.

“You are something else,” Eddie mutters. He takes his own sip. Goes quiet and thoughtful. But nudges Steve’s shin with his foot, their eyes meeting once more. “Y’know, honestly, I’ve been trying to figure out that damn perfect oatmeal recipe you’ve got.”

“Perfect?” Steve scoffs. “You used to whine to me every time I gave you a bowl. All, ‘Ew, Stevie. I’m not a horse.’ Which, granted, you scarfed it down anyway. But still. You hated oatmeal, even if it was mine.”

Eddie rolls his eyes. Shrugs a little and looks down at his hands still wrapped around his glass. But he glances back up, a scorching softness behind his eyes. Every part of his face relaxed and open. Drinking Steve in as if they’re seeing each other for the first time. His left ankle hooks around Steve’s right. “It just…I don’t know. Maybe I just miss it,” he murmurs.

Steve hums. Runs his thumbs over the bottom of his own glass, over the textured edges, and sighs—trying adamantly to not think about the warmth radiating from Eddie’s leg. He sobers with a steadying breath. “Every morning I have a cup of coffee with way too much vanilla creamer,” he admits quietly, “I don’t even like it. It’s just straight up disgusting. Too much sugar in the morning, but it gets me awake enough for work. So I do it anyway. Maybe because I missed it, too, after you…You know.”

“Well, I’ll be back in town a while. Y’know, if you’d like to catch up.”

Something in Steve pulsed painfully raw at that. He knew, of course he knew, that Eddie wasn’t going to be here forever. But something in him hoped, even the slightest bit, that they’d have all the time in the world. Like their days could freeze over and they’d still be in this diner—sipping on infinite shakes and shooting the shit like they were still barely in their twenties.

But they’re well onto their fifties now.

Time doesn’t wait for them anymore.

“Sure,” he agrees, albeit a little hesitant while staring at his hands, “sure, Eds.” The nickname slides off his tongue easy enough, though. “Let’s get some food first and then…You can ask me anything? I’ve already ran my errands for the day. I have until”—he stops to check his watch again. It’s sluggish and behind by two whole minutes.—“I’ve got fifty minutes to entertain you. Jeopardy! is on right now and I have it recorded, but if I don’t get back home by eight, my mom will watch it without me.”

Eddie nods slowly, a small smile gracing his features. “I can do that, easy. Let me get the food, though? If I remember…” He stops to think. A dramatic hand gripping his chin, eyes squinting off into the distance, eyebrows furrowing deep down his face. Steve barely contains his snort. “…You get double fried french fries. And a cheeseburger with pickles on the side, extra mustard?”

“Ding-ding-ding!” Steve exclaims softly. “Looks like we remember more about each other than we thought.”

“Oh, you wouldn’t believe what I’ve got stored in my spacious brain, Stevie,” Eddie teases. Or…it almost sounds like flirting, if Steve zeroes more closely on it. He doesn’t, but it’s the thought that counts. “I’ll be right back,” Eddie states. And slips out of his chair before Steve can tell him about his running tab.

He watches Eddie’s back move away from him, as he rounds the corner back to the register. It’s hard to rip his eyes away from where he just moved, but Steve knows that if he doesn’t look away sooner, he’ll get himself trapped worse. He has to remind himself that Eddie is not here for dating, for romance, for second chances. There’s something else drawing him back in, making him drive through backroads, making him smoke out by his car in front of Wayne’s trailer—though, Steve swears that’s something Wayne and Eddie would’ve done together. And the very little he saw of Wayne’s face earlier, there was something familiarly terrible about it.

A reminiscent ghost from his past that Steve dares not make eye contact with longer than needed. Though, something in him stirs miserably alive—nauseous and unwelcome—the more he stews.

Steve rests his palms on the sticky tabletop, lukewarm in comparison to the ice cold outside of his milkshake glass. It grounds a part of him. Makes him draw back into reality. Eddie isn’t yours, he’s not here for you, he’s here for something else, he has to repeat. The feeling of Eddie’s fingers on his face, his weight pressed on his back, the ankle under the table…it’s all hard to ignore. Reminds him, all too much and all too well, of a time where they saw each other everyday, holding each other close on the couch, breaths mingling when they’d whisper to the other late at night—promises towards a future together, a life that they both wanted; promises that were nothing. They were just nothing; though not to Steve. Never to him.

The sound of a chain jingling makes him look back up from the table.

“We, Stevie, are set for a hot dinner of the world’s best cheeseburgers,” Eddie says boisterously, sitting back down. He’s smiling wide and shiny. An arm over the back of the chair, his body leaning to the right, an elbow on the table. There’s a certain suaveness that Steve vaguely remembers; it’s weird, yet comforting, to see it back now. To have that smile on him. Those wide, gleaming, Bambi brown eyes, too.

Fire prickles underneath him. Ready to engulf him. To damn him.

In Eddie’s orbit, he’s warm for the first time in a long while. In Eddie’s orbit, he is merely a planet circling the sun.

———————————————————————————————————————— “Can’t believe you enjoy talking to people around here,” Eddie says. There’s a little spot of ketchup in the corner of his mouth, something Steve’s getting antsy over—his fingers tingle, wanting to reach out, wanting to swipe the mess away; like he would’ve years ago, in another life. It’s endearing, though. Has been endearing the entire time he’s been rambling and raving over Steve’s little life here. “I feel like I’d get all clammed up, keep my head down and just slot the mail in, y’know?”

Steve snorts. “Oh, really? Feel like that’s a wrong observation.”

Another really endearing part of Eddie’s face has always been his eyes. How they just…light up. At anything. One point, it’d been when he realized he could bother Steve and Robin at Family Video. There was when he got a rather large crowd at the bar when he still played in town. When he received the information for a recording studio, when he began making connections, when he realized he was actually getting somewhere. Now, they light up at Steve with the faintest bit of tease, with mirth that he’s missed.

That he has missed.

“I’ve found it easier to talk to my walls over the years, man. Lost all that charisma I had.”

“Don’t think I’d call it charisma, Eds. Maybe something like…luck and coincidence?”

“Hey! You liked listening to me talk.”

That raw pulse of hurt surges back through him all over again. The same kind of rawness that’s left him gaping and lost over the last several decades. Why does so much of life have to be past tense? Why do him and Eddie have to be something to never happen again?

“I like listening to you talk right now,” Steve murmurs a moment later; a moment after he’s stuffed his mouth full of fries, trying to give his tongue something to do before he lets his hurt show. And, yet, even the distractions can’t save him from Eddie’s flash of surprise. He looks away from Eddie’s too open face, down to the face of his watch; sluggish, two minutes behind as always—“Jeopardy!’s on,” he states, “might miss it.”

“Oh,” Eddie breathes. If Steve weren’t right in front of him, he’d think it was just a nothing sound. This, though, sounded like disappointment. “Well…” he hums. “We can go, if you need to. I’ll still be at the trailer, if you ever want to”—

“Tell me about Los Angeles,” Steve interrupts, slapping his right hand down on the watch’s face. “Is it as glitz and glam that the magazines make it out to be?”

Taken aback briefly, Eddie just blinks at Steve. His head jerks, neck going frozen with the movement. Fingers rubbing against each other, sprinkling crumbs and salt back onto his plate. Those eyes curious. Those eyes…those eyes. After a confused pause, Eddie answers slowly, “I mean…it’s just a city, I guess.” He shrugs, looks away towards his food, fingers picking at the stale bun of his half-eaten burger. There’s still ketchup in the corner of his mouth. “It, uh, it’s big. Orange because the sun is almost always out. There’s these big, ugly billboards on the side of every road; no matter how major of a roadway it is. I’ve never seen the same faces twice, unless they’re my friends, but…I don’t even see”—Eddie shakes his head, silencing with a shallow breath.

Tension holds tight to Eddie’s shoulders, Steve notices. The way they hike to his ears, his head hanging low. There isn’t enough hair to cover his face, though. So Steve can see him contemplate, get all…distanced and something close to mournful.

“Los Angeles isn’t for everybody, let’s just say that. And, if I’m being honest, I kinda hate it out there. It’s pretty miserable. It gets lonely, people get wild, you end up in places you never thought you would,” Eddie says; bitterly, if Steve lingers on it. “Things just got crazy out there. I…I don’t even want to go back. Just one day here has really made me miss peace and quiet.” He clears his throat, lets out a deep breath, and then glows all over again. As if his part of the conversation never happened. “So, what’s been going on with you outside of work? That apartment still treating you well?”

“Apartment?” Steve repeats, confused.

Eddie squints his eyes and cocks his head just a little to the left. “Yeah,” he says slowly, “the apartment. Few streets behind Melvald’s?”

His mouth drops open into a silent “Oh.” He gives a brief, nervous chuckle. “I—uh—I actually live in a house now. Couple streets away from the house in Loch Nora. Been there since…since, I think, ’91? Or was it early ’92?” Steve sets his chin in his right palm, elbow on the table, deep in thought. Muttering absently to himself, dates cross-wired in his head. Shrugs, lets his other hand fidget with the last remaining burnt crumbs of fries on his plate, and gives a glance back to Eddie. “Doesn’t matter,” Steve says, “I don’t live in that shithole apartment anymore. Not since the toilet rat of ’89.”

Owlishly, Eddie blinks at him. Wide eyes, pursed lips, sprung forth eyebrows. “Toilet Rat.” A snort. “Guess I didn’t…I never heard that you moved. Makes sense you never responded to”—Eddie clears his throat awkwardly, gives a half-hearted huff, and scoots his chair back—“You’re right, doesn’t matter. How about I walk you out to your car?”

Floored, Steve can only muster an, “Oh, um.”

“C’mon, Stevie. Should probably get you back home so you don’t miss your show, right?” And Eddie’s already out of his seat before Steve can even get a full breath out. He startles and stands, too.

If he had the courage to call Eddie out on it, he’d probably point out how offensive it is that he’s so eager to get rid of their night. To call it good when the good has just begun. But, Steve—always the protector, whether it be of his own heart or the nervous prospect of a revisited relationship—won’t say a damn thing.

Instead, still awkward in Eddie’s presence—unsure of what to say, what to do, where to put his hands��Steve tries, “I was actually going to see if you wanted to…to come over?” That makes Eddie freeze in his maneuver to get away. Steve nearly collides with his back. Nearly falls flat on his ass, heart regurgitated into his palms, when Eddie turns back around with that confused puppy look. “Unless you’re busy,” Steve rushes to add, “which is totally fine. Just means I’ll see you around, probably the next time I’m delivering mail. You…you probably have things you need to do. Stuff to catch up on with Wayne. This can…” he trails.

We can wait, Steve faintly thinks.

A hesitant, light hand squeezes Steve’s right bicep. He inhales sharply at it.

There was a time when something like that didn’t feel so…sudden and scorching. A time in which he could be touched, held, cared for without the possibility of it fading away from him. He’d had that with Eddie, the first few months. Had it with his late wife, before she was sick—well and truly and unmistakably sick; when it seemed like a flu, not the sediments of an ending. A brush of fingers to his fresh, aching scars or the hard, yet careful edges of fingernails to his tender scalp trying to rid of a migraine. It was heavy heads on his shoulder as movies played out, breaths growing deep, the lights dimmed low or off completely. An elbow to a rib. The hug of a lover, unexpected, yet warm. An all encompassing thing; set fire to his lungs, burnt him inside then out, made him grow big when he was fed, made him fizzle once he learned to be starved.

Starve he did.

The morning after Eddie up and left. The three years before he met his wife. The seventeen years he’s somehow survived with nobody by his side; sans his mom, his daughter, and the here-and-there visits from Robin and Dustin and Nancy. But for the most part, it was just him. Him and a gaping maw and a hole in his chest the size of his heart—still pulsing, still searching, still hungry.

Eddie’s thumb tickles over the stitch at Steve’s shoulder. Just a little brush, absentminded and going just to do something. A fidget, that’s all it is. “If you want me there,” Eddie says low—hot and orange and autumnal like the embers catching inside Steve—“I can be there. Told Wayne I’d be out for a little while anyway. It’ll be good to be with you for a while.”

Steve sniffs and gives one, sure nod. “Cool,” he mutters, “let me—uh—I gotta pay the tab and then you can follow”—

“Already covered,” Eddie interjects. And his hand pats once over Steve’s bicep, falling away as fast as it landed. “Just lead the way, big boy.”

The nickname stirs those embers, even as there was still ketchup in the corner of Eddie’s mouth. Sticky, red, staining. A part of him wonders if that’s the condiment at all. Or maybe he let Eddie get away with a piece of his heart, chewy and beating, and he’s just now seeing what happened to it—maybe Eddie’s just as hungry as he is.

“My car’s the Subaru Outback in the lot. I drive a little under the speed limit, I’m hard to miss.”

“Y’always were.”

Maybe Eddie’s just as hungry.

———————————————————————————————————————— Eddie didn’t really know what to expect when it came to letting Steve back into his life.

Honestly, if he really thought about it, he figured it’d be that quick conversation in front of Wayne’s and then maybe a breath of eagerness to get to know one another, an eagerness that washes away—a saving face kind of thing. He never would have thought it to be remembrance, like the trees know to undress as soon as the autumn solstice hits. Just as he knows to order a cheeseburger meal for Steve, or how to clean his glasses (counterclockwise circles with the hem of a worn cotton t-shirt, left lens first then the right), or to keep his distance behind Steve’s car because he kept slow when not in danger. This morning, when he was driving into Hawkins, Eddie didn’t think he could rekindle a flame just by talking to it. Didn’t think he’d be excited, of all things, to learn about another person. Or—to learn about another person all over again.

Steve’s gone grey and worn. He’s soft the way the sun is right before it gives way to dark expanding night, decorated by little stars soft as the sun, soft as the morning. And he’s thoughtful. Like he takes his time to figure things out now, no longer head first and ready to strike.

Because they’ve matured. Whether by chance or by need, Eddie’s uncertain in Steve’s case. Though, driving behind this green Subaru Outback with a whip-wild streak of hope in his chest, Eddie’s certain that in the case of himself, he’s never matured. Maybe not as much as the rest of the world. Maybe not as much as others would’ve liked for him to.

He turns down a side road, Steve near tight to the right curb, high hedges coloring by in splashes of crisp yellows and muted greens. There are potholes and small cracks in the road. Family cars parked in driveways, in front of houses that are much, much smaller than his current…mausoleum of a house. He wonders, currently dwarfed by the sheer homeliness of the neighborhood, if Steve ever felt this way in Loch Nora. Resigned and shallow, yet heavy and infinite with a want he could not fulfill—for a home; a place to be safe; to remain.

The home they park in front of is one story, not terribly wide, brown and a little drab. There’s a few spots of moss growing on the gutters, a patch of replaced roofing that’s black in comparison to the reddish-brown tiling, an overgrown rose bush flush to the street-facing wall, and a crooked three next to the front door. 3019. He kills the ignition, keys sharp in hand, and hefts himself from the driver’s side. Steve does the same, lifting himself out with a gruff grunt. There’s a massive blue coat slung over his left arm, a hat scrunched tight in that same side’s fist, and a velvety navy messenger bag across his torso. He walks up the driveway to the front door, sure of himself and familiar, leaving Eddie to straggle after him.

When the door juts open, awkward under its heavy weight, Steve tells him, “Shoes off at the door, but make yourself at home. Feel free to…look around, I guess. ‘M gonna check-in with my mom, make sure she’s ready for bed.”

Eddie just nods and steps inside behind Steve. He follows instructions, toeing out of his Reeboks—carefully, though, he doesn’t want to crease them. And then he stands in the center of a warm, dimly lit, yet unfamiliar living room. It connects to another room, carpet meshing terribly with the cheap looking cream tiles of, what Eddie assumes, is a kitchen. There’s a dining table on the far right, or Eddie’s right, wall. Only two chairs, a third one just off to the side, unused.

He steps a little more into the actual living space as Steve comes from the hallway to Eddie’s left, just off of the living room. And he disappears into the kitchen wordlessly, scouring around a full sink, it sounds like. At the tap turning on, Eddie focuses elsewhere.

Finally, he took the chance to absorb Steve’s little living room. There was the sofa, dusty pink and well-loved—a middle cushion that’s long since dilapidated and still had the imprint of a well-held body. And the tabletop flat screen, sitting atop a low entertainment center made of black wood, pressed near flush with the wall, cords around it that were knotted and ill organized, a DVD player that’s dinged up and has faded buttons from oiled fingertips. There’s a framed puzzle of a sunset just above the television. A coffee table that’s just slightly lower than the entertainment center (definitely shorter than the couch), cluttered with magazines and the most recent copy of the newspaper. Bookshelf next to the TV that’s brimming to the edges; some titles he recognizes: The Great Gatsby, The Hobbit, The Scarlet Letter, A Separate Peace, The Outsiders; and some he doesn’t: Speak, White Noise, Warrior Cats, The Fault in Our Stars. There’s a few textbooks scattered among the other books; anatomy, algebra, and medicine.

Something important, that he notices, is a shelf dedicated to a jewelry box and a framed photograph. The picture intrigues him, so he grabs for it.

It’s three people: Steve, a little girl, and a woman. The background is plain grey, saturated and marbled with faint glints of white. Almost like a school picture. Steve is standing in the background; most likely in his twenties, though gently graced with the beginnings of aging, his smile is wide yet soft, crinkled hazel eyes, hair shaved down yet spiky like a kiwi, a polo with thick horizontal pink and white stripes, and what looks like the edge of a pair of khaki chinos. The woman is sitting in the foreground, Steve’s hands on her shoulders; she’s gaunt and pale, hair cut close to her scalp (too close to garner a good color), large and wide brown eyes that are fitted with faint black eyeliner and brown mascara, heart shaped face, nose similar in shape to Steve’s though narrower, sparse eyebrows, long sleeve white blouse with a heart neckline, plenty freckles on her chest and face, and pink lips stretching over yet another beautiful smile. This little girl is probably three years old, thick curly dirty blonde hair that falls to just under her little ears, pale pink overalls over a white t-shirt, fingers in her mouth, round hazel eyes, flushed cheeks, yet her skin is just as pale white as the woman’s. She’s a splitting image of Steve and the woman.

He’s a dad, Eddie realizes, and this must be his wife. And he cradles the photo more carefully in his hands. They make a good family. A very, very beautiful family. He can’t help but wonder about Steve…about his wife, too.

As if sensing he’s being thought about, Steve comes wandering back out from his kitchen, a tea towel thrown over his shoulder. “Hey, do you want some tea or should I—What do you have there?” He’s standing between entryways, to the living room, to the kitchen. Like an apparition, glowing from behind, soft though hard to miss. And his eyes go from tired to curious to…sadly thoughtful behind those shiny glasses of his. He spotted the photo almost immediately, of course he did. “Mmm,” he lowly hums. “It’s a cute picture, isn’t it? One of a few that I can display that has all of us.”

“It really is,” Eddie can easily agree. “Your wife, she must be really proud of you.”

“I hope she is,” Steve murmurs, “wherever she may be.” His tone is too somber for Eddie’s liking.

So, Eddie looks back at the photograph. Something like an 8x6. Sharp cheekbones, shaved hair, a slight dullness to her eyes. It’s what he sees in Wayne now. His stomach hurts. He looks back to Steve, words lost.

“I can tell you a bit about them,” Steve offers softly, “make you some tea, too. You still like English breakfast?”

He nods wordlessly. Of course. Of-fucking-course he still remembers after all this time.

When the tea is up and piping hot, Steve leads them towards the sofa. He places the mugs—pottery things, light brown with blue on the rim—on the coffee table, coasters underneath each one. The photo is still in Eddie’s hands, which he relinquishes when Steve holds his hands out for it. And just as he’s getting ready to take his seat on the middle cushion, Steve tells him firmly, “Don’t sit there.”

Another silent nod, sitting slow onto the far right cushion, space between them. And then the photograph is held up.

“Which one do you want to know about first?” Steve asks. “I know you’re curious.”

Eddie cranes his head just enough to see the edges of softly smiling faces. Arm thrown onto the back of the sofa, fingers tracing lumpy divots. “The little girl? Is she yours?”

“Yeah,” Steve murmurs, “her name’s Joanna. Sometimes, to annoy her, I’ll call her Josie. Drives her up a damn wall.” He chuckles under his breath. “She’s bright. Funny. Very charismatic, but don’t tell her that I said that. She’ll use it as an upper hand in every argument we get into from here on out. Stubborn, I guess I should add.”

“Sounds like you, Stevie.”

Steve barks out a single “Hah!” He gives a side glance to Eddie, something he wouldn’t pick up usually, but he’s right here, looking on at Steve’s gentle pride. The glow that parents seem to get when talking about their kids, he’s seen the same damn thing on Wayne’s face at conferences in the past and when he came home today. “That’s what Cathy always said,” Steve says, “never believed her. Josie always seemed right, guess we know why. But…she’s also my complete opposite. She’s in school, y’know, twenty-one and off in Boston. She’ll call me every once in a while, talkin’ damn near a mile a minute, rambling about some lecture a professor gave.

“Half the words she uses I barely have the time to remember, let alone ask what the hell they mean. Her friends are sweet, sarcastic, nice. So different from my childhood friends, it’s hard to believe her judgment came from my tree. I swear, Eds, if Nancy didn’t slap me in the face and knock my brain loose, I’d see a donkey’s behind and equate it to God or something.” Steve reverently swipes his thumbs on either side of the frame. Sniffles, a light thing barely here. He looks up to Eddie with half-lidded, wet eyes. A smile, shiny and wide. The tip of his nose is crinkled. He looks so…elated. “Josie…she’s more than anything I could’ve ever imagined. A freaking miracle child or something. I don’t know how I ended up with a kiddo like her; she’s where my luck begins and ends, swear on it.”

There’s a tear hanging for dear life in the corner of Steve’s right eye, one that Eddie wants so badly to reach out and swipe away. But he restrains. It’s hard, but he does it.

“And…and the woman?” Eddie asks gently.

Steve takes a snotty, deep breath, and swallows hard. “Catherine, she was my wife. I called her Cathy,” he whispers. The words barely make it out of his mouth, more letters than coherent sounds. His hands shake lightly, thumbs still reverent on the sides of the frame. “We met in 1989. I was on-duty, delivering mail. One of my first drives, I think. She was new in town, in this shabby apartment. It’s honestly not all that romantic. There was this package she needed hefted inside, so I did it. Sweated my ass off, she offered me a glass of lemonade”—

“Classic move,” Eddie murmurs.

Playfully, Steve swats his chest and scoffs. “I declined it,” he says, “gave a goodbye, went on the rest of my delivery route, and went back to my shitty apartment. Bumped into her a few days later at Benny’s. So, we sat and ate together. She asked me all kinds of questions about Hawkins; What happened here? Shit that I can’t describe, is what I told her. Do you think it’s safe to be here now, did I make a mistake? I just gave her a shrug and said, I don’t think you did. Do you maybe want to get drinks some time? I couldn’t believe my damn ears, she was so fucking forward. It’s just who she was, honestly.

“She was…god, she was beautiful, Eds. So fucking intelligent—like, she was studying to be a psychologist at the time, she was that smart. And she was funny, indescribably so. Just one look from her sometimes melted me into a puddle of giggles, could never reign myself back in. She and I shared an interest with cooking, always was pushing food at one another; Oh, try this soup I made, try this pie and tell me what you think, try the fish. It’s good, right? That’s what she always asked afterwards. And…I gotta be honest, she could’a charred all my damn food and I’d think God was feeding me straight from his palms.”

“Oh…oh, she had you tied around her finger, Stevie.”

“Yeah,” Steve breathily chuckles, “yeah, guess she did.” He lets out a quiet, sad sigh. “I fell for her hard and fast, as I always do. But she was…she was different. Something about her, I can’t really tell you what, felt like a forever kind of thing. Or…or maybe something like a while. And so, I took initiative on my gut this time; like…whatever that thing is you do in Dungeons & Dragons—the roll for initiative thing. I took my chances, is what I’m saying. Proposed to her by dressing up our apartment—at this time it was January, 1991 and I had been living with her for a little over a year, after that dreaded toilet rat thing; a story for a different time—but I put bouquets of bluebells everywhere that I could, granted they were out of season, but I put ‘em in vases and by her pillow and even in a few pairs of her shoes. I had made the lights dim and all amber. Put a record on, she was big into Jim Croce, so I kept nailing the needle to play out ‘Time in a Bottle’ and got on one knee in the small walkable space of our living room—it was heavily cluttered with furniture and knick knacks, surprised we even could walk around that place—and just waited.

“I almost threw up from nerves. But she…she came around the corner, her hair was wild and up. Just a big, bee’s nest of curls sitting lumpy at the back of her head. There was a slight sheen of sweat all over her face, grocery bags with thinning straps gripped tight in her fists, some sort of ink splotched all over this beige, cashmere sweater I bought her for Christmas. And I broke into tears, couldn’t believe my eyes that she—despite having what seemed like a rough go around with her day—she was this supermodel in our home. For the first time in my life, I was certain that I was doing something right.

“And of course she said yes. We worked day-in, day-out over our wedding plans. Just tirelessly. We wanted to get married as soon as possible, so it was set for mid-March. It was a small thing, here in town. I had actually…I asked her if it was okay to send you an invite—she already knew all about you and”—

Eddie stops Steve with a gentle hand on his bicep. It takes a sluggish moment, but soon Steve’s looking at him; wide eyes and perplexed eyebrows. Disbelieving and incredulous, Eddie flounders, “Hold on. She knew about me?”

A little shrug. “Yeah…yeah, of course she did. She probably would’ve found out about you at some point, I’m sure. Not sure how exactly, but she’s smart, she would’ve. And, y’know, it’s hard to keep something like how I’m bisexual away from somebody I love. She just took it in stride. She wasn’t like upset or anything.

“In fact, she encouraged me to invite you after some time. Thought that it’d be nice to meet you, for the two of us to reconnect. But I…” Steve blinks down at the hand still on his arm. A moment passes in stilted silence, contemplative and charged. He pats the back of Eddie’s hand. “…I wasn’t sure if you’d want to be there. And I also wasn’t sure if you had the same address. And I didn’t want to make Robin play middle-man, so I just…I guess I made the decision.” Eddie’s met with Steve eyes again, something deeply regretful and sorrowful in them. “Sorry,” Steve then whispers.

“It’s alright, Stevie,” Eddie assures, “really, it is. I probably would’ve let you down anyway. Wasn’t even at home, wouldn’t be even when the invitation arrived. Y’know, concerts and shit.”

“Oh, I forgot to ask you about all that. How’s music working out”—

“We can get to that a different time,” he gently interjects, “I want to hear more about Cathy.” Another emotion washes over Steve’s face. A bit of shock, a lot of disbelief. Eddie rubs his palm down Steve’s bicep, soothing him away from that surprise. “Keep going,” he murmurs, “I’m listening.”

“Oh—Okay,” Steve chokes out. His head whips back down to the picture, gripped tight now in his hands. Puzzled, he asks, “What more do I say?” Another silent pause. Then, “I didn’t have long with her,” he settles on, “we moved in here and took our time really getting accustomed to living with one another, but this time on a much, much bigger scale. She gave birth to Josie in August, 1995; Cathy and I were freshly twenty-eight. Then, Josie turned two and the months kinda tumbled after that.

“We were alright for a while. The house was warm and full and spilling with laughter. Our food was hot and fresh and delicious. Cathy would do her puzzles, like the one above the TV. Josie would toddle around and try and put anything and everything in her mouth. I went on with delivering mail. It was the same kind of routine. But then…then, Cathy got sick—sicker than I think I’d ever seen her, and that’s saying something because in the bit of time I really got to know her, she had food poisoning at least three separate times.

“This was…none of it was normal. I urged her to go to a doctor. And by the time she did, it was already too late.”

Eddie, absentmindedly, rubs his palm down Steve’s arm again. Sensing more than really seeing the seizing trembles of Steve’s whole body. He squeezes gently at the soft bicep under his hand. This is how he used to talk about his mom for a long time. All this gushing, red love; tainted so slowly, so obscenely, so invasively by illness; by death. And, sure, he saw this pale gauntness in Wayne this morning, but that doesn’t mean knowing the hurt and hearing the hurt makes any of this easier.

“You don’t have to continue if you aren’t ready, Steve,” Eddie says, trying to give him that out. The thing he never received as a kid. But, Steve’s hand is wrapping on the back of Eddie’s, heavy and warm and shaking. It just holds on. Bracing.

He steadies himself with a breath and keeps on, “The tumors were widespread in her lungs. On their way to her brain. She was on chemotherapy for a while. Then radiation when the chemo couldn’t work the way it did. And then it was…we were doing it just to grasp straws, trying to collect our bearings; she needed all the time in the world at the end, just to say goodbye of all things.” Another hard swallow. One that regurgitates with his spit, with tears ready to fall fast. Steve keeps going (never one to quit), voice low and trapped, “I knew that the cancer was invasive. We were at a loss cause. But…but you would not believe how many people were in the know. So many fucking strangers. Lawyers and—and funeral directors and doctors and hospice nurses. God, there were so many people in this house near the end, I’ve almost fallen in love with the quiet loneliness after her.

“And that’s terrible to admit, I know it is. But it’s true. When it came to her final day, it was just her and I. Josie had been picked up by Robin a couple days prior, taken out of town under the guise of a fun roadtrip with her aunty—but I just didn’t want her last memory of her mom to be a…a dark bedroom with a couple candles and a bunch of beeping that was just slowing and not to mention the…the discomfort. Cathy wanted to be completely in the moment. She wanted to be able to hold a conversation with me without having to slip away because of her morphine drip.

“So, at the end, it was me holding her hand, hiding winces behind the other palm. It was singing to her. It was sitting as close as I possibly could, telling her anything she wanted to know. Told her about how much fun Josie was having with Robs, about the flowers for the funeral because I didn’t know what she wanted—bluebells, she told me; it was always bluebells—and I told her that I loved her. Because, at the end of it all, that’s all a person really wants, isn’t it? To be cherished? To be loved?”

Steve sets the photograph down in his lap with barely a sound, leans forward for his mug—dislodging Eddie’s hand completely—and takes a slow, barely savoring sip of his tea. It’s probably cold, if Eddie had to guess, but if it was, Steve didn’t show it. He just resettled in his cushion, photograph left alone, and wiped the tip of his nose on the back of his left hand. Where, if Eddie had been looking hard enough to begin with, a gold band sits unpolished on his ring finger.

“Anyway,” Steve sighs. “This is one of a few photos I have with the girls. I keep it up on that shelf, just so I have…god, this is going to sound so depressing…just so I have something to say goodnight to before I try and sleep. Don’t know if you could tell, Eds, but I live a pretty boring, unfruitful, lonely life now.” A here-and-gone half-laugh, almost humorless, but the sound is too full to be hollow. “It’s why I wanted to know about Los Angeles. Maybe I’m missing something by staying here. But…but if somebody as wild as you isn’t enjoying it, maybe being a flour sack on my couch isn’t too bad.”

Eddie doesn’t want to leave this loose-ended and sprawling, but his comforting hasn’t always been that—comforting. “It’s a really nice picture, Steve,” is all he can muster. If he were better at organizing the feelings and words in his head, he’s sure he could say something at least a little nicer. Maybe make some connection to his mom, but even that feels just a little too…sour for all the love that Steve poured out. He pats at Steve’s arm again and reaches for his own tea; sure enough, the drink has gone cold over the course of their conversation. They’ll have to reheat them, if Steve still wants him here.

Just as he sets his cup back down, he spots Steve wipe his face with both of his hands, glasses knocked to the top of his head, coming back down awkwardly onto his nose. He readjusts them and groans. “Sorry,” he sighs. “Christ, I didn’t think I’d still be such a mess after all this time. Didn’t think I could still be all…mopey after it all. But it’s just”—he shrugs—“nobody’s asked about her in a long time. And you were interested and I just…guess I couldn’t help myself.”

“We all want to be remembered, Steve. I’m not going to wave you off as you do that. It was nice to hear about her, though. I’m glad you had somebody so…so lovely to share a portion of your life with, even if it wasn’t as long as you would’ve wanted. It always sucks when that happens,” he tries to amend. Eddie spots a breath in the conversation, where it lulls, where they’re beginning to really wrap up their evening. So, he takes a courageous breath and confesses, “I’m back in Hawkins because of Wayne.”

“Oh, yeah?” Steve questions, nasally and wheezy.

“Yeah,” Eddie answers, a nod and a sigh tied in one. “Yeah…he—uh—he’s got lung cancer. Just a single tumor, so it was caught early, but I mean…fuck, y’know? It’s hard to get news like that over the phone. Couldn’t just leave him by himself. Had to come home.”

A sniffle as Steve clears up his nostrils. And a breathed, “Eddie…”

“Nah, no, don’t—I don’t want you to feel bad. Please, please don’t feel bad. Shit, I just”—helplessly, probably the same way Steve’s been feeling the last few minutes, he gives a half-hearted shrug of his own—“I just needed to be here. In case, I suppose. But it’s nice—it’s really nice—to have a familiar face around. Not that I’m—I’m not asking you to be my emotional support rock, but I”—

“I’ll be here, Eds. I will even if you don’t always need me,” Steve rushes in, headfirst, chest strong. “I know what it was like to go through a lot of this alone. And…in my case, not saying it’ll be yours, being alone in it all is the worst. Sure, I had Robin on the phone and all, but my support system was small. God, it was so small. If I can do anything, you let me know. I make a good soup, I—I might have a few orthopedic pillows from Cathy, hell, I’ll come over with a beer if you need it.”

Eddie chuckles. “Don’t drink anymore, Stevie. A story for a different time, right? Toilet Rat, me not drinking—they’re one in the same. But I’ll accept a crisp Coke if you ever want to hang out.”

Steve responds with his own snort. “Toilet rat,” he echoes. “Yeah, okay. Another time, that’s okay.” He gestures off-handedly to their mugs on the table. “Want me to reheat your tea? I could get you a slice of toast to go with it or something?”

“No, that’s okay,” Eddie whispers, being careful to not break this peace they’ve now shared, “I should actually head back now. Make sure Wayne’s doing alright. He starts chemotherapy in the morning and I need to be ready for it.”

“Right,” Steve murmurs, “right, yeah, of course. Let me lead you to the door.”

The photo is set carefully on the bookshelf as they make their way back to the front door. Eddie clumsily worms his feet back into his laced sneakers, hand braced on the wall, the other tight on Steve’s shoulder. And then Steve opens the door, Eddie on the porch, staring at one another.

“It was nice catching up with you, Steve. I’m…I’m glad that you found something you like to do. That you still look good after all these years.”

“Oh, please,” Steve scoffs. “My whole head is basically silver. Stress will do that to a guy, y’know. I’d hardly say that it looks good.”

“You kidding, man? Makes you look like a…a silver fox or something. Trust me, you look good.” Eddie rocks back on his heels, face warm with the admittance. He’d been thinking it, didn’t know he’d actually follow through with saying it out loud. “Well, thank you for a nice evening, it really means a lot in the chaos that is my life right now. I’ll see you around?”

Steve nods softly. “Of course, Eds. Anytime, I mean it. Come hell or high water, I’ll be there if you need the support.”

This would be the part where they’d hug or something, Eddie figures. But for now, he gives an awkward wave of his fingers, a nod in return. And a final, “Good night, Steve. Sleep well.”

“You, too,” is whispered at his back.

And he can’t place it, why after so much softness, so much love, so much warmth, his chest goes tight with those words.

———————————————————————————————————————— End of Chapter Two! Read the Next Chapter Here —>

[taegimood]

……well

i guess the seoul concert really did put me in my grave cuz i done disappeared again 🙂‍↕️ call me the boy who cried wolf atp w how many times i’ve said i’m coming back lmfao i’m sorry guys

even tho i’m obviously v late, i received some really sweet messages after my last update in may so i’ll be responding to those as well as……… drumroll……… finishing some old drafts and potentially answering some asks that i’ve received since then that are just too yummy to pass up 🫣 but don’t quote me on that y’all know how inconsistent i am

i told myself that i wouldn’t hurtle myself back down the rabbit hole of this blog but after spontaneously reading through what i’d had written so far of the prof soobin fic (…a moment of silence 😔🪦…) i’ve been itching to write again lately AND EVEN MAYBE FINISH THE FIC AHHH IDK just ask berrie she’s been witnessing my inner turmoil abt this soooo i might just fuck around and make a comeback against my better judgement 😗

take that w/ a grain of salt tho it probably won’t last long knowing me i’m also really busy w life these days so if i come back here it’ll be inconsistent for that reason too, just a warning !

i’m sad cuz back in jan/feb i had hit 1k while i was on my hiatus, so i never got to do an event or anything, and it’s been so long now so i probably won’t but still thank you guys so much for enjoying my works that much and for even still being here despite my absence!! an event will come eventually if i’m still around for 2k lol 🤧

@ my mooties be ready for me to pop up in your dms or inboxes 😳🫵🏼 i’ve probably lost all my nonnies atp but if y’all are still around come say hi kiss kiss kiss

today’s my day off so maybe expect some posts soon….. now time to go try and remember what tf my tags are 😀

[alangdorf]

Oh geez I think it’s been literally forever since the last time I participated in a tag game but I was tagged by @geyfrog so I guess I’m doing it

Last song:

I’m currently listening to a playlist of every song from Project Sekai that birb sent me and the song I’m on is called ひつじがいっぴき by Vivid Bad Squad ft. Meiko. Though I might’ve more recently listened to A Name Cast Off from the Edge (from Len’en 3) while transcribing it for piano

Favorite color:

These are my colors (for real all my home decor and almost everything I wear are these colors with a side of Boston Flowers purple and green). If I have to pick a favorite I usually say teal

Last book:

Crime and Punishment by Fyodor Dostoevsky, which I read just for fun cause I heard about the associated Limbus Company character (on the critically acclaimed podcast Soul Mates!) and was curious. It took me forever to get through though

Last TV show:

I rarely watch TV anymore unless I’m watching a show with my husband and we don’t own a TV plus he’s very busy these days (I mean he watches TV shows constantly but he has them on in the background while doing school things on his computer so the logistics are incorrect for hanging out) so it’s a rare occurrence. I believe the last thing we watched together was Good Omens

Last movie:

Same deal. It was the Super Mario Bros. movie which my husband put on while we were at my parents’ house this summer. It was not very good; I think he only put it on because I had been mentioning we should watch the old weird Mario movie from the 90’s and we happened to have netflix access

Spicy/sweet/savory:

Sweet (though I always put extra salt in my cookies)

Last thing I googled:

“steam account alert”. More like extremely unhelpful UI element alert

Current obsession:

I’m a little bit between hyperfixations rn; I’m still on that Touhou/Len’en kick with a side of Undertale relapse plus I’m still playing a lot of mahjong and I was reminded vocaloids exist the other day and also I just finished watching a playthrough of Great God Grove and that was pretty good. So

Looking forward to:

Seeing family for holidays I suppose? There’s also a couple events coming up soon in the mobile games I play and it’s kind of weird to be looking forward to trying to get a job next year but it would be nice to have more money

I don’t have many active mutuals but I suppose I’ll tag @brushstrokesapocalyptic and @fisherrprince? And also @birb1486. No pressure though

[alligatorjesie]

*glances at the raging cunt who keeps posting harassment to this fandom's tags every month or so*

You know the last time I checked you're not a fucking reylo so beats the fuck out of us why you're up in our goddamn shit so often @watchingtheearthrise

Cait Corrain isn't active in this fandom. She's hardly a reylo, and if she's gonna act like that she's not fuckin' welcome here.

I think they may have wrote a few reylo fics a long time ago but they're not a big name writer and the fandom as a whole don't really know who the fuck this person is.

I've seen a few people online mention Cait's book is published reylo fanfiction but I can't find anything from the writer confirming it so we’re all just assuming it started out as a reylo fic.

Looking at it, it seems more like lore olympus fanfiction than reylo but again, until the author says otherwise we’re just assuming.

Cait did however talk a gullible friend into helping her sabotage other people's book reviews and when the lacky she coerced did it wrong because she didn't really explain her dastardly plan very well and the moment she realized how badly the 'friend' fucked up she threw that kid under the bus.

But even that shit is kinda sus because these timestamps don't fucking line up. This conversation looks doctored to a lot of people meaning the only person responsible for being a cunt here is cait and you @watchingtheearthrise.

The friend is mentioned to be a reylo but you can't really put much of the blame on them since they were just doing what their cool(shitty) published writer friend asked them to do, assuming this friend is even real.

Cait didn't get mad she did a bad thing. She got mad she did it poorly and got caught. Which speaks volumes about Cait.

You being here assuming the worst out of this fandom every time someone so much as sneezes without saying 'god bless you' speaks volumes about you @watchingtheearthrise.

Please for the love of fuck would you find a fucking hobby to pour this endless passion into.

You know something really fun that I've spent a lot of mental energy on over the years and has brought me great pride and joy is this Star Wars Episode 9 rewrite comic I've been working on.

Legit!

I got character sheets and new alien designs.

Most of the script is wrote out, I'm currently working on storyboards and page framing.

I'm only as far as I am because I have a life outside the computer and can't dedicate endless hours a pet project but it's got 2 of my favorite things in it:

A narratively cohesive continuation of The Last Jedi-

And furries.

Because fuckit why not it's my fucking comic.

You're welcome to laugh, and I know you will because you're a huge pile of shit, but doing this has been incredibly cathartic.

we live in a world were we have increasingly little control over basic shit in it. Media can feel like it wants to make money more than it cares about the story and character development and if I want media I’ll actually enjoy well goddamnit I guess I’ll make it myself.

I want it to be good. I want the salt of the fact a random furry wrote and created a better Star Wars EP9 to burn. I think thats funny.

I personally didn't like EP9

(Notice how I dislike EP9 but don't go out of my way to harass people who like it @watchingtheearthrise?)

So I decided to just make my own. Instead of being asshole to people in a fandom who do like it.

(Notice what I'm doing there @watchingtheearthrise?)

I don't see you in here when the fandom does nice shit like donating a shit ton of money to Adam Driver's arts for the military foundation.

I didn't see you in here when Thea Guanzon, a southeast asian reylo's published book became a new york times bestseller.

I don't fucking see you pop in when the dedicated members of this fandom post art and stories and celebrate the thing they love.

Don't let a single person who is acting shitty color your entire opinion about a whole ass fandom man. God fucking knows if I took this approach with finnreys I would just assume all of them are huge pieces of shit because nine times out of ten the people posting anti hate to the reylo tag are finnreys.

But since I'm not a complete fucking dumbass Like Some People Here

I'm able to use some common fucking sense and see it's not the finnreys that are shit.

finnreys are fine.

It's just like... 4 unique people with a lot of extra accounts.

real fucking bold to comment on someone making extra accounts to do nefarious things online from someone who already does that.

I’m pretty fucking sure at least 6 of the antis I regularly come across in this tag Are Your Accounts @watchingtheearthrise. You admit to 2 extra ones you’ve used to harass people in this fandom in the past In Your Fucking Bio

( I love hate how you have reylos in your DNI but paradoxically will not stop posting to this fucking fandoms’s tag I swear to Jesus Fucking Chri-)

God fucking bless you @watchingtheearthrise I hope you find someone who helps you learn how to not be such a festering cunt.

I started out this post not even know who the fuck Cait Corrain is. I still don't give a fuck because shit people can go fuck off into oblivion for all the fucks I don't give but since some asshat antis can’t be fucked to do a goddamn second of research I guess much like that ep9 I'm rewriting I’ll just fucking do this too.

Cait's a reylo about as much as you @watchingtheearthrise and you’re both welcome to let the door hit y’all on the ass on the way out.

[moonstruckmoony]

Tag 9 people you want to get to know better!

Thanks for the tag bbys @choccy-milky @the-ozzie @keri-mcberry @ethniee 🩵

LAST SONG? - oh no, you’ve opened the Pandora box. When given the chance I usually couldn’t shut up about music and when asked questions like these I can never just say only one… Mostly for the purpose of finding kindred spirits 😶 Nowadays I often listen to RnB, Soul, Hiphop, 70s-80s hits, Jazz fusion, Jpop and Rap… but I do listen to a wide range of stuff, from Jazz and Classical to Rock/Punk and Metal (loove Paramore and BMTH), to Kpop (I’m an ARMY btw) and Anime songs lmao.

But I digress. The last 3 songs (yes even now I still can’t choose just one 😔) I listened to were:

Suuper sick 1976 Japanese funk track the I discovered, I dove into Minako Yoshida’s stuff and she’s suuper cool.

There’s this lovely playlist on spotify called “sade, erykah badu, lauryn hill vibes 🧚‍♀️✨” by someone called izzy eve and as a lover of all 3 i’m living for it 😫🩵

FAVORITE COLOR? - if it’s not obvious already, it’s light blue, could be baby blue, robin egg blue, or serenity blue 🩵 though most irl people would guess black, seeing 98% of the time I wear always wear black…

CURRENTLY WATCHING? - I mostly watch YouTube nowadays but yesterday I marathoned “Madougushi Dahlia wa Utsumukanai” (or Dahlia in Bloom in English). I’m a big fan of the red-haired, strong-heroine-anime trifecta (Red-haired Snow White, Akatsuki no Yona, and The Ancient Magus Bride), so I assume I’ll love Dahlia in Bloom and I was right. I’m just a huge sucker for heroes/heroines who are both passionate and skilled in their craft/hobbies, add with a little dash of obsession in the topic that they excelled in.

SWEET/SPICY/ SAVORY? - SAVORY. Same as you guys @choccy-milky and @the-ozzie , I’m an absolute sodium menace. Bags of chips and instant noodles (particularly Shin Ramyun, or Indomie) are my kryptonites…. I’ve been eating healthier these past few months though. I set a rule for myself to put in veggies and fruits and good proteins first before I’m allowed to eat whatever I want. But yeah, even tho I do love spicy and sweet as well, I’m addicted to salt 💀

LAST MOVIE? - Wow I don’t remember which one was the last one, it was either Ultraman: Rising or Women King (I know I’m late but God, Viola Davis was magnificent in that one).

RELATIONSHIP STATUS? - I leave it to you guys to guess lol

CURRENT OBSESSION? - Well, Hogwarts Legacy is a given, but besides that, a resurfacing obsession is The Umbrella Academy… 👉🏻👈🏻It’s my comfort show, comfort characters, comfort cast! Just got back into it again since it has ended. And with how season 4 being so…. lackluster(I wouldn’t call it total garbage like most brellies bcs there are things I enjoyed but I agree that it’s a mess and I hate that they ‘ruined’ many of the characters.), I started rewatching my fav scenes from previous seasons and started seeking for fics in Ao3 (my first time ever hunting for TUA fics even tho I started watched TUA the year S1 came out). Fic author brellies are such a blessing, I’ve read fics that are so much better than the experience of watching season 4, with all the emotional complexities they’re able to write and their creativity… just chef’s kiss.

LAST THING YOU GOOGLED? - Cyrillic alphabets lmao. I learned how to read them back during the pandemic out of boredom and curiosity… Yesterday I came across a Russian sentence on my friend’s laptop sticker and I forgot how to read “ю” and “л” so I googled it 😂

Non-obligatory tag, you don’t have to do it! ☺️ also idk who amongst you has done it already, sorry if you have 🥲 I’m just tagging HL people I genuinely want to get to know. @diana-bluewolf @rednite-dork @tamayula-hl @sallowly @sparxyv @ccelicaa @hummingmuggle @gogglesyoyinyin @applinsandoranges @alun1r @gce-hiiragimare @morelikeravenbore @vienguinn @alliezarin

[plumsaffron]

Man I remember a tumblr user named ozmav allegedly started the Mari/bat ship which then spiraled outta control by the mentally deficient rabid salters since 2019. Checking online, ozmav’s accounts are inactive since 2021? Guess that person realized the negative attention they’ve received and completely jetted, leaving the tunnelvisioned brainwashed miracubitches to take the criticism and heat from the sane minded. Um bitch, what do you think would happen when you create a nonsensical ship within an unstable community? Not to victim blame or anything but I bet they were not predicting how bad the salters would get later on.

Since early 2021, I’m a recovering victim from the immense stupidity and closed-mindedness of the miracusalters like some people here. I’m thankful that there were some rational smart folks contradicting the stupid rabid fandoms otherwise I’d be stuck for a long ass time, being very mentally messed up by the salters’ lies and misinformation.

#ml salt survivor #surviving the stupid salters #salter survivor #i survived the ml salt fandom! #ml salt is a cult #ml salt is legitimately stupid #ml salt is for dumbasses #ml salt is for stupid people #ml salt causes brain rot #ml salt is toxic #toxic ml salt #salters cannot be reasoned with #ml salters are fragile little shits #salters be allergic to criticism

Pfft! These tags are joke tags! But you can go ahead and use them plum! Though I literally just saw your reblog of ppl dead ass comparing a deceased rl war criminal to Lila which is stupid! Reminded me of stupid ass bitches comparing bad or controversial musicians to actual criminals years ago… it’s like these people forgot that categories exist for a reason.

Though seeing the toxic Xover hetero ships like that on AO3, Wattpad and FFN dead ass makes me embarrassed as a heterosexual person. Anyone else feeling like they’d want to commit hetero erasure on themselves and even purge their own content of canon or fanon wholesome healthy het ships? Sigh* And some miracubozos claim to be lgbt+ open minded folks yet I’d sometimes keep on seeing the “evil cishet” characters like Lila or the occasional brainwashed follower of hers in their fics. Ngl, thought that was pronounced “ci-shet” or “cis-shet” instead of “cis-het.”

Very well then. I’ll include them tags.

*Sighs*. Stupid people will make absurd comparisons about anything.

Heh miracubozos claims. Sort of reminds me of when they say in tags that the character(s) deserves better but what they say doesn’t better things, it just makes it worse or puts them down (while ironically not liking this other character being put down similarly in various degrees canonically).

Or one that claims to be fan or defender of the character(s) but will say somethings without thinking carefully in an already polluted environment while ignoring they are giving the polluters more ammo against who they are a fan of.

I wish more sane peeps were here.

Salt is probably a cult (especially when a loser or reblogger or drones can say some manure end up getting over 150-300 notes at least)

Welp. That alleged thing though reminds me a lot about this clip

[hausofmamadas]

tag 9 people you'd like to know better. Prob won’t be able to do 9 ppl bc most of the ppl I’d tag were tagged, in addition to me, by @bellinitini and @when-did-this-become-difficult, two of my dearest dfs (dafucks dear friends)

last song: Buscando Oro by LOUJAY and Carlos Vallarino

currently reading: The Outsiders by SE Hinton and the Popol Vuh, both in Spanish to punish myself to get better. I’ve also finally started reading Out of Control: The Story of the Reagan Administration's Secret War in Nicaragua, the Illegal Arms Pipeline, and the Contra Drug Connection by Leslie Cockburn which I started last year and just never got around to finishing. Just ordered The Bastard Brigade by Sam Kean on Amazon, which I have no doubt I’ll start reading immediately

currently watching: Finished The Bear in the span of a day so like not actively watching technically anymore? Except when I put it on to run in the background while I work. Another show I’ve been doing that with is the X Files, which provides a deep and heavy rotation sksk and then I’m like halfway through Top Boy which is fulfilling the need I have for new episodes of The Wire even though the show ended like 20 years ago so sksj

current obsession: hmmmmmmm I guess I have two really cracked ships that I’m kind of preoccupied with. One I can’t name bc it’s for an exchange, and the other I wrote an Andrea/Carrillo fic for the Narcos fandom smut alphabet and have nottttttttt been able to stop the rotisserie-ing with them. Going back to my roots too, reading some new San Diego Reader articles that’s reignited as if it ever really went out lbr my love and passion for my otp, Dinarrón. Also been working on this fan video for Sky Rojo that I’m pretty fucking obsessed with and can’t wait to finish bc it’s gonna be sick, even though only me and like 3 other ppl on the internet have seen the show

Taglist (only if you so wish to participate): @artemiseamoon @cositapreciosa @drabbles-mc @purplesong1028 @proceduralpassion @roostersrocket @garbinge @flightlessangelwings @salt-is-a-terrible-currency

[darsynia]

Trust Fall | Ch7b

Story Masterlist | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Summary: Tony/OC, ‘terrorists made us fall in love;’ IM1 timeline. In this chapter, Yinsen discusses his contingency plan for the attacks on Gulmira, then unexpectedly offers it to Emory as a path to help them escape.

Length: 3,659

I’m shy as hell about saying this but if anyone wants to be tagged or ask me to write something please do! Tags: @starryeyes2000 @raith-way @arrthurpendragon, @starksbf

Excerpt:

“You! Where is your white horse? You’re doing everything out of order! Aren’t you supposed to wait until the damsel in distress actually cries out for help before you ride up and fuck with everything?” Emory says, her grey eyes blazing with anger. She’s leaning over Yinsen, who is seated where she’d been just moments before, on his cot. The shirt she’d been wearing under the one she used as a towel is navy blue with its sleeves cut off, and Tony can see a tiny trickle of blood on her arm from the injection.

“What the fuck were you thinking?” he demands, still stunned immobile by what he’d just witnessed. His feet are lead weights, and so, he worries, is his heart. The image of him slapping the empty hypodermic onto the floor too late for it to matter is like a flake of shrapnel in his brain. He has no electromagnet to keep it from playing back over and over behind his eyelids when he blinks.

“They used to bury people alive back before they could detect really subtle life signs. Sometimes they’d find coffin lids with scratch marks in them, people whose fingernails were torn off in desperation, trying to escape. That’s what I just did. I tore off my fingernail in hopes that it could lift the lid, prevent my death,” Emory says to him in a hollow voice.

Chapter Seven: 115 117 110 108 105 103 104 116

A few hours later, she sets the book down with a frown, coming over to Yinsen’s call for food.

“You look unhappy. What, of the many possible reasons, is it?” he asks her.

“Your book, sorry to say. There really isn't a protagonist! It’s driving me crazy!”

“What makes you say that?”

“I’ve read books that hop around before, but to me, reading a novel is mostly about connecting with the characters, then watching them go through the plot. This book, though! I get it-- it’s clearly about the plot, to the point where the author doesn’t seem to worry much about whether the reader latches onto a character,” she says, taking the bowl Tony offers her before realizing it’s Tony offering her the bowl.

“Exploring new career paths,” he shrugs.

“So is this selfless in that you’re putting yourself in a position you’ve never been in before, or is it self ish in that you’re taking one of the only jobs that poor Yinsen has in this small little cave ecosystem?” she asks him impudently.

“Self defense. Man is just too heavy on the salt.”

Yinsen laughs at this.

“I guess it would be mean of me to pretend I’m dying at the first bite,” Emory muses, looking at a spoonful. “I’ll wait till four or five, I guess.”

“You were saying, about the book?” Tony asks, his gaze warm and just a touch combative, in a playful way.

The stew is actually no different from how it always is, which she supposes is a strange sort of triumph for Tony.

“So I’m almost at the end of the book. It looks like the whole point of the plot is that Earthlings have a chance to evolve in a way that their temporary alien overlords never will be able to. So everything has been building to that moment. But the scene where the children evolve to have inexplicable powers is written as a kind of horror moment! The parents are frightened by the powers their children display, and the kids are eventually taken away from them entirely. There’s no standpoint of empathy, though, just curiosity, really. I’m disconcerted. I liked the book, but feel really ungrounded by it.”

“I felt the same way to some extent. In the end, I concluded that the unsettled feeling was intentional. Such an evolution that robs humanity of its future would be indeed horrible for the adults who are blocked from experiencing it.” Yinsen’s eyes are animated with interest in a way she’s hardly ever seen. “If you were given an opportunity to develop such powers, would you take it, do you think?”

“I don’t think I’d want to mind meld with some weird Overmind, like in the story,” Emory says, frowning. “But I think everyone in their life has thought about having superpowers of some sort, at least once.”

“I always wanted to fly,” Tony says with a crooked smile, looking over at his schematics.

“I wanted to be invisible, through my older childhood. My parents fought a lot. But I watched a tv show once where this guy got to wish for things and the wishes were granted-- and he didn’t think through being invisible. He got hit and killed by a car, forgetting they wouldn’t see to avoid him,” Emory says, wincing. “I mean, technically, I could get out of here by being invisible, but could I really? If I were in the line of sight for someone firing at you in that suit, for example, they’d hit me even if they didn’t know I was there.”

“Man, you really are Miss Glass Is Empty, aren’t you? You gave the half-full glass to Rory and you’re just making do,” Tony says around a mouthful of beans. “Anyway, that’s assuming you can pick the superpower. Most people don’t get to. They just get what they get.” He pats his ARC reactor.

“But if you had the choice to try, would you do it?” Yinsen asks, his voice oddly urgent.

“Me?” Emory asks, wondering what his life lesson will be this time. “Is this about wanting things we can’t have, versus things we can?”

“Not at all. It’s a discussion on what you might be willing to do, if it were available, to survive past their discovery that Stark is not, in fact, building what they expect him to.”

“Are you serious?” Tony asks him.

“Yes. The conference I attended, just before being brought here, was not my true reason for being in Europe. I was there to meet someone I’d contacted through great personal risk.” He looks down at his bowl. “I’m from a small town called Gulmira. It’s actually a nice place,” Yinsen says, smiling ruefully. “At least it was, before it started being on the periphery of this kind of activity.” He gestures at the cave around them. “I started to fear for my family’s life. My oldest son, he’s intelligent but impulsive. I wanted to provide him some kind of defense, more than just our minds, to keep the family safe should something happen to me. I was just a few hours late.”

“What happened?” Tony asks, sounding concerned. Emory had already been a bit uneasy, but Tony’s tone signals to her that he’s just as worried, perhaps more so.

“They took me, and unknowingly, the serum I’d obtained using the last of the family’s assets. So now it is here, with me.”

“Your family?” Emory asks.

The two men share a look, and Tony gets up to take care of his bowl before she can see his expression. She has a terrible feeling that this means something horrible happened to Yinsen’s family.

“Wait, so you’re saying you actually have something with you that you had intended to use on your own son?” she presses Yinsen.

“I do. I believe it would be wasted on me. Stark has his suit. I am offering it to you.”

“You were scammed, old man,” Tony says bluntly, sitting back down with a metal cup. “No way that’s anything more than sugar water.”

“If it is, then there’s no harm in trying it, is there?” Yinsen says. He’s not defensive in response to Tony's suggestion that he’d been duped, which is surprising.

“Yes,” Tony says flatly. “It could be anything. Convenient that you’re not interested in using it on yourself, hmm?”

To Emory, the ‘hmm’ at the end of Tony’s statement feels like reflecting back one of Yinsen’s own language patterns. His accusation reads as false to her, so to smooth things over between the men, she asks Yinsen a question. A crazy, impulsive part of her wants to jump at this chance, even if it does turn out to be nothing. She’s so very tired of living in someone else’s shadow, of being someone else’s damsel to be rescued.

“Did you get any instructions on its use? There’s no refrigerator here, it could be impotent at this point.”

“I was instructed to keep it against my chest until use.”

Tony snorts in derision.

“Weren’t you telling me to be more selfish?” Emory says, rolling up her left sleeve. It doesn’t go very far, given how much it’s already rolled, so she shrugs, and pulls it off entirely.

“What are you doing?” Tony asks, his tone full of alarm.

“Being selfish. I want to do it.”

“Absolutely not,” Tony tells her, standing up.

“You’re not in charge of me.” His assertive tone in what is ostensibly her defense is exciting in a way, but he doesn’t have authority over her just because she was in the same vehicle when they were attacked.

“I won’t watch you die in here!” he shouts.

“Well that’s what you’ll be doing, suit or no suit, you know that, right? You’ve bought me what? A month? So what if it’s sugar water? Nothing will change!” she shouts back, standing up. “What if it’s not? What if I can help you both get out?”

“It could be fentanyl, heroin, tainted blood plasma! You have no idea!”

“Most of those things have value, you think someone’s going to scam a kindly scientist out of what he describes as a fortune with anything they could sell to someone else?” Emory argues, backing away from the table. 

“Your logic is faulty. You’re impulsive, not thinking clearly,” he tells her, walking in her direction.

Emory knocks over her chair in his path to slow him down, backing toward where Yinsen has retreated to his cot.

“You’d know all about those things, wouldn’t you? You’ve spent your life being impulsive, having enough money not to think things through!” she accuses, pulling his work chair out and knocking it over, too. The more Tony seeks to stop her, the more Emory wants to do it. It feels like exactly the sort of last-minute, desperate solution that could change things for her situation, just like his plans to build a metal suit powered by the reactor he’s just built. “How is this any different than the experimental surgery you went through? You turned that into a chance to get out, didn’t you?”

“I was dying--”

“So am I! I’m a dead woman walking, Tony, and you know it. Let me rely on more than your kisses to stay alive, will you?” she begs, backing up into Yinsen’s cot and falling into it in surprise. She closes her eyes and gulps in a few frantic breaths. The strange desperation she feels is a completely new feeling, and Emory feels light-headed.

“You truly want this?” Yinsen asks her. She nods, meaning to say ‘I think so’ but still recovering from the shock of sitting down so abruptly.

“Don’t you dare--” Tony says, rushing toward them.

In a smooth movement, Yinsen moves her loose shirt out of the way of her bare arm and sinks the hypodermic needle in, steadily pressing the plunger even as Tony skids to a halt in front of them, clearly aghast.

Tony slaps the needle out of Yinsen’s hand the second he pulls it away from Emory’s arm. Then Tony punches the man right in the face.

“Tony!” Emory screams, shoving at him and struggling to get back up. He feels like his muscles have spent all of their energy and have locked into place, hands fisted, legs apart, in a fighting stance without any fight left. All he can do is stand there and watch as Yinsen pulls his hand away from his bloody nose to stare at it, surprised, before Emory tears one of her shirts off and wraps it around the hand, pushing the bundle back onto his nose to staunch the bleeding.

“Impulse begets impulse begets impulse,” the interpreter says in an infuriatingly calm voice.

“Are there shoelaces? Anything we can use to make a tourniquet? We have to stop that stuff from getting too far into her system,” Tony says in a rush, hearing the fear in his voice and choosing to interpret it as horror, and not despair. He’d had no idea how important Emory was to his personal sense of well-being until he’d watched a man he knew had saved his own life inject her with something that could very well kill her.

“It is done, Stark. Sooner than I anticipated, but perhaps that will work to our benefit.” Yinsen’s voice is muffled by the shirt and his (hopefully broken, Tony thinks to himself viciously) nose.

“You! Where is your white horse? You’re doing everything out of order! Aren’t you supposed to wait until the damsel in distress actually cries out for help before you ride up and fuck with everything?” Emory says, her grey eyes blazing with anger. She’s leaning over Yinsen, who is seated where she’d been just moments before, on his cot. The shirt she’d been wearing under the one she used as a towel is navy blue with its sleeves cut off, and Tony can see a tiny trickle of blood on her arm from the injection.

“What the fuck were you thinking?” he demands, still stunned immobile by what he’d just witnessed. His feet are lead weights, and so, he worries, is his heart. The image of him slapping the empty hypodermic onto the floor too late for it to matter is like a flake of shrapnel in his brain. He has no electromagnet to keep it from playing back over and over behind his eyelids when he blinks.

“They used to bury people alive back before they could detect really subtle life signs. Sometimes they’d find coffin lids with scratch marks in them, people whose fingernails were torn off in desperation, trying to escape. That’s what I just did. I tore off my fingernail in hopes that it could lift the lid, prevent my death,” Emory says to him in a hollow voice.

He wants to shake her, but Tony doesn’t know what effect that could have on whatever horrible substance is now making its way inside her body. “So, what? Is this ego? You can’t stand that I’ve come up with an option that could possibly save us?”

“Think about what you just said and then see if you can repeat it with a straight face,” Emory snaps at him.

She’s right, damn her. He’d pushed her to be selfish, to think of what might be best for her needs, and what had that all been for? A vain hope that she would decide that he was right for her needs? Was anything he’s said to her in this fucking cave something worthwhile, or was he just selfish over and over again?

“Did it come with instructions?” he asks Yinsen, his voice gruff and still shaking, whether with fury or concern, he’s not sure. All of his emotions are mixed up in a slurry in his head right now, probably because he won’t even recognize some of them as valid. Concern? Good. Lust? Typical. Affection? Concerning but probably understandable, given the circumstances. Anything else is part of the Not Here, Not Now conglomerate, and Tony has no intention of merging with that company.

He hopes they’re not planning for a hostile takeover.

“One dose, wait a week, give the other. Very dangerous to miss the second, they said. However much anger you have for me, temper it with reason and compassion, or you’ll make her suffer needlessly,” Yinsen says weakly.

“Side effects?”

“Who knows?”

Tony’s jaw hurts from clenching it so tightly. “Well. I have our rescue to work on, so I’ll leave you to monitor her. Teach her some Farsi, Urdu, or whatever they scream at us when they barge in here, will ya? Because if they need to reduce spending on food, I have just the suggestion for them.”

“Tony! Come on,” Emory protests, straightening up and walking over to him. She lowers her voice a little, but Tony doesn’t think it’s to hide anything from Yinsen. He thinks it’s an unconscious mannerism she’s used to using on Rory, a strategy where the speaker is more quiet, which leads the agitated person to lower their voice, too. She’s handling him. “He said he was going to take it himself. He said he was going to give it to his son. I understand your mistrust and uncertainty, but I balanced those with the evidence I do have.” She crosses her arms, then frowns and uncrosses them, letting her left arm hang free and putting her right hand on her hip.

Tony raises his eyebrows, nods at her left arm. “It hurts already? I’m sure that bodes well. Hey, maybe you’ll develop healing powers, and you can use them to heal up from whatever’s giving you the powers in the first place. That’s how that’s supposed to work, right?” He doesn’t remember any of the medical stuff Rhodey had told him in safety briefings. Hell, he doesn’t fucking remember most of the medical stuff he was required to learn in college. He’s 42, that was more than two decades ago, at this point.

“Why are you so angry?” Emory asks, her voice even quieter than before. He wonders if she does it so reflexively that she doesn’t even realize.

He can hear the fury in his voice; his gestures are jerky and swift as he catches her in his gaze and starts to lecture. “This isn’t day camp. We don’t try things in Afghanistan death caves! What you do has an effect on the rest of us, did you consider that? What am I supposed to say if you get sick? ‘No no, I actually find that attractive, please don’t kill her.’ Fuck, Emory, what if they do it anyway and kidnap another woman to take your place!”

His chest aches, and Tony isn’t sure that has anything to do with the apparatus that currently resides there. It’s a metaphorical ache. There’s literally no cure for it, not when the cause is a young woman who seems determined to take exactly the wrong lessons from their discussions about making selfish vs. selfless choices.

Tony’s mental filing system has always been all fucked up, partly because his thought processes have way more connections than the average person. Right now, that system is in anarchy, filing links to Emory in all kinds of places she doesn’t belong, places that imply she’s emotionally important to him, and not just in a temporary way. Tony is coming up against a problem he’s never experienced before, the issue that his mind didn’t fucking ask permission to do this, so he’s finding her everywhere he turns. Every single damned place she’s been installed is sending error messages, too, now that her life is in even more danger.

He’s struggling not to show these realizations on his face as they stand staring at each other. Her expression has tightened into a kind of weary defensiveness, and when she opens her mouth, Tony suspects that what she has to say will show she hasn’t been chastened at all by what he’s said. Far from it.

“I’m glad you’re not bound by the battery anymore. I’m pleased that you have no intention of building them their murder missiles. But you didn’t ask Yinsen or I whether it was a good idea do the opposite of what the terrorists are expecting you to build. So don’t stand there and be sanctimonious about my responsibility to make group decisions, here,” Emory says, her voice quiet but intense. “At least if they find out what I’ve done, they’ll just laugh, or be confused. When they find out what you’ve done? They’ll kill us.”  

“Which one of us has experience making important, life-changing choices?” he says, twisting his tone into a superior, insulting one. Most people who get into arguments with him end up stung and bruised, because he’s good at it.

“Don’t act like the lives of yourself and your board members were ever at stake when you made those decisions. Not when the table you were gathered around was probably worth more money than the villages that ended up destroyed with your weapons!”

Mentally, he reels back, but physically, all Tony can do is stare at Emory as she pushes past him and heads for her cot.

The last thing he wants to do is make eye contact with Yinsen, so he turns to watch her.

“Don’t let that pride in your cheap shot stop you from speaking up if you start feeling sick,” he calls out, pushing his voice up to his usual standard of cocky and confident, even though it wasn’t such a cheap shot, and she probably should feel proud.

Emory shoots back a glare at him, but all Tony sees is that her hairline is damp. She’s sweating. Whatever reaction her body is going to have to that injection is starting already. Shit, he thinks.

The best he can do is get the suit built as fast as he can. Right now his schematic calls for welding, nothing he can’t do by himself, with both his cave companions in various states of disconnected from him.

Tony misses his people. Not the hangers-on, not the women, not the yes-sayers, but Happy, Pepper, Rhodey. Hell, it had been Pepper’s birthday the day he left. She deserved better than this.

He tries to picture Pepper in the cave with them as he lines up the next piece to weld and pulls down the ridiculous World War II fighter pilot safety glasses. Honestly, she’s tougher than she looks, but picturing having to kiss her to keep her valuable to the terrorists and thus alive makes him a little ill. Pepper has been a part of his life for so long that she’s like a member of his family.

Besides, he’s the one who would be paying out to keep her alive. Obie (who Tony just… doesn’t miss, which is interesting) would probably have gone hard-ass on any ransom demand for Pepper Potts. Tony turns off the welding torch and leans over to examine his handiwork. It’s possible that if Pepper had been in the hum-vee with him, she’d already be dead. That thought also makes him sick. Happy would be dead, too, most likely. He lines up the next, longer piece and starts up the torch again.

Hell, Obie might still have gone hard-ass, even when it came to Tony himself. He might be consolidating his power in the company without Tony. It’s not like JARVIS could legally serve as the executor of the Stark estate, even if he would be the single most qualified entity to do so. Is Pepper frantically working on trying to find him and protecting his private and business assets, all while he is stuck in this remote wasteland, vainly trying to build a suit of armor out of scraps from his missiles? The thought is depressing as hell.

“Well, I wanted to distract myself,” Tony mutters to himself, turning the torch off to look at the weld he finished. “I’m just that good.”

Next chapter, Emory and Tony's feelings for each other deepen with the new danger Emory faces by taking the serum injection.

[spinderella-umbrella]

🌻 Get to know me tag 🌻

Thanking you @thatsbitchcraft , I love answering questions 🌞

rules: tag 10 people you want to get to know better (excuse I’ll do what I want)

Relationship Status: *blinks* um, look. Greysexual and Greyromantic, I guess I’m out here waiting for the one while making no effort whatsoever to find them. I don’t really care for the whole *waves hand* relationship deal.

Favourite Colour: Orange- like, the kind of burnt orange that the sunset paints the horizon. I have this memory that I can basically touch, where something happened with the clouds and the sky and the sun or whatever, and the entire world around me was just orange. It was like when you put on tinted lenses, but nature did it. That’s the day orange took over purple for my favourite colour.

Stuck in my head: A Saving People Problem. Some James x Draco goodness. Thanks for that Ollie.

Last song I listened to: Apparently it was Come Over (Again) by the Crawlers. Good ol’ favourites list.

3 Favourite Foods: At the moment its, Clems Chicken, GYG Mini Enchilada with spicy beef, annnddddd.... Hmm. Ooh the Crunchy Salted Caramel chocolate from Aldi. Yummmmm

Last thing I googled: How high is an overpass 🤣

Dream trip: Look, I dream small okay? I had a trip planned a few years ago to go to Mt. Gambier, but didn’t make it because I sort of maybe crashed my car. And I don’t think I can move on and think about another trip until I’ve been there. I want to swim in a crater lake dammit.

Zero presh taggin’, yolo idgaf @stonedregulus @nightshift-clocking-in @jegulusofwesper @underburningstars @violetbaudelaire-quagmire @siriuslythatbitch @that-blue-niffler @queerregulusablack

[tundrakatiebean]

I was tagged by @sadbbwitch

Last Song: was something from my streaming playlist but I’m gonna put the one that’s stuck in my head rn lol

Favorite color: minty green! Second is like a lilac/lavender which is why I chose those two for branding colors for my art!

Last Movie/Show: I think probably watching Barbie with a friend a couple weeks ago? I’ve been weirdly obsessed with FNAF lore after seeing the movie with a discord group so I’ve been watching a lot of those lore videos on YouTube lately. I’ve been calling it Kidz Bop Conspiracy Theories, but some of the videos are just nice super long video essays that are good to have on in the background

Sweet/Savory/Spicy: yes. If I have to pick just one savory probably wins because I love salt but the other two are awesome too

Relationship Status: single. Aiming to be a spinster tbh I enjoy my alone time more than I enjoy most relationships.

Last thing I googled: “good pizza great pizza sign language” there’s a character who orders in sign and I thought I remembered one of the signs but not all the ones the character used so I looked it up to make sure.

Current Obsession: as previously mentioned FNAF lore, which is like a begrudging interest and I haven’t given the creator any money, but aside from that still being weird about The Hunger Games franchise and doing my art 👍🏻 I guess I’ve also been looking up A Lot of life figure drawings to get ideas for poses when I model too. Trying to keep things fresh when you have the same group of people every week is a task.

I’ll tag a few people I’ve seen in my notes recently but no pressure like always and if I don’t tag you and you want to do this feel free to tag yourself! @mrdreadful @riverofempathy @generouslyandrogynousdragon @seaniepop