#i think he’d get jim to try too

[raisins-n-space]

i’ve been thinking about getting into bookbinding for the summer so consider-

spock doing bookbinding! ( bc i feel like it’s something he’d enjoy plus amanda is a teacher so i think she’d get him to try a bunch of crafts and skills in general)

he takes it back up at some point between TMP and TWOK and starts binding copies stuff for jim for his birthday because he likes paper books but can’t always find physical antique copies.

also consider spock binding a copy of alice in wonderland as a first attempt as a kid and then finding it between TSFS and the one with the whales during their collective detour on vulcan (Amanda kept it).

i feel like fancy bookbinding in general fits the TOS movies vulcan aesthetic so yeah that’s my thoughts <3

[syrupfog]

AU where Sanji can’t go to college because his dad is way too rich for him to qualify for FAFSA, but Sanji’s estranged so he can’t go to him for financial assistance. 

He wanted food science. Still does, someday. But in the meantime he works at Zeff’s restaurant. 

He meets Luffy because Luffy and Ace are notorious dine n’ dashers, and the Baratie is about the only place that doesn’t ban them, because Zeff’s secretly got too soft a heart, and because Luffy and Ace at least TRY to work their bills off, although they never last long.

Ace and Luffy drag him back to “their place”, which is a four person dorm room that’s technically home to Chopper, Usopp, Franky and Zoro. 

At six, it’s a squeeze. And it stinks. Sanji complains the whole time he’s there, forces them to open a window for godssake.

But he comes back every time they invite him. He brings food. 

He’d bring food anyway, but he noticed that Zoro’s clearly an athlete and he’s surviving on JUNK. Slim Jim’s and microwaved eggs and unseasoned chicken. Sanji’s disgusted, and he voices that disgust loudly.

He and Zoro get into arguments about it, but Zoro doesn’t complain when Sanji brings meals. 

Sanji’s also really satisfied when he sees Zoro eat everything without even attempting to turn it down with a “you shouldn’t have” or “I’ll leave some for someone else”.

He eats everything Sanji gives him, without comment, and Sanji gets a thrill from that. A bit because he can recognize someone else who also must have gone through food insecurity. 

Ace and Luffy also clearly have, but their trauma manifests in stealing right off his plate.

Which Sanji allows, of course. He’s a pushover. 

When the group of six come to the Baratie, plus two new people (Nami and Robin), Zeff initially turns them away because “I can’t afford for eight people to skip out on their bills you lunatics”. 

Nami pays for them in advance.

Sanji hears her telling Zoro she’s adding it to his bill. 

The few high school friends Sanji had disappeared off to college at the start of the semester, so he’s happy that he seems to be adopted into this group, right up until he comes to serve their table and hears Nami call the “meeting” to order. 

Sanji looks over her shoulder as he’s pouring waters and sees spread out call logs and texts and letters. Threats. Nami’s words go in one ear and out the other but Sanji hears the key; Vinsmoke. They come from Vinsmoke.

They’re all getting them, he realises. His hands shake as he listens. They’re being targeted, threatened. They don’t know why. 

HE knows why. 

How long has his dad known where he is? What he does, who he sees? 

He backs up. Gripping the jug in a vice grip. Runs for the kitchen.

He tells Patty to cover him because an emergency has come up, and he runs out the back. 

Runs for a long time. 

Just runs.

He stops responding to Ace and Luffy’s attempts to contact him. He can’t talk to them. He’s going to cause them trouble— HAS caused them trouble. They’re his friends. They didn’t know what they were signing up for. 

He calls off as many shifts as he can while still making rent

(which honestly isn’t a lot) and if Ace and Luffy show up he demands to be on dish duty. 

Zeff sees this, but he doesn’t say anything. Sanji’s grateful. And ashamed. 

He’d liked having friends. Liked that terribly crowded stinky dorm room.

It’s almost two months of hiding, although the texts from Ace and (especially) Luffy don’t stop coming. 

And then, one day, he gets a pounding on his door. 

Pulling it open, expecting a pissed of neighbor maybe, he finds— 

“Zoro?” 

Zoro looks at him flatly. “Come on,” he says.

“Uh,” says Sanji. “No?” 

Zoro grabs his wrist (when was the last time someone touched Sanji?) and veritably drags him out the door. 

“Shit, Mosshead, stop!” 

“No,” says Zoro. “We’re tired of you hiding.” 

“I’m not HIDING,” Sanji hisses, at least pulling the door closed behind him

“Yes you are,” Zoro says. “You think I don’t know hiding?” 

Sanji would be surprised if Zoro knew hiding. The man is nothing but bold. “How did you know where I live?” 

Zoro, dragging him down the stairs, says “Your old man told me.” 

“WHO?” 

“That cook. The grouch.”

“ZEFF?” 

“Stop shouting, dumbass.” 

Sanji fishmouths. “I can’t believe he told you,” he says eventually. 

“He’s not an idiot,” Zoro says. “He knew you were hiding for dumb reasons.” 

Sanji was hiding for legitimate reasons. He doesn’t say that.

Zoro drags him all the way out of the building and to an idling old van with painted windows. Oh, is he going to MURDER Sanji? 

He pulls open a back door and throws Sanji in. 

Sanji kicks him as he goes. Zoro curses at him. 

There are no seats in the back of the van.

There’s a lot of pillows. It smells like the dorm. There’s also several six sets of eyes staring down at him from where everyone else is apparently just chilling in the back of the van. 

“Uh,” Sanji says, from the floor. “Hey, guys?” 

Zoro jumps in and pulls the door closed.

The van is thrown into reverse and everyone curses at Ace. 

“Hey,” says Luffy. “You’re back!” 

“That was the plan,” Nami says. 

“Took you long enough,” Usopp says. He’s looking at Zoro though, not Sanji. 

“Couldn’t find his floor,” Zoro grunts. 

Sanji lives on the second floor.

“Uh,” says Sanji, still lying down. Shifting with the turns of the van. “Am I being kidnapped?” 

“That would piss off your dad, wouldn’t it?” Nami muses. “Especially if someone files a missing persons report and he gets dragged in.” 

Sanji gulps. They know he’s a Vinsmoke, then.

“I still say we just fight him,” Luffy says. 

“We’re not fighting an ADULT,” Usopp shrieks. 

“Usopp, buddy, we’re adults,” Ace says. 

“Except chopper! Chopper put your seatbelt on!” 

“It’s on!” 

Sanji’s spiralling. They know who his dad is. Do they want to blackmail Judge? Or—

“So we’re planning a party tonight and we want you to cook for us,” Luffy says. 

Sanji splutters. “Wh—“ 

“Yes, we were planning on driving to the store first before going back to the dorm,” Robin says. 

“Here.” Zoro throws a dirty piece of printer paper and a pen at him. “List.”

“You want me to… make a list.” 

Zoro settles back against the van wall, unfazed by the sharp turn. “Yeah.” 

“You guys want me to… cook for you.” 

“Duh,” says Luffy. 

“You don’t… care that my dad was sending you death threats? Or have you just not gotten to that part in this discussion?” 

Luffy laughs. Bright. Free. “Yeah that was annoying,” he says. “But my guy Jinbei’s on it! He used to work security.” 

“Uh… huh.” Sanji feels sceptical. It feels too easy. 

“Come on, cook,” Zoro says. “I don’t want to have to talk to your old man again. He’s mean.”

Sanji’s never had anyone refer to Zeff as his old man. He doesn’t want to object, though. “Is this not just… too much work? For just me?” 

“Oh, Franky says he can help with dinner if that’s what you’re worried about,” Luffy says. 

“SUPERRRRR.” 

“No,” Sanji shakes his head. “I mean like. I’m not worth all this trouble. You guys were getting threats just for KNOWING me. My dad’s…” 

“Just some bastard you happen to share blood with,” Zoro says, arms crossed. “Who gives a fuck? Chopper’s dad is a reindeer.” 

“He WORKS WITH REINDEER!” Chopper squeaks.

“Luffy’s grandpa has tried to get us arrested, like, ten times,” Usopp says. “It’s all good.” 

“Uh,” says Sanji. That doesn’t sound good. 

“Don’t worry, we can outrun him,” Luffy says sagely. 

“Plus he’s a bitch,” Ace yells from the front.

Sanji looks at the dirty piece of paper in his hands. There’s a boot print on it. He starts writing a list. “Fine,” he says. “But only because I don’t think you guys would leave me alone even if I tried.” 

“Obviously not,” Luffy says. “Zoro’s been moping for weeks.”

Sanji’s head snaps up to meet Zoro’s. 

Zoro shrugs. “I don’t like having to count macros,” he says. 

“Right,” Sanji agrees easily. “Makes sense.” 

He takes note that Zoro’s the one who talked to Zeff. Zoro’s the one who dragged him out. Zoro’s the one who eats everything Sanji gives him like it’s a gift from the gods. 

When they arrive at the store, haphazardly parked in the loading dock, Sanji follows Zoro out. 

He grabs onto Zoro’s sleeve. “You’re pushing the cart for me.” 

“Whatever,” Zoro scoffs.

He does, though. 

And he sits on the kitchen floor while Sanji prepares the food for this so called party. 

The party is the same group that’s always there in the dorm. Sanji finds out, when he’s done cooking, that they’re celebrating his return.

He cries in their bathroom, briefly. 

Then he sits next to Zoro and watches everyone make fools out of themselves as they fill him in on everything he’s missed. 

It’s good.

[wannabehockeygf]

messier - luke hughes

part of the think later fic series

"You're the only one, Who can boil my blood, And make that shit cut, 'Cause you know that I'm always yours, I'm so in love."

*** request: "can we get Luke Hughes and messier pleaseee some angst then smut" summary: visiting your boyfriend's childhood home didn't go was well as you hoped... word count: 5.8k pairing: luke hughes x fem!reader warnings: 18+ NSFW! fingering (f receiving), sex in a semi-public place (in a car) but other than that nothing, pretty tame smut.

notes:

hi guys i'm back sorry my brain has been rotting this entire weekend

this is pretty tame, gentle smut because I've written so much rough stuff recently I needed a detox.

requesters. i love ya'll but we need to make a habit of giving me some sort of guideline besides genre. i suck so much ass at making tropes.

my first luke fic lol

also yes, I’m well aware that Jim and Ellen nor Quinn would ever be mean but this is pretty much the only idea I head

not proof read!!!

***

You hate road trips.

The endless stretch of highway, the stiff leather seats clinging to your skin, and the way time seems to crawl backward. It’s not even the scenery—darkness had swallowed the landscape hours ago, leaving you in this metal box on wheels with nothing but the hum of the engine and the occasional flash of headlights. You’d always preferred flying. Short, direct, and quick. But no, Luke insisted. “It’ll be good for us,” he’d said, like this visit to Toronto to his childhood home was some sort of bonding exercise rather than a trial by fire.

Well, the way there had been fine. More than fine, actually. Jack came along for the ride, filling the hours with nonstop chatter. You didn’t have to think or drive, just laugh at his dumb jokes and let the miles blur together. It was almost fun.

But now? Now, it’s just you and Luke. Jack had opted to fly back to Jersey, and the silence in the car felt suffocating. The weight of the weekend pressed against your chest like a rock you couldn’t shake off. It all went wrong the moment you stepped foot in their house. Their eyes, the judgment—thinly veiled but thick enough to cut through. His mom’s smile never quite reached her eyes, his dad’s questions too sharp, like they were trying to pry something out of you. And Quinn... you don’t even want to think about how Luke’s older brother barely looked at you, as if you didn’t exist.

Gold digger.

They didn’t say it, but you felt it in every sideways glance, every half-hearted attempt at conversation. It stung. You shift uncomfortably in the passenger seat, staring out the window at nothing but blackness.

“You’re too quiet,” Luke says, his voice breaking the silence, but it doesn’t soothe you like it usually does.

“Hmm,” you respond, noncommittal.

He sighs, shifting in his seat. “You’re thinking about it again, aren’t you?”

“Thinking about what exactly, Luke?” You snap, before you can stop yourself. The tension’s been building, and now it’s spilling over. “How your parents probably think I’m only with you because of who you are?”

The headlights illuminate the curve of his jaw as he clenches it. “They don’t think that.”

“They do, though!” You turn toward him now, your voice rising with each word. “It was written all over their faces. I’m not good enough for you, right? Why would I be?”

The passing headlights flash across Luke’s face in rhythmic intervals, casting sharp shadows across his jawline, making him look as frustrated as you feel. You hate that his jaw is clenched like that, hate that even now, in the middle of an argument, he looks perfect, unbothered, like this isn’t tearing at him the way it’s tearing at you.

Luke grips the steering wheel a little tighter, his knuckles whitening under the strain. “They don’t think that,” he repeats, like if he says it enough, it’ll become the truth. His voice is steady, but you hear the edge in it, the frustration that’s been simmering beneath the surface since you left his parents’ house. He always gets like this when you bring it up—as if acknowledging the problem will somehow make it worse.

But it’s already bad. “Luke, please.” You shift in your seat, your hands gesturing helplessly in the small space between you. “They didn’t have to say it out loud. I could feel it.” Your voice is shaky, betraying the vulnerability you’ve been trying to keep locked away since Friday. “Your mom looked at me like I was some kind of—” you search for the right word, something that encapsulates the disappointment that had been practically dripping from her, “—charity case.”

You hear his deep exhale, the frustration in it. He’s always been calm, steady, the kind of guy who doesn’t let things get to him. It’s one of the things you loved about him—his ability to stay grounded when everything around him seemed to be spinning out of control. But right now? Right now, it’s infuriating. How can he be so calm when you’re falling apart?

He runs a hand through his hair, the action a little too deliberate, like he’s trying to stay composed. “You’re reading into it too much,” he says, glancing over at you briefly, his expression unreadable in the dim light of the dashboard. “My mom’s just... cautious. It doesn’t mean she doesn’t like you.”

A bitter laugh escapes your lips before you can stop it. “Cautious?” The word tastes sour in your mouth. “She practically grilled me about every job I’ve ever had like she was waiting for me to slip up and admit I’ve been freeloading my entire life.”

Luke presses his lips together, the muscle in his jaw ticking again. He doesn’t answer right away, and that silence stretches between you, pulling tight like a thread about to snap. His eyes stay on the road, but you can tell he’s thinking about what to say, about how to avoid turning this into a full-blown argument. He’s good at that—at diffusing things before they can blow up. Normally, you’d appreciate it. But right now, you need him to blow up with you, to feel what you’re feeling.

“Look,” he starts, his voice low and careful, “I get that it wasn’t... easy, okay? But you don’t know my mom like I do. She’s protective, that’s all.”

“Protective?” You scoff, louder than you meant to, the word coming out jagged. “Protective of you from what? Me?” The accusation hangs in the air, sharp and undeniable. You don’t need to hear his answer to know it’s true. You’ve known it from the moment she gave you that polite smile at the door, the kind of smile that doesn’t reach the eyes, the kind of smile that says, I’m being nice, but I don’t trust you. You’ve seen it before, just never aimed at you. “She doesn’t trust me, Luke.”

He takes a deep breath, exhaling slowly like he’s trying to keep his own frustration in check. “It’s not that she doesn’t trust you,” he mutters, but even he sounds unsure now. “She’s just... adjusting. Give her time.”

You let out a huff of disbelief, shaking your head. The dark road ahead feels endless, like you’re driving in circles, like this conversation is just looping back to the same point over and over again. “Adjusting to what?” Your voice cracks, and you hate that it does because it makes you sound more vulnerable than you want to be right now. “To the fact that I’m not some high-society debutante with a trust fund? Or is it just that I’m not good enough for their golden boy? Don’t pretend your dad didn’t do the same shit, and Quinn? Barely fucking looked at me.” Luke rubs his temple with one hand, the other still gripping the wheel. “Quinn’s just quiet, you know that. He didn’t mean anything by it.”

“Right,” you mutter, bitterness slipping into your tone. “I’m sure it’s not because he thinks I’m not good enough for you. It’s not like literally everyone else was thinking the same thing.”

“They weren’t!” Luke insists, his voice rising, frustration creeping in now. His grip on the wheel tightens, and for a second, you think he’s going to snap. You almost want him to, to raise his voice, to match the energy that’s been building inside you all night. But instead, he just sighs again, that same exhausted sound that feels like nails on a chalkboard. “Stop it,” he says quietly, his voice firm but tired. “Stop worrying about what they think. It doesn’t matter.”

But it does. It matters so much it’s consuming you. You turn to stare out the window again, the landscape outside a blur of darkness. The silence in the car is deafening now, the kind that fills every crevice and drowns out the hum of the engine. You can’t stand it anymore.

“Easy for you to say,” you mutter under your breath, half-hoping he doesn’t hear you, half-hoping he does. “You’re their son. They’ll always love you, no matter what. But me? I’m just some girl they think is using you for your money or your status or... whatever.” Your hands are trembling, but you clasp them together in your lap, trying to steady yourself.

Luke’s jaw clenches again, and this time when he speaks, there’s an edge to his voice that wasn’t there before. “You’re not ‘just some girl,’” he bites out, finally letting some of that frustration slip through. “And they don’t think that.”

“How do you know?” You turn to him, your voice rising again, the words spilling out faster than you can control them. “How do you know what they think? You weren’t the one sitting there, being interrogated like you’re on trial!”

His eyes flick over to you, narrowed and sharp. “I know my family, okay? You don’t. You’ve met them what—twice? Three times?”

Your chest tightens at that. You’ve never felt more like an outsider than you do right now, like you’re intruding on something sacred, something you don’t have the right to understand. It makes you feel small, insignificant, like you’ll never truly belong. And maybe you won’t. Maybe they’ll always see you as the girl who’s not quite good enough for their perfect son.

“Yeah, well, maybe that’s the problem,” you snap, your voice cracking again. “Maybe I don’t know them because they don’t want to know me.”

The words hang in the air between you, and for a moment, you think you might’ve gone too far. But then Luke exhales sharply, shaking his head like he can’t believe you’re having this argument. His fingers drum against the steering wheel, and when he finally speaks, his voice is low, almost tired. “You’re impossible sometimes, you know that?”

Your fingers twitch in your lap, itching to do something—anything. You could reach for the radio, but that feels like a betrayal, a cowardly way of cutting through the tension without addressing it. You steal a glance at Luke, but his gaze is trained on the road, jaw set, eyes forward. His hand grips the steering wheel tighter than necessary, knuckles pale, and the leather creaks under the pressure.

You can’t take it anymore.

“Impossible?” you repeat, your voice cutting through the still air like a knife. The words echo back at you, sharp and unforgiving, and suddenly, there’s no holding back the flood. “You think I’m the one being impossible?”

He doesn’t respond right away, just lets out a long, heavy sigh. It’s the kind of sigh that says, here we go again, and it makes your blood boil. Like you’re the problem. Like your feelings are the inconvenience here, something to be tolerated rather than understood.

You don’t let the silence linger this time. “God, you always do this,” you mutter, shaking your head as you stare out the window, watching the dark blur of trees rush past. “Every time I bring this up, you act like I’m crazy. Like I’m just imagining it all.” You pause for a breath, but it comes out shaky. “Do you think I want to feel like this?”

Luke shifts in his seat, and for a second, you think he’s about to say something, but all he does is keep drumming his fingers impatiently on the wheel. It’s almost worse than if he’d argued back. At least then you’d know he cared enough to fight with you.

The silence stretches, suffocating, until finally, his voice cuts through it, low and strained. “I just don’t know why you let it get to you like this.”

“Let it?” The disbelief in your voice is almost tangible, hanging heavy in the air between you. “As if I have a choice? As if I can just flip a switch and suddenly not care that your family thinks I’m some... leech or gold digger or—” You break off, your breath hitching slightly, the words too bitter to finish.

Luke’s eyes flick to you for the briefest second before returning to the road, his jaw clenching again. “You’re overthinking it.”

It’s the casual dismissal, the sheer indifference, that makes something inside you snap. “I’m not overthinking it!” you nearly shout, the words bursting out of you before you can reel them back in. Your heart pounds in your chest, the frustration bubbling up until you can feel it in every nerve, every muscle, making you fidget and shift in your seat like you’re too restless to stay still.

Luke slams his hand against the steering wheel, not hard enough to scare you, but enough to make a point. He lets out a frustrated puff of air, and he mutters something under his breath—something you can’t quite catch but know isn’t good. His frustration mirrors your own, though his is quieter, more controlled. His eyes stay locked on the road as he speaks, his voice cold. “Why do you care so much about what they think? Why does it have to matter?”

You stare at him, incredulous. Why does it have to matter? Is he serious? The words swirl in your head, disbelief mixing with anger, making it hard to think straight. How could he not see it? How could he not understand?

“I care because they’re your family!” you snap, the words flying out of your mouth before you can stop them. “I care because no matter how much you tell me it doesn’t matter, I know it does. You love them, Luke. You value their opinion, even if you won’t admit it. So yeah, I care about what they think of me.”

His grip on the steering wheel tightens, his fingers turning white again. His silence now feels like a challenge, like he’s daring you to keep going, to keep pushing. You almost want to—almost want to see just how far you can push him before he finally snaps.

And then, just as you’re about to spit out something else, something that will no doubt escalate this even further, Luke suddenly jerks the steering wheel to the right. The car swerves slightly as he takes an exit ramp, the tires squealing against the asphalt. You lurch forward in your seat, your heart pounding in your chest as the sudden movement jolts you out of your anger for a split second.

“What are you doing?” you ask, your voice rising with panic and confusion as you glance around, realizing that you’re nowhere near home. The highway disappears behind you, replaced by a narrow, deserted road lined with thick trees on either side.

Luke doesn’t answer immediately, his jaw still clenched, his eyes fixed on the road ahead. The tension in the car is palpable, hanging heavy between you like a storm cloud about to burst. Finally, after what feels like an eternity, he pulls off to the side of the road, the car coming to a stop in a small clearing, illuminated only by the faint glow of the headlights.

The silence that follows is deafening, broken only by the soft ticking of the engine as it cools down. For a moment, neither of you moves. The weight of everything hangs in the air, pressing down on your chest like a stone.

Luke turns off the engine and leans back in his seat, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “I just—” He pauses, exhaling sharply, and finally turns to look at you. His eyes are dark, intense, and there’s something simmering just beneath the surface, something raw. “I needed to get off the damn highway. We weren’t getting anywhere.”

The double meaning in his words isn’t lost on you. It wasn’t just the road he was frustrated with—it was the entire situation. The argument. You. And that realization sends a shiver down your spine.

You sit there, staring at him, unsure of what to say. Your heart is still racing, your hands trembling slightly in your lap. But the anger you felt before is starting to ebb away, replaced by something else—something quieter, but no less intense.

Before you can stop yourself, you’re reaching for him, your fingers grazing his arm lightly, tentatively. He glances down at your hand, then back up at you, his eyes softening just a fraction.

“Come here,” he says quietly, his voice low and rough around the edges. It’s not a demand, but it’s not a suggestion either. There’s a weight to his words, a pull that you can’t resist.

Without thinking, you unbuckle your seatbelt and move toward him, your body shifting awkwardly in the cramped space. Luke’s hands are on you before you even reach the back seat, his fingers gripping your waist as he pulls you into the space between the seats. The leather squeaks beneath you as you settle into the back, the air between you charged with an energy you can’t quite define—part frustration, part need.

He moves over the console to join you, and in the dim light, the shadows carve out every sharp line of his face, highlighting the tension that’s still etched there. But now, there’s something else in his eyes, something that makes your breath catch.

“I hate that you think that,” Luke murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper as he leans in, his forehead resting against yours. His breath is warm against your skin, mingling with yours in the small space. “I hate that you think you’re not good enough.” His hand slips around to the back of your neck, his fingers tangling in your hair as he pulls you closer.

You pull back slightly, just enough to meet his gaze, and the softness in his eyes almost makes you forget why you’re upset in the first place. But then the worry, the doubts, creep back in, unbidden. "I just—" you start, your voice thick with frustration. "I can't stop thinking about how they see me. It's like... no matter what I do, it’s never enough."

Luke's expression tightens again, a flicker of impatience crossing his face. He pulls away just enough to lean back against the seat, running a hand through his hair. "Why do you keep doing this to yourself?" His voice is laced with exasperation, but there’s something else there too—concern, maybe. "They don’t matter. We matter. Isn’t that enough?"

You want to believe him, you really do. But it’s like every word he says just sinks deeper into the pit of your stomach, twisting. "You say that, but... God, Luke, it’s not that simple. You don’t get it because you’re not the one constantly under their microscope." The words spill out before you can stop them, your frustration bubbling up again.

Luke shakes his head, a small, humorless laugh escaping him as he tightens his grip on the steering wheel. "No, you’re right," he mutters, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye. "I don’t get it. But you know what I do get?" He pauses, and for a second, you think he’s going to stop there, but he pushes on, his voice lower now, almost a growl. "I get that I’m sitting here, telling you that none of it matters. And you’re sitting there, acting like it’s the end of the world."

You open your mouth to respond, but the words die on your lips as he leans in closer, his hand sliding up your thigh. "What I don’t get," he continues, his voice softening but still carrying that edge, "Is why you can’t just trust me when I say you’re enough."

Your breath hitches as his fingers trace slow, deliberate circles against your leg, the tension in the car shifting from the argument to something else entirely. You try to stay focused, try to keep your mind on the conversation, but his touch is distracting, making it hard to think straight.

"I... I do trust you," you stammer, your voice unsteady, "but it’s not that easy. You don’t just stop worrying because someone tells you to."

Luke raises an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "Oh, really?" he murmurs, his hand moving higher, his eyes locking onto yours. "Maybe I just haven’t been convincing enough."

His words send a jolt through you, heat pooling in your stomach, and suddenly, the argument feels like a distant memory, something less important than the way he’s looking at you now, like he’s daring you to keep pushing him. And maybe you would have, if his hand wasn’t already slipping under your shirt, his fingers warm against your skin, making it impossible to think about anything else.

You let out a shaky breath, your body leaning into his touch despite your mind screaming at you to stay focused. "Luke..." you start, but the rest of the sentence dies in your throat as he leans in, his lips ghosting over your ear.

"Stop worrying," he whispers, his voice rough and filled with that dark intensity you can never quite resist. His hand slides higher, sending sparks up your spine. "Let me show you how much I don’t care about anything but you."

Luke's fingers drift up, warm and deliberate, as if mapping out every inch of your skin beneath his touch. Your breath hitches, caught somewhere between the tension that lingers from the argument and the undeniable heat of his closeness. It's a mix of frustration and need, your thoughts spiraling as the sensation of his hand grounds you and unravels you all at once.

But there’s still that nagging voice in the back of your head, reminding you why you’re here in the first place, why your heart had been racing with something other than desire just moments ago. “This isn’t fair,” you whisper, half to yourself, half to Luke, as you shift in the seat, his hand momentarily slipping from your thigh.

He pauses, his forehead still resting lightly against yours, and you can feel the heat of his breath fan across your cheek. “What isn’t fair?” His voice is low, but there’s an edge to it, the kind that tells you he knows exactly what you mean but wants to hear you say it anyway.

You sigh, the sound barely audible in the dark, cramped space of the car. “I’m still upset with you.”

Luke lets out a soft chuckle, but there’s no real humor in it. “You’ve made that pretty clear,” he mutters, his lips brushing the side of your neck now, almost absentmindedly, as if he’s more focused on you than on the argument itself.

Your heart skips a beat, torn between wanting to push him away and pull him closer. “No, I mean it. You can’t just—” The words falter on your tongue as his hand moves again, more insistent now, tugging you toward him.

You can feel the tension in his muscles, the subtle shift in the way he holds you, as if he’s trying to balance the frustration with the desire that simmers beneath it all. “I know you’re upset,” he murmurs against your skin, his lips brushing a soft kiss just below your jawline. “But I’m not letting you spiral over this anymore.”

A shiver runs down your spine at the firmness in his voice, but the frustration bubbles up again, tangled with everything else you’re feeling. “You don’t get to decide that for me,” you snap, though the bite in your tone is softened by the way your body instinctively leans into him.

Luke pulls back just enough to look at you, his eyes searching yours in the dim light. “I’m not trying to control how you feel,” he says, his voice steady, though you can see the tension still lingering in the set of his jaw. “But I am trying to remind you that what they think doesn’t matter as much as you think it does.”

You stare at him, your chest rising and falling with shallow breaths, torn between the desire to argue and the warmth of his hand now resting on your waist, the weight of his presence calming you even as it sets your heart racing.

“Maybe not to you,” you say quietly, your voice barely above a whisper as you meet his gaze. “But it matters to me, Luke. And that’s not something you can just... fix.”

For a moment, the space between you is filled with nothing but the sound of your breathing, the tension palpable. Then, slowly, Luke shifts, his hand sliding up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing gently against your skin. “I know,” he murmurs, his voice softer now, the sharp edges of frustration dulled. “I know it matters to you. But can you trust me enough to let me show you that it doesn’t change anything between us?”

You hesitate, the weight of his words settling over you like a warm blanket, and for the first time since the argument started, the tightness in your chest loosens just a little. “I want to,” you admit, your voice barely audible in the stillness of the car. “But it’s hard.”

Luke leans in, his lips barely grazing yours, and the softness in his touch makes your heart stutter. “Then let me make it easier,” he whispers, and the kiss that follows is slow, gentle, as if he’s trying to reassure you through the warmth of his mouth against yours.

Your fingers find their way to his hair, tangling in the strands as the kiss deepens, the heat between you simmering quietly, like embers waiting to be fanned into a flame. Every movement is deliberate, slow, as if the argument has faded into the background, leaving only the two of you, wrapped in the warmth of each other.

Luke’s hands are careful, guiding you down against the leather seats as he follows, his weight settling over you in a way that’s both grounding and exhilarating. There’s no rush, no frantic movement—just the quiet urgency of two people who know exactly what they want but are taking their time getting there.

The quiet inside the car feels louder now, broken only by the soft rustle of clothes and the barely audible hitch in your breathing as Luke’s hand glides up your side. His touch lingers just below your ribs, fingers tracing a slow, teasing path that leaves a trail of warmth in its wake. Your skin hums under his fingertips, every inch of you tuned to the way he moves—so careful, so focused, as though he's trying to soothe the lingering frustrations with each touch.

You shift beneath him, the leather seat creaking ever so slightly, and your breath catches when his knee nudges between your legs. He hesitates for just a second, his gaze meeting yours in the dim light, searching your face as if asking for permission. The look in his eyes sends a shiver through you—not just lust but something deeper, a quiet reassurance that everything is okay now, even if things had been tense before.

Your fingers move up to his neck, pulling him closer as you press your lips against his, the kiss soft at first, but it doesn’t stay that way. Luke responds immediately, his lips parting slightly as his hand finds its way under your shirt, the warmth of his palm against your bare skin sending a surge of heat through you. The kiss deepens, and you can feel the frustration melting away, replaced by a slow, simmering need.

His hand trails down your stomach, stopping just above your waistband. The anticipation alone has your heart pounding, and you bite your lip to stifle a soft whimper. Luke pulls back just enough to look at you, his forehead resting against yours as his thumb traces lazy circles on your hip. "You okay?" he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper.

You nod, not trusting your voice, and he smiles—soft, almost teasing—before kissing you again, this time slower, more deliberate. His fingers tug gently at the hem of your pants, and you can’t help the way your hips lift instinctively, silently asking for more. The need between you is palpable now, the air thick with it, but there’s no rush. Every touch, every kiss, feels like it's drawn out, like you're both savoring the moment.

Luke’s hand slides lower, slipping beneath the fabric, and you bite back a gasp as his fingers find you, moving with the same careful intensity that he always has. Your back arches slightly, and you have to bite your lip to keep quiet, every nerve in your body tuned to the sensation of his touch. You feel the tension building again, but this time it’s the kind that makes your breath catch for an entirely different reason.

Luke's fingers press deeper, deliberate and slow, like he’s savoring every second of your reaction. The touch sends a ripple of heat through you, unraveling all the tension that had been coiling tight from the argument. Your skin feels electric, each stroke of his fingers igniting something raw and instinctive inside you. The leather beneath you squeaks softly as your back arches, the weight of him grounding you even as your body craves more. Every nerve feels alive, responding to him in a way that makes it hard to remember why you were upset in the first place.

Your breath stutters as his lips graze your ear, his breath warm and uneven against your skin. A quiet moan escapes before you can stop it, the sound slipping out despite your effort to keep quiet. Luke smirks against your neck, the curve of his lips brushing your pulse in a way that makes you shiver, the heat between you intensifying. You can feel his restraint, the way his hands move with purpose but not haste, as if he’s determined to make this last, to take his time with every single touch.

His fingers move more deliberately now, sliding deeper, and your body reacts instantly, a sharp gasp caught in your throat. You bite down on your lip, trying to stifle the sound, but the pleasure building between your thighs is impossible to ignore. Luke’s free hand grips your hip, holding you steady as your hips start to move on their own, seeking more of that delicious pressure.

The air in the car feels suffocating in the best way, filled with the sounds of your shared breathing and the faint rustle of clothes. You catch the briefest glance of his face in the dim light, his jaw clenched, eyes dark and intent on you, as though he’s barely holding himself back. It sends a wave of heat crashing over you, and you can’t help the way your legs wrap around him, pulling him closer, wanting him—no, needing him—deeper. His thumb brushes against a spot that makes your vision blur, and a sharp, involuntary whimper escapes, too loud for the quiet space.

“Shh,” Luke breathes out, his voice a low rasp that barely conceals the strain in it. “We gotta be quiet, baby.”

But there’s nothing quiet about the way he touches you, the way his body presses against yours, every slow, deliberate movement setting you ablaze. Your mouth falls open in a silent moan, and you press your forehead against his shoulder, your fingers digging into his back as you try to focus on something—anything—other than the wave of pleasure threatening to spill over.

You can feel the heat of his breath against your neck as his lips brush your skin, soft kisses that trail down your collarbone. It’s slow, deliberate, like he’s savoring every inch of you. But there’s something teasing in it too, something that makes your breath hitch as his hand continues its agonizingly slow rhythm between your legs. The frustration builds alongside the pleasure, the need to cry out so overwhelming that you have to bury your face in his shoulder to muffle the sounds escaping from your throat.

The pressure builds, winding tighter and tighter, and you’re barely holding it together when Luke’s lips find your ear again. “You’re doing so good,” he whispers, the words barely audible but sending a fresh wave of heat down your spine. His voice is ragged, strained, like he’s barely managing to keep himself in check. “So damn good for me, baby.”

The praise hits you like a punch to the gut, your entire body tensing beneath him. Your thighs squeeze around him involuntarily, your hips lifting again in response to the slow, torturous rhythm he’s set. You can’t help the way your body reacts, chasing that high even as you try desperately to stay quiet.

Your fingers tighten in his hair, pulling him closer as your lips find his, muffling the moan that finally breaks free when his thumb presses just right. The kiss is messy, frantic, but it does little to hide the soft, breathless gasps escaping from both of you now. His hand moves faster, more insistent, and you can feel the tension in his body mirroring your own as the space between you narrows further.

Luke’s breath hitches as you tug him even closer, your lips parting to let out another soft, desperate moan that’s swallowed by his mouth. His fingers curl inside you, and you’re done for, every nerve sparking with heat. You break away from the kiss, your forehead pressed to his as you gasp for air, trying to keep your voice down but failing as the pleasure builds.

“Luke…” you gasp, his name barely a whisper, more breath than sound, but it’s enough to make him groan, low and rough, as he pushes himself harder against you, his lips brushing yours in another heated, sloppy kiss.

Your body trembles with the effort to keep quiet, and he knows exactly what he’s doing to you. His touch becomes more insistent, more confident, and you can feel him smirk against your lips as he leans in, his breath warm and ragged against your skin.

“You gonna come for me?” he whispers, his voice low, rough with need. His thumb circles just right, and you’re nodding before you can even think, your body already teetering on the edge. “Come on, baby,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against your neck. “I wanna feel it.”

And you do—hard, your body shuddering as you clamp your mouth shut, burying your face in his shoulder to muffle the sounds that threaten to spill out. Your fingers dig into his back as the pleasure washes over you, hot and overwhelming, your entire body trembling in his arms as he holds you steady, his fingers never stopping.

You ride out the waves, your breath coming in shallow gasps as your legs tighten around him, your body still humming with the aftershocks. Luke slows his movements, his hand gently pulling away as he leans down, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead.

For a moment, everything is still, the car quiet except for the sound of your uneven breathing. Then Luke shifts, his forehead resting against yours as he looks down at you, his expression soft but still dark with desire.

“I love you, okay?” he whispers, his voice rough, but there’s a softness to it that makes your heart flutter. “We’ll get through this.”

You nod, still catching your breath, and he smiles, his lips brushing yours in a soft, tender kiss that feels like a promise—like he’s not done with you yet.

[sp0o0kylights]

Part One / Part Two / Part Three (you're here)/ Part Four

A03

It ain’t much.” Wayne started, half-curious if the sight of his trailer would be the thing to offend Steve’s (so far lacking) born-rich sensibilities. 

Of course turning to look at the kid proved he was in his own head about this more than Steve was, because Steve had his eyes closed and looked two seconds away from puking. 

Right. 

Pain management. 

“I’ll get your stuff.” Wayne said as he guided the truck to its usual parking spot. 

Steve’s quiet ‘okay’ had him hustling a little bit, and the fact he had to gently guide the kid’s hand off his bag handle told him it was the right choice. 

The nailbat could wait in the car for the moment he figured, as he led Harrington in. He’d get it sorted once he’d fished out the pain pills and gotten Steve settled a bit. 

"Eds--he's my nephew that I told you about--has the bedroom, so you and I get to share out here." Wayne explained as he loaded Steve up on Tylenol and put a bag of frozen peas in his hand, not bothering to give a tour of the trailer. 

It was pretty damn clear which door led to the bathroom and which didn’t, given Ed’s door was wide open. 

Steve peeked at the absolute chaos strewn about beyond the doorframe but didn’t say nothing of it. 

Didn’t, in fact, even look too long, instead sitting at the table as directed. 

Seemed to sink a little into it, leaning an elbow on the cheap wood to help keep his head up. 

"The couch is a pull out, but I'll warn you the bar across the middle is nasty. I usually sleep on the cot over there," Wayne nodded to where it was rolled neatly against the opposite wall, "but given the state of you, I'll let ya have your pick." 

Steve blinked (or winked, not like Wayne could tell since the peas were pressed against half of his face) finally seeming to perk up a bit. "I can't take your bed." 

"I'm not going to fight you for it, I'm just offering." Wayne responded, now focused on trying to locate the bandages in his ancient medical kit. 

The one on Steve's hand was falling apart, and he didn't like the look of the injury he could see under it. 

Yeah, Wayne was absolutely going to need to make a run to the store. 

“Lemme see.” He asked as he finally got what he wanted. 

It seemed to take Harrington a minute to process what Wayne wanted, but he finally held out his injured hand, watching as Wayne unwrapped the bandages.

"I'll take the couch." Steve said stubbornly, but Wayne was past it, too busy frowning at the kid's hand. 

It took him a moment, once he'd gotten it all off, to properly realize what he was seeing--that the mottled bruising on Steve's wrist was separate from the cut across his palm.

In fact, it looked a hell of a lot like…

Wayne paused, then pretended to fuss with the dirty bandages for a moment while his eyes sought out Steve's other wrist.

Sure enough, matching bruises.

Someone had tied the kid up--and it hadn’t been the feds, because these bruises were partially healed. 

Wayne had initially thought of Steve as having been tortured in the same way roving bands of neighborhood kids tortured their peers. The kind of hurt that came when it was an unfair fight; four on one and wielding knives, so you had to take what you were given and pray you didn't get stabbed. 

He was not thinking actual, honest to God torture. 

Yet here the evidence was, plain as day.

'What the hell went down in that mall.' 

Someone as young as Steve shouldn't have been caught up in it, and it made a deep part of Wayne ache for the poor kid across from him.  

All this shit, and his parents still couldn't be bothered to come home.Just left him on his own, as if it was another Tuesday. 

Did they even know? Wayne wondered as he got to work. Had Steve, or Hopper, or anyone tried to call them about the mallfire? Let them know their son got hurt?

Jim said he hadn’t bothered to reach out regarding the spooks, but that had been a week or so later past the fire. 

Wayne couldn’t even imagine it. 

Getting a call that Eddie been involved in such a thing would have him off the couch in an instant, and the image that played on the news, the ones all the reporters talked over of a gurney being wheeled out of Starcourt’s on fire front doors…

He’d have been a wreck until he had his kid in his sights. 

‘Nothing you can do for that,’ Wayne figured silently, ‘but you can help him now.’

Wayne wasn't exactly an expert when it came to wound care, but like many people who just couldn't afford to go to a doctor he'd gotten by.

Learned a lot of home remedies. Figured out pretty quick when something needed to be seen by an expert and when you could hold off.

Made friends with some of the local nurses on the night shift down at the Red Barn, well enough that a few well baked treats and dishes could sometimes be traded for looking over a potentially broken arm or two. 

It had come in handy plenty, given Ed’s ability to attract trouble, but thankfully he’d never managed to hurt himself like this. 

He’d never even gotten caught in a bad fight. 

A black eye or two sure, but the kid had adapted his “scary” act not too long after Wayne had gotten him, and it seemed to work as intended. It was half the reason Wayne never said anything about it (and hell, even let Eddie take his ancient leather motorcycle jacket.) .

All of that was to say that he could tell Harrington's hand needed cleaning before it could be rebandaged, but didn't appear to need stitches. 

Course pouring alcohol all over an injury like this wasn't exactly going to be fun, and he told Steve as such.

"I know." Steve replied, with a grimace. The kid’s injuries seemed to be getting to him, and Wayne anticipated he was going to drop here the second Wayne was done looking him over. 

He hoped Harrington could get in a few hours--particularly before Eddie came home. 

Wayne gently wiped it clean, noting how well Steve sat given the amount of pain he had to be in.

Tylenol, even given the more than recommended amount he'd given Steve, just wasn't going to cut it. 

Not in general, and definitely not for this. 

What could help was likely something Eds had, which was yet another conversation Wayne wasn't looking forward to having.

Particularly given that Eds had sworn off selling hard drugs after his last encounter with Hopper, and Wayne knew damn well that had only lasted until the damn kid caught sight of an overdue bill. 

Too smart for his own good, Eddie was.

"I can give you something to bite down on, if you like." Wayne said to Steve, getting the alcohol and bandages ready to go. 

He got a tight smile in response. "So long as you don't use a needle, I'm good." 

And Wayne figured it was just teenager talk--a young man who didn't really know how bad this was going to be, and prepared himself to hold Steve's arm down accordingly so they wouldn't have to do it twice.

"Four." Wayne counted down. "Three. Two."

He poured on two.

Better that than Steve clenching up in anticipation.

Steve hissed, arm jerking, but stilled it under his own power as Wayne began dabbing his hand with some of the medkit’s wipes. 

He felt his eyebrow raise as Harrington froze himself in place, breathing in a way that felt practiced. 

This, Wayne decided, was not Steve's first rodeo. 

"Almost done." He promised softly as he finished wrapping the wound back up, this time in the pattern he'd been shown long ago. 

"Thanks." Steve said, blinking rapidly. 

The kid's eyes were wet, but he didn't let a tear fall, and that perked Wayne's attention more than anything. 

Some men felt they weren't allowed to cry--and pushed the same ideals on their sons. 

It wouldn't surprise him any if Richard Harrington was one of them. 

"I know you got hit more than just your hands and face kid." Wayne said, after letting Steve have a moment to recover. "You bleeding under that shirt?"

"Not bleeding." Steve murmured, looking more and more like he was struggling to stay upright now that the worst part was over. "I think my hand got the worst of it."

"Do I want to know what happened there?" Wayne asked, keeping his voice calm and non judgemental. 

Like they were back to talking sports.

"I fell back into a broken window.” Steve responded, and now that Wayne had seen the kid lie, it was easy to see when he was telling the truth. 

"Ouch." Wayne said flatly. Which made that hint of a smile flash across Steve's face. 

"I'll cut you a deal. I taped last weekend's game, but haven't had time to watch it yet. I figure you might not have had a chance neither." He sat back, nailing Harrington with a no-nonsense stare. "You let me take a look at what they did to your chest n' back there, and I'll put it on."

Steve just looked at him a little miserably, a beaten dog still hesitant to wag its tail. "I don't think there's anything you can do for it, it's really mostly bruised. Nothing feels broken though."

"You know what broken ribs feel like?" Wayne questioned partially out of curiosity but mostly to make sure.

Teenage boys loved to think themselves immortal after all.

Or at least his did.

"Cracked, but yeah." Steve admitted. "Couldn't finish out the year on the basketball team because of it."

He said it like it didn't hurt, but Wayne knew better.

Boy like Steve? 

He'd bet big bills something like basketball was all the kid really had, in terms of positive relationships.

(Except apparently, whatever had made Hopper decide to look after him.)

"I mostly just wanna make sure nothing looks like it's broken or bleeding internally son." Wayne said, then tried to cinch it with some good old guilt tripping. "I'd hate to have to tell Hopper that after all he went through to keep you safe, you up and died on my couch." 

"Hey, it might save him some future gray hairs." Steve responded but he looked a little more open to the idea, at least. 

It took a bit more coaxing, but Wayne finally got the kid to take his shirt off. 

The damage had him whistling out of instinct.

A fucking artist had gone to town on his torso, with bruised of all shades parading around to his left side. 

Thankfully most of it didn't hold that deep, dark tone that indicated any kind of bleeding, his back had scratches and road rash, and his shoulder had one long, thin line that looked a hell of a lot like Steve had narrowly avoided getting cut with a knife. 

"You got lucky, kid." Wayne told him.

Steve let out a shaky breath. "I know." 

He hesitated, then opened his mouth, a question clear on his face. 

Which of course, was the exact moment Eddie chose to walk through the door. 

"Hey old man, I--Harrington!?" 

"Munson?" Steve said, looking just as confused. "What are you doing here?"

"I live here?" Eddie had frozen in their little entryway, so close the door nearly whacked him on the ass as it slammed closed. 

Privately, Wayne cursed his nephew's awful timing.

"What are you doing here?" Eddie challenged back, and it was only years of Wayne knowin’ the kid to see he was struggling to decide how he wanted to react. 

“Uh…” Steve said, trailing off and looking pointedly at Wayne. 

Eddie saw this just as he registered all of Steve’s injuries. “Shit Wayne, did you hit him with your car?” 

“Don’t try to be funny, boy.” Wayne warned. There wasn’t much bite there, and Eddie, far too used to him, didn’t take it seriously.

Eddie was glued to the spot, eyes narrowing, “... Did Harrington hit the car with his fuckin’ face? Jesus christ.” 

Wayne could tell he was struggling to pull one of his usual little bits, eyes too wide and voice too high. 

He rubbed his eyes tiredly. “Eddie.”

“We can take him out back and shoot him, put the poor bastard out of his misery.” Eddie continued, like a runaway train. 

All gas, no breaks. 

It was a joke but a poor one, and it made Steve straighten out of his sideways slant. 

‘Dammit.’  Wayne thought with a sigh. 

He needed to stop this now, before the two of them went for each other's throats. 

“Since you already know each other I won’t bother with introductions.” Wayne cut in, before Eddie could blow up like a tea kettle--or cause Harrington to do the same. “Steve’s gonna be staying with us for a while.”

That of course, got the reaction Wayne had been hoping to avoid. 

Eddie stood stunned for a second, mouth gaping like a fish. 

“Why!?” He finally landed on, seeming both at a loss for words, and equally trying not to have a proper meltdown in front of Steve. 

Certainly wasn’t for Wayne’s benefit. 

"I'm…" Steve glanced at Wayne a second time, "...on vacation?"

 It took everything Wayne had in him not to run a hand down his face. 

He was going to give Harrington a pass, on account of the head trauma.

"You’re vacationing here.”Eddie’s tone was flat, but seething, like a lit fuse. “In my living room?” 

“...Yeah?” He finished poorly tone up-ticking at the end like it was a question. “It’s a--college thing. Supposed to help my applications.” 

This time, Wayne did run a hand down his face this time. 

God save him from idiot teenagers. 

Hands clenched tight, Eddie took an aborted glance to the right before shaking his head hard and scoffing. At least it let Wayne know exactly what his kid was thinking. 

To Eddie’s right was the counter where Wayne kept the bills. 

Before he realized just how badly Ed’s daddy had messed him up about such things, Wayne hadn’t bothered to hide the bills that were past due. Turns out the kid noticed such things, and worry over money had been the leading factor in more than one of Eddie’s run-ins with Hop.

Clearly, he thought it was the cause of Wayne entertaining this bullshit. 

Offense was written in every rigid line of his body, and Wayne knew betrayal wasn’t gonna be far behind. 

“What the hell Wayne!” Eddie spat, taking a singular step forward, the accent he tried so hard to hide growing thicker the madder he got. “We’re not a damn experiment--why would you agree to that!?” 

He had seconds to salvage this, before Ed’s ran and did something dumb. 

“‘Steve’s here cause I owe Hopper a favor.” Wayne answered honestly, standing to put himself between the two. “He reminded me of all the times he’s been good to you, and then he called it in. Now,” 

He cut Eddie off before his rant could pick up steam and bowl them all over. “I need you both to listen to me. Steve, I need Eddie to know the basics in order to keep you safe. I’ll only tell him what he needs to hear to understand why that is.” 

Steve stared at him for a moment, catching Wayne’s eye as the elder man positioned himself so he could see both boys at once.

“Okay.” Steve said, dropping the hesitant tone for something serious. 

Eddie said nothing, crossing his arms tightly over his chest and gripping the edges of his jacket hard enough to leave creases. 

Judging that as good enough, Wayne continued. “He’s not here on vacation, Ed’s. Hopper has asked us to house Steve for a bit due to an ongoing situation. It’s a dangerous one, and it’s important you do not tell anyone that Steve is here.”

Eddie’s mouth did the thing it did when he desperately wanted to say something, but Wayne held up a finger in the universal “wait.” position. 

“Let me finish.” He warned, and though he caught a hell of a glare for it, Eddie remained silent. 

“Right now I need you to trust me, son.” He said softly, and prayed that alone was enough for now. “I don’t do things without a good reason behind it. I know you know that. Let me get Steve settled, and I’ll come talk to you.” 

He could go in depth a little more, outside of Harrington’s eyesight. There Eddie would be inclined to drop the parts of his personality he put on blast as a defense mechanism, and ideally, Steve could get the sleep he so desperately needed. 

“It’ll be tight, but we’ll all get through this so long as you two keep your heads. “You both got plenty of problems right now on your own, you don’t need to add to it. You understand?”  

Eddie’s eyes narrowed dramatically as he sucked in a deep breath. 

“Fine.” He snarled, letting air hiss through his clenched teeth. “As long as King Dick here can keep himself out of my shit.”

Steve didn’t rise to the bait--or perhaps, was simply too tired to want to do anything but exit the conversation. 

‘Yes Sir.” He said instead, and Wayne didn’t bother correcting him that time. Simply clocked the title as a nervous tick of Steve’s and let himself feel that brief pang of sorrow that he’d caused the kid to backslide a bit trust wise.

No use for it, though.

Not if he wanted peace in his home. 

“Good.” Wayne said. 

Eddie stormed past, beeling towards his room. 

The door closed with an angry slam, the sound echoing throughout the trailer. 

Steve reacted like a puppet with its strings cut, letting out his own breath and going right back to slumping sideways. 

“Come on kid.” Wayne said quietly. “I think it’s beyond time you got to lay down. Let’s get you a shirt and some blankets.”

Steve didn’t say a word, just managed to get himself up and over to the couch, fumbling for his bag. 

“Oh.” He said after a moment, pulling a green sweater from the duffel and blinking dully at it. “Shit--I mean, shoot.” He shot a guilty look to Wayne, like Eddie hadn’t just sworn up a storm in front of them both. 

“What’s the matter?” Wayne just asked. 

“It’s nothing, I just-- grabbed the wrong bag.” Steve told him earnestly. It was clear the day had taken a hard toll on him, because he was blinking rapidly, fighting away sleep. 

A bad sign, given the energy Eddie had just come in with. 

It should be taking him longer to feel safe to drop off, and that he was doin’ so anyway was a bad testament to the state of him. 

“You need a different one?”

Steve shook his head. “No this is just my grab bag for the Upsi-errrm.” He hummed, before falling silent for a minute. 

Wayne let him fish for words at his leisure. 

“These are just clothes that I couldn’t get stains out of, kept them as backups.” Steve managed, before beginning the long process of pulling a shirt on. 

Wayne almost offered to help, except he knew he’d likely be rejected. It was too soon, the trust between them not there yet. 

He almost let the clothing comment go, figured it as  just one of those things the brain did when it was injured and run down. The sweater Steve was struggling with was expensive and soft, and Wayne didn’t even see a stain until the poor kid finally finished getting it on. 

He nearly froze, for the second time that day, when he did.

On one sleeve, smeared like Steve had wiped his face with it, was a bloodstain. 

This one was old, and clearly attempts had been made to get it out. 

‘Aw kid.’ He thought, staring at Steve as the kid managed to swing himself up on the couch, looking seconds away from dropping off. ‘What the hell has life done to you.’

It didn’t take long before sleep took him, but Wayne watched over him for a bit longer anyway, working up to what the hell he was going to tell his kid. 

Eddie might very well not forgive him for this, but Wayne had a shot now to head things off before they got worse. 

He just had to find the right words. 

[mattatouilletkachuk]

Can you write for Quinn with the “Can I sleep with you?” Prompt pls

Oliver The Orca || Quinn Hughes

Part of The Hockey Babies AU

Prompt: 29. “Can I sleep with you?”

Warnings: anxiety, fear of the future

WC: 6.8k

A/N: This was meant to be short and sweet jfc lol. I decided because it’s so long that I’d make this the origin for them in my Hockey Babies Au.

Summary: Since moving to Michigan as a child, you’ve been annoyed by the eldest child that lived next door. Neither of your parents care and insist on a camping trip before every school year.

Camping trips were not for you. You were meant for the city or at least a relatively mid-sized town. Not trees, bugs, and a tent that you had to put together yourself. Well, that last part was only somewhat true because after failing to put your tent together three times and watching it collapse Quinn had come over to help you. By help, it meant that you stood back and made sure not to touch anything, per his request. 

It happens every year. With your parents being friends with Ellen and Jim Hughes there was always a Summer camping trip before school started. When you asked your mother why she insisted that you go she simply told you that as you grow up life moves by fast and that close friends you once had growing up may not be around when you get older. Hence, the camping trip. 

You didn’t know much about your mom before your family moved to Michigan. In your defense, how much was a six-year-old supposed to know about their parents? 

Even when you were young, your mom liked to talk about her childhood and the one thing and person that was always a constant in her stories was a woman named Ellen. According to your mom, she and Ellen had gone to high school and college together. When they parted ways after graduation their communication slowly died out that was until you moved into your brand new house in Michigan. 

As your dad drove the van down the suburban streets filled with large houses, you couldn’t help but think that Michigan didn’t seem all that much different from anywhere else you had lived in your short six years. Your younger brother was excited enough for both of you. You weren’t easily annoyed by your brother but his nonsensical 4-year-old ramblings about everything he saw made you roll your eyes. He didn’t get it. He wasn’t leaving behind any friends or starting at a new school. If your family stayed here this is all he would ever remember, not the home or neighborhood you lived in before. 

Your dad seemed to notice your sour mood and tried to point things out that would usually catch your attention. He talked about how there would be more room for you to play, and that there was a lake nearby where you could swim in the summer. Your mom even suggested that you could learn how to ice skate during the winter when the lake froze over. None of it interested you until your dad told you that you would finally have your own bedroom. 

That made you perk up. At some point, you were sure that you had to have had your own bedroom at some point. You didn’t remember it because for as long as you could remember you shared a bedroom with your brother. For the rest of the drive, you sat back in your booster seat, thinking about how you would decorate it and if you could somehow convince your parents to let you have your own television. When you started school you could have sleepovers whenever you wanted!

That sounded nice. You’ve been trying to tell them since the few months since your birthday that you were a big girl now and six-year-olds are too old to share a bedroom with their brothers, especially a snot-nosed tattle tale like your brother.

The rest of your family chatted merrily, talking about all the great things living in this neighborhood would have, and how your dad’s new job would be great for the family because he’d be around a lot more. Your parents didn’t try to pull you back into the conversation, knowing that a neutral mood from you would be better than a grumpy one. 

Finally, when you pulled up to what was to be your new house, you couldn’t help but let out a gasp. It was large and white and there was even a porch. It was like one of those houses you saw in movies or on the covers of the magazines your mom read while waiting in line to buy her groceries. 

You refused to let yourself feel too excited about it, though. Your parents had to know that you didn’t approve of this move and that you were still upset about leaving your friends behind and your old home, and the fact that you had to get rid of half of your stuffed animals to make room in the van for a move you didn’t even want! 

You flinched when suddenly you heard your mother shriek and nearly jump out of the car, even though your dad had yet to put it into park. You watched in confusion as your mother waved her arms about to get some other woman’s attention. It seemed to work because the other woman turned away from what you presumed were her three sons, who had to be around the same age as you and your brother and embraced your mother in a tight hug. 

Finally pulling into the driveway slowly and parking the car, your dad went over to unbuckle your brother from his seat and just like your mother he scrambled out of the car to meet the children who were standing behind the woman mom was talking animatedly to. You watch from your seat as your mom introduces your brother to this strange new woman - you wonder if it’s Ellen, the one whom your mom has pictures of from when they were young. She looks similar, taller than your mom, leaner, and with the build of an athlete, and her blonde hair is a stark contrast to your own mom’s darker shade.

Even her smile is the same. You were told you were moving to be closer to your dad’s new job but now you can’t help but wonder if your mom knew that she would somehow be neighbors with her old friend. 

When your dad comes around to help unbuckle your booster seat, you sit back and let him, now eyeing the three boys in roller skates and hockey sticks. It’s the middle one you think that your brother is mainly talking to. Mainly because the youngest, either still a toddler or just a little bit older is holding onto his mom’s leg as he takes in the new people. The other one has to be the oldest, you think, with the way his face is set into a serious mask, and is the only one that has seemed to notice you. 

You don’t like that he’s watching you. You don’t know him but at that same time, that’s why you don’t put up resistance to being unbuckled, where normally you would have. You didn’t want to seem like a loser so quickly after moving here. You haven’t even stepped foot into your new house yet. 

When your dad helps you clamber out of the car, you make sure to grab your favorite stuffed animal that you were allowed to bring on the trip. When your parents had brought you to Build-a-Bear, they probably thought you’d get a regular bear or an expensive dog but instead, you picked an orca. An orca that you named Oliver who never once left your side. 

“Do I have to meet them?” you pulled on your dad’s shirt so that you could be face-to-face with him. You could see that he was trying to hold back a laugh but a light smile still found its way onto his lips. He wasn’t fooling you, though. With as much seriousness as you could muster on your small round face, you continued, “Can’t we see the house first and see these people tomorrow?”

Your dad sighed and replied, “Your mom and brother are already over there. Your mom is catching up with an old friend and your brother, it looks like is making a new friend himself.”

You grumbled something under your breath but your dad ignored it.

“We won’t stay out here for long and it’s nice to get to know you’re neighbors.” He added. “If you get too nervous or you want to leave squeeze your stuffed animal or hand him to me and I’ll get the message that it’s time to go.”

“Oliver,” you muttered. “His name is Oliver.”

He patted down your hair which had gotten more messy as the day went on and hummed apologetically, “I’m sorry, will you tell Oliver that?”

You nodded and with Oliver tucked under one arm, you grabbed your dad’s hand with the other and walked over to the others. You dropped his hand but remained close by, even when he moved closer to your mom and threw his arm around her.

When your mom finally noticed you she introduced you to everyone, “This is my daughter,” your mom announced. 

After telling them all your names, the other woman laughed. It was bright and kind. “You always did say if you had a daughter one day, that’s what you would name her.”

They shared one more laugh before your mom continued, “Darling, this is Luke,” he was still holding onto his mom’s leg and you noticed his hair was the brightest. Up close you realized that your original guess of four was wrong. He was barely three years old. You waved shyly at the younger boy and smiled, “This is Jack, he claims to like hockey more than his brothers,” which made the tallest one huff a breathy laugh. “He’s the same age as your brother, isn’t that nice?”

You weren’t sure what to say to that so you just nodded.

“This one, right here,” your mom said with a smile and a twinkle in her eyes that you couldn’t decipher, “is Quinn. He’s the oldest and just so happens to be around your age.”

You took him all in now that you were only standing a few feet away. His hair was much darker and his complexion was pale, you couldn’t help but wonder what he looked like in the winter. He didn’t smile but his eyes weren’t unkind. 

He broke the silence well by holding up his hand for you to shake.

“It’s nice to meet you,” he politely said. You replied, saying the same thing and holding Oliver closer to you. 

You wouldn’t consider yourself a shy child but it was the way that everyone was so engrossed in the conversation the adults were having while Quinn kept his eyes on you the whole time. You couldn’t pinpoint how it made you feel. You were annoyed that you were singled out but at the same time, a warm buzzing feeling hummed through you as you were the sole focus of someone’s attention. 

It all felt like too much, though, and eventually, you handed your stuffed animal to your dad. He was a man of his word and in less than five minutes your mom was wrapping up her conversation with Ellen.

You thought the interaction was over but as you had turned to walk away Ellen shouted one last thing that made your mom’s ears perk up. She turned around and Ellen said, “Every summer before school begins we go on a camping trip. We go for about three days. We leave in a week, I’d love it if you could all come.”  

Without looking at your brother or you, or your father for that matter, your mother agreed happily. You know that meant that before you were even unpacked she would drag everyone to the store to buy camping gear. 

This time you truly thought you were done because now your parents had started to walk out of earshot and Ellen had started to help Luke take off his roller skates. 

However, loud enough for you to hear but quiet enough for everyone else not to, you heard Quinn utter the words, “Don’t forget to bring your orca on the trip.”

You didn’t stop, exactly. You tripped on an uneven part of the sidewalk and managed to catch yourself before falling flat on your face. You looked back at the oldest Hughes and saw that he was gone. 

You weren’t a drama queen, no matter how many relatives tried to tell you you were. You were picky and you knew what you liked but you never expected others to understand, that would have been rude. However, how had Quinn known that Oliver was an Orca? Nobody knew, especially children your age. You only knew because one day your dad fell asleep watching a documentary about sea life. Every time someone would guess what your stuffed animal was they often guess a whale, which was a common misconception. One time you heard someone call it a narwhal. You were offended on Oliver’s behalf but secretly found it a little funny. 

You stopped letting it bother you but the surprise and shock you felt when someone knew what Oliver was made you radiate happiness. It probably seemed ridiculous to most people but Oliver was important to you. All the grumpiness in the car from earlier had disappeared. That didn’t mean you actually liked the eldest of the three brothers. He was quiet and seemed sort of grumpy and acted like he wanted nothing to do with you. 

Your first family camping trip was filled with highs and lows. Jim Hughes taught you how to fish, and you soon realized that you hated it but he seemed to enjoy it so you went along with it. You taught Luke how to make a flower crown. Your mom and Ellen gossiped about their time in school and all the time in between that they missed. 

Quinn on the other hand, barely spoke to you. It wasn’t subtle either, everyone was aware and thought the two of you would work it out by the end of the trip. It’s not like you were avoiding him. Maybe a little but not as much as he was trying to avoid you. 

All of it made any little spark inside you that wanted to be his friend die. So you vowed for the rest of the trip to ignore him. It felt better to be the one doing the ignoring and not the one being ignored. 

When school started you were put into different classes so thankfully the only time you had to see Quinn was lunch time and even then the two of you would sit across the cafeteria to sit with your friends.

For years it had worked. You were cordial as neighbors and put on pleasant smiles for your parents when they decided to have a dinner night with both families. At school you didn’t talk, sometimes you would catch him glancing over at you but you never brought it up. If he had a staring problem that would have to be something he would have to deal with on his own.

The camping trips usually went smoothly. At least up until this last year. There was always so much to do that it was easy to shrug off any attempts anyone made for you to hang out with Quinn. You were nineteen and he was turning the same age in a month. 

This could very well be the last camping trip you spent with everyone and sometimes, late at night, the feeling of not seeing Quinn again hurt but then you remembered his judgemental stares and how pretty, skinny, blonde girls would fawn over him once he became a hockey player in the NHL.

Your own thoughts startle you. What do you care if a bunch of girls threw themselves at Quinn while you were away? You especially didn’t care if he took an interest in any of them. He already went to and played hockey at the University of Michigan. You couldn’t think of one instance where he didn’t have several different options for who he spent the night with. When he goes to play for the NHL, nothing will have changed. 

(Other than everything. In Michigan, you knew you would see him again. When he moved he wouldn’t be there when you came to visit.)

This was one of the reasons you couldn’t stand Quinn most of the time. He jumbled up your thoughts and you didn’t know what to do with them. With Jack and Luke, it was different,

they had become like a second set of brothers with how often they were over at your house. Quinn, even though the offer was extended to him by every one of your family members, he still never came over. 

From the get-go, it was clear that ignoring Quinn for the entire trip wasn’t going to happen.

On the first night, you followed the routine that you had developed over the several years of camping. There was one problem, though, and that was since your first camping trip to now, you had never gotten the hang of putting your tent together. You tried! But someone would always have to help you in the end. You looked around for your brother or your dad but when you turned back to the pile of what was meant to be your tent on the ground, Quinn had come over and silently helped to put it together.

Few words were exchanged, such as, “Can you stand over there?”“Don’t touch that.” and “Hold onto that for a second.”

When your tent was all propped up and ready for you, you went to say ‘thank you’ but Quinn was already walking off to help your dad unload bags from his car. 

By the time you had everything all laid out, your sleeping bag, an extra blanket, a flashlight, and of course Oliver the Orca, the sun had begun to set. Jim called for everyone to come gather around the campfire. You pulled a hoodie over your t-shirt and claimed a spot on the log near the fire. You weren’t the last to arrive, as you waited for Jack, your brother, and Quinn to arrive you stared into the crackling campfire. 

The camping trip had been pushed back this year so now it was late September and there was a little chill in the air and the warmth from the fire was enough to warm you up. 

Luckily for you, in a week you would be heading back to school for your second year at the University of Oregon. It wasn’t your first choice and you knew it would get cold there too, but when you toured the school before your first year, you fell in love with the area. It was lush and green and had everything you wanted. 

Quinn gave you what had to have been a sarcastic smile when he finally plopped down on the log on the other side of the fire. You made a show of rolling your eyes at him in return. The little grin that wanted to come up was swallowed back down when you realized that you would miss this. The playfulness that snuck in between both of your two soured your mood.

Looking at Quinn brought back another thought that you’ve recently been thinking about. It was something that would nag at you as you packed up your room and took late-night walks around the neighborhood. You were afraid of getting homesick. You got homesick the first year you went away to college but you were expecting that. It was different, though, you were aching for some type of freedom. You loved your friends and family, and for the first time in your life, you would be free to do whatever you wanted without someone hovering over you. 

This year felt different. Your friends from home had started to settle in the cities and towns that they chose to move to. Your little brother was looking at colleges on the East Coast and even Jack was going into the NHL draft this year. With Quinn going to Vancouver to play for the Canucks, he would be the one that you would be the closest to but Vancouver was still a distance from Eugene, Oregon. There was no chance that you would ever just accidentally cross paths with him. 

For a second, you felt of pang of sadness. You’ve known Quinn since you were six and it won’t be like last year when you left for school and you would FaceTime or Skype your friends and family and Quinn would be in the background. Quinn was such a fixture in your life and now he was going to be gone too. Quinn loved Michigan, so you would probably see him in the Summers but what if after you graduate you get a job somewhere else? Somewhere where you know no one. 

You're jolted out of your spiraling emotions when Jack and your brother plop down on the log next to you, fighting over a bag of unopened marshmallows. You could thank the heavens for their timing because it feels like you’ve been having more and more thoughts about Quinn, your future, and Quinn being a part of your future.

The bag that Jack and your brother were fighting over tears in half, just like anyone could have predicted. The marshmallows go flying everywhere. Some land in the fire and melt quickly but mostly they land amongst the forest floor.

What you weren’t expecting was Jack jumping up from the log and hopping around screaming in a pitch that could rival a little girl’s. 

“Oh shit! Oh shit! OH SHI-!”

No one can hold back their laughter as they watch him frantically move about. Your brother nearly falls off of his log in a fit of laughter and you think you hear Quinn snort. 

“Jack Rowden Hughes!” Ellen scolds but when you look at her you can see the laughter she was trying her hardest to suppress. 

“Sorry, mom,” Jack mumbles but still doesn’t stop hopping around looking for the marshmallows.

“What the hell are you even doing?” Quinn asks, and unlike his mother, he’s not trying to hide his amusement. 

When he laughs you feel your chest get tight. You look briefly at him when he speaks and see that he’s already looking at you. He’s not smirking or glaring. No, he’s just smiling at you. There doesn’t seem to be any hidden meaning or mocking in his eyes. He’s happy and you’re the one he’s showing it to unabashedly. 

“Don’t you read?” Jack snaps, his hands overflowing with the marshmallows he’s grabbed from the floor, your mom kindly hands him a bag of garbage for him to throw away the dirt-covered sticky treat.  “Bears love Marshmallows!”

“Wasn’t that a SpongeBob episode?” You inquire with a laugh, shortly followed by Luke and Quinn. 

“Dear, we’ve been camping here for thirteen years.” Your mom tries to soothe Jack but everyone, including her, knows it’s futile. “No one has ever seen a bear around here.”

“That doesn’t mean they aren’t lurking around waiting to pounce,” Jack argues but he slowly calms down. Well, as calm as Jack can manage. 

“What does “waiting to pounce” even mean? Do you think Winnie The Pooh is hiding behind that tree over there?”

“Shut up, Quinn,” Jack grumbles and is shoved down to sit back on the log by his dad.

After everyone is calmed or close enough to calm your dad pulls out another bag of marshmallows and chocolate from a bag while Ellen grabs graham crackers. Jim finds the sticks for you all to toast the s’mores with all while your mom sits back in her chair, drinking out of a thermal cup, and by her lazy smile and pink cheeks, you’re starting to think that perhaps it’s not coffee or hot chocolate. 

Everyone quickly falls into the easy chatter that only forms after years of knowing one another. You hold your s’more over the fire as you sit quietly, listening to all the conversations happening around you. 

You're pretty sure that whatever is in your mom’s mug she shared with Ellen because the two of them are quietly giggling after every other word. Jim and your dad are talking to Jack about his future and what the draft might be like when it comes around soon. You feel bad for the kid. You’ve heard almost every adult close to Jack give him the same speech. It’s not like he won’t have a future. You’ve seen him play hockey, both for fun and for competition, and know that he’s better than good. Every team is looking at him right now and with his charisma and the way he moves on the ice, he’s guaranteed to become a star almost immediately after being drafted. 

Luke and your brother have given up on eating the s’mores altogether and are taking turns throwing marshmallows back and forth to see who can catch the most with only their mouths. After a minute of watching, you can safely say they’re both terrible and that ‘the bear’ coming out to eat the marshmallows is more likely than one of them catching one of them in their mouths.

You stayed quiet, not feeling like participating in any of the conversations. It wouldn’t raise any suspicions, since this annual trip began you were always worn out by the end of the day. Not talking to anyone, eating whatever your dad decides to barbecue, and falling asleep on your mom’s lap. So no one questioned you as you tried to not set your campfire snack on fire and thought about how everything was about to change after you all left the camping grounds and how you weren’t ready for it. 

You were so wrapped up in your thoughts that you hadn’t even noticed that Quinn was quiet himself. Not staring down his burnt marshmallow like you put sneaking curious glances your way and silently hoping you would catch him. 

With a loud slap on his knee and a groan that only fathers seemed to know how to make your dad stood from his lawn chair. 

“It’s been a long day, I think I’ll try to get some sleep so I can wake up early to catch some fish.”

Jim nodded enthusiastically at the prospect of fishing in the morning and stood up as well. Both of the men helped their wives up from their seats, you smiled as they made it difficult for their husbands to walk them to their tents. The swaying a giggling never died down, even when they were inside and the tent was zipped. 

You were never one for fishing and why people liked to do it so early in the day perplexed you. You had attempted fishing twice in your life, once with your dad and brother which resulted in you being pushed into the lake by your brother and the other time was on a camping trip where Jim was convinced he could change your mind about fishing. It didn’t work. So now your plans for tomorrow are to lay down a beach blanket near the water and read one of the books you brought with you. 

The next ones to stray towards their tents for the night were Luke and your brother. You knew they were going to be next. They enjoyed fishing and spending time with their respective dads. 

“Maybe I’ll even catch dinner for us tomorrow!” your brother exclaimed. 

You wanted to gag at the idea but you saw the excited look on his face and decided against it. Instead, you gave him a thumbs up and mustered up a, “I’ll wish you luck!”

Jack didn’t say goodnight to anyone but you all saw him run behind one of the trees to vomit all of the sugar he consumed. By now he was most likely in his tent groaning or trying to get a signal on his phone. Probably both. 

It didn’t take long for Quinn to stand and bid you goodnight after the other boys left. Your eyes followed him as he walked with his head down to his tent. He had no real reason for leaving. You had watched him sporadically throughout the night and he didn’t seem tired. Perhaps he just didn’t want to stay out here alone with you. You murmur a quiet goodnight back, not sure if he heard it or not but not wanting to say it again. 

You weren’t ready for sleep yet. Your mind was still racing and when your thoughts came back to coming home for the holidays and everyone not being there a knot formed in your throat. You had made friends in Oregon and this upcoming year you would likely start networking, which meant meeting new people, and even though you haven’t met them yet, you knew they weren’t going to be better than the people sleeping in the tents less than ten feet away from you. 

If it hadn’t been for the chilly early September breeze you probably wouldn’t have noticed the tears on your cheeks. You wiped them away quickly. Everyone had already gone to sleep so you could cry as much as you wanted to and no one would know. No one but you, and you didn’t want to deal with all of those emotions right now. You were only feeling like this because it had been a long day and what you needed was a good night's rest. 

You watched the fire die down and when it was only embers left you sprinkled some sand on it to make sure it wouldn’t set the forest ablaze as you all slept. When you were done with that you crawled into your tent and tried to get comfortable in your sleeping bag. 

It was futile. The extra blanket didn’t warm you up and the sleeping bag was old and had small holes in it that you didn’t notice when you had packed it. Not even pulling Oliver close to your chest made you feel better. 

The tent was cold and hard and despite the rustling leaves and wind outside, it felt silent. You weren’t built to be alone and with your recurring thoughts of everyone leaving and not coming back once school starts up again, you couldn’t find it in yourself to stay in your tent tonight. 

You grabbed your extra blanket and Oliver and paused when you were outside. Who could you share a tent with without them making a big deal of it? Your brother and Jack were immediately scratched off that list. They had the biggest mouths known to man. You could seek out the comfort of your parents, similar to when you were little and afraid and you would crawl into their much bigger bed and cuddle between the two of them. They would worry if you did that now and you didn’t want to worry them on the first night of the trip they had come to love.

There was nothing wrong with going to Luke but your body itched to turn the other way and go to Quinn’s tent. He wouldn’t tell anyone and even if he wasn’t sharing the same thoughts out loud, perhaps he was thinking them silently, after all, he was in the same predicament.

Before you could stop yourself you tapped gently on the tent and whispered his name. 

Nothing happened, so you continued just a little louder and perhaps with a slight whine. “Quinn! Quinn, open your tent. Quinn, are you asleep?”

Finally, the zipper was tugged down and a disheveled Quinn appeared. Despite his look of annoyance, you could tell that he wasn’t really upset with you. If he was he would have told you to go away by now or never opened the tent.

“What’s wrong?” His words slurred from sleep but his tone was serious. 

With a weak smile, you replied, “I think there’s a bear outside my tent that thinks I’m a marshmallow. Can I sleep with you?”

To your surprise, Quinn shuffled to the side of his sleeping bag to make room for you. When you continued to look at him dumbstruck he sighed and waved at the tent flap and said, “Can you come in here already? Also make sure you zip that up. I’m pretty sure that any bear with a sweet tooth will be dissuaded by a zipper.” 

You did as he asked and once you did you climbed into the sleeping bag with him. He grunted when you accidentally elbowed him in the stomach and when you kept trying to readjust in the small sleeping area that was only really meant for one Quinn grabbed your waist and rolled you so that your back was against his front. You felt breathless being so close to Quinn, no that wasn’t it, being held so close to him. The two of you grew up together so it didn’t feel strange to sleep in the same area. Sometimes you had to share a bed because your brother and Jack wanted to share one instead. One time when you were sharing an air mattress, it popped and you both had to sleep on the floor after that. You still held firm that the popping was Quinn’s fault. 

This was different, though. Out of all the times you had to sleep near Quinn, he never seemed like a cuddler and yet, here you were with his arm slung tightly around you, with his forehead pressed against your neck. Slowly and without saying anything you grabbed his hand that was on your waist, holding you to him, and intertwined your fingers. It felt grounding. How could you spiral when he was so solidly here? 

“So are you sticking with the bear story or are you actually going to tell me why you're in my tent?” Quinn said into the quiet darkness. 

You didn’t want to answer his question. You wanted to lay here and be held and take up all of his warmth and fall asleep. You also knew that if you didn’t vocalize your fears they would only get bigger and bigger until one day you would simply combust and find yourself living in a cardboard box outside of your childhood home.

You squeezed Oliver with the hand that wasn’t holding Quinn’s and whispered shyly, “I’m afraid of what happens after this. I’m afraid that once I go back to school everything will change and I’ll come home and nothing will be how it was.”

You let out a breath of relief. Even though you couldn’t help but still fret over everything it still felt nice to get all of that off of your chest. 

Quinn had remained quiet the whole time and for a moment you thought he was falling asleep until he squeezed your hand and moved his arm under your head to grab Oliver. Quinn wasn’t taking him from you but he held him gently. Almost stroking the worn fuzz on the stuffed orca.

“Things are gonna change,” he finally said. “All of our parents will still be in Michigan and so will your brother and when he goes to college I’m sure he’ll call to annoy you every day.”

You smiled sadly, it was true. Your little brother was like you. He aches for space but needs to know that the people he loves will still be there. 

“Doesn’t it scare you?” It’s a whisper, you can barely hear yourself over the pounding of your heart and the blood rushing in your ears. 

You didn’t know why you felt scared right now, this was Quinn, the same boy you’ve known nearly all your life. On the other side, though, this is Quinn, the same guy that annoys you more often than not. Who on most days you think he might hate you and you might hate him. Your thumb rubs circles on the hand that’s holding yours. What was it that your mom always said? There’s a thin line between love and hate.

It takes a minute and then two before you think he might not answer. Had his lips not been so close to your neck you wouldn’t have heard him. His words would have been lost with the wind outside. 

“Of course I’m scared.” He finally says and before you can cut in he continues. “I’m scared that I won’t be as good as people are hoping I will be when I finally get to play. I’m afraid to be so far away from my family.” He paused again but kept quiet, there was a tension in the air and you knew he wanted to say more. “I know my family will always be there, though. I also know that my friends will be too. I just don’t know about you.”

You went to turn around so that you could see his face and hear his words when he says them. His arms around your waist stop you, though.

“Whether or not I like it, you know everything about me.” You reply, the next part you look at your stuffed Orca so it feels like you're talking to it rather than him. “I think you might be the only person who knows everything about me. You’re always paying attention.”

“Of course, I’ve been paying attention.” 

You don’t hesitate and you don’t let yourself think before saying what you want to.

“Why?”

Quinn sighs your name and it sounds like a prayer. It sounds like he’s begging you to just know. Quinn is a man of few words and you want him to say it. 

“When I was six a stubborn girl with a stuffed Orca moved in next door to me. You watched me, you saw me, first before you finally looked at my family. For as long as I can remember I’ve been an afterthought to everybody.” Quinn says and his words make you hurt. “I did things to annoy you just so you would notice me because I wanted /your/ attention.”

“That’s very playground of you.” You say lightly, trying to ease the suffocating air in the tent. 

Quinn laughs lightly and it tickles your neck. “Then, and here’s the kicker, I get drafted to the Vancouver Canucks, and team far away from everything I know and then I remember that this girl that I’ve been annoying on purpose for years has what can only be described as an emotional support Orca. People have stuffed bears, ducks, or literally anything else. I’ve never seen someone with an Orca and for the first time everything I had and everything I’ve ever wanted became so clear.”

“And what is it that you want?” 

He lets go of your hand and sits up on his elbows just so he can look at you when says, “You. Since you got out of that car gripping that stuffed animal in one hand and your dad’s hand in the other all while giving the meanest glare I think I’ve ever seen from a kindergartner.”

“I thought you hated me.”  

“I thought you hated me.”

A small smile tugs at the side of your lip, “I thought I did too. If I’m being honest, though, I don’t think I could ever actually hate you.”

The kiss is a surprise. It’s not on your lips or your neck, Quinn simply leans down and places his lips to your forehead. After that, he lays back down behind you and wraps his arm around your torso. You waste no time grabbing his hand and sinking into his embrace. 

He’s solid and warm and for the first time in months, your mind doesn’t feel like it’s running a mile a minute. 

“Do you believe in fate?” 

The question catches you off guard. Fate? Quinn was so practical it seemed like a weird thing for him to ask. Did you believe in it though? If you were asked ten years ago, you would have said yes. If you were asked four years ago you would have said no, but lying in Quinn’s tent and in his arms, you can’t but wonder if maybe you do?

“I don’t know.” You say honestly. “Do you?” 

Quinn is quick to answer, “Oh yeah, how else can I explain that the girl I fell for at six would have a favorite stuffed animal that is an Orca, while I’m about to play for Vancouver whose mascot is an orca?” 

You smile at that. It did seem rather fate-like if you thought about it like that. 

“Well, when you put it like that,” you laugh, as does Quinn. “When you’re off being a hotshot hockey player in Canada you have to promise me something.”

“Hmm, depends on what it is that I have to promise.”

You bit your lip and let your eyes slide down to Oliver. You hoped that Quinn would hear the true meaning of your words when you said them because you doubted you could say them out loud yet. “Just remember that Oliver is your favorite Orca when you’re out there.”

You waited with bated breath. Quinn’s breathing had slowed and for a moment you wondered if he had fallen asleep. 

That was until he pulled you closer to himnand said directly in your ear, “Oliver will always be my favorite no matter where I go.”

[upsidedownwithsteve]

Simmer #5

CH5. Wake 'n' Bake | The Menu [4.9K] Eddie Munson x shy fem!reader: a line cook au.

“Well, you don’t know what we can find. Why don’t you come with me, little girl? On a magic carpet ride.”

The diner was quiet and the radio was louder than usual, lilting through the kitchen and between the empty tables. It was a too hot Sunday, with most of the usual clientele swapping leather booths for loungers by the community pool. Only Mr Creel sat in his usual stool by the bar, parked perfectly underneath the TV screen that was playing the same old western movie that came on every day at three o’clock. Jonathan was manning the counter, pouring the old man refills when he grumbled, whistling as he went. 

Everyone else had either gone home earlier or was preparing for the night shift that started at eight that evening. The diner was too hot, the old AC barely keeping up, blowing out a whisper of cool air that you and Jonathan had taken turns standing under, watching the glass door for any signs of life out on the street. 

None came. 

So you’d long taken off your apron and after some internal arguing with yourself, you had plucked up the courage to push the doors to the kitchen open. There wasn’t much happening there either. Eddie was the only chef in, clock watching until there was a customer to feed or for when Argyle would arrive to take over the next shift. 

And now? Well, now you think you were just annoying him. But he was allowing it, and that was something. 

“And what’s that?” You asked for the fourth time. 

You were hunkered down on the stool you’d dragged over to Eddie’s station, elbows on the stainless steel and your cheeks squished between your hands as you watched the boy work. He’d told you and Jonathan he’d made some lunch, and after some back and forth (Eddie argued enough until Jonathan gave in), Eddie was making some ramen. 

“It’s gochujang,” Eddie mumbled back. He was too busy concentrating as he tapped a teaspoon of the red paste into the pot on the stove. He was more relaxed than you’d seen him, with no big orders to cook, he’d been humming along to the radio, his curls knotted on the top of his head to keep himself cool. He’d merely smiled when you plopped yourself down at his table. “And if you ask me what something is again, m’gonna put you in this pot too.”

You didn’t take offence, not anymore. You scrunched your face at him. “Mean,” you said. “When’s it ready? It smells real good.”

“Soon. And I’m not mean,” he grumbled back, tossing some ramen noodles into the pot that had been ready to overspill with bubbles. “You’re annoying.”

You gasped, all faux dramatics. “And he’s rude too,” you told no one. You grinned when Eddie rolled his eyes and shook his head, but when he bent over to chop up some spring onion at a scarily fast speed, you saw him smile. “Can I do anything?”

“You could get us some drinks,” Eddie suggested and he peered out of the hatch at the empty tables. Mr Creel glared back. “Seeing as you know, you’re not doing anything. At all.”

You huffed but there was a laugh under it that Eddie was beginning to recognise. He raised his brows at you as you let your sneakers slap onto the floor, hands pushed to the worktop as if getting up was an awfully exhausting thing. “I suppose I could manage that,” you told him wistfully. “If you’ll cope without my help for five minutes.”

Eddie snorted, stirring a delicious smelling broth he had simmering in another pot. He levelled you with a stare that a month ago, would’ve made your stomach churn with nerves. “I’ll try,” he played along. “I’ll tell Jim it was your fault if the kitchen burns down though.”

“Snitch. Coke?” You asked him as you made your way to the door. 

“Just the one line, sweetheart, I’m driving,” Eddie smirked back. 

He had an adorable habit of letting his head tilt to the side when he joked with you, as rare as it sometimes could still be. Dimples in both cheeks, stray curls over those big eyes, thick lashes that he liked to bat at you when he thought he was being real funny. It was becoming a problem. 

“You’re hilarious,” you told him flatly from the other side of the hatch, shooting some soda from the gun into a glass for him. “Jonathan, coke?” You called to the other boy from across the diner, holding up an empty glass for him too. 

“Shhh!” Mr Creel hissed at you, teeth bared, brows furrowed and you grimaced back, a smile that wasn’t customer service worthy but you’d long learnt to stay away from him. 

“God, stop annoying the customers,” Eddie told you when you came back in holding two pints of coke, he was grinning as he ladled your lunch into a big blue bowl, letting his eyes settle on you as you passed him his drink. 

“Don’t tell Jim,” you joked, but the humour in your voice fell flat as you watched Eddie bring the glass to his lips and gulp the fizz down. 

His neck bobbed as he swallowed, chin tilting up and back as he led his eyes flutter close and you could help but stare at the line of his jaw, the up and down of his Adam’s apple, the push of his lips against the cup. Your mouth felt dry, your head a little empty and when he opened his eyes and put the empty glass down, you were still staring. 

“What?” Eddie was staring back. 

You shook your head, words unable to form. You stuttered and stammered and shrugged your shoulders, gripping tightly to your own glass. “Nothing,” you finally managed. “What?”

“What?” Eddie squinted at you. 

“What?” You asked again, before you could help yourself and you realised too late that you’d asked him a question there wasn’t even an answer to. “Shit.”

The corner of the boy’s mouth lifted and he looked at you, amused, if not a little concerned. “Okay,” he drawled, sliding your lunch over to you. “Here, eat. Lack of good food must be makin’ you loopy or somethin’, christ.”

So you ate in silence, sitting across from Eddie and exchanging shy smiles as he watched you hum at each flavour, nodding at Jonathan when he slapped him on the back in thanks, taking his own bowl outside so he could smoke at the same time. It was a new kind of friendship that still made you nervous, too aware when Eddie looked at you - like, really looked at you. Eyes earnerst, watching, gauging what you liked and what you didn’t. He knew that a scrunch of your nose meant you were unsure, a little taptaptap of your feet on the stool meant you loved it. 

He still made you shy, even though you spoke more. Stomach dipping and somersaulting when he called your name out of the hatch, some kind of plate made up for you, grouching good naturedly about how you needed to stop skipping meals. It made your heart jolt when he got too close, when fingers brushed as he passed you a bowl of fruit, a sandwich you could inhale between serving tables. 

But then again, maybe that wasn’t nerves. Maybe that was just the crush you were telling yourself you didn’t have. 

It was becoming harder to lie. 

“Good?” Eddie asked like always, letting his foot kick gently against yours. He’d finished his own bowl and was watching you with a fond look on his face as you wrestled with the last few noodles. 

You nodded and hummed happily, “mhmm. Could’ve done with some more salt though.”

Eddie did a double take, lips parted to argue because he knew that broth was damn perfect, before he realised you were joking. He narrowed his eyes at your grin, tried to hide his own smile when you laughed. 

“Oh, she’s actin’ real cute today, huh?” He snarked but everything about him told you he thought you were hilarious. He took your empty bowl from you, poked at your shoulder with a chopstick. “The self proclaimed crybaby s’gettin’ bold.”

It was a meaner type of teasing that you’d grown used to, but still, you wrinkled your nose at the boy as your cheeks burned, head ducking down at the memories of your teary eyed encounters with certain customers. You heard Eddie laugh as he dumped the bowls in the sink, but it wasn’t a cruel sound at all. And when you lifted your chin back up from your chest, he was back on the other side of the work station, elbows on the stainless steel and leaning over to you. Close. Closer than before. 

You blinked and Eddie smiled, a lazy, knowing thing, his eyes darting over your face like he was able to read you. Maybe he could. “There she is,” he murmured softly. “Shy thing.”

“Oh my god,” you tried to joke weakly, your voice a soft, embarrassed drawl. “Stop.”

It made Eddie laugh, a wide grin pushing at his cheeks until the dimples you rarely got to see appeared. You wanted to push a finger to one, to see if the tip of it would fit perfectly into the dip. You sat on your hands instead. 

“What?” The boy asked. “She’s got no jokes now?” But he smiled a little softer and went back to preparing the dough for tomorrow’s rolls, not saying anything else when you leaned back over the counter to watch. If you’d looked up, taken your eyes off the way his big hands kneaded at the sticky mess, you’d have caught the boy watching you, still smiling. Awfully fond. 

—————

“Hey,” you interrupted a while later, once Robin had arrived to take over you shift, once Argyle was throwing some burgers on the grill for the customers that had finally shown up. “What’re you doing tonight?”

 Eddie looked a little startled as he closed over his locker, chef whites in a bundle in his bag, ready for washing. He blinked at you, pretty, pouted lips parted as he wondered where this conversation would lead. “Uhh, I- I dunno. Probably gonna go home, roll a joint and wait for another day in this shithole to start. Why?”

You wondered if Eddie could hear your heartbeat. ‘Cause it echoed in your ears, inside your head. A thud that made your mouth feel a little dry and suddenly the bravery you’d felt when asking that question melted away with the boy’s gaze on you. You weren’t sure what you’d planned to ask. Maybe if he knew of any good films to rent. Maybe if there was a nice park to explore. Maybe if he’d want to hang out—

“That sounds like a really good night,” you said instead, a nervous laugh following your words and Eddie’s brows shot up in surprise. 

“You smoke?” He asked in disbelief. 

You shrugged, leaning back against your locker as you tried not to sound completely uncool. “Kinda? Not really. I don’t like to smoke it but- but I’d sometimes, you know, bake some brownies or something. I haven’t done it in a while, but—” you wrinkled your nose. “—moving to a new city really makes you wanna just… get really fucking high.”

Eddie was laughing and nodding, beaming at you with a pink flush covering his cheeks. You watched him swallow hard and then gesture to the door. He almost couldn’t meet your eyes when he said, “d’you, uh, wanna come hang out? Smoke with me?”

It took Eddie a whole ten minutes to drive to his house. A trailer that was tucked into the back of the park you passed every day. You shot him a look when he parked up and he rolled his eyes, like he knew what you were about to say. 

“You drove me all the way home that day, when you live, like, seconds away from—“

“Oh, shut up,” he told you, scrunching his face. “It was a fuckin’ tsunami that day. You weren’t walkin’ anywhere.” He nipped his fingers playfully at your knee as he bent over to snatch his rucksack from the footwell. When he sat back up, he was too close. You held your breath. “Besides, Wayne told me I had to, remember?”

It was your turn to roll your eyes then, shoving at his shoulder as he cackled. “God, you’re such a gentleman.” 

He was still laughing as he jumped out the van, surprising you as he appeared at your door to open it as you busied yourself with gathering your bag and jacket. Eddie waved his hand in a dramatic gesture as you got out, eyeing him suspiciously. 

“I’m gentlemanly enough to be sharing my weed with you, sweetheart, don’t put me down too much.”

It made you soften and you followed him to his front door, the trailer humming from a generator you couldn’t see. “Thank you,” you told him shyly. “For this. For the invite.” Somewhere in an ugly part of your head, was an even uglier voice that was telling you you’d made him feel bad enough that he had to invite you. That he felt sorry for you. 

You told it to shut up. 

But Eddie turned the key and looked back at you over his shoulder, his eyes soft. “S’alright. What’re friends for?”

You blinked, unable to help the smile that spread across your lips. Your cheeks ached with it.  “We’re friends, huh?” 

Eddie walked into the trailer and waited for you to follow. “I know,” he drawled dramatically. “I don’t know how it happened either.” He was grinning, an awfully pretty thing. 

You didn’t know what to say, or do, for that matter. This felt close to flirting, something that made that horrible crush you had rear up in interest, it’s heart pounding. But maybe that was just your own. 

“Here,” Eddie gestured to a small dining booth, a c-shaped bench around a little table. He cleared a pile of laundry from it and looked flustered as he decided where to put it. It got thrown onto an armchair in the corner. “Sit down, you want a drink?”

 That’s where you sat with a can of soda, watching with a stuck laugh in your throat as Eddie upended his tiny kitchen, looking for the bag of flour he insisted he had.  “I swear, it’s in here,” he told you, holding various jars of spices and cake moulds. “What the fuck?”

“You’re supposed to be a chef, Eddie.”

“I know,” the boy wailed mournfully, swearing when he dropped a whole tub of dried fruit, chocolate sprinkles and vanilla pods. “Shit, kid. Looks like you’re gonna have to be a big girl and smoke up.”

He turned, raising his eyebrows at you like a challenge. You huffed, tipping your head back so he wouldn’t see the panic in your eyes. “Fine.”

And that’s how you ended up in Eddie’s bedroom, a space filled mostly with his double bed, a glaringly personal thing that you felt like you couldn't even look at. But he blushed and spread back the unmade sheets, fluffing up his pillows before he told you to make yourself at home. So you perched on the edge and toed your sneakers off, watching as Eddie flitted around his room, kicking things under the bed as he went, pushing cook books and comics back onto his shelves. Then he plopped himself down beside you, knees almost knocking, an old tin lunch-box on his lap. He flipped the lid and grinned as he produced an already rolled joint, wagging it in front of your face. 

“A chef is always prepped,” he whispered conspiratorially. 

“You’re a dork,” you whispered back but you leaned into his pillows as he brought it to his lips. 

A lighter flickered, a flame lighting up his face in amber just for a second or two, and then he was blowing a cloud out towards his open window. You watched Eddie’s eyes shutter closed, pretty lashes fanning over his cheeks and his lips hung open for a second or two, letting out a sigh along with blue-grey smoke. He let his shoulders drop, his head roll. Melting, like butter in the heatwave.

Then, “here, have at it, sweetheart.” Eddie handed you the joint, careful that you didn’t burn yourself on the glowing ash. He watched you take it dubiously, eyeing it with caution as you prepared yourself to bring it to your lips. You cringed a little, inhaling too sharp, too quick, coughing it all back out before you could even inhale it properly. 

You were mortified, coughing into your hand as you handed the joint back to Eddie blindly, eyes tearing up, blurring him and his room. He took it quick, making sympathetic noises as he rubbed his other hand down your spine. He waited until you wiped at your eyes, until you managed to catch your breath. “You alright?”

You wanted the ground to swallow you. “Mhmm,” you managed, keeping the heels of your palms pressed to your eyes, just so you wouldn’t have to look at him. “Sorry.”

“Nah,” Eddie said quietly, voice soft. “None of that, c’mon. You want another drink?”

You ignored him, reaching for the smoke instead, insistent on showing him you weren’t a complete loser. But Eddie tsked and held it out of your reach, frowning at you with concern. You wanted to tell him you’d almost missed that stitch between his brows. “Hey, woah, slow down, yeah?” Eddie knocked a hand into your knee, a comforting touch that didn’t push either of your boundaries. Yet. “You sure you wanna smoke? I can run back to Jim’s, see if I can smuggle some flour and we can make brow—”

You shook your head emphatically, not wanting to be any sort of annoyance. “No, no, it’s fine. I can try again.”

You weren’t sure if it was the setting sun that was coming through Eddie’s window that was turning his face fuschia, or if he was suddenly blushing something furious. It took him a second or two to meet your gaze and when he did, you saw a shyness there you’d never really seen before. Eddie was blushing. 

“I could, uh,” the boy cleared his throat noisily, awkward and fumbling. He gestured to the joint he still held, to you, to himself. “I could, I could help. I could help you. You know?” He frowned at himself, annoyed at his own stuttering. 

You frowned too, confused. “No?” You replied, unsure. Your hands were fisted in his sheets, a nervous reaction.

“Shotgun. I could, well— I could shotgun you.”

“Oh.”

The room suddenly felt infinitely smaller. Warm and intimate, soft with the last of the sunlight, dust motes floating in the rays that came through slats of the blinds. You were on Eddie Munson’s bed. With Eddie Munson. You sucked in a breath. “Okay.”

“Okay?” Eddie seemed as surprised as you were at your answer but you nodded firmly, keeping your gaze on his, your chin lifted in a boldness you so rarely felt. So Eddie nodded too. “Right. Um, yeah. Just— c’mere.”

It was a clumsy thing, the way you both shuffled closer, the mattress dipping, sheets rippling. You moved until your knees knocked against Eddie’s and he was watching you so carefully, cautious enough that you felt too shy, a burning in your chest that spread up across your neck, your face. Eddie was holding the joint out to the side, the smoke being drawn to the open window and you looked back and forth between the cigarette and the boy. 

“Done this before?” Eddie asked you quietly. 

It was suddenly silent in the trailer, in the whole park. Fuck, Hawkins had fallen asleep, you were sure of it, because looking at Eddie this close, you couldn’t hear the way the generators hummed, you couldn’t hear the crickets or cicadas, no car engines or muffled televisions. You could hear Eddie breathe though, normal enough before it hitched a little and he had to exhale that little bit heavier - like he was nervous too. 

You shook your head and swiped your tongue over your bottom lip, chasing the taste of the orange soda you’d drank at the kitchen table. “No, never like this. I— I know what to do though.” You sounded so naïve, small and a little silly, but Eddie smiled and nodded encouragingly. 

“Atta’ girl,” he murmured and then he was bringing the joint back to his lips. He spoke around it, muffled. “Ready, yeah?”

You watched the way his cheeks hollowed out, how his gaze got a little heavier even though he kept looking at you. And this time, instead of blowing the smoke out to the window, he leaned in, one hand holding the joint away from you both, the other gesturing for you to come closer. You obeyed, moving forward with your heart lodged in your throat. You moved until Eddie’s fingertips met your jaw, skimming over the skin there and he tapped gently with his thumb. 

His gaze was lowered, lashes fanning out over his cheeks as he leaned in closer still, eyes searching yours for some kind of hesitation, a sign that you’d maybe changed your mind. And when he found none, he coaxed you a little further until his nose bumped yours and you gasped, lips parted and waiting. The boy opened his mouth, just barely, smoke slipping from between his lips and he gently blew it into yours. You didn’t realise how his hand had fallen to your neck, fingers curling around the sides of it, the cool metal of his rings on your overheated skin and the blunt scratch of his nails in your hair. 

You inhaled, a shuddering breath, shaky from how close the boy was - nothing to do with the weed. Eddie’s hand on your throat made you feel higher than anything else had before. And when there was no smoke left, when the last of it had floated up towards the ceiling and had turned into wisps in the sunlight, neither of you moved. You were still close enough that your nose bumped his when you tilted your head and you could see the freckles on the bridge of it, the tiny silver coloured scar at the end of his right brow. You wondered what Eddie could see when he looked at you, if he’d find your imperfections, if he’d find them as pretty as you did his. 

You watched as his eyes looked into your own, unabashed and completely shameless, like another hit of the joint made him a bit more bold than before. Maybe it had, because you were feeling fuzzy, a warm, heavy feeling pulling you into the mattress, into Eddie. 

Your forehead touched his. 

His thumb was on your jaw, tucked into the space underneath your ear and it was pressed there like he meant it. Like he wanted you to feel it and god, you did. You did. His eyes wandered, flicking from yours to your lips and back again, warmer than ever, a honey colour in the setting sun. You wondered what you both must’ve looked like, sitting cross legged and knees knocking on Eddie’s unmade bed, heads bent together like you were sharing secrets, like you were going to share more. 

The boy swallowed harshly, Adam’s apple bobbing and his stare on your mouth and it all made you feel so heavy and warm and lightheaded at once. You weren’t sure if it was the weed, you weren’t sure if it was Eddie. 

“Your eyes are really pretty,” he whispered and he sucked in a breath when your idle hands found his bare knees through the rips in his jeans. 

You played with the frayed hem, the loose threads and tried not to squirm at such a compliment. You hummed, nose wrinkling even when you smiled. “Thank you,” you replied politely and just as quiet. “Your eyes are pretty too.”

The boy turned pink, a pretty flush over the bridge of his nose that you wanted to trace with your fingertip. He tilted his head, inspecting you, eyes flicking over each of your features like he was drawing you in his head. “You shouldn’t be handing out compliments,” he mumured bashfully. “Not when I was such a dick to you.”

You shrugged, smiling as you leaned back just a little, too focused on the way Eddie’s lips moved as he spoke. The small space you put between you both gave you some air and Eddie’s hand dropped from your neck to trail down your arm. His fingers found your ring, a dainty thing on your middle finger that was so different to his own that it was comical and he played with the gold as you did with the rips in his denim. 

Touching. Still touching. 

“S’okay,” you told him gently. “You’ve made up for it now.”

A wry smile, a thumb brushing over the inside of your palm. “I have?”

“Oh, yeah. Free food and free weed?” You grinned when Eddie scoffed. “What more could a girl want?”

It was a rhetorical question. Eddie knew that, but still, he hummed as if he were thinking about it, his fingers dancing over your wrist now, climbing, climbing, climbing. You wished he’d cup your jaw again, warm, wide hands making you feel small and soft. 

“I dunno,” he mused. “What about a d—”

Whatever Eddie was going to say was interrupted by the opening of the trailer door. A sharp noise in the quiet and it rattled off of the wall as Wayne barged his way in, arms full of pizza boxes and a giant bottle of soda. “Ed!” He yelled out in greeting, oblivious. “Grubs up, boy, come get.”

It made you spring apart, the mattress squeaking obnoxiously at the movement and you burned at the noise, at what it made it sound like you were up to. You stared wide eyed at Eddie, like a teenager caught doing something they shouldn’t and suddenly you wondered if Wayne would shout at you both for getting high. 

But then Eddie was yelling back something noncommittal as he got off the bed, looking back down at you with an amused expression. He bent at the knees, shins hitting the mattress and his hands found your knees where he squeezed them reassuringly. “Hey, hey,” he smiled like he found you funny. Maybe he did. “S’all good, relax. Wayne doesn’t care.”

You sucked in a breath and willed away the weed induced panic you could feel brewing in your stomach, a knotting of nerves that Eddie managed to unravel with the way his fingers smoothed over your lower thighs. So you smiled back and nodded even though you felt like cardboard and when Eddie offered his hand to help you stand, you took it. 

“Hey, Wayne,” Eddie called out into the living room. “We got a dinner guest, that alright?” 

You could hear the rustle of pizza boxes being opened, the smell of basil and tomatoes wafting through the trailer. Your stomach rumbled and Eddie laughed, chuckling harder when you batted the back of your hand into his side for his lack of manners. 

“You can’t just announce that!” You hissed. “That’s so rude.”

Eddie rolled his eyes and then held out his hand to the bedroom door as if to say ‘see?’ when Wayne grunted and said, “If it’s Steve, tell him I ain’t paying extra for those damn mozzarella sticks when there’s already cheese on the pi— oh, hey, kid.”

Wayne looked surprised to see you as you shuffled out of Eddie’s bedroom in your socks. The boy had his hand on the small of your back as he coaxed you forward into the main space of the trailer. “Hi,” you waved shyly, watching with a hot face as Wayne looked at you, at his nephew and back again, brows raised in interest. “Sorry I interrupted your dinner plans, I—”

“Nonsense,” Wayne said at the same time as Eddie scoffed, “shut up.”

“C’mon, now, sit and grab a plate,” the older man urged. “Hope you like Jeopardy! ‘‘cause that’s pizza night tradition.”

You smiled and nodded as Eddie slid into the breakfast nook beside you, hips nudging yours as you budged up. And as Wayne argued with the remote control, the boy loaded up your plate with pizza slices, ignoring your protests completely. 

“God, you’re such a feeder,” you joked weakly, still embarrassed to be crashing the Munson pizza night. 

Wayne was still frowning at the buttons when he grunted and laughed. “Yep, the boy doesn’t know how to give someone a damn hug, but he’ll make sure you never go hungry. Gotta show love one way or another, huh?”

Nobody said anything and Wayne won the battle as the channel flicked over and the voice of Alex Trebek filled the room. You couldn’t quite look at Eddie and both of you sat side by side as you ate your pizza, Eddie’s curls hiding his face from view. You wondered if he was pink again, blushing and cursing out his uncle in his head. 

You wondered if you should’ve said something.  

But then, as if to prove some kind of point, Eddie barely glanced at you as he picked up the last slice of pepperoni from the box, and slid it onto your plate. 

[lasanya539]

tuck your head under the covers

(written for @tmnt-write-fight for @remedyturtles)

Fandom: Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles Prompt: Insomniac Leo - visiting various brothers when unable to sleep, or managing to fall asleep and his brothers doing anything to PRESERVE that sleep Word Count: 4635

Posted on AO3!

---

The first time it happens, Mikey doesn’t make a big deal out of it. 

It’s four in the morning on a Monday, and he’s thirsty, so he gets up from his train car and walks to the kitchen. Only to find Leo sitting at the table, with a lollipop in his mouth and a Jupiter Jim comic in his hands, legs rested on the surface, humming a tune under his breath.

“Leo?” Mikey mumbles drowsily, rubbing at his eyes. “Bro, what are you doing?”

Leo startles in surprise, and sits up, shooting him a guilty look. “Mikes!” He exclaims, voice pitched low. “Shit, I’m sorry, did I wake you up?”

“No, no.” He flaps his hand, grabbing a glass. “I was thirsty, wanted water. Why are you awake right now?”

“Eh, you know, same old, same old. Couldn’t sleep.”

Mikey hums, taking a languid sip. His tired eyes catch a giant mug on the table, black as tar coffee peeking from the bottom, a pack of pink Starbursts with wrappers, and what looks like the crumbled remains of the pecan pie April’s mom had lovingly gifted them. If he was a little more awake, he’d be a lot more pissed about that, but for now he just sighs and stretches. 

“Did you at least try to sleep?” He asks, knowing the answer. 

“Yeah, of course.” Leo replies easily enough, turning away to flip another page. “But that’s the problem with insomnia, my friend, it kinda makes the ‘fall asleep’ thing not happen.”

Hm, not good enough. Mikey waddles over closer, physically pushing his brother’s head up so he can study him. Leo’s eyes are just barely bloodshot, cheeks hollower than he’d like to see on him.

“Can I help you?” He asks, bemused. 

“When was the last time you slept?” 

“Somewhere in the evening, I got a cat nap in. Don’t worry, Mikey, you’re exhausted, go to sleep.”

“You go to sleep.” He retorts around a yawn. He plops down in a chair next to him, picking up an uneaten Starburst and chomping on it. Leo tsks at that, but he ignores him, folding his arms and resting his head comfortably. 

“You just brushed your teeth and are supposed to be asleep, why are you still here?”

“Moral support.” 

“Moral support from what? I – okay,” Leo stands up, all big brother voice. “C’mon, up.”

Mikey whines, not having enough energy to fight as Leo physically picks him up and throws him over the shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

“Grk–?” He chokes out in surprise, when the hell did he get so strong?

“Nope, don’t wanna hear it. This is what happens when you don’t listen to me.”

Leo plants him on the bathroom floor, and pointedly stares at him as Mikey brushes, having to actually count each stroke on the rows of teeth under the scrutiny instead of a quick wash. As soon as he rinses his mouth, Leo picks him up again.

“You realize I have feet.” He said, flopping his limbs in defeat and letting himself be carried lifelessly.

“You think I don’t know you were planning on dragging more ass by suggesting a movie night or something? I’ve taught you all my tricks, I know how your brain works.”

Mikey tries to keep in his smile at how well his brother can read him, and gasps dramatically. “Language! I’ll tell on you to Raphie.”

“If you make it to morning asleep like a good turtle, I’ll tell Raphie, how about that?”

Mikey gets tossed on his bed, the springs creaking under his weight. His favorite quilt is thrown over him, and his stuffed crocodile is tucked in between his shoulder and neck, just how he likes it. The warmth immediately makes him even drowsier, but he blinks up at Leo and invitingly opens his arms.

“Sleep?” He suggests, making the motion of scooting over to make room for him.

A few seconds, but Leo eventually sighs, far too susceptible to the prospect of little brother cuddles. He sticks his freezing feet into the tangle of limbs, making him hiss, but settles in comfortably on his pillow. Arms wind around him and squeeze affectionately.

“Better?” Mikey asks. 

Leo hums on top of his head. “Yep, thanks Angelo. You can pass out now.”

It doesn’t take very long for him to do so. Unfortunately for him, when he does wake up to his 9 A.M. alarm, the side of the bed is cold and the corner of the pillow undented. Outside, he sees Leo casually do the crossword puzzle with Dad with a newly filled mug of coffee in his hand, looking like sleep never graced him at all. Mikey sighs, but sets to making breakfast.

–

The second time it happens, Donnie is pulled out of his whirlwind of thoughts by a single hand on his shoulder. 

Naturally, he jumps, not having expected that contact when he’s working in his lab alone, smack-dab in the middle of the night. He’s too scientific and logic-driven to ever assume the existence of ghosts (which are different from spirits, thank you very much Michael), but the sudden touch makes him doubt that fact for a second.

Leo backs up with his hands up apologetically, and Donnie realizes with some amount of mortification he actually hissed at him. The mortification lasts for all of two seconds before he scowls at his twin with all the irritation in the world as he turns off his loud music. 

“What the hell do you want?” He groans at Leo, rubbing his sore eyes. 

“Just checking in.” Leo says, sounding normal enough, though Donnie picks up a strange note in his voice. He peeks at him between his fingers and catches his eyes look up from his torso just in time.

Looking down, he sees his other hand gripped into a fist, sharp claws extended, held right to the middle of his chest. Shit, he was scratching at his plastron again, the dull ache finally registering in his brain. 

It’s a nasty habit he’s had since he was very young, all the complicated feelings of the big, bad world too much for him to handle. His family has been trying for years to help him work through his emotions instead of immediately resorting to this, but apparently all the effort goes to shit the second it gets to debugging, the devil’s favorite method of torture. Donnie turns away, embarrassed but not willing to admit it. 

Leo thankfully doesn’t make a big deal out of it, and flops onto the back of his chair, resting his head at the top. “What are you working on?”

“Setting up face identification in the scanners in the Hidden City.” Donnie replies tiredly. “The mystic orbs they use as cameras are advanced enough to pick up magical signatures, but somehow not enough to track facial features of their various species of mutants and Yōkai. So, I’m doing it for them.”

Leo snorts. “Wow, how altruistic of you.” He leans in further, presumably to try to read the strange symbols that make up their programming language, before Donnie swats at his face. 

“Stop, you’re ruining my concentration.” 

“Shut up.” He swats back. Annoying

Donnie’s eyes flick over to the corner of the monitor, looking at the time. Wonderful, it’s another night of no sleep for his insomniac twin brother. 

He sighs. “I’m assuming getting bored to death from Papa’s speech on the various opera singers of the 20th century somehow didn’t lure you to sleep?”

“What, are you telling me you don’t care about the 1950s Maria Callas and Renata Tebaldi drama about their different vocal techniques? It’s the hottest tea from that side of the century, Don-Don, I’m disappointed in you.” He dodges the swat from him this time.

Donnie turns up to look at him, noticing his brother’s heavy eyelids blinking over his sharp eyes, far too awake for someone who hasn’t slept in Gaga knows how long. He’s wearing his soft blue hoodie, the big one that he makes sure is always washed with the rose scent beads for the comforting smell. 

“Is there anything specific that is keeping you up?” He asks, worried. 

“Nah, not really. Unless you count my dumb brain as a whole, nope.”

“Don’t call yourself dumb.” Donnie says, practiced. He stands up and stretches, hearing some impressive cracks from his neck that Leo whistles at.

“Is there anything I can say that will make you try to sleep again?” 

“Probably not, if I’m being honest.”

“Okay, then.” He doesn’t argue. If there’s one thing he knows about his twin is that badgering him about his sleep intake, no matter how worrying, is the best way to get completely shut out by him. And as annoying as he finds Leo on a day-to-day basis, he’s rather fond of the time he gets to spend with him in the middle of the night when it's just the two of them, the disaster twins. “Do you wanna play some Mario Kart instead?”

Leo brightens up. “Snacks?”

“Of course we’ll have snacks. I may be crazy, but I’m not a heathen.”

“Oh yeah, sorry, you’re a civilized demon-possessed genius, right?”

“Exactly right, my dear brother.”

The twins grab enough popcorn and candy from the pantry to send a tiny child into a coma, but as soon as Leo’s hand moves to the coffee machine, Donnie whacks it with a box of Nerds. “Dude, ow?”

“No more caffeine.” He says sternly.

“Oho, that is rich coming from you—”

“Yeah, well, deal with it. Otherwise I’m switching the kitchen permanently to decaf and making myself a secret password protected machine with the good coffee, the extra dark-roasted one.” That shuts Leo up fast. 

They play and bicker loudly in the soundproof lab, up until the wee hours of the morning. Eventually, Donnie falls asleep with the controller in his hand, only to wake up in the afternoon and find himself resting on the cot with his favorite blanket, battle shell and mask off. His sleepless twin nowhere to be found. 

–

The third time it happens, Raph is having a nightmare about the Krang. 

It’s par for the course, really. In the morning, he happens to overhear one of Mikey’s favorite YouTubers talk about their grief over their late friend who was lost to the bubblegum aliens, so he spends the most of the day in a haze, keeping to himself in the dojo, training, and eating his dinner alone while reading news articles about the reconstruction in New York to repair the damage from their fight. 

One trigger after another. So it’s no surprise that his dreams are filled with sick pink flesh and yellow eyes, tentacles worming over his body, digging into his brain, sadistic voices of the hive mind overpowering his screams, the feel of a lithe figure in his clutch, nails scratching onto his hand as he tightens his grip on his victim, his brother—

The part that’s surprising, however, is the other presence in his room, comforting, safe. Soft words spoken over his whimpers, warm hands smoothing over his shell as he regains consciousness. “Deep breaths, big bro, you’re okay, you’re safe, I promise you. Try to breathe, please.”

He breathes, turning away from the damp pillow, lifting his head up by his elbows to blink the sleep away. Blood pools back into his body, bones creaking in protest. All four limbs, whole, green, normal. 

Raph takes in one deep breath, and lets it out with meditative precision. His vision finally clears. Leo is sitting on the corner of his bed, hands anxiously rubbing together but giving him space to get up on his own. Worried eyes ticking over his face before latching onto his, relieved. 

“Hiya, Raphie.” He says with remarkable poise. “Okay?”

Raph slowly scoots up to sit properly, picking up one of his stuffed bears and hugging him. Embarrassment keeps him from meeting Leo’s eyes, burying his face in the soft fake fur. “Mhm.”

A hand gently strokes his leg, a comforting, involuntary motion. “Long day?”

“...You could say that.” He agrees. He clears his throat. “What time is it?”

“Just after 2.” Leo squeezes his knee. “Do you want me to wake Dad?”

Raph scoffs. “What is Dad going to do in the middle of the night? Let him sleep.” 

“Okay, how about the other guys? We could turtle pile.”

He shakes his head before Leo finishes. “No, no, it’s not important, Leo. Let them all sleep.”

“It is important.” He replies sharply, and Raph blinks up at him. Leo’s sporting his own version of a Raph Chasm, eye-ridges pulled together in a gut-wrenching frown, lips turned down. “You are important.”

A lump rises in his throat, but he swallows it down. He’s had enough of Leo stubbornly insisting that he stop dismissing his own emotions over the years, so he says nothing, instead lifting up an arm. Leo immediately snuggles in next to him, shell fitting perfectly under his arm. 

The tension falls off his frame as his little brother wiggles to get comfortable. Raph sighs, the dregs of his nightmare-fueled dread seeping away with Leo right next to him, the scent of roses in his nose. 

“Do you wanna talk about it?” He offers. 

“Pizza Supreme, no.” Raph snorts, making Leo huff. 

“Okay.” He agrees easily. Then, “Oh, I almost forgot!”

From the pocket of his hoodie he pulls out his phone, tapping at it for a couple of seconds before holding out the camera. “Snap streak.”

Raph snorts again but obliges his younger brother, putting on some version of a smile as he takes the picture, adding a bunch of unicorn emojis in the corner before showing it to him for approval. 

He takes the phone, but immediately frowns, zooming in to study Leo’s face. Even though he’s grinning, the exhaustion is practically radiating off him. The red stripes under his eyes are marred with purple bags, eyes squinting with the effort of staying up. He looks like he’s about to pass out almost any second.

Raph sends off the streak, and starts arranging the pillows and stuffed animals around him to make space for two sleeping turtles. He pulls his blanket over Leo’s head, which he, of course, shoves back. “What are you doing?”

“Tucking you in.” He informs him, dragging him down. “We’re going to sleep for a very long time.”

“Sure, Raphie, whatever you say.” Leo says too easily, and he immediately calls bullshit. 

“No, we’re really going to sleep. No more pretending.” He glares at him with one eye open. “Promise?”

Leo hesitates, but then forcibly relaxes himself, nuzzling closer. “I’ll try, promise.”

As good as he’s going to get, Raph thinks. He squeezes his brother tight enough for him to wheeze and laugh, wishing him goodnight and eventually falling asleep, nightmares far away. When he wakes up, Leo is on the floor next to the bed, face illuminated by the glow of his phone screen, playing a game of chess. The eye bags seem heavier than ever. 

–

The fourth time it happens, April is trying to catch up on physics homework. 

It’s actually ridiculous how she, a journalism major, has to study physics at all, even as a gen-ed. She’s a sophomore now, for god’s sake, she’s supposed to be interning at CNN and MSNBC, or at least spearheading some kind of journaling initiative with a bunch of her classmates. But no, Eastlaird is forcing her to calculate angular momentum and torque for a homework that is apparently not due on Monday, but in the morning on Friday, which is tomorrow. Or more accurately, today, she thinks, warily eyeing the clock on the table that reads 3:35 A.M.

She has maybe one more problem left before she can finally get some sleep, and hopefully get to stay over at the lair for the weekend. She hasn’t seen her boys and her Pops in over a month, and the joy of destroying Donnie in the Just Dance competition of their lives is the only motivation getting her through this. 

April sighs and stretches, cracking her back, before she hears a notification from her phone. Picking it up she sees, ‘nardo💙 sent an Instagram reel.’

She sits up in surprise. Why the hell is this idiot awake? And why is he sending her Instagram reels of all things?

‘awake???’ she texts back, worried. ‘why??’

Seen immediately, typing. ‘YOU awake why??’

‘homework’

‘yuck get away from me’

April picks at her bottom lip, watching the clock on her desk tick. If Leo’s awake at four in the morning, he hasn’t slept all night. She considers texting one of her other brothers to force him to sleep, but hopefully they would all be in bed by now, Donnie included. 

‘how much coffee did you have in the evening’

‘...’

‘Leo.’

‘okok four cups’

‘nardo you gotta be kidding me’. April rubs at her face, sighing. Leo knows better than to lie to his big sister, so he’s definitely telling her the truth, but it doesn’t make it any easier. Four whole cups of coffee?

‘did you try melatonin? helps me sleep a lot better nowadays’

‘apes do u even know me, obv melatonin doesn’t work on us’

‘damn’ 

‘ur taking it tho?? don’t take too much, not good for u’

‘yeah dum-dum, no sleep is not good for YOU have you thought about that?’

No response. Two minutes later, a funny reel. 

She huffs frustratedly, thinking, before finally deciding to call him on FaceTime, setting the phone against a textbook.

The face that greets her is so fucking worrying that April gapes, not responding to Leo’s raspy greeting. His eyes are completely bloodshot, face gaunt, red stripes practically completely purple now. 

“You look like shit.” She says, uncharacteristically blunt. Maybe the lack of sleep and physics is getting to her. How the hell does Donnie do this all the time?

Leo scowls, putting the phone down so all she sees is the dark ceiling of the kitchen. “If you just called me to insult me, I’m hanging up.”

“Sorry, sorry.” She raises a hand in surrender, pulling her notebook closer and picking up her pencil. “Science is turning my brain to soup, I lost my speaking filter. You’re still very pretty.”

A second, and Leo’s face comes back into view. “Promise?”

“Pinky promise.” She nods, smiling as Leo grins, as brightly as he can with fatigue coming off him in waves. “What are you up to?”

“This guy on YouTube is reviewing the older JJ movies, it’s a four hour long video. And I have Sour Patch Kids, so I’m happy.”

April bites back the hundreds of worried comments she comes up with, deciding to think a little more tactically. She doesn’t want to piss him off again, so telling him to sleep or pointing out his eye-bags is off the table. 

“You wanna hear about my homework? It’s so difficult and horrible, I hate it.”

“I respect your degree, I do, Apes, but how hard can journalism homework even be?”

“It’s physics, man, that’s the thing. I’m going to jump out of my window.” She groans, equations swimming behind her eyelids. “I’m like ninety percent sure if I tried explaining this to you I could bore you to sleep.”

Leo chuckles, but there’s something tired and morose in it. “I wouldn’t take that bet.”

She blinks at the bitter tone of his voice, but doesn’t call him out on it. There’s a lost look in his eyes as he stares off to the side, chewing slowly on his candy. Her big sister instinct rears its head immediately at that.

“Don’t worry about it, baby.” April assures him, deciding fuck it, opening up Chegg to find the answer to this last question so she can finish this as fast as possible. “I’ll be done in fifteen minutes. Why don’t you tell me what this random guy has to say about Pluto Vacation IV, and I’ll tell you how valid that is.”

By the time the sun rises, and Leo hangs up to go help Mikey make breakfast, April has turned in not only physics, but has finished all of the rest of her homework. She starts to pack, a plan ready in her mind.

–

They don’t let it happen a fifth time. 

Leo sighs, letting his head fall onto his bed, hiding his eyes from the fairy lights in his room. Normally, they look so pretty and aesthetic, but ever since this new bout of insomnia hit him, a lot of things have been bothering him more than usual. And he’s currently too exhausted to get up and turn it off on his own. 

He groans, reaching for his phone, because what else is he going to do? His brain is too tired for anything other than mindless scrolling, and if Raph asks him to train today he might just burst into tears. The time reads 12 P.M., a very productive time of day for the majority of planet Earth. The minority includes him apparently, as he pulls up one of his old blankets over his head, and settles in for an afternoon of TikTok.

The door to his train car opens quietly. Leo blinks, emerging from his nest to look up. 

Mikey stands at the doorway, sunshine smile on display. He sees his eyes scan his face, and the sunshine dims a bit, but he still says excitedly, “Hi, Lee! April just got back, we’re doing a sleepover!”

“Oh – oh yay!” His delayed response throws his act off a little. Don’t get him wrong, he is so happy his sister is back, it’s just he’d really rather not do a sleepover tonight where he has to spend another eight hours pretending to be asleep next to his peacefully resting siblings. “That’s great, I’ll be right there.”

Mikey nods but doesn’t leave, so Leo has to go through the excruciating process of forcing himself up and out of the room with a performative smile painted on his face. Mikey hooks his elbow with his, walking in step with him to the living room. 

He finds Raph and April talking, a bag carelessly dropped next to her feet. She catches sight of him and grins immediately, raising her arms. Leo can see the conscious effort it takes for her to not linger on his eye bags, he’s been needing a lot of that too lately.

“Hi, Apes.” He mumbles into her shoulder as she tightly squeezes him.

“Hi, Leo.” She replies warmly. “Missed you so much.”

A large hand rests on his shell, and he looks up to see Raph smile down at him. “Wanna join in on the hug fest, Raphie?”

“Ha, don’t worry, there’s gonna be plenty to go around in the sleepover soon.” He chuckles. 

“Soon?” Leo asks, and Raph points a thumb to the entrance. Leo turns around to see Donnie and Mikey walk in with a bunch of blankets and pillows in their arms. One of the spider limbs in Donnie’s battle shell is holding Raph’s largest teddy bear, the other holding his blue hoodie he couldn’t find in the morning. 

“We’re doing a sleepover now? It’s literally noon.”

“We’ve hit critical condition.” Donnie informs him primly, dropping the blankets in the middle of the floor. “You’ve been awake for too long.”

His mood sours immediately. He knows, okay? He’s aware that not sleeping for days at a time isn’t healthy, and he knows he looks like shit, but people don’t have to keep commenting on it. 

“Don’t pout.” Mikey wheedles into his side, giving him another squeeze. “We’re gonna help, I promise.”

“Right.” Leo says, disbelief clear in his voice, before something rose-scented smacks him in the face. “Hey!”

“You’re welcome.” Donnie responds, starting to move the furniture to make enough room for the blanket fort. “Your favorite hoodie, freshly washed with softener and your scent beads.”

Leo pulls it over his head, the familiar comforting smell easing some of his tension, the soft texture making him feel like he’s being swallowed whole. “Thanks.” He says quietly, hoping they can’t hear the croak in his voice. 

Donnie pauses in his ministrations for a millisecond before getting back to work with more gusto, him and Mikey setting up an impressive fort that could withstand five siblings. While Leo watches them, Raph taps him on his shoulder, and he’s offered a cup of freshly made chamomile and lavender tea, steam curling on top. The thoughtfulness almost makes him cry as he gives him a wobbly smile in return, taking a sip. It’s the perfect temperature, splash of milk and sweetened with honey, just how he likes it. 

He feels April at his back, gently untying the knot of his mask, carefully folding it and walking to his room to put it away. She comes back with his fuzzy Christmas socks.

“You guys.” Leo tries, feeling emotionally wrung out and sore. “You don’t have to do this.”

“Shut up.” Three turtles reply in unison, breaking out into chuckles. Raph guides him to the center of the fort, making him sit down and rest on the biggest pillow. He finishes his tea as Mikey puts the teddy bear under his other arm and April puts the socks on him, brain too fuzzy to protest. 

He jolts out of his fog when he feels something pressing down on him. He looks up to see Donnie tuck him in under his purple weighted blanket, the one he uses on his bad days. He’s awash with the clean scent of roses, as tears fill up in Leo’s eyes unbidden. He tries to blink them back. “Don…”

“Hush.” Donnie replies, quietly, and Leo sees the lights in the room have been dimmed, his other siblings wearing their pajamas and getting ready to pile. “Stop using your brain. It’s sleeping time now.”

“Wow, I never thought there’d be a day when Hamato Donatello would actually tell me to ‘stop using my brain’.” He croaks out.

Leo prepares for the obligatory joke about him not having a brain in the first place, but Donnie just gives him an amused look in return, speaking softly but matter-of-factly, “Your brain is hurting my twin. So stop using it.”

A ball of emotion lodges in his throat that keeps him from speaking out loud, so he just nods. He gets a head pat for his troubles that he’s too emotional to block away.

Eventually, Donnie lies down next to him, their arms pressed together. Mikey nestles into a ball on his other side, snuggling close. Raph settles behind their heads, turning to his side and curling around them all protectively. April throws her feet over their legs, playfully kicking him in the shin. 

Leo chokes on a laugh, tears soundlessly rolling onto the pillow. This has been one of the longest weeks of his life, hours in the middle of the night spent staring mindlessly at the ceiling, into the middle distance, into the New York skyline. The darkness seeping into his body, harsh, cold. A high pitched hum in his ears, heaviness in his eyes.

Right now though, he feels warm and loved and exhausted beyond belief. But not alone. Never alone. 

“Thanks, guys.” He finally whispers. 

Donnie gently bonks his head with his own, affection clear in the action. Mikey presses a loud kiss onto his bicep. “You’re welcome, big bro.”

Raph strokes his head. “Sleep, Leo.”

“We love you, Nardo.” April says, nudging his foot. “We got you.”

Leo smiles. He trusts them, they got him. He closes his eyes and pulls on his night mask. The demons of the night don’t stand a chance against the warm glow of his family. He finally falls asleep. 

[midsummer-semantics]

if the world was ending

Okay, I told myself I wasn't going to write anything for @steddieangstyaugust but apparently I lied (I'm sorry)

Here's for day 1: Second Chance

CW: Slight agoraphobia

[not posted to AO3 but you can find other things there.]

When the earthquake hits, he’d like to say he thinks about his parents first. That he wonders where they are and if they're safe or if they’d hear about it from wherever they are in the world. If they’d call to check on him, even though they never did before.

He'd like to say he thinks about Robin, who's two states away studying for a graduate degree in International relations and communication, and likely doesn't feel the ground moving beneath her feet like he does.

Hell, he'd like to say he thinks about the kids, but most of them are scattered themselves, starting college programs (Will, Mike, Dustin) or sports training camps (Lucas) or exploring the West Coast (Max and El).

No, Steve is alone in his big, empty house when it hits, and the only thing on his mind is that they were wrong. Indiana doesn't get earthquakes, so something else has to be afoot. Six years since they defeated Vecna, since everyone tried to move on with their lives while Steve stayed because that's what he does, he stays.

A touchstone Dustin had called him once. Something to do with foundation and a connecting center. Steve still thinks it might have just been him and the rest of the group trying to make him feel better about still being stuck in the same house, in the same town, doing nothing and going nowhere.

He's alone and he thinks 'This is it. What I've been waiting for.'

He has a 6-year-old emergency pack stored that should have more dust on it if it wasn't for the way he chronically checks it. His trusty bat and a duplicate he made just in case, plus the ax he used the last time, are all near enough to the door. He's not sure what the protocol is for earthquakes, having grown up in the Midwest, but he's pretty sure he's not supposed to be indoors, right?

It doesn't last very long, but it doesn't matter. A few seconds of the ground shaking and rolling beneath his feet are enough to jumpstart him into action.

He's gathering supplies, cursing himself for taking too long, when the phone in the kitchen rings.

He should ignore it, knows that whatever or whoever it is can wait until he's secured the area and alerted the cavalry that something is happening. It'll take days for people to get here and Steve thinks he might he able to hold off whatever's coming out of whatever rift has sprung up until then, but he doesn't have time to think about it too hard.

The phone rings off the hook as Steve takes too damn long to double-check that nothing is in the house before he even attempts to go outside, and Steve knows he can't just leave it. Not in case it's someone who's still in town who knows he's here: Mrs. Wheeler, Claudia, Jim or Joyce.

He nearly rips the cord out of the wall when he answers.

"Stevie?!" comes the frantic voice of the person he least expects to be on the other side.

"Eddie?"

"Steve, oh my god." He can hear Eddie panting. "Are you okay?"

It's the first time Steve's heard Eddie's voice in five years. Since Eddie made good on his promise to run like hell out of here, something he'd repeated to anyone who would listen until he finally did. Five years since Steve had realized he was halfway in love with him after saving the world and never got to say anything because he was a coward and Eddie was leaving anyway so what was the point?

He'd gotten one phone call when Eddie arrived in Denver and it's been radio silence since then. Truthfully, he couldn't blame the guy, but Steve had had... thoughts... feelings... probably brought on by end-of-the-world shit but nonetheless. And then Eddie just—

Vanished.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Are you?" he asks.

"We're good," Eddie replies, and only then does he hear the rough grumble of Eddie's uncle in the background, asking why Eddie's on the phone at nearly 3 in the morning.

"Earthquake, old man," Eddie shouts, still too close to the receiver for Steve's already damaged hearing.

Oh.

So, Eddie's in town. Cool. Steve had no idea. Doesn't know when Eddie got in or if he ever intended to tell Steve he was here at all. That's fine.

"Sorry, Stevie. Woke Wayne up. Shit— did I wake you up too?"

Steve swallows harshly, shaking his head even though Eddie can't see it. "No, I was already awake."

"Me too," Eddie replies. "Jet lag. Just got in a few hours ago. What a welcome home, huh?"

"Sure," Steve says, wondering what the point of this call is. "Look, I'm glad to hear from you, but I really need to—"

"Wait!" Steve shuts his mouth, his teeth clacking harshly. "It's fine. Everything is fine."

"Dude, there was an earthquake just now—"

"And it wasn't You-Know-What related," Eddie states, a bit of his franticness back in his voice. "They're leveling part of the plant for safety issues. Wanted to do it at night so no one would freak out." Steve cringes. Hawkins wasn't exactly magnanimous about the rebuilding efforts last time, but he doesn't go to city council meetings to hear about what the efforts might have been since then. "That's part of why I'm home. Wayne's got an extended leave until they sort out what else to do."

Steve sighs, dropping the emergency pack on the floor and leaning the ax he'd managed to grab against the wall. "Oh. Great. Wish they'd have told everyone else just in case."

"I know, sweetheart. But everything is okay."

Sweetheart.

Steve's actual heart skips a beat hearing that again.

"I'll be back, sweetheart. I promise."

"So... you're here then? In Hawkins?"

There's a beat of silence, some shuffling on the other end. "Well, yeah. I told you I'd come back."

"For your uncle."

"He's part of it."

Steve hesitates, hating himself for even considering getting his hopes up.

"And the other part?"

"My guy is here."

When the earthquake hit, he’d like to say he thought about his parents first.

No, he'd thought it was the end of the world. And above that, all he could think about was Eddie.

[livwritesstuff]

inspired by a reply @gregre369 left on yesterday’s post. this is why i love this site so much bc i had this idea floating aimlessly around my brain for such a long time and then someone says something that just connects all the dots for me so - much thanks <3

tw: brief reference to domestic violence

One of parenthood’s biggest surprises (in Eddie’s opinion, anyway) was how easy talking to his and Steve’s daughters about why his parents aren’t in his life was.

He’d figured it’d be hard to figure out exactly how to explain that his mother's death was due to domestic violence caused by his father, who had died in prison twenty years later – but…that about covers it, honestly. Sure, the exact rendition of the story the girls hear varies as they get older, but…it’s pretty straightforward, actually.

Explaining Steve’s situation turned out to be way more complicated for…well, for a lot of reasons, and the fact that his parents are still alive and breathing and choosing to not be around didn't help things at all.

It also didn't help that the girls totally saw Jim and Joyce as Steve’s parents, but it did lead to a conversation that Eddie doesn't think he'll ever forget:

It happened when he was passing through the kitchen to see that Steve was cooking with Moe.

"What're we up to in here?" he asked.

At four years old (she’s actually almost five), Moe has yet to outgrow a phase of picky eating that had started out right around her second birthday. Steve is trying out a new method where he involves Moe in the cooking process in the hopes that she then actually wants to eat the product of her hard work when it’s done. He's seeing varying levels of success.

“We're making burgers,” Moe said, “Poppy’s recipe.”

Eddie looked at Steve skeptically, “Poppy Jim or Poppy Joyce?”

Steve rolled his eyes, “I’m telling Joyce you said that.”

And then he added, “Jim.”

Satisfied, Eddie continued on his way.

“How come you call your dad Jim?” Moe asked.

And that had Eddie pausing in the hallway just out of their line of sight.

“Well, Poppy’s not my dad, sweet pea,” Steve replied.

“Did you not have a dad?”

“I did have a dad – I do. He lives in Indiana with my mom. We don't really talk to each other anymore though."

"Why?"

"When I was younger, I decided that they didn’t take care of me like I needed them too, and Jim and Joyce stepped in to be like my parents instead."

It's not completely accurate, Eddie knows (and he doesn't love the way Steve is shifting culpability away from his parents because that shit was fully on them, but whatever; it's his story and he can tell it however he want), but just like how they don't have a completely accurate picture of what happened to Eddie's mom either, they know what they need to know for now and they'll hear more down the line.

“But what did your mom and dad do?” Moe asked.

"Well, you know how Daddy and I read to you and play with you and put you to bed and make food for you – it was a little different because I was older and I needed different stuff than that, but…”

Eddie watched Steve look back at their oldest daughter, watched him see the look of confusion in her big brown eyes.

“They didn’t do that?” Moe asked, sounding perplexed.

Steve shook his head, and Moe continued to look at him as if he might suddenly tell her he was joking.

“That’s crazy,” Moe finally said, and Steve let out a laugh.

“It is kinda crazy, isn’t it?” he agreed, “That’s why I love being your dad so much, because it’s actually so easy to want to take care of you. Even though you sometimes like to make it hard on purpose, right?”

“Yeah,” she grinned proudly, “Like when I make you snuggle me more at bedtime and you fall asleep by accident and then the kitchen is messy in the morning."

"Uh-huh," Steve said, poking her in the side so she giggled, "Exactly like that."

"You're a good dad," Moe told him.

"You think?" Steve asked as he pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

"The best dad."

“The best?” he repeated, “Can’t let Daddy hear that.”

“He can hear it.”

[dbnightingale24]

React

A Stepcest Love Story About Jim

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Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3

I think my internet has finally stopped hating me, but I can't be too sure. We'll see what happens.

Word Count: 5,531

Warning(s): SMUT (MINORS DNI), Swearing, Stepcest, Infidelity, Step-Daughter/Step-Father relations, Family Drama, Forbidden Love, Lying, Sneaking Around, Emotional Cheating, Drinking, Self Loathing, FLUFF, Crying...I think that's it?

Summary: You and Jim have discovered that you don't want to stop, and don't even want to entertain the idea of it.

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I do not give permission/consent for my stories/works to get posted elsewhere. I do not condone this type of behavior/relationship, this is for entertainment purposes only.

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Chapter 4

You and Jim are horrible people, there’s no other way to put it. Jim woke you up the next day with his head between your legs, and you didn’t even attempt to stop him. Nor did you stop him when he told you get on top of him and get yourself off on him. The first two hours of the day were spent getting lost in one another and, for a moment, you forgot why it was wrong.

Then, you heard your Mother the second you opened the basement door.

“Well, why did ya sleep on the sofa, Jim?!” she snapped.

“My kids are still asleep, Y/M/N,” he huffed as he ran a frustrated hand through his hair. “You were a mess yesterday and-”

“I wasn’t that bad.”

“I had to carry you up the stairs in the middle of the movie.”

“Listen, I’m sorry, okay? I got nervous and they seemed to take more to-”

“That’s been your reason for every time your shit faced now, and it’s always Y/N’s fault.”

“I don’t say that it is-”

“Yes you do, and she’s only here because you asked her to come! Jesus, where’s the woman I met? The woman I fell in love with?!” he snipped and your heart broke.

You wished you’d never come back.

“And you? What do you think?” your Mother asked once she spotted you trying to creep out of the kitchen.

“Please, leave me out-”

“What do you think?” she snapped.

You let out a heavy sigh, because you knew how the rest of the day was going to go.

“I think I should’ve never come back,” you sighed as you leaned against the entry way. “I feel like you do better when we don’t see each other, and I’m not even mad about that. That’s how things have always been between us, and I don’t know why I expected it to change. Since I’ve been home, you’ve been drinking non-stop and an emotional wreck. You asked me to come back and I feel like it’s something I shouldn’t have done. I messed up your progress,” you finished softly as you toyed with your fingers, avoiding her hurt and irritated gaze.

As far as she was concerned, you and Jim were ganging up on her. Hell, if you hadn’t spent the previous night and that morning fucking her husband, you would’ve been able to feel like you weren’t ganging up on her. However, the guilt was eating you alive instantly, and it only got worse when she grabbed a bottle of whiskey off of the top of the fridge. 

It wasn’t even 10am and she’d snapped.

She was drunk off of her ass by 12pm, which meant that it was up to you to save the day for your...step-siblings. 

The day wasn’t even hard because you didn’t like them, it was hard because of what you’d done. With their Father. It didn’t help that they really had seemed to take a liking to you, and they wanted to do everything with you. Especially after your Mother passed out at 1:30pm.

“You alright, Angel?” Jim asked softly once he’d closed the door behind him to your bedroom.

The room that was right next to your Mother’s.

“It’s fine. They go back tomorrow and I’ll go to Ciara’s-”

“I want you here-”

“We already had this talk. Once was enough, Jim.”

“Angel-”

“It’s wrong! You’re married to her! Even if you get a divorce, she’s still my Mother! We can’t just...no, this can’t happen again.”

“I’ve been thinkin’ about ya all day, Angel,” he confessed softly as he made his way closer to your bed.

“You’ve been thinkin’ about fuckin’ me.”

“No, I’ve been thinkin’ about you,” he confirmed softly. “Your smile, the way you laugh, the sound of your laugh, how caring and sincere you are, how thoughtful-”

“Jim-”

“I’ve been thinking about you,” he promised as his right hand cupped the side of your face. “Have you been thinking about me?”

“Jim-”

“Have you?” he asked sincerely as he focused your gaze on him.

It slipped out before you even had a chance to stop yourself.

“Yes.”

You honestly hadn’t meant to get so caught up in the kiss, and you hadn’t meant to give him a blowjob. However, both of those things happened, which led to him fucking senseless in your bed.

Which is, once again, right next to your Mother’s bedroom. The bedroom that she shares with your Stepfather.

You couldn’t get out of that house fast enough the following day. However, when you got to Ciara’s, she wasn’t proving to be much help either. 

“I’m sorry, you two did what?! How many times?!” she squealed before she took a sip of wine.

“We only did that position once, but we had sex.. a few times,” you mumbled, very clearly ashamed of yourself. “What the fuck is wrong with me?”

“You’re in love,” she shrugged as if it was the most simple thing in the world.

“I’m in love with my Stepfather. He’s married to my Mother-”

“Your Mother is awful.”

“Be that as it may, she’s my Mother. She wanted to start a new chapter with Jim, and her new found sense of-”

“She did this, love. She created this fake version of herself, then let it all come crumbling down when you came home. She invited you back, then had a meltdown on the both of you. Is this right? Of course not. However, do I understand it? Of course. I know you feel terrible, and I would too, but lets not pretend you meant for any of this to happen. Hell, you didn’t even know she’d gotten married. Yes, it’s wrong, but you both did your best to fight this and seemed like the harder you two fought against it, the more she went out of her way to be problematic,” she sighed as your phone went off again. “What’s goin’ on there?”

“Jim and my Mother have been messaging me all day,” you muttered with an eye roll. “She wants me to come back because she feels awful and is tired of driving me away. He wants me to come back because he misses me and wants to fall asleep next to me. I’m staying far the fuck away from both of them.” 

“You’ll be goin’ back soon enough, and that should help,” she smiled mournfully.

Honestly? It should’ve. It should’ve been enough to keep you focused and your thoughts away from all of the other bullshit. It’s your final year, and you have so many things to figure out. You need to decide on a job, figuring out living arrangements, where you’re going to live, and a million other things. However, Jim was persistent. If he wasn’t calling and texting, he was sending you flowers with the cutest notes attached. 

By day four, you’d crumbled and told him to come to Ciara’s. 

He took you out to dinner at a cute little restaurant outside of town, and spent the entire time picking your brain. He wanted to know if you were excited or nervous about graduating (you told him that it’s an evil mixture of both), he wanted to know if there’s anything in particular you’re excited about getting back to (you told him about the cute dog adoption center that’s not too far from campus that you visit when you’re feeling too overwhelmed), and he wanted to know your favorite things (that had you rambling longer than you meant to).

Yes, the whole thing was sweet, but you rightfully had your reservations.

“Jim, how do you know this is real? No to be a total fucking cunt, but this will be your second failed marriage. What makes you so sure this will work?” you asked softly before you took a sip of your drink.

“This isn’t like what Yvonne and I did. I was in a good marriage and I fucked it up. I fucked it up for selfish reasons and looked for everyone to blame but myself. This...I honestly never knew this side to your Mum. If I had, I wouldn’t have married her in the first place. Yvonne and I...it started for all the wrong reasons. It started for selfish reasons on both of our parts, but this isn’t wrong or selfish, I promise.”

“Your wife made you unhappy-”

“Don’t. This isn’t something I started because I was havin’ a bad day. You just...you’re so beautiful, Angel. I don’t just mean on the outside. You step up when you shouldn’t have to, you’re thoughtful, you’re so damn funny, you’re witty, you’re patient, you’re painfully considerate...I could go on for hours. When everything started to fall apart, you stepped up and kept a level head. Between the two of us, you were the more mature and calm one. Hell, this whole thing started because I can’t control my feelings for you.”

“What about when I make you mad?” you asked timidly as you toyed with your fingers. 

“You’re not your Mum, Angel. We can talk things out and make it work. We can have an actual relationship that works.”

“Your kids-”

“They love you-”

“As their step-sister.”

“They’ll get used to it.”

“Jim-”

“Angel, I love you and I want this with you. I know I have a lot to prove, but I’m willing to try if you are. We’ll...test this out for a few months and you can decide-”

“A few months?! Jim, she’s my Mother-”

“I’m filing for a divorce, Angel. No matter what we do, I’m filing for a divorce. Things aren’t what they were and they never will be again,” he confessed with a scoff, but you could hear the pain in his voice.

He really thought he got it right with your Mother.

“We can’t...we have to take our time with this,” you told him softly as you tried to force yourself to come to terms with what you were saying.

What you were agreeing to.

“We can do whatever you want, Angel. Whatever you’re comfortable with.”

“We should wait until we have sex again.”

“If that’s what you want, that’s what we’ll do,” he promised with a nod as the waiter came over to ask if you both if you wanted anything else.

You folded like a lawn chair the second you and Jim were in front of Ciara’s house. You pulled him to the backseat of his car and had him until you were both spent. He ended up sleeping over Ciara’s that night, and he held you so close, as if he were afraid you’d run off in the night.

No, none of it had gone ideally. You and Jim spent every moment you could together, and he made it so easy to ignore the guilt. Every kiss, every touch, every date, every laugh...he made you forget how wrong all of it was. He made you forget that the both of you were committing the worst kind of betrayal.

Which is why you’re now pacing around your dorm room, waiting for his phone call. It doesn’t matter that you have an essay you need to start on, or that you have job applications to fill out, because you miss him and he makes you feel like a lovesick idiot. It also doesn’t help that he sent you a beautiful bouquet of pink peonies earlier in the day.

The second your phone goes off, you almost pounce to answer it.

“Baby?” you ask breathlessly, a smile coming to your lips.

A horrible way to answer the phone for the current situation you’re in, honestly. 

“It’s me, Angel,” he chuckles softly. “I miss you too.”

“In my defense I ‘aven’t been this excited to speak to someone...ever,” you giggle softly and he laughs. “How was your day?”

“A bit stressful, but it was good. I hate drivin’.”

“Why were you driving?”

“Had some things to take care of,” he sighs as someone knocks on your door. “Who’s that?”

“I’ve no clue. I didn’t make any plans with anyone,” you shrug as you make your way to the door and unlock it. “JIM!” you scream, throwing your phone to the side and jumping on him as your legs wrap around him, and he laughs softly. “Why are you here?! How?!” you giggle as you wrap your arms around his neck.

“Hi to you too, Angel,” he laughs, carrying you inside with a smile, before kicking the door shut behind him. “I missed you, and I wanted you to have a good few days before...”

“Before what?” you question with a cocked eyebrow.

“When I go back....I’m filing.”

“Jim...”

“I want this, Angel. I want us. I’m not gonna regret this and I hope you won’t either.”

“I just...Jim...”

“Do you still want this?”

“You know I do, but...you have to really commit. You’re leaving your wife for her daughter. Are you truly sure this is something you want? Are ya sure you want me?”

“Get dressed,” he smiles once he sets you down, “I’ve got somewhere to-”

He’s cut off by a knock on your door, “Y/N, are you in? It’s Mum,” your Mother proclaims from the other side of your door.

FUCK. Fuck, fuck, fuck!

“What are ya doin’ here? Give us a moment, I just got out of the shower!” you panic as both you and Jim try to find a place to hide him.

“Well, Jim is gonna be gone for a few days to go and see a friend, so I figured I should come and see you. We didn’t end on the best of terms.”

“Mum, I really don’t have any issue with you or Jim. It’s just better for you if-”

“I know I haven’t always been the best Mother, but I want to change that. With time, you and Jim will grow to like each other and get along. I know I don’t always act like it, but I want all of this to work. I want us to be a proper family,” she confesses, remorse painfully clear in her voice.

By the look in his eyes, you can tell that Jim wants to say something, but he can’t without giving himself away.

“I don’t hate Jim,” you prattle on as you push him into your bathroom and motion for him to lay down in the bathtub. 

You’re quick to run to the sink and wet your hair, while trying to swallow down all of the anxiety and guilt.

“I don’t hate either of you,” you continue as you look yourself over in the mirror, “I just felt that it would be better if I finished holiday with Ciara. Let you two work on things.”

Lie, lie, lie.

“I just feel like me being around only makes things worse for you, and I don’t want that,” you explain, making your way back over to the shower. “Silence your phone,” you whisper before closing the shower curtain.

Taking a deep breath, you open the door to your room, “I really wish you would’ve called.”

“I figured it would be fine since you didn’t get back too long ago. You don’t have too much work, do ya? We could grab a quick bite,” she smiles hopefully.

You truthfully don’t know what to do, because it’s not like the trip from Dublin to London is an easy one, but Jim also made the same trek and is currently hiding in your bathroom. Seeing as he is about to file for a divorce just to be with you, maybe you should go to dinner with her.

However, Jim did get here first.

“What are you doin’ tomorrow?” you ask, hopeful that she won’t be too hurt.

It’s not as if you’re saying no all together, just not right now.

“Leaving,” she laughs awkwardly. “I figured I’d head back early tomorrow. I’m hoping Jim will come back early and we can talk things out. We got into a bit of an argument before he left, and I’m afraid I’ve really made a mess of things,” she admits shyly.

Fuck.

“Let me grab my things and we’ll go,” you smile solemnly.

Quickly grabbing your phone, you text Jim a quick ‘I’m sorry’, before grabbing your purse and key to your dorm.

“Is there any place in particular that you wanna go to?” you ask, locking the door to your bedroom.

“I figured we’d go somewhere you love. My treat,” she smiles and it only makes you feel worse. 

“We can go to Chez Jules, and don’t worry about me, I can pay for-”

“I’m surprisin’ ya, I should at least pay for dinner. Besides, I put you through a tough Summer-”

“It’s alright-”

“Just let me be a proper Mum for once. Please?”

You hate yourself. You hate yourself to your core. Yes, you and her have always had a turbulent relationship, but never in a million years did you see this scenario playing out as it is. Hell, you honestly didn’t think you two would be in each other’s lives at this point. You and Jim falling in love isn’t even a result of you being angry with her, it just happened. Hell, you fought it so hard because you do actually love your Mother.

Now, it’s just a big mess. You don’t want to hurt her, but you can’t pretend your feelings for Jim aren’t real. You honestly wish you never came home for the Summer.

“How does it feel to be back?” your Mother asks once you’re both seated.

“It’s weird,” you laugh awkwardly, “I can’t believe this is my final year.”

“I’m so proud. Ya did what I couldn’t.”

“You can always go back whenever you want. You know that.”

“It was never for me. I don’t think an of this was ever for me,” she laughs softly.

You don’t even catch yourself as you mumble, “don’t I know it,” slips out.

“ ‘m sorry, Y/N. I really am.”

“I didn’t mean-”

“You’re hurt and you’re angry. You have every right to be. This past Summer...I don’t know why I reacted like I did. I don’t know why I always react the way I do to you. I do love you, I just don’t know how to be a Mother. I never have and I never wanted to be one. I just...I really thought it was a role I could grow in to. I’d like to think I’m better now, but we both know that I’m not and it doesn’t even matter now. You’re an adult all on your own and your own person.”

“Can we not do this in public? I’m too sober for an argument-”

“I don’t want to argue, I want to be honest. I’m trying to...I want to apologize. Ya didn’t know about Jim and for me to react the way I did...I just felt like he was taken with you more than I would’ve liked,” she sighs as the waitress comes over.

“Y/N, I already know your order,” she laughs before turning her attention to your Mother, “for you?”

“Gin,” she smiles.

“Do you need a moment for food?”

“Um, I’ll have the pork loin steak.”

“Mum!”

“Jesus, I can afford it, as can you,” she laughs. “What do ya want?”

“I don’t-”

“She’ll take the braised shoulder of lamb,” your Mother nods, grabbing your menu and handing it back to the waitress.

“Mum, we can’t-”

“It’s a girl’s night!”

“I have class in the morning,” you lie with a giggle. “I can’t be out too late.”

“I won’t keep ya too long,” she smiles. “I just felt like this would be good for us. I was afraid if I called, ya’d say no.”

“I just...time apart has always been best for us.”

“That’s not how it should be. Jim loves ya, his kids love ya, and I just...I got jealous. You getting to the house before me...I should’ve waited, because I knew you would’ve been hurt. It was a big decision and I didn’t even take you into consideration. I was just so in love with Jim and I felt like...I figured I could finally do it, ya know? Be a proper wife and Mother. Be someone everyone could finally be proud of. I didn’t tell Jim much about my past, because it’s not anything to be proud of, but I did tell him about you. I told him that you’re the only thing I’ve done that’s right. I knew you two would get along, but I still had my reservations. The way I had been with him was a side of me you’d never seen, and I was afraid you’d resent me for being better with him and his kids than I ever was with you.”

“Why didn’t you just tell me about him?” you ask, swirling your drink in the glass.

“I don’t know. We were in our own little bubble, and it was nice. I didn’t want to ruin it, and I know you’ve never been a fan of the men I’ve been with, which I can’t blame ya for. I was just scared. It got so bad so fast, and I know it’s on me. I’ve never actually committed to this part of myself and failed before I even gave myself a chance. I let you down, again, and I’m sorry.”

You say nothing as a new wave of guilt washes over you as your dinner is delivered. How could you fuck up this badly? How could you let yourself end up in a situation that will end so horribly?

“I know it was all in my head though,” she continues after the waitress walks away. “Jim barely knows you and you don’t see him like that. You don’t know him well enough to look at him in that light. It was just my own insecurities getting in the way, and I’ll do better. I’ll be better for the both of ya.”

“What did you and Jim argue about before he left?” you ask, doing your best to fight back your tears as you cut up your lamb,

“He’s rightfully angry with me. The drinking, the way I acted around his children, the way I treated you...he said he doesn’t know how to be with me anymore. I was drunk, we both raised our voices, I threw some things...it’s not lookin’ good,” she chuckles humorlessly as she wipes away a few tears. 

“What do you think-”

“He wants to leave me,” she interrupts with a shrug. “He didn’t come right out and say it, but he said it in so many words.”

“Is that what you want?”

“I don’t, but I can tell that he really is at his end. Even with sex-”

“Sex?” you eagerly cut off before you mean to.

You hate that you care so much. 

“Don’t worry, I’m not goin’ to give you too much information,” she laughs softly. “We barely ever have it, and I feel like I have to beg for it anyway. When we do, he never seems to be...in the moment. He always feels a million miles away, and it feels so empty. It was never like this before, and I know it’s on me. I made such a mess of everything this Summer.”

“Maybe you two just need some time apart,” you suggest, knowing damn well that, that won’t solve anything.

The man is waiting for you in your dorm room.

“He seemed pretty put off before he left. I tried to talk to him, but he just...he walked out. He doesn’t love me anymore, and I have no one to blame but myself.”

“Well, why do you do this shite? Huh? You finally had what you wanted-”

“I know, I know,” she sighs, throwing her fork down and drying her eyes with the backs of her hand. “It was goin’ too good. I got too nervous and I just...I let my fears win. I took it out on you, I took it out on him...I can’t fix it,” she sniffles, drying her eyes.

“I can talk to him for you,” you offer quietly.

You fucking idiot.

“My estranged daughter pleading my case for me? That’s even more pathetic,” she scoffs, before taking a sip of her drink then picking up her fork. “Anyway, tell me about school! Are you more excited to be back, or to be graduatin’ soon?”

For the rest of dinner, you try to keep up appearances, but your mind is going a million miles a minute. You know what you need to do, but you also know how much it’s going to hurt. You and Jim have spent so much time trying to build some form of a relationship, and you’re about to destroy it. 

To be fair, the relationship should’ve never happened in the first place.

“You’ll tell me when you’re home and safe?” you ask once you two are back at your dorm.

“Of course,” she smiles, wrapping you in a tight hug, “thank you for this. I really needed it.”

“Of course.”

“I’ll let you get back to your studies,” she laughs awkwardly as she lets go of you. “I love you.”

“I love you,” you smile with a nod before unlocking your door, “let me know when you’re at your hostel, yeah?”

“I promise.”

“Well...goodnight,” you nod once you’re in your room.”

“Night.”

You wait until you see her turn the corridor down the hall before finally closing the door, and letting out a heavy sigh. You know what comes next is gonna break both you and Jim’s heart.

“I know that sigh,” he comments as you close the door.

“Ya can’t leave her, Jim. Make it work.”

“Angel-”

“She’s so in love with you and she’s so sorry-”

“Stop it.”

“She’s my Mother! What do you want me to do-”

“Why do you keep trying to spare her feelings? She did this!”

“Jim, please-”

“I love you, Angel. I’m in love with you-”

“She’s your wife, Jim. She’s your wife and I’m her daughter. Your stepdaughter!”

“I didn’t even know you until I met you! This isn’t some relationship that we built up over years! I met you and we just-”

“Jim...please,” you sob.

He lets out a heavy as he wraps his arms around you, “please don’t cry.”

“I can’t do this anymore. I can’t be the reason you walk away-”

“She did this! She lied, she drank herself into a stupor, she lied-”

“You married her,” you sob softly, looking up to meet his heartbroken gaze. “I can’t hurt her like this, Jim. I can’t be the reason something else-”

“You’ve never taken anything from her!”

“Jim...”

“I love you! What’s the point of staying with her if my heart isn’t in it? What’s the point of faking it-”

“You two can find that happiness again-”

“I’ve found it with you, Angel,” he husks as he pins you against the wall.

“Jim...stop,” you moan as he kisses down your neck.

“No.”

“Jim-”

“Say it like you mean it. If you really want me to stop, I’ll stop,” he promises, unbuttoning your shorts and pushing them down along with your panties. 

“This...this is the last time,” you whimper as he starts teasing your clit.

“Sure it is, Angel,” he chuckles as he hoists you up and forces your legs around his waist. “Whatever you say.”

“Fuck...Jim!”

“I know, Angel. I need you too,” he groans as you undo his jeans, and force them down.

“I love you so much!”

“Do ya? Do ya want me?”

You know where he’s going with this, and you know it can’t go any farther.

“You know it’s wrong, Jim! We can’t keep on as we are!”

“Lets see how wrong we can be tonight, shall we?” he chuckles as he thrust himself inside of you, barely giving you a chance to breathe before he starts loving you hard and fast.

“Jim...don’t stop!’

“That’s a good girl.”

Yes, you’re going to end things with Jim and do your best to move on from this completely fucked up situation, but for now? For now you just want to live in this moment.

You just want to be with him. 

“I want to be with you,” he pants as he lays you on your bed, before resuming his pace and fucking you brutally hard. “I love you!”

“Oh my God!”

You don’t care if you two wake up the whole damn building.

“Tell me you don’t feel the same! Lie to me and tell me you don’t feel the same!”

“I fucking love...Jesus...Jim! Don’t stop!”

“That’s right, Angel. Take everything I’m givin’ ya,” he husks, pinning your hands above your head as starts biting and sucking on your neck.

“Oh fuck!”

“I’ve missed you so much, my Angel,” he grunts, the feel of his breath on your neck making you clench him tighter. “Fuck, just suckin’ me in!”

“Jim...aht...please!”

“Give it to me,” he groans as you ball your hands into fists.

You squirt hard as you lull your head back and arch your back,”fuck!”

“So good for me, Angel,” he groans as he pulls out.

Before you can whine in protest, he flips you as if you weigh nothing, and you’re instantly ready to go again.

“Hands and knees for me, Angel,” he demands gruffly, and you instantly comply, arching your back and curling your toes in anticipation. “You think we can just stop?” he asks rhetorically, gripping your hips tight before thrusting into you.

“Ah shit!”

“You’re mine, Angel. You’re mine, just like I’m yours,” he whispers seductively against the shell of your ear, thrusting harder and faster.

“Jim...I love you! Fuck, I love you so much! God...that’s it!” you cry out, strangling your pillows as he hits that spot he’s only ever been able to find. “Right fuckin’ there! Don’t stop!”

“Say it! Fuckin’ tell me what I need to hear!”

“ ‘m yours, Jim! All yours, always!”

“Fuck, not gonna...cum with me Angel! Please!” he husks pathetically, resting his head in the crook of your neck, kissing it softly as he coats your inner walls with his desire.

You have no choice but to obey, and you yell his name in the process, as mind numbing pleasure washes over you.

“So good for me, my Angel. So sweet,” he coos as he rides out both of your highs.

You’re quick to collapse onto your bed, trying to clear the euphoric clouds out 

of your head. You don’t know why you thought you’d be able to think clearly 

around him, especially when you’re already so emotional. You know what the 

right thing to do is, but it’s not what you want. It’s not what either of you want.

You hate this so much.

“We can figure this out,” Jim promises softly as he gets in bed next to 

you, instantly pulling you close.

“Jim...what we’re doing is wrong. What we’ve been doing is wrong-”

“I want to be with you.”

“You’re her husband and she’s my Mother. Jim, it should’ve never 

gotten this far. We’re horrible people.”

“Are you afraid of her hating you?”

“I can deal with her hating me. Shes always resented me a bit and 

that’s fine, I’ve always been able to handle it. What’s hard to handle is me 

being the reason she’s heartbroken. She doesn’t deserve that.”

“It wouldn’t be-”

“Jim you may have been the one who initiated everything, but it’s not��

like I ever tell you no and meant it. I want every part of ya just as much as you 

want every part of me.”

“I don’t wanna stop, Angel. I don’t want you with anyone else and I 

don’t wanna be with anyone else.”

“I love you and I’m so happy when we’re together. So fuckin’ happy, 

but this isn’t right. You leaving her for me...Jim, we can’t.”

“So, this is it?”

“We don’t have a choice.”

“We do, you just don’t like the other option.”

“Jim, for as angry as ya are, I know you don’t wanna hurt her.”

“I don’t, but you’re who I’ve always been lookin’ for. We were made for 

each other.”

“Jim...we have to let each other go.”

“After this week,” he sighs heavily, pressing a kiss to the back of your 

neck, “I’ll stay away.”

“Jim, I do love you, it’s just that...this is the right thing to do. Give it a 

few months, and everything will be back to how it was. It’ll hurt for a while, but 

it’ll be alright.”

“How it is now is how it always should be,” he mumbles into your hair 

before pressing a soft kiss into it. “Lets sleep, you have a lot of work to do in 

the morning.”

It’s not like this isn’t ripping your heart up. You want to be with Jim more than 

anything, but you can’t handle hurting your Mother like this. The ultimate 

betrayal. You have to get over this, because what’s the point? Your 

happiness shouldn’t have to make your Mother miserable. No, this is for the 

best. Yes, it’ll hurt and drive you insane for a while, but it won’t always be like 

this. It’ll get better.

Or so you hope.

~~

[tmntxthings]

Could we please have some head cannons with the rise boys reactions to their best friend/crush laughing and giggling on the phone like a maniac?

Who would be the most jealous and how would they go about it?

Also, i love your work sm. 💜💜💜💜

Jealous Headcanons

author’s note: thank you, hope you enjoy this one as well, sorry for the wait c:

warnings: none to note, unedited

—————————————————————————

Mikey wouldn’t be jealous, though he’d definitely get nosy and ask, “What’s so funny angel??” He’d have a grin on his face just from your laughter. Because duh even if it’s not due to his jokes he likes to see you happy! Dare I even say he would be the least jealous of all his brothers? I think Mikey would instantly be trying to befriend all of your friends just so everyone could hang out together! Though if you ignore his question and just keep on laughing he may get a little butt-hurt. Expect him to start getting closer, and closer to wherever you’re lounging. His eyes twitching with a bit of mania in his grin now, “C’monnn I wanna know too!!” If you’re still keeping quiet and ignoring him then maybe you should get ready for him to jump you completely. In your lap, wanting recognition, “Hellooo I know you hear me!!! Is this a prank?? Am I being recorded???”

Raph is honestly just happy you’re here. The worst you can do to this turtle is be gone too long from his side. Remember he isn’t too keen on being alone. I think he would be like Mikey in that your laughter is infectious and he’d probably be grinning to himself despite not knowing why you’re even laughing. If the phone call goes on forever though he may get a little jealous that you’re here with him yet not really paying much attention. He’ll go grab one of his stuffed teddies for comfort. All the while giving you looks of longing. His snaggle-tooth digging into his lower lip because he doesn’t really want to interrupt your call. But his body language is begging the person on the other end of the call to hang up already!!

Donnie would play off his jealousy with annoyance. You were over in his lab and the incessant giggles were becoming a distraction. He’d huff and throw glares your way, trying to catch your gaze so you would maybe feel a tad guilty for being so obnoxious in his presence! Who was making you laugh so hard anyway?? And he thought he was the funny one! He’d start grumbling and mumbling to himself that maybe you should just go over to this person’s cool lab and listen to all their jokes in person! He’d sulk once you were off the phone, completely denying any form of the word jealousy. “Jealous?! Hah! That’s preposterous does he have a fully decked out turtle tank? Or a genius-built lab? OR-“ the list would go on and on until you sedated him with cuddles and compliments.

Leo would be the most jealous. Why? Because he thinks he’s funnier. Plain and simple. Laughing at even his brothers makes him twinge with a bit of jealousy. So you can just imagine his heated stare from above his Jupiter Jim comic when you answer a phone call from “just a friend” and its been over ten minutes with nonstop laughter. He loves his comics but this one may be a bit crinkled due to his own strength getting the best of him. When your phone call is over he doesn’t know whether to ignore you purposely out of spite, or try to get you to laugh even harder at his own jokes to rebuild his pride. If you told him whatever joke had made you laugh so hard, he’d deny it was funny at all. “That’s funny to you??” He’d sneer. “If you say so!” Leo is p-e- to the t-t-y!

[fluentmoviequoter]

Jim Street, Instagram Boyfriend

Requested Here by @elephants-bubbles-brachosauruses

Pairing: Jim Street x shy!fem!reader

Summary: You want a picture but are too shy to ask anyone to take it. When Jim Street sees you waiting, he becomes the Instagram boyfriend he was born to be.

Warnings: so much fluff, Luca and Hondo (lovingly) trash talk Deac and his advice

Word Count: 2.1k+ words

Picture from Pinterest

Masterlist Directory | Jim Street Masterlist | Request Info\Fandom List

Los Angeles looks different from the top. Standing outside the Griffith Observatory, most of the LA basin is clear in the daylight, and all the people taking pictures in front of the view prove its beauty. You’d like a picture, too, but between your shyness and not seeing anyone who looks like they’d be willing to stop for someone other than themselves, you’ve taken to standing at the side and waiting for the right moment. When – or if – you see someone who looks nice enough that you could ask for their help, then you’ll worry about getting the right words out.

“Why are we here again?” Street asks as Luca leads him around the observatory.

“We’re scouting,” Luca answers.

“Scouting what? You can’t see anything clearly from up here, man. Except the restaurant that you promised to take me to.”

“After I finish my errands,” Luca reminds him. He slaps Street’s back and adds, “Let me do what I need to do.”

Street sighs as he nods. Once Luca has walked several paces ahead, Street mumbles, “Sure, I’ll just be here. Starving.”

While Luca approaches a telescope, Street shakes his head and looks out over the overlook balcony. There are couples taking pictures, men and women posing for quick selfies, and… someone else watching the other people. Street forgets about his hunger, though it had been slightly played up for Luca, as he watches you. You’re nervous, he can tell that easily, but as he watches your eyes flit from person to person and sees your bottom lip drawn between your teeth, he knows that he needs to do something.

While you turn toward the view momentarily, Street approaches you. Even if his team thinks differently and reminds him often, he is a good man and would do anything to help someone who needs it. Whatever it is that’s bothering you, he’ll try to help. You look up just as he reaches you, and he smiles easily.

“Hey,” Street begins. “Do you need some help?”

Your breath catches at the view. Not Los Angeles below you, no, you’ve seen that, but the man standing before you is so handsome that you have to remind your body to breathe. At your silence, he raises his eyebrows but continues smiling.

“I- uh- would you maybe be willing to take my picture?” you force out, mentally kicking yourself for how small and shy your voice sounds. Who could blame you? another part of your mind wonders.

Street releases a breath, relieved that you are okay. He’d been concerned that something had happened, but now that he hears you and connects the dots, he can see that you just wanted a picture but are shy. Just looking for the right person and time to ask, he assumes.

“Absolutely! I’ll take as many as you want,” Street answers quickly.

You smile and turn your chin to the side, growing shyer at his undivided attention and the sound of his voice. The observatory relies on the beauty of the heavens for advertising, but you think the real beauty is standing before you. And asking for your phone, you realize with a start.

“Sorry,” you murmur as you pass your phone to him.

“No worries,” he assures. “What kind of picture do you want?”

“Is there more than one?” you inquire, tilting your head to the side.

Street chuckles at the curiosity in your body language and wonders why more people haven’t taken pictures of you. You’re stunning, and even if you’re too shy to ask, surely someone else can see that your beauty needs to be captured.

“In that case,” he begins, “I’ll take the pictures and you just keep doing what you’re doing, being gorgeous.”

Blood rushes to your cheeks, and they warm as you smile.

“I’m Street, by the way. Well, Jim Street, but everyone calls me Street because…” Street rambles.

You introduce yourself in reply, and he watches you on the phone screen. Seeing you through the camera lens is different, and Street’s words dry up. “Okay, I’m going to take pictures,” he whispers.

Street bends his knees and squats, trying to find the perfect angle. He moves one foot back without standing, and your smile widens at his dedication.

“Hey, if I fall to my death trying to get this right, make sure you get the picture, alright?” Street requests. “I’ll throw the phone back up to you.”

You laugh, not the shy, swallowed chuckle from before, but a real laugh and Street taps the screen so many times he momentarily worries that you’ll run out of storage space.

“That’s awful,” you chide lightly. “There’s no way a picture of me is worth that.”

Street lowers your phone to send a serious look over the top. “Don’t do that.”

You sober quickly, your laughs dying at the tone of his voice. “Okay,” you whisper.

You bring your hands together before you, and Street snaps another photo as he stands. He opens your camera roll and begins swiping backward to check the images he captures. When he sees the first picture of you laughing, he freezes. In a moment, looking at that candid, Jim Street falls for you, and he falls harder and faster than if he had gone off the side of the balcony.

“Do they look okay?” you inquire.

Street looks up but can’t find a single word to say. You’re just as beautiful in person, yet he can’t communicate all the feelings in his chest right now.

“Let me get one more,” he forces out.

“Sure.”

“Put your left hand on the railing,” Street instructs. “Good, now turn your chin toward me. Perfect.”

He drops into what you can only describe as a Spider-Man pose and leans to the side to take the picture. Your smile turns genuine while you watch him, and he hums contentedly as he finishes testing the angles.

“Thank you so much,” you say as he stands. “I honestly can’t thank you enough.”

Street nods but doesn’t look away from your phone for a moment. When he hands it back, your fingers brush his, bringing all those sudden feelings he felt before back like a raging flood.

“Thank you,” you repeat, quieter.

“I hope this wasn’t too forward, but I texted myself, so I have your number if you need anything,” Street responds. “Amateur photographer or otherwise.”

You drop your chin but force yourself to hold eye contact with Street as he speaks. With your fingers curling into a shy, nervous fist, you nod.

“That’s fine,” you assure him softly. “And… I’d like to talk to you since you have my number.”

“Great.”

“Street! Let’s go!” Luca calls from across the balcony.

“That’s my cue,” Street tells you. “I’ll talk to you later, pretty girl.”

You bite your bottom lip to keep your emotions somewhat contained. “Good.”

Street smiles at you once more before he turns and walks away. You watch him for a moment, then look down at your phone. As you unlock it, it buzzes with a new text. The contact’s name: Jim Street, photographer for the prettiest girl in the world makes you smile. Once the text thread is open, however, your smile drops as shock takes its place. Street sent himself a picture of you laughing, not just a text. When you look up again, he and his friend are gone. At least it’s a good picture for once, you think.

“Who was the girl?” Luca asks.

“What girl?” Street counters.

“What girl? The girl at the observatory.”

Street tells Luca your name but doesn’t explain how you met or started talking. You’ve been on Street’s mind since then, but you’re shy and he doesn’t want to scare you away by rushing into anything. He fell hard and fast, but that doesn’t mean he should try to force you to do the same, especially when it could risk scaring you away.

“Are you going to see her again?” Luca asks.

“I want to,” Street admits. “It’s too fast, you know. We just met.”

“And you were looking at each other like you were fifteen seconds from going to Vegas and getting married. Text her, call her, whatever it is you do.”

“But-“

“Don’t argue with me, Streeter. I’ll call Duke in here to tackle you.”

“With what strength?” Street argues. “Kisses?”

“Or I’ll tell Deacon and let him know you want relationship advice,” Luca challenges with a knowing smile.

“You’re evil, Luca. Has anyone ever told you that?”

Luca turns away from Street and answers, “It’s been mentioned, but they usually take it back when I’m their groomsman.”

Street rolls his eyes but reaches for his phone regardless. He needs to see you; more than the picture that has become his phone’s home screen and consumed all his thoughts, he needs to see you in person again. The text he sends is simple, just an explanation that he thinks you are beautiful and kind, and he wants to spend time with you.

Street begins to put his phone away, but your response is nearly immediate: I think the same about you. When and where?

Street throws his fist up in victory and ignores Luca’s muffled, “I told you!” from the other room.

“I can’t believe you said yes,” Street says during your date.

You look just as beautiful as when you met, and you’ve slowly opened up to him. At that comment, you shake your head in disbelief.

“I can’t believe you asked me out,” you reply. “I mean, I fell for you the moment you walked up.”

“Then I win.”

“It’s a competition?”

“Of course.”

You nod but remain dubious as you ask, “Then wouldn’t I win, since I fell first?”

“I fell for you in the time of a camera shutter, so no.”

Your smile drops as you watch Street. There is no reason you shouldn’t believe him, but men like Street don’t usually fall for women like you… if they fall at all.

“Hey,” Street calls. “Don’t do that. Whatever is going on in that breathtaking head, stop.”

“I just-“

“Don’t believe me?”

“No, it’s not that, just… why me?”

Street pulls his phone from his pocket, unlocks it, and slides it across the table. You see the picture of you as his wallpaper and quickly look back at Street. He smiles and takes your hand over the table.

“I mean it. Even if you did laugh when I talked about dying,” he promises.

You laugh yet again, and Street’s world lights up.

“Can I take another picture?” Street asks excitedly.

“One condition,” you answer through your laughter. “There has to be a date for every picture.”

“That’s going to be a lot of dates,” Street points out. “Did you see how many I already took?”

“I did. That’s why I disagree with your title of ‘amateur’ photographer.”

“Maybe I’m just… what are they called? The guys who do whatever their girlfriends ask to get the perfect picture?”

You roll your eyes, but squeeze Street’s hand as you answer, “You, Jim Street, are most definitely an Instagram boyfriend.”

Street pulls your hand gently, and as you bend over the table, he raises his other hand to your chin. “Did you just call me your boyfriend?” he asks. “This moment deserves a picture.”

Bonus:

“Street, your phone is ringing!” Hondo yells. He leans over and looks at the caller ID before the call goes to voicemail.

“Sorry,” Street apologizes as he walks into Hondo’s kitchen. “Forgot where I set it down.”

“No worries.”

Street picks up his phone, but doesn’t leave before Hondo asks, “So… you take selfies with girls now, playboy?”

“Something like that.”

“She’s pretty.”

“I know.”

“I’m happy for you, Street,” Hondo adds. “It’s obvious that she’s good for you.”

Luca walks into the kitchen as Hondo finishes speaking, and agrees, “She turned playboy Street into puppy dog photographer Street.”

“Who did?” Deacon asks.

Luca presses his lips together to hide his smile but shrugs as Street glares at him.

“Well, Deac,” Hondo begins. “You’ve got another boy ready to settle down. Care to tell him how it’s done?”

Street directs his glare to Hondo, but it disappears when Deacon double-taps Street’s back and says, “I think he’s got it figured out.”

“Are we talking about the same Street?” Luca asks quickly.

“I’ve seen the pictures,” Deacon explains. “They’re good without my advice.”

Deacon steps out, and Street’s phone rings again. He answers and disappears into another room, leaving Hondo and Luca alone.

“I didn’t think I’d live to see it,” Hondo muses.

“Wait until you see them in person,” Luca says. “Jim Street, puppy dog photographer, is more fitting than you’re thinking.”

[darthannie]

day twenty-seven: phone sex with jim

pairing: Jim x f!reader word count: 1,063 warnings: cheating, age gap, mutual masturbation, fingering, almost caught a/n: listen what if he was cheating on his wife with someone younger from work? What then? kinktober masterlist

You looked at yourself in the mirror and stared at how your new silk set looked on you. Not bad, you thought. You snapped a couple of pictures, planning to send them to Jim.

You met each other through work and somehow got to know each other despite being in very different places in life. You became more than friends when you were joking around with him one day. His hand ended up in yours and he reached for your cheek. You closed the gap before he could pull you in for a kiss. You met up that day after work and had sex for the first time. Since then, your meetings have gotten more frequent, and the relationship more serious. 

You knew he was married with children and you would be lying if you didn’t feel the slightest bit guilty about this arrangement, but not guilty enough to stop seeing him. Every time you were together your affinity for him only grew stronger. 

Instead of sending one of the photos you took, you decided to call him. It was late enough that his wife would be in bed asleep, and he had mentioned his kids were having a sleepover at a friend’s house. He had to be free at this hour. 

The phone only rang for a moment before he picked up.

“Hello?”, you said.

“Hi.” He sounded out of breath. He forgot to silence his phone and almost woke up his wife with your call. He ran out of the room to not wake her up. Thankfully, she didn’t stir. 

“Is everything okay?” he asked. 

“Yeah, I just missed you,” you said, your voice small. You’d never said anything like that to him before. You didn’t know exactly how he’d react.

“I miss you too,” he whispered. He was nervous, you had never called before. He sat at his kitchen table, trying to stay as quiet as possible. 

“When can I see you again?” You played with the string on your sweatpants. 

“Soon,” he paused for a moment before continuing. “How’s Wednesday sound? Same time and place.”  

A large grin formed on your face. “Wednesday works.”

“Great. I’m glad.” 

There was silence before you spoke. “You know, Jim, I was just getting ready for bed before I called. No one’s home.”

“I can’t come over-“

You stopped him, “No no. I know. I wouldn’t ask you to. I just wanted to let you know that I’ve been… starting to touch myself while thinking about you.”

He swallowed, “Yeah?”

“Mhm. I keep thinking about the way you touch me.” You started to rub your clit, already wet.

He heard your moans and bit his knuckle, debating if he should give in to your temptation. 

“How does it feel?” He asked so quietly he thought you hadn’t heard him.

You moaned, “Really good.”

“How wet are you?”

“Really, really wet.” You punctuated your sentence with a moan.

His breath hitched as he palmed himself through his pants. Your small moans motivated him to reach underneath and grab himself. His head tipped back for a second before he adjusted in his seat. 

“Have you fingered yourself yet?” His hand started to move.

“No, I haven’t.” 

“Better start,” he said as he pulled down his pants, revealing his hard cock, dripping with precum. “Go slow. Start with just the tips of your fingers.” Your only response was the moans that escaped your mouth. He continued “Now put them in as far as possible. Curl them.”

You did what he said… over and over and over again. “Fuck, Jim,” you cried, “it feels so good. I want you inside of me. I need you so bad.”

He was panting now, stroking himself quickly, imagining he was thrusting into you and feeling your soft skin under his palms. 

“Need you too. It’s all I can think about.”

You slowed your movements, “You think about me that often?”

You listened to him let out a breathy moan, “You’re the first and last thing on my mind every day.”

“Jim-“

He deflected by telling you to rub your clit. You did what he said once he gave his instruction. You pressed your head into your pillow and whined, feeling like your hands weren’t enough. “God, I wanna taste you, love,” he exhaled as his hips bucked up into his hand, biting his lip as he got closer to his release. 

“Jim- fuck- I’m close.” 

“Cum for me,” he said. You put the phone next to your head as your other hand reached down. Two fingers moved in and out of you while you rubbed your clit. The sound of Jim’s low, breathy moans combined with your fingers made you cum almost as soon as he gave you the command. 

You screamed his name as your legs shook. Jim let out a moan that was a bit too loud for his liking as he came, knowing he would ruin his shirt. That wasn’t what he cared about. What mattered more was the rustling coming from upstairs, and light filling up the top of the staircase. 

Jim quickly hung up, fixed his pants, and took off his shirt, hiding it as best he could. His wife peeked out from around the corner. “Jim?”, she asked, half asleep. He replied with a simple “Uh huh” as she descended halfway down the staircase. “What are you doing down here? And where’s your shirt?”

“Too hot. Couldn’t sleep so I just came down here for a moment.” He tried to tell himself it was a good enough excuse. She took it at face value. “Alright, just come back to bed when you feel like it.”

“Will do,” he replied with a smile. 

She went back upstairs and the light turned off. Darkness surrounded him until his screen lit up. 

You sent him a text, “You okay?”

He replied, “My wife came downstairs. Nearly caught me.”

You cringed at the thought of her finding out. You sent, “Did she suspect anything?”

He smirked, “Not at all.”

He texted again, “Can I see you Monday? We could go for a walk or something.”

Your cheeks flushed. “See you Monday, Jim.” 

You put your phone down, but picked it right back up, opening your photos app and selecting the ones you took for him earlier. You hit send, hoping he;’s want to see your sooner than Monday. 

Taglist:

@devotedlyshadowytheorist, @dxnger-dxys, @tommyshelbywhore, @quinnlilias,@madnessandobsession, @mvpr-moon, @nela-cutie, @faebirdie, @charmed-asylum, @anasanthology, @ilikefictionalmen, @akanne-aka, @no-fooking-fighting,@queenofstresss, @flwrs4aust, @mrkdvidal1989, @00hsv, @laylasbunbunny

[happilysmythe]

❥ 𝙬𝙖𝙩𝙚𝙧

trent frederic.

word count: 5.0k

warning: explicit content

"can you blow my mind?" — tyla

A/N: i recently received a request for trent and a leafs fan. i was given creative freedom and this is what i came up with. hope you like it, nonny <3

- - -

Bruins win Game 7 in OT.

The headlines came out at a rapid rate, informing the rest of the world that the Boston Bruins made it out of the first round and turned the Toronto Maple Leafs into mulch. Again.

Trent Frederic, along with a few teammates, were on too much of a high to return to their rooms at the hotel they’d been staying in just yet. Though they were home in Boston, coach Jim Montgomery thought it would be smarter to have the guys stay in a hotel instead of going back to their homes and apartments. Team bonding, he said.

The bunch set off for the bar inside the hotel, only a few blocks away from TD Garden, waiting a few hours before slipping in nonchalantly. They weren’t trying to get outed too fast, and they usually didn’t. Even once they were recognized, not much came of it. Most people were too drunk by then to make a scene, anyway.

So they sat down at the bar and ordered a few beers, celebrating accordingly and talking amongst themselves. They would finally let loose for just a night before the inevitable start of round 2 in just two days. They’d be having practice the next morning and flying down to Sunrise, Florida to face the Panthers, who were on their extensive break after knocking the Lightning in just 5 games.

Trent decided he’d had enough after his fourth beer, so he left his share and stood up to make his way out. As he turned around, his body hit something with a thud. He looked down and saw what it was that he came into contact with; a thin blonde woman with her arms out, jaw slack, and an empty hand that once held her drink.

Oh, and a Maple Leafs jersey.

“Oh, shit,” Trent muttered, compressing his lips.

You scoffed, “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“I can get you a new one.”

You looked up, a look of guilt on your face as your hands fell back down to your sides. “Shit, I’m sorry. I should’ve been looking where I was going, too—”

You paused.

“Where do I know you?”

He remained silent, shooting you a look as if to tell you that it should be obvious. It wasn’t long before your face dropped and it hit you. He suppressed a grin at your realization and parted his lips to speak.

“Name’s Trent,” he spoke smoothly, “but something tells me you already figured that out.”

“Well, you’re one of the last people I’d like to see right now,” you rolled your eyes, arms folded. “What’s a guy like you doing at some random bar at,” you looked at your watch, “12 in the morning after the game where you just knocked my team out of the playoffs?”

“Had to celebrate somehow,” he winked.

“Oh, god,” you grimaced. “I really do hate you guys.”

“Well, aren’t you a little ray of sunshine,” he laughed, putting his abnormally large hands on his hips. Your eyes subtly followed their path.

“Lighten up,” he teased. “C’mon. What’s your name? I know you’re not a,” he pinched the fabric of your jersey and pulled it to see the numbers, “Marner. Unless you’re into that sort of thing.”

You sighed at his remark and told him your name, but he made a face afterward.

“Too long.”

“Too long?”

“I think I’ll stick to Marner,” he told you, much to your dismay.

“Gross,” you replied irritatedly. “I don’t particularly feel like giving you the privilege of using a nickname. Just use my real name like everyone else. ”

“I’m all set, actually. I think I’ll stick to mine.”

“God, you’re annoying.”

“You gonna let me buy your drink or keep bitching about who I am?”

“Fine,” you sighed, “buy me the damn drink.”

He and you made your way to the other side of the bar, far enough away from the rest of the guys and the few friends you went with that you wouldn’t be noticed. You sat next to each other on the bar stools, Trent talking your ear off and you reluctantly replying with mostly one-word responses.

“You can’t be that angry with me,” he finally spoke, breaking another silence. “I’m not the whole team, you know.”

“I can and I will,” you shrugged, sipping your almost-empty drink.

“If you won’t talk, then I’ll just have to make you talk.”

He put his elbows down on the table and turned his head to face you, “Why’d you decide to come out in public after that game? I wouldn’t have even bothered to show my face in a bar wearing that. You here with other people or something?”

“I came with a couple of friends.”

“Doesn’t answer my first question.”

You looked down. “They wanted to come down here. I told them it was probably a bad idea because of the fact that we’re, you know, Leafs fans. They did it anyway so I just tagged along.”

“Bet you didn’t expect to run into me,” he nudged you with his shoulder, bringing a faint smile to your lips. “There you go,” he teased when he noticed your expression. “See? I’m not so bad.”

“Fraternizing with the enemy is a bad look for a woman like me,” you retorted, a playful undertone to your words. It was uncharacteristic compared to the closed-off manner you had with every other response. You wouldn’t admit that, however.

“Oh, she jokes,” he took the final sip of the drink he’d bought himself upon sitting with you, even after deciding he’d had his last beforehand.

“Shut up, Frederic.”

“We’ve regressed to my last name now? Can’t even call me by my first?”

“But you won’t use mine at all,” you rolled your eyes, “Trent.”

You looked at him for maybe a tad longer than you should’ve, eyes slowly moving down his body. He wore a white collared shirt that hugged his arms and gray dress pants that looked awfully tight around his thighs. You couldn’t help but notice the facial hair he’d grown since the start of the round, giving him a gingery mustache with a somewhat patchy beard. You’d seen what he looked like before that and were undoubtedly intrigued by it, regardless of whatever grudges you held against him. But you couldn’t let him know that.

So you turned to face the television above the bar, watching the commercial in a quiet trance as if nothing happened.

“Hey,” he tapped his finger on the bartop, diverting your attention back to him. “Tell me something,” he softly requested as you looked back, adjusting his body to face yours. “Why did you let me buy you the new drink if you weren’t going to talk to me, hm?”

You swallowed, “I wasn’t going to be rude.”

“The real reason,” he pressed.

“There is no real reason.”

“Alright,” he nodded, “so why were you staring at me before?”

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

He lowered his voice and brought his face just slightly closer, a faint grin tugging at his lips. “You’re not a very good liar, you know that?”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me. I mean,” he laughed, shrugging his shoulders, “unless I didn’t see you looking for a while there. But I’m pretty sure I know what I saw.”

“Just…just shut up, Trent, alright?”

“Sounds like I hit a nerve,” he noted and you rolled your eyes. “You know, you’re cute when you’re irritable.”

His grin widened when you shook your head again, promptly informing him of how annoying he was once again. “But if I’m really being honest here,” he lifted his fingers and gently brushed a strand of hair behind your ear, “I think you’re pretty.”

At this, your hardened exterior softened. Your head turned just slightly so that he was in your field of view and you sighed gently. “Thanks.”

“Mhm.”

“I, um,” you cleared your throat, taking a breath, “I was looking before.”

“I know,” he softly responded, hand slipping down until his palm rested on your thigh. Initially, you flinched at the contact, but your muscles relaxed when you realized it was a warm gesture rather than one with malicious intent.

“You don’t have to be so cold,” he told you. “No matter who I play for, I’m just a guy.”

You were more attracted to him than you wanted to let on, and it surely didn’t help that he was being nicer to you. You suppressed a smile and faced him fully.

“It’s not that, it’s—it’s the point,” you flatly responded.

“You can look at me again,” he teased, thumb rubbing your thigh. “I won’t tell anyone.”

“Don’t count on it.”

Your gaze lingered on him again, eyes flitting down to his lips before you looked away. It wasn’t hard for him to see through you—after all, you allowed him to keep his hand where it was, even after refuting his words. He took notice of your wandering eyes and finally pieced it together.

“Like the new look, eh?”

Your brows furrowed and you swallowed, “What new look…?”

“I think you know what I’m talking about,” he replied with certainty. “You have a thing for the scruff?”

“Please. I don’t even know what you looked like before that,” you lied, taking an unsteady breath.

“Doesn’t change that you were looking at it, does it?”

“Well…” you trailed off, lips parted as you tried to think up an excuse. “No,” you finally gave up, letting your head hang down. “It doesn’t, because I have seen you before and I do have a thing for it. For you,” you shook your head, laughing at the reality of how weak you truly were. How stupid you must have looked to him. “So tease me all you want, say that you told me so—you’re right.”

A ringed finger slipped under your chin and tilted your head toward him, his face mere inches away from yours.

“I’m not going to tease you.”

You swallowed, expression falling as your eyes locked with his. They were brown, you noticed. And they were…warm. They largely contrasted how he looked at you previously. It brought you to an entranced sort of state.

His touch was soft, comforting. But in a way that made you want him more. Caused your mind to wander to places you knew it shouldn’t have gone. It felt good. Really good.

And you had no business wondering what the rest of him would feel like on you.

“Where are you staying?” you blurted out.

“Upstairs.”

“Take me,” the words left your mouth before you could protest.

An eyebrow raised and his grin turned to a smile. “Gladly,” he whispered, lowering his hand and standing up.

He held his hand out and you hesitantly took it, allowing him to discreetly walk you toward the exit of the bar. You ducked when you saw your friends, praying that by some miracle they didn’t see you walk out with Trent Frederic.

“Trent,” you whispered, clutching onto him harder now that you couldn’t be hidden by the darkness of the bar any longer. “What if someone saw?”

“You would’ve known by now. Trust me,” he reassured you as the elevator doors slid open. You walked in and the doors shut, enclosing you in the small space. “And if anyone did,” he started, fingers brushing against the nape of your neck, “it’s none of their business, anyway.”

“Mhm,” you agreed softly, eyes beginning to close when you felt his warm breath on your neck.

“See? Not so hard to agree, is it?”

“Mm…no…”

He laughed softly in your ear and pressed a tiny kiss to the skin behind it. He intricately placed a few more on the exposed skin, prompting a faint hum from your lips as the doors slid back open. His hand found its place on your waist as he gently pushed you out, guiding you down the hallway and finally stopping in front of his door.

By now, you’d become urgent—urgent to feel his lips on yours no matter how much you told yourself it was a stupid idea. You lived in Toronto; a whopping 500 miles away. And he played for Boston, the team you hated with a passion so strong that you vowed to never let yourself be endeared by them. Yet there you were, standing next to the forward who contributed to your favorite team’s loss, wanting nothing more than for him to make you feel oh, so good.

And he would.

The door clicked open and he pushed the lever down, stepping aside to let you in. He was quick to pin you to the door with his body, arm coming up behind your head to lock it and toss the room card to the side.

“I can’t believe I let you charm me.”

“What can I say,” he rasped, leaning in closer, “I know how to get a girl in my room.”

His lips finally connected with yours and you immediately reciprocated, hand flattening against his chest and gripping the material of his shirt. You pulled him closer, slipping your free hand around his neck before tilting your head to deepen the kiss. The hair above his lips rubbed against your skin, the feeling eliciting a faint hum from your mouth into his. He grinned at this and hooked his fingers under the blue jersey you wore, pulling away promptly and carefully lifting it up.

“Taking this shit off,” he mumbled, pulling the fabric over your head and discarding it to the floor. “You’d look much better with mine.”

You rolled your eyes, “Not going to happen, Trent.”

“We’ll see,” he grinned, moving his lips to your neck and marking up the skin, drawing whimpers from your mouth.

Your hand snaked into his hair, fingers threading between the dusty ginger strands as you pushed his head closer. He kissed up to your jaw, sliding his hand up to your neck, the other placed on the bare skin of your hip. His fingers pressed into the nape of your neck and his thumb rested just under your chin, hand pressing the back of your head against the door as his lips kissed a path down your jawline.

“Shit,” you moaned breathily, reaching for the buttons on his shirt as his mouth returned to yours hungrily.

You worked your way down, the material of his shirt parting and exposing his skin as each button fell open. His tongue slipped between your lips, grazing your teeth before rolling over yours languidly. Soft fingers untucked his open shirt from his pants and began to trace his stomach, moving slowly up to his firm chest. The action caused the large hand around your neck to tighten its hold, prying a moan from your throat.

“Didn’t know,” you panted, “—didn’t know you wore a chain.”

“Like it, mm?”

The way he grinned down at you brought a lump to your throat. He made you nervous. Weak, even. And the height at which he stood compared to you surely didn’t help. So you nodded curtly in response, hoping he’d take the hint and not press you further.

But he took it and instead removed his hand from your neck to slide it down and meet the other at your lower back, promptly hoisting you up. Your hands moved to his face and held it while you continued to kiss him, him walking the two of you away from the door and in the direction of the bed. You kicked your shoes off just as he grabbed a towel from the rack on the wall outside the bathroom and laid it lazily atop the sheets. He then lowered you onto your back and let go, allowing you to lie comfortably on the bed as he remained on his knees in front of you.

He quickly shed himself of the torn-open shirt and tossed it toward the empty bed on the other side of the room. His body soon hovered over yours, an arm on the bed on each side of your head as he kissed you again. His lips moved to your neck once again, working the skin until soft moans slipped through your parted ones.

“Trent,” you exhaled, chest rising and falling deeply, “isn’t…isn’t someone else staying here with you? There’s—mm—two beds.”

“There was,” he mumbled into your skin, moving down to your collarbones.

“So couldn’t we get—”

“Was,” he repeated. “He already went home to his girlfriend. And I have both room keys.” He chuckled softly and reached around your back to unclasp your bra, the fabric coming loose on your chest. “So relax.”

You nodded and lifted your arms for him to pull it off, him letting it fall from his hand before kissing a path down the valley of your chest. His body moved down as he continued down to your stomach, then to your waist where his fingers hooked in your pants and slid them down your legs.

You kicked them off and opened your legs, allowing Trent to slip between them. He gently kissed your inner thigh, slowly working his way up until he reached the lacy fabric that covered your skin. He looked up, making and not breaking eye contact with you as he took the waistband between his teeth and tugged the fabric slowly down your legs. As he rose upwards, they and your pants were dropped to the floor.

Warm breath fanned the skin between your aching thighs, awaiting his touch oh, so impatiently. His fingers brushed the area, dragging themselves slowly up and down. His eyes flitted up to you, a faint grin playing on his lips before focusing back down.

“God, you’re wet,” he rasped, leaning down and settling his face between your thighs, your legs atop his shoulders. His hands wrapped around your outer thighs and gripped them, pulling you in promptly.

“Especially for someone who claims to hate me so much.”

You rolled your eyes and groaned, “Think that’ll make me like you any more?”

“No, but maybe this will.”

With that, his mouth wrapped around your clit, tongue swirling around and eliciting a gasp of shock from your parted lips. Your eyes widened as he sucked gently, hands kneading the warm flesh of your thighs.

He then trailed downward, planting small, light kisses on the sensitive flesh, all before his tongue carefully parted your folds and delved slowly inside. Your fingers gingerly threaded into his strands, palm flattening itself on the back of his head as you pushed him down, your body weak with the need for more friction.

The hair that had recently grown above his lips brushed against your skin, rubbing back and forth forcefully and bringing meaning to the term, ‘hurts so good.’

“God, fuck,” you groaned, hands tenaciously gripping the sheets and his curls as his tongue moved in a rhythm that was just enough to make you long for more.

He lapped at you mercilessly, expert movements of his tongue coaxing soft moans from your mouth. A cocky grin stretched across his lips as he brought you to the brink, then pulled away, forcing a whimper from you at the loss of contact.

A large hand was removed from your thigh and brought between your legs, knuckles once again dragging lazily along the sensitive, needy skin, but refusing to give you the satisfaction of doing what you wanted most. He was teasing you; punishing you for the way in which you treated him earlier without giving him as much as a chance to prove himself.

“Trent,” you whined impatiently, hips writhing involuntarily against his bearded face.

“Mm…what?”

You refused to admit the irrevocable attraction you had to him because you didn’t want to let him win. And now he was being a bitch to you, just like you were to him. He chuckled softly and pressed the tip of his finger to your entrance, allowing you to feel the small bit of pressure that came with it. 

“Please,” you whimpered, fingers tightening in his curls.

Enough was enough and he pushed the finger in, drawing a moan from your lips before adding another and thrusting them in and out with no room for complaint. The cold metal of his ring brushed against your sensitive inner walls and you gasped at the initial contact, your rampant mind having forgotten about the jewelry to begin with. And deep down, you loved it.

His mouth returned to your skin, tongue licking small stripes on the mound of flesh above his fingers, the scruff on his chin rubbing roughly against it. You knew you were going to have burns on your skin caused by his facial hair but you didn’t care; you just wanted to keep feeling him.

“Trent, don’t stop.”

He laughed quietly and sped up the pace of his fingers, urging you even closer to the edge. Your thighs closed in around his head, hand still pushing his head down. He hummed in satisfaction, the noise vibrating against your skin as he felt you clench around his long fingers.

His lips sucked on your clit in a steady pattern, causing your release to rip through you, prying a moan from deep within your stomach. You fisted the sheets tighter as your hips writhed against his face and fingers, legs beginning to shake from the pressure. Trent continued to work you through it, tongue lapping up the wetness that accumulated until you sunk back down into the mattress, spent.

Slowly he removed his fingers, first bringing them to his lips to lick them clean before rising back up. You inched backward on the bed until your head pressed against the pillow, Trent following and planting himself on his knees between your legs. His fingers reached down and fumbled with the buckle on his belt, eyes never leaving your body in the process. It wasn’t long before his belt haphazardly hit the floor, then his pants and his painfully hard cock was freed from its constraints. A rough palm placed itself on your knee, rubbing it slowly.

“Trent,” you swallowed, drawing his attention back up to your face. “Con—”

He raised his hand to cut you off, a gold wrapper resting comfortably between his index and middle fingers. The action having rendered you silent, he promptly took the foil between his teeth and pulled, spitting out the excess before taking out the latex and rolling it onto himself. You soon felt the pressure of him at your entrance, legs subconsciously widening to let him slip between them further, then heard the sound of him groaning as he pushed into you.

You swore it was the sexiest thing you’d ever heard.

He leaned forward slowly, giving you just a moment’s time to adjust to his size as he stretched you out. Your breaths were unsteady, eyes screwed shut as your fingers maintained their forceful grip on the sheets around you. Your mind was racing, but you knew one thing for certain—the man was about to fucking blow it. His body hovered above yours as he kissed a path from your stomach up to your neck, hands pressing into the mattress on each side of you.

“Where did you,” you breathed, “get that?”

“Pocket,” he rasped, mustache brushing against your neck.

Eyes wide, you responded, “That’s not—”

“Relax,” he mumbled, the corners of his lips slightly upturned. “I put it in there today.”

Then you impatiently lifted a hand to the back of his head and pushed his lips onto yours, kissing him urgently and wordlessly telling him to just move. He obeyed your silent command and pushed his hips into yours, burying his dick into you before pulling back, leaving only the tip inside. He repeated the process at a steady, slow rhythm—tortuously slow, at that—until your back was arching, hand in his hair sliding down to his shoulder blade as the long, coffin-shaped nails dug into his soft skin. The chain that you’d noticed earlier tapped against your cheek, the feeling provoking you to throw your head back against the pillow.

His hand slid up your front, fingers curling around to the nape of your neck and thumb resting under your chin once again, pulling your head back up as he quickened his pace, driving into you with more force. Every inch of his thick cock slid smoothly along your velvety walls, your mouth frozen in its open state as his lips worked at your neck again. And god, you just couldn’t understand what made you hate that guy in the first place. It must have slipped your mind completely.

Upon the first thrust of his hips, he felt just how tight you enveloped him. The immense pressure of you wrapped around his strained length, practically squeezing it. The age-old trick of conjuring up the most repulsive of thoughts seemed nothing but moronic to him in the past, yet for some reason he found himself naming off presidents in his head to prevent from coming so fucking soon. He only wished that he could feel it; really feel it, if it weren’t for that godforsaken rubber that separated him from you.

And he’d make it his mission to do so, whether you lived five hundred miles away or not.

He just hoped he’d last when he finally did.

The hand around your throat closed just slightly, using just enough pressure to threaten your intake of breath without causing any pain. It was delicious. You didn’t have the will to fight it—your body had already submitted to him long before, and there wasn’t much that you could focus on other than the feeling of him roughly thrusting into you, lips marking up one side of your neck while his hand firmly gripped the other.

The sounds of your mixed moans bounced off of the walls and you began to wonder whether anyone could hear it or not; if any of his teammates were close by, walking back to their rooms from the bar. The thought instilled enough fear for you to weakly voice it.

“What if—ah—what if someone hears us?”

“Let them,” he rasped, kissing behind your ear.

“But—”

“God, shut up,” he pushed his lips to yours, swallowing your words, moans, and expletives that threatened to destroy your mediocre attempt to stay quiet. His tongue rolled over yours, low hums reverberating in your mouth and filling your ears.

Finally, he released his hold from your neck, allowing the air to flow smoothly into your lungs once more. The hand reached for yours, roughly threading his fingers between yours before pushing the two forward and pinning the back of your hand to the headboard behind you. You let out a whimper at the sudden contact but quickly gripped his hand with a matching force to his as he hit the sweet spot inside you and a familiar pit in your stomach formed.

“Close,” you panted, back arching off of the bed and forcing your front to press firmly into his.

“I know,” he told you, grip tightening as the taut line in your stomach snapped.

His mouth enveloped yours again to swallow your noises, tongue swiping against your bottom lip. Your inner walls constricted around his length as you hit your climax, nails digging into his back as you grasped desperately at him for stability, support—any sort of strength that he could provide you with. And he did, grunting sporadically as he fucked you through your second orgasm, thrusts growing sloppier.

It wasn’t long before he twitched inside you, hitting his own peak and letting out a deep moan. Your name—to your surprise—left his lips in a slurred form, repeating it softly as if it were a hymn. Sweat coated your forehead, droplets dripping slowly down your face, and the frontward strands of your hair had grown wet. His curls dripped with his own sweat as his lips hovered just centimeters above yours, warm breath fanning your face and gaze aligning with yours.

You finally swallowed, “Wow.”

“Mm,” he hummed, pressing a chaste kiss to your lips, hand letting go of yours and gently running up and down your side.

He waited a moment and carefully pulled out, the action drawing your eyes shut before he slipped off the used latex and disposed of it. You adjusted yourself as he did so, ridding the bed of the towel and briefly cleaning yourself up before you felt a piece of fabric hit your arm. You looked down to see a large, black t-shirt on the bed and grabbed it, quickly slipping it on as he walked back over. He motioned you under the sheets and you silently obliged.

Your back pressed against his chest, chain pressing into the skin as an arm wrapped around you and a hand flattened on your stomach. His other fingers pushed your hair to the side, exposing the skin to his eyes, and he saw the faint marks his fingers left on your neck. A pair of lips brushed against your ear and the soft rasp of his voice returned.

“You know, that’s a Bruins shirt,” he teased, scruff grazing your damp skin as his lips connected with your shoulder.

“Mhm,” you flatly responded.

“Going against your word pretty fast, eh?”

“Yeah, well,” you started, nuzzling back into him. “I told you I hated you and ended up in your bed, so,” you turned to him slightly, “unreliable source.”

He chuckled softly and brought his fingers up to brush your hair back, pressing a light kiss to your cheek. “Night, Marner.”

“Shut up,” you mumbled, and he laughed one final time before closing his eyes and relaxing into you.

So, against everything that you stood for just hours before, you fell asleep in Trent Frederic’s arms without much forethought. In his shirt and his bed, effectively leaving your friends behind because they’d for some odd reason just slipped your mind completely.

And when Trent woke up the next morning, he was no longer in your company, much to his dismay. Any trace of your presence the night before had perished, down to the towel on the floor. But there was one thing—one saving grace that caught his eye as he scanned the room.

A piece of paper on the nightstand with a phone number scribbled on it and a small note below it that read,

“For the next time you’re in Toronto.”

[mystery-star]

Sure Bet - Spock

Pairing: Spock x reader (gender neutral) 

Warnings: swearing 

Words: 2277

A/N: Just a short idea I’ve head when reading @sachiko1309 's Spock fanfiction yesterday. Hope you don't mind me tagging you, no need to read if you dont' want to lol.

Please do not repost my work on other sites or platforms! 

- 

“What?!” your friend and Captain almost exclaimed, making most of the people in the rec room look at you. Sometimes being with Jim when he was drunk wasn’t fun. “You mean you never kissed someone?” he took another sip from his drink as if to overcome the disbelief. 

“Of course I did” you defended yourself “It just only were people that I was in a relationship with” and you only were in your second relationship so there was that. 

“Well, we gotta change that” he said with a conspirational glance to his friend Bones. You too glanced at the doctor but he didn’t seem as enthusiastic and said he wouldn’t want to force you to do anything. “No, no that’s not what I meant” he looked back at you “We just should make it... attractive for you” 

“Meaning what?” 

“Well....” he rubbed his nose “let’s say that next time you come to the bridge to deliver a report, you can kiss someone on the bridge. And if you do, I swear I will wear a female uniform with a skirt for three days” 

“You mean kiss someone while on duty?” he shrugged 

“Better than while being drunk, huh?” you raised your eyebrows. Not because you disagreed with the whole idea. After all, your current relationship was with Commander Spock after all who did work on the bridge. 

“And what if I won’t kiss anyone?” 

“Then I’d say the next drinks are on you” 

“The drinks on the ship are free” you reminded him  

“I meant back on a planet or so. What say you?” he finished his drink. 

“I mean... just three days? Does the time you wear it depend on who I kiss or how I kiss them?” 

“Okay here’s the rules. The kiss has to be on the mouth. If you kiss someone you’re friends with it’s gonna be three days. If it’s someone else or you know... making out, I’ll wear it for a week. Also you can’t kiss me. I don’t count. Or Bones if he’s there. But anyone else” 

“We’re not including Spock in this are we? He’d not only find it very illogical but probably also finds a dozen rules that forbid this” Leonard asked and Jim turned to him 

“Tell you what Bones, (Y/N) actually has the guts to kiss him, I wear the dress ten days” trying to hide your smile you nipped at your drink. After all he would definitely be the one you kissed. Not your fault if no one knew of your relationship and Jim was raising the stakes himself.  

“You’re on” you said. “But it hasn’t to be tomorrow. In the course of the week” 

“Deal” 

- 

The next day you needed to deliver a report to the bridge but to your dismay the Captain was nowhere to be seen. Well, now you had to come back another time. 

“Yeoman?” you heard Spock ask from the Captain’s chair 

“I have the reports, sir” you told him “I was just wondering what to do since the Captain isn’t here. Do you think it’s possible I’ll leave them for him and pick them up later? Or will you sign them?” you hoped he’d say no to the latter. 

“According to the Captain he should be back shortly”  

“Alright” you said, almost thrusting the PADD into his hands “I’ll come and get them back in a bit”  

“Very well” Spock said and you gave a nod, stepping back into the turbolift and letting out a deep breath when it went down. Part of you wished it would already be over. It wasn’t the kiss you were nervous about but Spock’s reaction. Not because you had agreed to keep the relationship a secret, in fact you were planning to let others know soon but to just do it so sudden and kiss him so openly when you hadn’t shared that many kisses - Vulcan or human ones – before. 

- 

When you returned to the bridge an hour later Bones was there too and you weren’t sure if you were happy about it or not. Sure he would give you hell for kissing Spock but you also knew how much he would tease Jim when you did. 

“Yeoman” the Captain greeted you “I bet you’re here for the reports” 

“I am. But not just that” you added the second part a little quieter. He handed you the PADD and as was regulation you quickly checked the signature before giving a nod. Instead of leaving directly as you usually did, unless there was something else you had to do on a particular day, you decided to walk a short circle on the bridge so your two friends wouldn’t know who you’d kiss right away. Oh, you could feel almost all eyes on you because even those that didn’t know of the bet were wondering what you did but suddenly you found you didn’t care. Of course the only who didn’t seem to have noticed what was going on was Spock. Only when you stopped in front of him did he look up and you threw a quick last glance to Jim and Bones, the first looking a little pale and it wouldn’t have surprised you if he jumped up at that moment and retreated from the bet in that moment. 

“Is there something you require from me, Yeoman?” Spock asked.  

“Kind of” you said quietly and looked at him “I know this may be a bit weird and illogical and I’m sorry” you heard Bones snort but there was a huge smile on his face. Slowly you placed your hands on Spock’s arms, slowly leaning in because even if you were in a relationship you would not force him into a kiss just for a bet. He didn’t move and still stood there ramrod straight. But not because he was not okay with what you were doing, this was a different kind of stiffness. More one of confusion. You got onto your tiptoes and when he realized what you were going to do and didn’t pull back, a sign he wasn’t in the mood for a kiss you ignored his questioning ‘Yeoman’ and placed your lips on his. Of course he didn’t do much to respond but it wasn’t that he did nothing because he leant closer and his hands went to your hips. 

“That’s not fair!” Jim’s yell made you break apart and your boyfriend was quick to get a professional distance to you again but there still was some fondness and confusion in his glance.  

“Might I inquire the reason for this seemingly spontaneous display of affection; in public nonetheless?” he had lowered his voice, obviously not wanting the others to hear. You gave a shrug not wanting to tell him the truth right now. 

“I didn’t want to make you feel uncomfortable or something but... I just wanted to. And you said you’re okay with letting others know so... well. Might not have been the best moment” he raised an eyebrow but didn’t say anything for a while 

“Wait a moment” Bones said “Am I missing something there?” he pointed at the two of you and now everyone was looking even more intensely if that even was possible. But you were glad that no one said anything at least. “Are you two...?” you glanced at Spock to see if he was okay if you confirmed 

“Doctor, I believe question is lacking the inquired element” 

“Don’t make me say it, pointy. Are you two.... you know...?” he made a gesture with his hand 

“I must admit that I am not familiar with sign language and therefore still could not understand what exactly you wish to find out” of course your boyfriend seemed the only one who was still unaware of what Bones was trying to ask and even though you felt bad for him it made you also feel better because maybe the kiss now didn’t' seem too strange anymore 

“A thing okay?” the doctor spat “Dating. Courting. Seeing each other. Having an affair.” 

“While I cannot fully differentiate between all of these human terms for being in a relationship you are quite correct doctor” 

“You knew this” Jim shouted at you 

“Why yes,” you answered “seeing that I am in the relationship it’s obvious that I know of it” 

“I’m not gonna say how much you just sounded like Spock” Bones muttered making you smile. Meanwhile other bridge members were starting to congratulate you or ask question as to how and when you got together. Somehow you were glad that Spock reminded them that they still were on duty and this was something they could discuss after the shift. The Captain then made it an order that everyone got back to work 

“That goes for you too, Yeoman” you only nodded and then left the bridge. 

- 

Early the following morning Bones was at your door 

“What is it?” you asked, fearing there was some kind of emergency 

“Nothing, I just figured you might like to come to the bridge and see to it that the Captain honors his part of the bet” 

“Oh right” you smiled “give me some minutes to get ready” of course the topic you talked about on the way to the bridge was your relationship with the First Officer. Luckily the way wasn’t that long that you could only answer three questions and then were on the bridge. Jim wasn’t here yet, which was good because you needed to see the other’s reactions. Spock seemed confused what you were doing here because your shift only would start in an hour. 

“Just watch and see Spock, this is gonna be good” Bones said with a smirk. After a couple of minutes that seemed like an eternity, the door to the turbolift opened and out of it stepped Jim Kirk, in a short sleeved, yellow female skirt-uniform with his coffee in his hands 

“Keptain on...” Chekov started and then let out a hiccup and others too were staring at the Captain. Some tried to hide their smiles, others pretended they were focused on their screens and not looking at all and Spock of course commented it with the raise of an eyebrow. 

“Good morning” Jim said nonchalantly, obviously trying to play it cool and sat down on the chair, trying to adjust the skirt making you giggle. “Is there a problem?” he asked staring daggers at the people who looked at him. 

“You look lovely Jim” Bones chocked out before laughing and it broke the spell and almost the whole bridge crew did the same.  

“How come?” Sulu asked nodding at his superior’s uniform. 

“You can thank Spock being in a relationship for that”  

“Captain, I fail to understand how my relationship correlates with your choice of clothing, especially seeing that both your demeanor and tone suggest you are neither comfortable nor pleased with it” 

“Spock tell me isn’t there a Starfleet regulation against bets?” oh no he was not getting out of this and you threw a glance at Spock but luckily he was already citing the relevant articles, saying that bets per se weren’t forbidden and only gambling or making bets while on duty or cheating were not allowed as well as hosting big tournaments on a Starfleet facilities even with an official license and the like. “That’s not helping. There’s gotta be something. Like... holding back information and making me raise the stakes” 

“I would believe the term is a ‘bluff’ which is permitted during gambling or making bets. It is up to the participating individual to determine the stakes as well as the decision to withdraw should uncertainty arise. Once the wages are made however, I believe it is imperative for humans that they do not withdraw” 

“Tell him Spock” Bones cheered, making the Commander glance at him. 

“Well, then tell me Spock isn’t it highly illogical to make a bet about a we wearing another uniform if (Y/N) kisses someone?” 

“Yes Captain, I do agree. However, as I have noticed previously humans tend to take a multitude of illogical actions. In this particular case, while I do not know all the facts, I believe that it would be met with societal disapproval should you retreat. Especially seeing that you are the Captain of this ship and therefore vowed to uphold proper conduct and be a role model” 

“Spock, I think that’s the first time I wholeheartedly agree with you. Couldn’t have said it better” 

“Fuck it Spock. I don’t think this uniform is proper conduct or being a role model. Do tell, is there any regulation that forbids to wear a wrong uniform?” 

“The Starfleet Uniform Code clearly states that each commissioned officer or cadet must wear a proper and official uniform displaying the correct colors and rank of their current position. A certain degree of personalization may be permitted under a superior officer, such as wearing cultural or personal jewelry but must be met with approval in some cases. Since there is no article that restricts certain uniform types to a specific gender or even species and you yourself have authorized such personalizations, I can assure you that your choice of uniform does not deviate from any regulation” 

“In plain speech Jim, no way of arguing your way out of there” Bones ‘translated’.  

“Oh, just you wait” the Captain growled “I’m so gonna get back at you for this. And at (Y/N) and Spock too. You better watch your backs” Spock threw you a glance, obviously not sure what Jim meant and you only gave a shrug, deciding this was your time to take your leave from the bridge. 

[her-favorite]

AN OATH; J. VALESKA (T-F)

JEROME VALESKA X F!READER (TWO-FACED III)

WARNINGS: typical jerome things - since this is going to be a series, i’m not going to put lengthy ‘warnings’ on all of them (since if you’ve watched the show, then you can the read a book with j’s violence) and remember, if something isn’t necessarily ‘accurate’, it’s just my characterization of him and we technically don’t know what he’d be like in a relationship so

WC: 10,143

A/N: i know you guys have been WAITING for this one 🙏🏻 i’m really hoping i didnt let any of you guys down with how this turned out 😭 also if anyone reads some of these the wrong way, this is not Barbara slander!! she’s my wife and i love her - posting this series on wattpad (jeromes-scars) if anyone wants to check it out on there!!

SERIES MASTERLIST | PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3 |

SUMMARY: Never expect anything rational with Jerome Valeska. He was a lunatic, a psycho. And yet, something about him captivates you. As you consider your options, you’re left in a crossroads. Time will only tell what your answer will be…

-

Click. Click. Click.

Consistent tapping of card stock against another rang in your ears. The sun blared into the open room violently, harming your eyes. The tapping on the other side of the room hadn’t stopped for what feels like hours, but you were sure it must’ve been at least twenty minutes. Irritated noises sounded from the same corner but you’ve been acting as if you were asleep the entire time, you can’t give up now. Though, you weren’t sure how much time you’d have left before he would wake you up.

The bed underneath you was soft, probably memory foam. You’ve yet to move from your spot ever since you had been told to lay in it last night. You’d be lying if you said that you had gotten any sort of sleep last night. Your thoughts kept you up and the fact you had been sleeping in the same bed, on the same mattress as a murderer wasn’t a very comforting thought to fall asleep to.

Jim was looking for you, you felt it in your heart. He always looked to you as someone to take care of, to protect when you were too vulnerable. He was always there when things would get to be too difficult and Jim would sit there and talk with you any time that you asked. You knew of Jim’s predicament between Barbara and Lee and, though he was never one to talk about his feelings, you somehow managed to make him feel comfortable enough to speak to you about the situation. Jim Gordon was like a father to you, and you his daughter.

That thought alone made you have to suppress tears that had formed behind your eyelids as you could practically hear Jim’s demanding voice yelling at cops at the GCPD to find you and to search the whole city for your whereabouts. You managed to have little hope last night as you stayed up trying to think of a way to escape the maniac that was currently holding you captive, and even with the training from the greatest cop in the city, Jerome was too far ahead. He somehow knew every thought you were going to think and it worried you how much he truly knew about you, if he had done any background searches and had somehow found childhood stories or worse, if he had been stalking you while he waited to make his first appearance.

You mentally sighed as you knew that you weren’t going to be able to pretend to be asleep for much longer without him realizing you’ve been awake the entire time. Blinking your eyes open, still trying to get used to the bright rays shining inside, your body shifts lightly on the bed.

Instantly, the clicking stops.

Your heart sped up just slightly as the room was engulfed in silence so suddenly. You tried to stop the argument that you were having with yourself as you sat up, purposely ignoring the creaks coming from in front of you and looking over at the window as clouds roll in over the sun.

“Sleeping beauty’s awake!” A cheerful voice exclaimed, fully breaking you out of your daze. Though, you should’ve expected it, a small flinch was your reaction. “I’ve been waiting forever for you to wake up.” The man rounds the corner and stands in your line of vision, making you look up at him. “That’s if, you’ve actually been asleep.” The smirk on his face lightens his features as it seems to split across his lips.

“C’mon, doll, we got a busy day ahead of us!” Without any sort of warning, a pale hand reaches out and grabs yours, pulling you up from the bed and into his arms. Your breath hitched in your throat at the impulsive action, your wrists starting to ache at his firm grip on them. “Hi, gorgeous. Fancy seeing you here.” A loud, boisterous laugh sounded from the man, making your ears hurt. If you had your hands free you would’ve put them over your ears to drown out the heinous sound.

Jerome lets go of one of your wrists but keeps a tight hold on your other. “First, we’re gonna go downstairs, have some food, maybe. Then,” he walks back over to a desk that sat in the corner of the room. “Oh, I need these!” His free hand reaches forward and grabs a stack of cards, flicking some through his finger until one flew out onto the desk. “There you are..” His voice was low as a wide smile grew on his face. He stuffs the deck in his pocket as his fingers reach back over to grab the lone card. The one you wished you hadn’t seen.

The Joker Card.

-

You wished you protested more. Maybe, just maybe he would’ve listened. The air was tense in the vast room as Jerome sat beside you, stuffing his face with the breakfast buffet that was presenting itself on the table. You sat still as you tried to ignore the uncomfortable silence and the teasing stare from Barbara Kean that sat across from you. Another woman sat beside her, but you hadn’t been introduced to her yet, and she wasn’t in the line up of the criminals that had ‘broken out’.

“So,” The blonde broke the silence as she rested her chin on her hand, moving forward and leaning her elbow on the table. “What’s this?” She looks between the both of you. Without having to glance over at him, you knew Jerome was still putting handfuls of food in his mouth, the gross sound of him chewing echoed in your ear.

“Wait a second,” Barbara paused as a smirk began to form on her lips. “I know you..” She searches you over and then gasps, putting a hand over her mouth dramatically, “You worked with Jim.” A giggle escaped her mouth as she spoke, “Funny seeing you here, huh?” She leans forward again, resting both of her arms on the table and watching you intently. You knew better than to give her a reaction as you sat still, listening to what she had to say.

“Well? You gonna answer me?” She breaks the heated eye contact first, switching between the both of you. The woman beside her doesn’t seem all that interested in the conversation as she only looks up once or twice before fiddling with the whip in her hands.

“None of your business, blondie.” Jerome finally looked up from his plate of food, almost all of it gone, with a sinister glare on his face. “Want some, gorgeous?” His demeanor changes with a snap of his fingers as he looks over at you, plunging his fork into a pancake, offering it over toward you. Before he could pull it over the table, sticky syrup still hanging off of the snack, you shake your head in response. He shrugs, “More for me.” Those same disgusting sounds resurface.

“C’mon, ginger. Once Theo finds out you brought a cop into this mess,” Barbara leans back in her chair and looks over at the woman next to her, giving her a certain expression.

“He’ll let me deal with you.” The woman finished the blonde’s sentence as the dark haired girl stares forward at the ginger. The whip cracked in her hand making Barbara smile as she glanced over at it.

Nothing in this world could ever make you flinch as bad as that laugh. It’s loud and irritating and painful to listen to as it screams in your ear, reverberating against the walls. It stung as it seemed to replay in your head, quickly forming a headache. With a flat palm against the glass surface of the table, Jerome leans back in his chair and cackles until it sounds like it hurts. He probably likes the pain.

“Oh, wow! Didn’t know,” Another cackle cut himself off, ending in a harsh wheeze. “Didn’t know you had that in ya, Tabby!” He playfully wipes a tear from his eye and rests his other hand on his stomach as if he’s trying to soothe the ache from laughing so hard. “Wasn’t that funny, sugar?” Another sharp laugh sounded from him as he animatedly tries to calm himself down.

You’ve realized, even over the coarse of just a little over an hour, that Jerome hasn’t once called you by your name. Had it been a subconscious thing of his? Does he do it to get on your nerves?

An irritated eye roll was the response from the woman across the table. Her chair screeched as she pushed it away from the table and stood up, her whip ready in her hand. Before she walked away, she turned towards Barbara and asked, “I’m gonna blow off some steam. You comin’?” She must’ve had a certain look in her eye with the way the blonde had agreed. The taller woman took her hand forcefully and pulled her out of the room, not without a small giggle from Kean, as her whip dragged across the floor.

Once the clicking of her heels faded out of the doorway and down the hall, Jerome looked over at you with a wicked smile. Not once have you figured out what his plan was. You were hoping that he’d bring the topic back up again since he hadn’t finished explaining before he brought you downstairs. Something with playing cards.. right?

“You ready for today, toots? It’s gonna be a roller coaster.” He giggles and gets up from his chair, the same loud screeching noise invading the silence again. He held out his hand, politely waiting for you to take it. You knew you should take it, maybe if you played along for a little while, navigate your way through the building, you could find your way out. With that little hope in the back of your head, you accept the offer of his hand and stand up from the chair.

As he pulled you up the stairs towards his room, you’re lost in thought, trying to reclaim every single detail from yesterday. Even with Jerome’s consistent mumbling, you ignore him as your mind goes as far as to recall when you had woken up tied to that chair with Jerome standing above you. He kept teasing you, he had killed Robert Greenwood, and then.. you were blanking. Your memories had vanished once Jerome had stopped walking and snapped his long fingers in front of your face.

“Hellooo? You in there?” With a few scattered blinks, you shake your head lightly to bring yourself back to reality.

“Yeah,” You take a deep breath before finishing, “I’m here.” Though, you wished you hadn’t been.

“Goodie! C’mon, doll, I told you we had a busy day ahead of us!” Jerome grabs your hand and sprints into his room. He sits you down on the edge of the bed and then walks over to an armoire that sat by the wall. Jerome opens the doors and sorts through the clothes, mumbling to himself, “no,” “too tacky,” “hm, maybe.” As he does so, you run your eyes over his stature, only now realizing that he had been wearing a long, red silky robe with blue pajamas underneath. Soft slippers held his feet as they were a little too small for him. Now that you had thought about outfits, you quickly looked down at yours. Your police uniform was gone. In its place was a long sleeved plaid sweater with random black sweatpants.

“You look cute in my clothes, doll face.” You look up when you hear his teasing tone, catching the wink he sent you before he turned back around and picked up a hanger from inside the closet.

Had he changed you? With your mind foggy, you realized that you must’ve fell asleep at some point. The headache from before came back full force as you tried to recall everything that had happened in that past 24 hours. You didn’t know why you couldn’t remember everything clearly, why you were so caught up in yourself. You rub your eyes as if it’ll help you remember everything.

“What is my doll gonna wear today.. hm,” he puts his finger on his chin as he thinks. You quickly try to think of something to intrigue him, truly not wanting him to pick your outfit. Who knew what was going through that maniacs head.

“Why am I here, Jerome? I mean, why am I still here?” You get up from the bed slowly, almost like you were trying to not scare away a cat. “You could’ve killed me back at the GCPD, but you didn’t. Why do you want me here?” You take a step forward, still wary of him. You were unsure of what the man was truly capable of and you were completely against seeing what he was.

The ginger tried to show no reaction as he stared off, but you noticed the way his breath seemed to hitch in his throat and the barely there picked up pace of his chest moving up and down. Mentally debating if you should keep talking, you gave him a second to adjust to the sudden question. His true origins were still yet to reveal to you. He obviously despised his mother, killing her on a hill and laughing about it. From the threats surrounding his supposed brother, he didn’t seem a fan of him either. You had yet to know what his childhood and his life was actually like. You wondered if he would ever tell you.

“Barbara might have some clothes in her room. Go look.” Jerome’s voice was heavy as he talked and he turned around, avoiding your gaze. He walked past you as he made his way back to his desk.

Rifling with objects inside a drawer, he waits for you to follow his orders. “I said go look.” You took note of the way his jaw clenched tightly and the how he tries to distract himself instead of thinking about your questions. “Go fucking look!” Jerome exclaims, motioning to the door. Even though you were used to the yelling that went around the precinct, the way Jerome had done it sent a chill down your spine. It was malicious and frankly, it was frightening.

Maybe you could find a way out if you were to try and find Jim’s former lover’s room. Without so much as a nod, you walk away and out of the door frame. The rustling seemed to stop but the clicking of the cards began again. Your hand glided across the smooth wall as you wandered down the deserted hallway. A long window was placed at the end of it, giving you a view of the city. Once you reached it, you took a moment to let your eyes search as much as you could.

The recording. It came back to you.

Jerome had been videoing himself after he shot Greenwood yesterday, before he took you here. His face was bloody from your collision and the residue from shooting the other man. When Jerome was finished speaking to the camera lens, he switched it over to you. You hadn’t spoke, but nodded to one of the ginger’s questions. Jim will know, you remember thinking that.

Jim knew about your conversation in the interrogation room that day. And though he was upset to hear about you kissing Jerome, there wasn’t anything either of you could’ve done about it then. Jim was probably scouring the city looking for you right now. The thought brought a sad smile to your face as you realized how much you missed being out in the daylight.

Without trying to dwell on it for much longer, you turn down into a random doorway, hoping that it would be one of the women’s rooms. Your eyes search the area, focusing on an identical wardrobe that was also in Jerome’s room. Hesitant at first, aware that there could be anything in this room, or anyone, that could pop out at you and risk your safety. After a few steps, you quicken your pace and make your way closer to the armoire.

The creak that sounded from the doors made you cringe, the awful noise echoing in your ears. As you search through the clothes, you pick the first thing that caught your eye, something simple. What was Jerome’s plan? Was he going to take you outside and teasingly flaunt you to the GCPD just for his amusement? Maybe then you could make a run for it, threaten him somehow.

All sorts of strategies and ideas combat in your mind as you reach in and pick out an outfit that seemed comfortable enough, and hopefully good for the weather, that is if he decides to be kind and let you get fresh air. You turn around with the fabric in your hands and wandered a bit in search for a bathroom to change in. A small connected room was in the same bedroom, flicking the light on and watching the room illuminate. As you close the door behind you, you finally, for the first time in twenty four hours, feel alone. Resting your head back against it, you breathe evenly, clutching the clothes tightly in your hands.

Once you grew comfortable with the silence, you get up and look into the mirror. With an empty mind, your hand reached up to your neck, ghosting your fingertips over the faint bruise that was starting to form. As you subconsciously swallowed, you noticed how sore your throat felt inside. You were embarrassed as you remembered what you let him do to you and the way you gave in so easily.

Trying not to let those thoughts plague you, you start to peel off the clothing that the man had put on you. You took your time replacing each fabric, at the same time trying to think of escape routes and what Jerome could possibly have planned for today.

Finally, as you straighten out your shirt, you jump when you suddenly hear a harsh knock on the door beside you. “Almost done, doll? We’re on a tight schedule today!” His loud, cheerful voice boomed through the door, invading the silence that once lingered.

Taking a deep breath, you try to compose yourself. While you were changing, you were thinking about ways to go along with his madness. Maybe if you pretend that he convinced you to turn over a new leaf and follow his actions, he’ll believe you and put his trust in you. If you try and act as if you don’t follow the GCPD anymore, maybe you’ll get lucky?

As you turn the doorknob, Jerome stands outside with a smile on his face. “Finally! Thought you died in there.” He laughs dramatically and you have to stop yourself from grimacing at the loud sound. “C’mon little miss detective, we got some work to do!” Never mind.

He grabs your hand and drags you of the bathroom and down the hall. He didn’t seem agitated anymore, acting as if his small outburst didn’t happen. That might be a good thing for you, to not let him dwell on it. The last thing you needed is to have Jerome angry at you. Even at the time, you knew that asking that question wasn’t a good idea, even if you truly do want to know the answer. With the mans sociopathic tendencies, no one knew what he was capable of, what he could truly do to you. And though you do have police training and you were sure that if Jerome were to try and fight you, you could counteract him, but with his impulsive decisions it’s difficult to know his next move, you were almost sure that he never did either.

As he pulled you along, you tried to think of any possible place he’s going to take you to. Checking off as many locations as you could, the last place you expected was the exact one he went to. You shouldn’t be surprised with him anymore.

-

The room was quiet as you waited.

When you arrived at the apartment complex and had followed Jerome up the stairs to a certain room he was looking for, you felt your breath hitch at the sight of the name on the door: Paul Cicero. You should’ve known he would come for his father.

Jerome opened the door and let you walk in first, a teasing smile on his face the entire time. You roamed around the room as you hear the door click shut behind you. No sign of any pictures relating to Jerome or his brother resided anywhere. Your fingers ghosted over the wooden counter as your eyes look over the arrangement of spices and utensils.

“Listen to me, baby,” Jerome’s voice cuts you out of your thoughts and when you look up to see where he was, you were surprised to see him just inches away from you. “When you hear that door open, I want you to go silent.” He orders, his eyes never daring to look away from yours. “This is gonna be fun.” He smiles devilishly and grabs your hand again, leading you over towards the other side of the room.

Only a few minutes pass until the door creaks and opens wide. Taps of shoes hit against the floor as the older man walks in, his cane swaying beside him. Not too long after he shuts the door, he freezes and calls out, “who’s there?” Jerome stays hidden, but the smile gave away his feelings. “I know someone’s there-“ You backed away suddenly when Jerome moved forward and wrapped a rope around his father’s neck. You tried to reach forward, your instincts coming to play, and help him, but with Jerome’s free hand, he tightly grabs your hip and pulls you behind him, limiting your reach.

“Hiya, pops. Long time.. no see.” A sinister laugh left Jerome’s mouth as he finished his sentence, tightening his grip as his one hand held either end of the rope. It reverberated in your mind until you realized that Jerome had tied his father to a chair with a cloth over his mouth.

“So, how you doin’?” Jerome rasps as he sits in a chair across from his father. You stood by the counter, a few feet away from them. It felt terrible to watch, all of it was against your moral code and especially with the oath you took to being a cop, watching this and not doing anything to stop it or to help the injured man was wrong. But that one thought in the back of your head that was trying to convince you that Jerome wasn’t going to hurt him, he was his father for fucks sake. And then you remember how you got into this mess.

“The silent treatment, huh? Hey, I’ll tell ya a story.” Jerome continues, having a one sided conversation with the man across from him. “You remember Kansas city, dad. The circus went through town every spring, right around my birthday.” His voice grows deeper as he talks, his emotions revealing themselves.

“There was this guy. Him and my mom used to drink and.. fornicate and beat the crap out of me. They’d make a whole night out of it. And I remember one time,” He put his hands out and started to get up from his chair slowly, keeping eye contact with Mr. Cicero.

“It was my ninth birthday, him and my mom had just finished round one of boozing, boning, beating up Jerome and decided to take a little break.” Jerome explains it in a way so casual, showing that he had grown accustomed to the abuse from his mother. “Anyway,” He turns and leans toward the table in front of you, picking up a knife and inspecting it as he talks.

“I was outside the trailer and you were there. And you said, “why are you crying, Jerome?”” He pauses and acts as if he’s going to cry. “It’s my birthday.. and my mom and the snake guy are beating me.” He made his voice higher, impersonating his younger self.

“And then you said, “this world doesn’t care about you or anyone else, Jerome. Better to realize that now.”” With his voice deeper and raspier pretending to be his father, the tone sent chills down your spine. Jerome pauses before continuing, “And that was it.” He looks over at his dad with a large smile.

“You see, there’s this guy, dad, he believes in me, he thinks I’m gonna be a star!” Jerome exclaims and rushed over to the man tied to the chair, pointing the knife at him dangerously. “And tonight.. all of Gotham will see that, too. Expect for you because you’ll be, well, ya know, dead.” Had it been in any other situation, you would’ve laughed. But you were about to witness a murder before your eyes.

Jerome reaches behind Paul and undoes the cloth that was knotted behind his head. Mr. Cicero began to plead with his son, but Jerome quickly shut it down, his anger coming to the surface. You watch them converse, or rather argue, about something, but Jerome’s words linger in the back of your head. He was abused? How come that was never in his file? How had that not been revealed to you?

An hysteric laugh cut you out of your thoughts. “That’s not why I’m gonna kill you!” Jerome smiles widely and turns back around, facing the table. With the knife still in one hand, he reaches the other forward and holds up blueprints. “Plans to Arkham Asylum,” he lets it fall from his hold, showing it to his father. Picking up something else, he turns around and shows him again, “And look at these, oh,” he walks over to Mr. Cicero and brushes the material against his cheek. “Letters between you and your troubled son. Innocent at first glance, but Detective Gordon, you remember him, right? You’ll feel little bumps.. a secret message, written in braille between you and your son discussing my escape!” He throws the envelopes and extends his arms out, regaining his energy and smiling happily.

Jerome makes his way back to the table and grabs a can off of it. “Finally, the knockout gas, used to disable the orderlies!” He moves it around before setting it back down. Walking back over to his father be speaks, “Cause you see, dad,” Jerome picks up the chair he was sitting in before. “This guy I was telling you about,” he places the chair down in front of Paul. “He’s the one who broke me out of Arkham. He doesn’t want anyone to know about that.” Jerome sits down on the backwards chair, not before looking back at you with a wink after he finished talking. Your jaw clenches as you let his words soak in.

“The police will find these letters and they’ll think, “the blind old fool really loved his son, what a wonderful father. Oh, there won’t be a dry eye in the house.”” Jerome takes his dads tie and lightly dabs his cheeks, pretending to wipe away tears.

“They’ll never believe it.” Mr. Cicero denies.

“Oh, sure they will,” Jerome shrugs nonchalantly. “Cops are dumb.” He pauses before straightening out in his chair and looking back at you. “Besides you, gorgeous.” He smiles in a charming manner and sends you another teasing wink, finding it amusing in the way you react.

“Oh, would’ja look at that?” He giggles at his joke and gestures towards the clock. “We gotta go, doll!” He gets up from his chair and moves it out of the way. “Sorry you’re gonna miss my big night, dad. Hey, you’re psychic. So tell me.. do I kill?”

Mr. Cicero inhales sharply and a vicious look overtakes his features as he responds, “You will be a curse upon Gotham. Children will wake from sleep screaming at the thought of you. Your legacy will be death and madness.”

Jerome smiles wickedly and leans down to the side of his fathers face. With a menacing whisper that sends chills down your spine, you hear,

“Ha. Ha. Ha.”

Moving away and grabbing Paul tightly, Jerome wraps up the meeting. “Welp, say hi to mom for me.” Before you could try to stop him as you rush over, Jerome lifts his arm and throws it down to connect his blade with his fathers eye.

Knock. Knock.

Jerome freezes, as do you. The ginger places a hand over Paul’s mouth to silence any pleas.

“GCPD.” Jim. That was Jim. You could go out there now and tell him that you were okay, that you didn’t need him to worry anymore. But something inside you prevented that. You didn’t know what it was and it made you feel sick. In that moment, the thought of staying with Jerome was an actual option. It made you feel nauseous.

Another knock sounded from behind the door. “GCPD. Mr. Cicero, it’s Detective Gordon. We need to speak with you about your son.” You look back over at Jerome, noticing that he was already watching you. He had a hard stare on his face as he notices the way you hesitate. Taking a deep breath, you nod your head slowly, telling him that you weren’t going to leave. The furrow in his eyebrows undoes itself and a wide smile grows on his face.

“Mr. Cicero?” At that exact moment, Jerome quickly plunges the blade through his fathers eye as Paul cries out in agony. With a quiet giggle from the ginger, he rushes away and grips your hand, pulling you out of the open window. Before he steps foot outside the frame, he digs his fingers into his pocket and pulls out a card. Tossing it to the floor as it lands over by his father, the figure on the card stock standing out.

The Joker.

It was perfect timing for Jerome as he turns the corner, watching Jim pull Harvey out of the room, the blue knockout gas floating out of the doorway. Collapsing to the floor, Jim leans against the wall, trying to catch his breath. As Jerome starts to whistle, he walks down the hallway toward the two. You watch with an anxious heart, your feet feeling like they were planted to the floor and your mouth sewed shut.

“Detective Gordon, old pal.” Jerome speaks, crouching down beside the cop. “That gas sure packs a-“ Jerome sighs as he stops Jim from trying to hit him. He takes the gun from the detective as Jim loses his balance and falls against him. “That’s cute.” Jerome mocks, but was quickly cut off when Jim mustered up enough strength and pushed him up against the wall.

With Jim’s hand around Jerome’s neck, he rasps playfully, “I’m sensing.. anger.”

“You killed Sarah Essen.” Jim says with a heavy tone. Jerome killed your boss? Was it before you had woken up? How did he never tell you? Jerome smiles at the truth, nodding his head as much as he could.

“Now I’m gonna kill you.” You should stop this. Stop this fight, one of them may die, Jerome still has the gun. As soon as you move forward a step or two, Jerome lifts up his arm to press the barrel of the gun against Jim’s head.

“Jerome!” You shout instinctively. So many people have died already, the last person you wanted to see shot was Jim Gordon. He was all you had left.

Jerome’s head shot over to look at you, caught off guard by your shout. Jim followed at the sound of your voice, his face softening as he realized that you were okay. Before he could do anything, Jerome hit him on the side of the head with the gun, knocking him unconscious. Before he fell into a sleep, you just barely heard him whisper, “Y/N.” You felt a piece of your heart shatter for the first time in a while.

“Ugh, c’mon, doll!” Jerome groans and stands up, brushing off his knees. “Never let me have any fun.” He pouts dramatically, looking over at you with his own version of puppy eyes. You didn’t know what reaction he was expecting of you as you stood there, taking glances over at the two men that you cared for knocked out on the floor before you.

“This is just the beginning, baby. Soon, I’ll be the King of Gotham with you beside me as my Queen.” Jerome smiles with genuine happiness, walking over to you. You couldn’t completely tell yet, but you were almost one hundred percent sure that Jerome had placed his trust in you, something that would clearly be difficult for someone like him, and you truly didn’t know why he chose you… and you truly didn’t know why you started to reciprocate it.

“You’ll see, doll. Everyone will see.”

-

Once you both made it back to Theo Galavan’s house, he brought you back to his room almost like it was a reflex. “Busy day, doll, busy day.” Jerome would mutter or occasionally sing. He had his hand in yours, swinging it back forth slightly, whether it was a subconscious thing or not.

It was obvious how much Jerome craved the physical contact, as you wouldn’t be able to recall the amount of times he’s held your hand today. His palms were slightly rough, you were sure it was because of his days at the circus, working day and night, traveling to so many places. You noticed that freckles had littered his arms and lead up to his hand, scattered on his pale skin. The orange hair that rested on his arm was barely visible, his adorning marks seeming to take the spotlight.

Taking you by surprise, Jerome stops abruptly and pulls you close to him. His left hand never leaves yours as his opposite takes hold of your hip. With a sharp intake of air, you look up at him, trying to figure out what he was going to do.

The hand that was holding yours moved it up in a position that looked like you were about to dance. You were proved right when Jerome took a step forward, placing your other hand on his shoulder and moving with you. It wasn’t an award worthy performance, but Jerome seemed to have fun.

“Was thinking about what you said earlier, beautiful.” He breaks the silence and looks down at you, stepping back as you followed. “And since I plan to make you my Queen,” he trails off and shrugs, “I guess you’d want an explanation as to why you’re here.” His hand tightens ever so slightly in yours. “I see something within you, doll.. that same glint that was in my eyes when I planned to murder Lila.” He spits out the last word with malice, showing that even just saying her name rose anger inside him.

You opened your mouth to protest his statement, but he makes sure to speak first. “Ah, ah, let me finish.” He sways his body lightly, still moving in step with you. “We can rule this city, just you and me. Everyone will be under our control.” Jerome smiles widely, showing his teeth. “You know you want it, baby, don’t try and deny it.” He twirls you and then quickly pulls you back toward him, into his chest.

“Jerome,” your mind went blank as you tried to think of how to refuse his words. Everything felt constricting, like just this little time of you dancing with him was narrowing down your chances for a future. You’re a cop, that’s what you were always going to be. You couldn’t hand over your life over to this maniac as he tries to convince you while he serenades you. If you agreed to this, your life would be over. What would happen when Jerome would get on someone’s bad side and they decided they needed him gone? What would be the point continuing this madness if the reason you started wasn’t there anymore? Once you realized that you began to consider it, you berated and cursed yourself for even taking the second to even think of it as a decision. Besides, how could you leave Jim? He taught you everything about being a good cop, he was there every step of the way. How could you abandon him now?

“Shh, doll, I can hear your thoughts from here.” Jerome keeps swaying, leaning forward and whispering in your ear. His voice snaps you out of your options, blinking at the sudden intrusion. His hand leaves your hip and rests on the back of your head, pushing on it gently to lean it against his chest. “Just imagine it, sugar. We’ll run this city and make it better- or, well, worse. We can do whatever we want, whenever we want without any consequences because we’ll be the ones making the rules.” Jerome doesn’t stop moving once, the actions seeming to spur him on more. He was never one to slow down.

“All you have to do is say yes.” He whispers.

All you have to do is say yes.

-

The room was buzzing with chatter, the area filled with people. Women and men were dressed in their finest attire as they conversed with each other, some laughing and others smiling.

You stood in a long dress, looking around the vast room. You were told to blend in with the others in the room as you were given the clothes to wear to match. A mask was placed over your eyes, it looked similar to one you’d see at a masquerade ball. It was the same color as your dress, a dull, dark blue. Jerome didn’t want it vibrant, he had hinted to you that he had some sort of plan in mind for you, but he never told you what it was or when he was going to put it into action.

Before you both had left to make your way over to the event, Jerome had stopped you before you could walk away. He took your hip in one hand and held your neck, not in a hostile way, he just wanted to feel your skin under his hand. His eye contact with you never failed to make goosebumps form on your skin. When he broke the silence between you both, he said, “Think about what I said.” He whispered before continuing, “We will be worshiped. Just give in to me.” Jerome smiles that crazed grin at you and then walks away.

For the half an hour you’ve been standing here, you’ve reviewed your options millions of times. It made you feel sick that you actually considered the life that Jerome could give you. Even if he didn’t say it, he did care for you. And you were sure that wasn’t an easy thing to admit, especially with a personality like his.

If you go with Jerome, so many things could backfire. What if he was leading you on and decided to throw you away once he persuaded you to agree? What if you die a villain in your story? You became a cop because you wanted to help others, not hurt them. All of the things Jerome stands for are the exact thing you don’t. He thinks it’s entertaining to watch people die, to kill them with no remorse. He thinks there aren’t any consequences for some of the things he does and you’d be lying if you said that there wasn’t a little spark of worry inside you that, that could be the reason he might die some day.

But if you went with your gut and stayed true to yourself.. you weren’t sure where it could lead you. Would you still be offered your same job? What happens when they find out you hadn’t tried to escape from the lunatic and they fire you without any notice? There’s zero possibility that you’d be able to make it anywhere else in this city. Worst of all, Jim may never speak to you again. You knew that you wouldn’t be able to live with that.

As you stood in the back, you observed the room. The stage was empty of people, the tables and chairs occupied by wealthy couples, and.. Bruce Wayne? Your shoulders dropped as well as your heart.

“First, I’m gonna kill Bruce Wayne..” Jerome’s words from last night had rang in your head like a chime. Your breathing altered slightly, your chest moving up and down faster. Against your better judgment, you began taking quiet, smooth steps over to the boy. He stood next to an older man as they looked forward at the stage. As soon as you became just a few feet away from the billionaire boy, a voice echoed through the room.

“Good evening. I’m Dr. Lee Tompkins.” Your head immediately looked over at the stage. You knew her.. the Medical Examiner, Jim’s girlfriend. Your mind tries to figure out how Jerome ties into this, until you hear, “Over the years, we had magicians come in and entertain our children. So, tonight, we have one of the magicians here for you. Without further ado, please allow me to present to you.. The Great Rudolpho.” Lee smiles and the stage light travels over to a box with a woman in a pink tutu and mask, similar to yours, standing in front of it.

As she opens the box, she feigns surprise once she notices it was empty. When she closes it and stalls for a second, she opens the box again, a man inside it now. He yawns and then gasps once he realizes everyone can see him. The crowd laughs at the man’s actions and claps.

If it were possible, you felt your heart sink even lower than it already was. Jerome had a handsome suit on with a fake beard and mustache, a big hat and an eye mask on his face.

“Greetings, ladies and germs! I am, indeed, the Great Rudolpho!” His accent was strange, it felt wrong in your ears compared to his normal voice. He bows, as well as the woman. Your gaze follows the woman as you look her up and down, trying to shake the familiarity that she has. Your head moved to look at the floor and your eyes fell shut as you realized.. Barbara Kean.

When you look back up, a bird flies through the crowd. A red cloth was in Jerome’s hand, signaling to you that he was the one that did it.

“For my first act, I’ll require a volunteer!” His voice rang out into the crowd through the microphone. “Let me see,” he looks away from everyone and points his finger as he says, “Duck, duck, duck.. duck, duck, duck.. goose.” He points forward, just a few feet away from you. His gaze returns as he stares towards where his finger was pointed. You quickly look to your left as you see Bruce Wayne’s perplexed expression. The man had whispered something to the boy as the assistant, Barbara made her way toward him and offered out her hand for him to take.

You couldn’t let Jerome kill him, let alone on a stage in front of a crowd of people. You needed to stop this, to reach out and pull him away from Barbara so he couldn’t take her hand, because that act itself might cost him his life.

Hesitantly, Bruce accepted her hand, following her as she walked away. You walked forward impulsively, about to reach out to try and grab one of them, but before you could, Barbara turned around and sent you a wink from under her mask. It made you freeze since you weren’t expecting it, and once you broke out of it, you realized that the two were already on stage.

“Hello, young man.” Jerome was standing beside a box that was lying down on a table. Your eyes widened when you saw what it truly was and you suddenly felt nauseous. Your mouth opened just slightly, but it was enough to catch the man’s attention. As Jerome grabbed the large blades, he gave you a slow, small nod, the same kind that you did to him when Jim was knocking on Mr. Cicero’s door.

“Well, Bruce, this won’t hurt a bit.” Jerome clashes the metal together, a loud, reverberating sound that stung your ears. “Is there a doctor in the house?” The crowd laughs at his words, but your head turns once you hear the older man beside you begin to protest, obviously nervous for the boy’s safety. Without any hesitation, Jerome slides the blades through the box, making you flinch. They pull the box apart, showing you - and the man - that Bruce was okay. You let out a sigh of relief involuntarily, matching with the man beside you.

Barbara took Bruce back to his guardian and then stayed put, waiting for Jerome to keep talking. “Now, for this other trick, we’re gonna need a new volunteer!” He shouts, a smile on his face. He pretends to look around before stopping and gasping. “Well, look at that! What’s a gorgeous girl like you doing in a place like this?” Barbara walks a few steps before holding out her hand with a smirk. You try to hide your reaction, but your eyes widen slightly. Is this what he was planning?

Knowing no better way to get out of this, you take her hand. The room watched you two closely and you felt the eyes from Bruce Wayne and his butler watching.

Barbara smiles and begins walking back over to the stage, taking you with her. Both of your heels clicked on the floor, filling the silent room. She let you walk up the stairs first before following after you. You hesitantly make your way towards Jerome, the smile bright as ever on his face. The beard and mask did wonders to hide his identity as you grow closer.

“Who do we have under that mask?” His accent was louder as you neared him. Was this apart of his act? Some sort of trick that he’d ‘guess’ who you were and stun the others?

Jerome circles you once before standing back in front of you, that infamous grin on his face never wavering. He lifts his hand and places it on your chin, turning your head every which way, the exaggerated action producing laughs from the crowd. He hums and takes his hand away, playfully stroking his beard. A quiet, barely audible gasp was heard from the crowd, but you knew that the only people that could hear it was you and Jerome. His smirk widens as the small noise brushes by his ears.

As quick as you could, your eyes dart out to the people, trying to figure out who it was. Your eyes caught the two in the back, Lee now gone from behind them (did Jerome have something to do with that or was she just grabbing a water?), and Bruce’s mouth agape. He mumbled something to the older man as he looks your way, seeming to have recognized who you were, even from behind the mask. The video Jerome made must’ve been aired on the news that night, that’s the only possible way he’d know.

“I think I know ya from somewhere! Yeah.. I think I saw ya on the TV at some point.” Jerome taps his chin as he looks off, pretending to think. “Well, gorgeous,” he walks closer and grabs your hand gently, raising it to his lips and says, “Why don’t’cha stay up here for a while, huh?” He kisses your hand and looks back over at the crowd, shouting out, “Who agrees?” Cheers and hollers are heard from the crowd as Jerome lifts up your arm slightly, showing you off. You feel goosebumps raise on your skin at the attention, deciding to avert your gaze to the man beside you. “You’re gonna love what’s to come, doll face.” Jerome whispers teasingly and leads you toward Barbara, before walking away and asking for the Deputy Mayor to come up to the stage.

You watch carefully as he ghostly trails his fingers over the various knives. You knew what was going to happen, and yet you felt hopeless to stop it.

Finally, when Jerome picks one up, he looks up and smiles devilishly. “By the way, nobody here.. is getting out alive.” The crowd gasps and shouts as Jerome throws the knife, lunging the blade into the mans chest. A chill went down your spine as you watch Jerome shrug and the Deputy Mayor fall to the floor.

Catching you off guard (though, with Jerome, you really shouldn’t be anymore), loud gunshots echo throughout the room. Lights fall and break as people scream and try to flee, only to fail. As you expected, Jerome laughs loudly, tearing off the disguise.

“Finally! This thing is itchy.” He grumbles and scratches his chin and cheeks, light red marks forming, only to disappear a few seconds after. He turns and looks over at you as chaos is still being created. With a sinister grin, he walks over to you and forcefully grabs your hips. “Been waiting to get my hands on ya. Miss the way you feel against me.” He whispers hotly in your ear, making goosebumps form on your skin. He giggles as he finishes speaking, leaning down and leaving a kiss on your neck before moving back to the center stage.

When Jerome lets you go, a change in the corner of your eye made you look over. A gasp left your mouth as you watched Lee be tied up to a wheel. As she fights back, her eyes search the room until they land on you. With the mask still on your face, you didn’t know if she could tell who you were or not. But you were sure that your concerned expression was all she needed to know.

Breaking you out of your daze, Jerome’s voice invaded your ears again. “Sorry, Jimbo, it’s just little ol’ me!” Your eyes widened at the name. He’s talking to Jim? Ignoring your racing heart, you felt a part of it calm down to know that he was okay.

“Are you outside? Oh, you are, aren’t you?” Jerome talks animatedly to the phone that was pressed up to his ear. You only just noticed that he was directly in front of a camera, quickly moving away from him. “Goodie!” He giggles.

There were mumbles from the receiver, but you heard Jim’s voice clearly as he spoke, “I swear to god, if you’ve hurt her,” but the detective didn’t get to finish his sentence as Jerome cut him off.

“Which one?” He smiles and laughs. “See for yourself! This is live television after all!” He turns and walks towards you. “Oh, whoops! Get this thing off your face, doll.” His fingers curl under your mask as he takes it off and throws it haphazardly. His arm wraps around your waist as he brings you close to him. The camera pans over to Barbara as she pretends to shoot Lee.

You hear a faint, “Y/N?” from the other side of the call.

“Huh? You mean my girl right here?” Jerome mocks confusion as he looks over at you, squeezing your hip. “You know her?” He laughs at his own joke, the loud cackle reverberating off the walls.

“You son of a bitch.” Jim’s words were laced with malice as he talked.

“True, but.. not the point.” Jerome shakes his head. He lets you go, not before pressing a kiss to your forehead, for himself and to make Jim more upset, and walks back over to the camera lens. “Lets talk about what I want!” He pauses before listing off, “$47 million dollars, a helicopter, obviously, the dry cleaning I left at Mr. Chang’s, be careful, that man is a crook! And oh, I don’t know.. a pony!” He smiles widely as he knows Jim was getting more agitated as time went by. “You got 10 minutes before I start killing people and, remember, this is being broadcasted to every home in Gotham, so.. ya know, don’t let people die. Bye!” He laughs hysterically into the phone, suddenly coming to a stop as he hangs up the phone. He turns and says, “I think that went well.”

“Enough!” The random voice caught your ears immediately, your eyes scouring the crowd to find where it came from. “You need to pack up your pathetic little side show and leave.” Galavan.

Jerome turns back to the front and smiles, “Is that right?”

Theo walks towards the stage as he speaks, “It may presumptuous to speak for all the citizens of Gotham, but we are sick of you! You’re a small, vicious man with a pathetic need for attention.” Jerome’s smile never falters as he bows proudly. Your eyebrows furrow in confusion at his words, obviously rehearsed and acted out beforehand. What was his plan? Had Jerome been rehearsing this part with him as well and you didn’t know? “Enough, man, enough.”

“I’m curious what you’re leverage is here. Mr…?” Jerome trails off, walking towards the man.

He turns towards the camera and artificially says, “Theo Galavan.” More of his plan seems to reveal itself to you as seconds went by.

“Well, Mr. Theo Galavan, if you don’t sit down,” Jerome moves back some of Galavan’s hair playfully. “I’m going to shoot you.. in the face!” He smiles widely and started to walk away again, towards the crowd.

“I know there is some human decency left in you,” Jerome teasingly points to himself, as if challenging Theo’s words. “If you need to take a hostage, take me. But let these people go home, to their families, to their children,” before he could finish, Barbara came over and hit his head with a hammer.

She sighs, “boring.”

“Right?” Jerome agrees and walks back towards you. Barbara makes her way back to Lee as she argues with her.

“Isn’t this fun, gorgeous?” He smiles widely and grabs your hand, unexpectedly twirling you. He lets you unroll all the way until his fingers straighten out, and then tugs you back into his grasp. You land on his chest as his opposite hand takes home on your hip. “Your heart racing, the adrenaline rush, the feeling of your body on fire, oh! It’s exhilarating.” He laughs and steps in line with you as he repeats his action from earlier, placing your hand on his shoulder as he holds your other palm.

“When you come with me, this is all gonna be ours. Everything, everyone will be under our control, our thumbs.” Jerome’s eyes convey the excitement and the anticipation that he felt in that moment. The way he describes it, the once in a lifetime offer, a promise for an unpredictable and chaotic future that Jerome so desperately craved. And he had picked you to spend it with.

He stepped forward and around as he held you, not caring about the numerous eyes that watched you both, or he just didn’t notice, too caught up with you. His grip tightened quickly as the hand on your hip traveled down to your thigh, suddenly dipping you back. “Promise me somethin’, doll.” He leans down and whispers in your ear, “Never forget me.” He brings you back up in a standing position with a bright smile on his face. His hand travels up in a fast motion, circling around your neck, resting his palm against the skin like he had done earlier. Your breath hitches as he leans down and presses his lips against yours, his fingers ever so slightly digging into your skin. “Show time, toots.” He whispers against your lips with a smile.

Jerome walks back towards the middle of the stage, grabbing the microphone harshly. “Well, I think it’s time for tonights first official victim! You all know and love, poor rich boy, parents murdered in an alley, and my second favorite volunteer.” He smiles teasingly and looks back at you with a wink. “Where is.. Bruce Wayne!” He calls out to the silent room, waiting. He talks into the mic in a softer tone, trying to appeal to the boy to come out of hiding, “Did you know I’m an orphan, too, Bruce? I killed my parents, though. Where are you hiding?” His eyes search the area, before yelling into the mic, “Bruce!”

“Kill his butler.” Barbara suggests, her hands on her hips. She had an angry look on her face, probably from the conversation she had with Lee.

“All right, last chance, Bruce. But it’s about to get very butler brainy out here.” Jerome grumbles and motions toward the older man in the crowd. You watch the situation unfold, unsure of what to do. With the amount of time that had passed, you were positive Jim had made it inside the building. Maybe he had Bruce? You hoped that was the case.

“Eh, I’m bored. Shoot the butler!” Jerome sighs and says in a defeated tone. He was losing his patience and it was obvious.

“Stop!” A yell sounded from the curtain as Bruce sprinted toward his guardian. The man had begun to scold him, before Bruce had whispered something to him. Jerome quickly ran from the stage and forcefully held Bruce, a knife to his throat.

He backed up towards the stage as he smiles. “Let’s get this started, huh?” Jerome giggles and keeps the knife steady against the boys neck.

A gunshot echoed from one side of the building, Jim Gordon making his way through the red curtain. You felt relief wash over you as you saw him, but there was something else you felt in that moment.. something you couldn’t place yet.

“I don’t have a clean shot.” Jim aimed the gun at the murderer, staying as still as possible.

“Stay calm, Bruce.” The older man had told the younger boy, trying to keep the boy’s attention on him.

“Seems like we’ve got ourselves a pickle! What do ya say, Brucey-boy, wanna boost our ratings?” Jerome laughs crazily and presses the blade against the boys pale skin, starting to draw blood. “Smile!”

As you started to rush over to the pair, you were too distracted for the boys safety to realize someone had woken up. With a loud voice, Galavan yelled, “I said enough!”

Jerome begrudgingly let go of Bruce as the boy ran straight off the stage and to his guardian. He turned and faced Theo, only to be met with a blade to his neck. You stood paralyzed as you watched the scene, your mouth agape and goosebumps raised on your skin.

“I know, I know, this is not what we rehearsed.” Theo whispers to Jerome, sinking down to the floor. “I’m so sorry, Jerome. You have real talent, but now you see, the plot thickens, enter the hero.”

Jerome begins to speak, his mouth and teeth covered in blood. “You.. said..” he tries to take in a breath, but it backfires. “That I was gonna be…” Jerome’s words cut themselves short as his eyes dilate tenfold, that sinister smile permanent on his face. Before he lost the battle between living, his iris flash over to you, taking in one last look before becoming lifeless.

What about the future he wanted? The promise he made to you? He was going to be the King of Gotham with you by his side as the Queen. None of it was an option now. None of it made sense without the man that started it all, that had swore to give you what he convinced you that you wanted. What was the point now?

One of the last things he had said to you replayed in your mind like a broken record, “Promise me somethin’, doll. Never forget me.”

You wouldn’t be able to, even if you tried.