#in response to a lotta bullshit
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The unapologetic femininity of a raider
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"the difference between a conspiracy and fact is time" isnt always true because some things are just genuinely loony and wrong but. boy oh boy is it true in too many cases
#remember when mass surveillance was considered a crazy conspiracy theory? right. thanks snowden#remember when international elite pedophilie rings and islands were a crazy conspiracy? thanks epstein#remember when mind control and government experimentation on people and Mind Control were a conspiracy? right. thanks mkultra and proof of#postmodernism being infiltrated into everything artificially#remember when saying the war on terror is bullshit and the wars were faught for oil and infleunce would get u called crazy? welpppp yea mos#of us sure agree today. hey. u know theres government documents which talk about funding extremist rebel groups in south america in order t#justify us fucking around? hey. u know how many governments around the world the us collapsed?#.#hey?#what exactly makes the idea that they killed kennedy who was trying to stop the cia bullshit - and then the cia director he fired oversaw#the case crazy? and what makes the idea that they were involed in 911 crazy exactly?#and its allllll coincidence right. right#right...... you notice how with a lotta these fuckin things they ended up being very much true?#...... theyve got no fucking morals and an insanely bad track record#theyre responsable for how many wars deaths genocides rapes tortures coups throughout the world#i dont trust shit and there aint a think i think is too bad for them to do#anyway. ill place my bets on israel knowing the 8th was gonna happen and wanting it to#why fund hamas for years then. and how the fuck did all their intelligence and surveillance and million high tech american inventions miss#this
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don't hold hands, m | myg
pairing(s): yoongi x reader
summary: You're fucking your ex-boyfriend's ex-best friend. You also now own a condo with him and owning this condo has made you house-poor. Yeah, it's not the usual love story and it's not going to be one. Not until you paint the walls black, that is.
warnings: rated M (18+) for language; mostly conversations and feels tbh; minor smut (fem reader, marking / scratching, m-receiving oral, doggy, penetrative sex); non-idol!AU; guitarist!music producer!Yoongi x novelist!reader - fwb / roommates-to-lovers
just a story about two people who shouldn't fall in love falling in love, I have plenty of nasty smut so this is a different beat for ya lmao
--
“Is it fun being tortured?”
“Not really, no.”
It wasn’t fair to be this critical but, as long as you didn’t let these words travel outside this room, it was fine, right? At least, you kept telling yourself that. Delusion at its finest.
“It’s so stupid that people enjoy sticking their nose in drama that doesn’t involve them only because their lives are too boring to have any,” you sighed, tossing your phone across your desk, letting it skid into a pile of post-its covered in scrawled notes. “All because I deleted some photos.”
Notifications were now blocked.
“Some people mistake privilege with right.”
You glared at your phone even though the contents were the offender and not the device. Rolled your eyes, knowing you would be coming back to a shitstorm, but you couldn’t take it anymore. There had to be a limit. And the voice beside you had been telling you to put the damn thing down and stop deleting comments one by one, but the stubborn ram in you thought you could just headbutt through the bullshit.
And that imagery was gonna end there, thank you very much.
Your forehead found the palm of your hand and you sighed again, suddenly feeling the weight.
“I’m never doing that again.”
“You don’t have to.”
Minutes passed.
Silence never felt so serene.
Then it was cut through by steady, slow acoustic guitar, the notes drifting out from behind you. It almost made you feel more guilty. Almost. How fucked was that? You, sitting here right now, staring at nearly bare walls and a table covered in notes and your trusty laptop, almost feeling guilty for the guy that had backed out of the joint loan for this condo in the city that you didn’t even fuckin’ want, but you had been too far into the process to not lose a whole lotta money and too angry to let yourself lose.
How ironic, feeling guilty for the guy who cheated on you.
“I’m sorry.”
“I’m not,” was the guitar player’s response. “And you shouldn’t be either. For anything.”
You knew you shouldn’t apologize. It just felt like the thing to do, because you hadn’t been wholly right either and, even if you weren’t more in the wrong, you were still wrong, and wasn’t that fucked, putting levels of blame on a situation that, at the end of the day, was all said and done and left everybody bitter and full of scars.
The shitty part was everyone was on your case now and blaming you.
This was what you got for dating the lead singer of a punk band that skyrocketed to popularity on social media. Looked all elegant dark romance on TikTok and Instagram, just screaming and hate-fucking behind closed doors. Constant content to cover up the toxicity. And maybe it was your fault too, letting it get to your head that maybe you really were the beautiful, mysterious muse that the followers painted you out to be. You glossed over red flags – late nights, drugs and drinking, sleeping in rooms of girls that called themselves fans – all part of the industry. Nothing happened. Honest. But the greatest mistake was letting him tag you on Instagram. How cool was it that you were an author?
This bastard.
Not only had you given him some of your best quotes for his lyrics, but now you couldn’t publish those words as your own because this bastard would fuckin’ sue you for plagiarizing.
The guitar continued behind you, on the mattress on the floor.
So, not only were you getting crucified on social media at the moment because he had called you a backhanded bitch in his Instagram stories but also because you had deleted all photos of him on your profile and said fucking nothing. Silence to be polite and all that. He cheated on you, he was leaving you for some whore you had plenty of suspicions about, and, worst of all, he waited until you and him were finalizing the down payment for this expensive-ass-fuck high-rise condo – that money was out of your own pocket, not his, how convenient – and backed out of the loan for the mortgage. His reasoning?
You cheated on him first.
Hello?
With his former guitarist.
Hello?
Your ex-boyfriend had fired his former guitarist ages ago because you and him had gotten too friendly.
Alright, man.
You liked the guy, sure. Talked to him when he was in the studio and found you had a lot in common. Plus, he was crazy talented. Made most of the melodies, self-produced a lot of the songs for the band so they could save money, even contributed to lyric writing so they didn’t have to spend on that either. He even had a good voice, although sadly the band rarely used it. Your art of words paired with his knowledge of music made some viral hits. But then tensions rose between him and your ex when they started butting heads for no reason (there was a reason and it was ugly jealousy). Then arguments rose between you and your ex, but instead of breaking up, you buried yourself into writing your next novel to let the situation cool off.
Sigh, okay, call a spade a spade.
You were avoiding the confrontation.
He fired his guitarist and got a new one.
Then things were good.
Until they weren’t.
Of course, they weren’t. You didn’t solve shit, and he was fucking every girl that threw themselves at him behind your back. Good thing you had strict rules about condoms, otherwise you would probably have some lasting consequences right now. So, when the ground cracked and split apart from under you, what did you do?
Yup, this was the part that made you no better.
You found that former guitarist and fucked him.
Word travelled around. Word also travelled around that somehow you got someone to be part of that insane loan you got talked into. And, oh, shit, did things get messy once a certain someone knew who it was.
But here you were.
Feeling guilty.
You probably couldn’t publish for at least six months to a year because, harrowingly, your demographic was young adult – you had even relied on social media for self-marketing, fuck – and the half of a novel you had now had to be scrapped considering that so many of the quotes were now distressed in dark venues by the lips of an egomaniacal dick that you allowed into your pussy far too many times. Once was already too many.
Fuck.
You didn’t even want to live in the city.
It’ll be so much easier for me to get bigger opportunities. Don’t be a selfish bitch and only think about yourself.
You wanted to scream.
You wanted to throw your laptop into the wall and break it into smithereens, but you didn’t because this piece of technology was currently your only chance of making money. Fuck. Me. Always talking about himself like he was only important member of the band, even though it was the other guys who wrote most of the music and lyrics. No one sided with you, obviously. This was their job and technically not their romance. They were sympathetic but not empathetic to the point of jeopardizing their jobs. Obviously, you hadn’t signed any contracts for royalties or credit. This was supposed to be your soulmate.
Soulmates weren’t so generous to give you pennies.
You’re being greedy and self-important. Oh, so you’re only in the relationship for the money? I’ll give you money once we make it big. Once we get it all, I’ll buy you everything you want. But you gotta help me out now. We’re starving artists, ya know?
You should have asked your parents for monetary help, but you didn’t. Your pride didn’t want to hear the told-you-so speeches for dating a guy they didn’t choose for you. You also didn’t want the arranged marriage appointments back in your life either.
So.
Trapped in white walls, post-its of false starts, and impending doom.
Dramatic, but you were a writer.
“Come here and sit down with me.”
Some part of you didn’t want to face him. It was really dumb. He was your new roommate now. You were fucking him when you were too sad to avoid it, and it was pretty obvious he knew. You were living off his money. Sure, he only paid for half the rent but then food mysteriously appeared in the fridge, bathroom necessities were stocked when they were running low, cleaning supplies neatly sorted into the closet, and all that other shit. None of that wholesale stuff either, but the nicer things normal households could afford.
It wasn’t an exaggeration that you cried into the soap during your shower last night.
All because you finally acknowledged it wasn’t one of those shitty bars that made skin feel like plastic but actually fragrant lathering liquid that you could put on the dense, not-falling-apart-in-one-use loofah that you hadn’t bought. You would have been satisfied with cutting coupons and living on the dregs of the bare minimum, but someone cared enough to not let you do that, and you currently couldn’t do anything to contribute and probably couldn’t for a while.
And that made you feel undeserving.
Maybe you were only fucking him because that was all you could offer.
Pathetic.
The guitarist called your name softly.
Like a beaten dog, you got up and sat down beside Min Yoongi.
He continued to play a melody you didn’t know on his black acoustic guitar. He hadn’t moved in all his instruments and equipment yet. You had told him he could have the whole living room for his studio. He had asked if you were sure and you responded that you were sure that you weren’t going to have anybody over ever so, unless he wanted a living room space, you didn’t want one.
“Shit always happens, you know,” the deep voice reminded you.
“This happening was of my own doing and now I’ve ruined my own life,” you muttered, bitter over a boy and hating that you were bitter over a boy.
A small chuckle. “You have to admit you had help.”
Stupid boy.
“Can’t be helped. Humans are animals of regret.”
It stung to regret.
The guitar playing stopped and now you were met with silence.
Don’t cry.
But it was so tiring to be angry. So easy to be sad. So easy to think, my fault, for being swept up in what he was but not who he was, for believing that you knew what was best when clearly it wasn’t, for being spiteful on purpose. For avoiding looking at Yoongi in the face because you were too ashamed to acknowledge what was going on here.
For being too afraid to ask what he thought of it.
“I regretted not stealing you from him sooner. Thought you were too fuckable for that loser from the first day we met.”
A strange feeling.
Skin prickling, glancing the that pale hand of graceful, callused fingers simply resting on the neck of that guitar, not looking at Yoongi’s face even though you knew it quite well in profile.
“That’s one way to make me feel better,” you replied.
“I’m not trying to make you feel better. Just being honest,” he replied, tapping his fingertips on the wood. “You are ten times too talented and a hundred times too pretty for a guy like that.”
You twitched. “Are you shitting on my standards?”
“Back then? Yeah, I am.” A calm hum, setting aside his guitar and placing his elbows on his sweatpants-covered knees, charcoal gray and worn. “Pretty clear you went full desperado for a guy that didn’t deserve it. Also, he ain’t hot shit like he thinks he is.”
Ow and what the fuck. “Fuck off.”
You felt movement and tracked his hand raising, spinning a finger around his temple. A brief glance and the details sank in. Long, windswept black waves, light cream skin, pointed gaze directed forward and not at you, pensive slight frown of pink lips. You looked away again, past his loose white t-shirt and to your hands.
You used to be proud of them.
They used to be able to type prose like no other.
Now they were twisted in an oversized, olive-green sweatshirt that you picked up from the sale bin of the convenience store for dirt cheap and they didn’t write jack shit.
You also hated olive-green.
Nothing personal. It just wasn’t your color.
“You’re a psycho bitch to put up with him,” Yoongi commented.
He wasn’t wrong. “I’m a psycho bitch all the time.”
“Yeah, and I don’t date crazy.”
You thought you would feel insulted, but you were past the point of caring. Also, there was something about the way his calm voice said it. Like he knew what he was doing. Huh. That was a silly thing to think. Of course, Yoongi knew what he was doing. He did it. He let you in his studio when you tracked it down and camped out until he showed up. He had listened to your psychobabble and didn’t back away when you pinned him to the wall.
This wasn’t dating.
“At least, I thought I didn’t,” Yoongi added, not touching you.
He fucked you too. He wasn’t a starfish in bed, that was for sure.
“I wanted to get back at him too, you know,” that deep, hazy voice murmured beside you. “That bastard turned my friends against me, stole my mixes, and cut out all my connections. Made me start from the ground up, alone.”
Yeah, you did know that. You helped badmouth Yoongi. In the name of love.
Shit.
“Sorry.”
“You’re not sorry.”
Ouch.
“And you shouldn’t be, ‘cause what’s done is done and being sorry isn’t going to change anything.”
You untwisted your hands from each other, realizing your knuckles were white from anxiousness, and relaxed them on your bare knees. Best you could, anyway.
“Yeah,” was the best response you had. This fucking boy ruined your life and stole your eloquence too, apparently. Motherfucker. “You’re right.”
Neither you or Yoongi said anything.
Minutes passed.
Another night in the condo and both of you were sitting on a mattress with a single blanket, deflated pillows, and a box of condoms on the floor.
You touched his forearm the same time his hand moved to grip your thigh.
And then it was the don’t-look-him-in-the-eyes challenge, and he was doing the exact same thing, eyes averted, black hair over them, lips grazing your jaw. Breath against your ear. Hot. His neck under your lips, flexed, fair skin with remnants of bruises, and your teeth sank in, making new ones, listening to his hiss and feeling his hands slide under your sweatshirt. Weighted palms and blunt nails. Digging in.
“Harder.”
He scratched you up as you climbed into his lap, tasting flesh.
Those firm hands gripped your hips and forced them down. Grinding. Softness to growing hardness, unhooking your bra, hands all over like you had lost your mind, your thighs squeezing his sides, yanking his shirt collar down and licking up his collarbone, dripping spit, shivering as you saw it glisten over his marred skin.
Clothes coming off, thrown aside. Guitar sliding to the hardwood floor as bodies tumbled. Your hands on his chest, your hard nipples pressed into the sheets as Yoongi slipped his hand into your hair and shoved your head down. Mouth open, tongue curling around. Moan striking the air, echoing in the nothingness.
Hard, hot, now wet.
Up, down, hitting the back of your throat, unable to choke in the adrenaline of lust, in need, in desire for pain, rubbing your tongue all over as Yoongi face-fucked you hard and fast, thick cock swelling in your mouth, your lips grazing the swollen head and making him shudder, saliva slipping down your chin that was smacking into his balls.
Was it shameful that you were good at it?
Sex solved nothing but you sure had a lot of it as if it did.
A sharp gasp and salty cum filled your throat, drinking, swallowing with effort and the burning sensation of your locked jaw, maintaining the soft tightness. Tongue tracing the contours, keeping him hard, hearing the rip of a foil packet above your head.
You hadn’t even realized that Yoongi had let go of your hair, letting you lick him all over at your own pace.
“What position?” Yoongi panted, husky and breathless in the mostly empty bedroom.
Mattress, chair, desk, laptop. Oh, and guitar.
Bodies on the floor.
You didn’t say anything.
You just turned around and slid down, elbows on the bed, knees spread, ass up.
“Alright then.”
You bit your lower lip.
You almost turned your head, almost looked back, just to check, right, just to check he was okay with it, and then strong hands gripped your hips, lifting them, sliding in, condom on and stretching you out right away, his knees pushing your knees apart and forcing you to arch your back for the angle.
No chance to look back.
You gasped, gripping the sheets, blinded by pleasure and the fading resonance of pain.
Hard.
Deep.
You pushing back, deep not deep enough, hitting your preferred depth and letting your eyelids flutter, veins burning with the repeated ecstasy. One of your hands lifted and reached back, squeezing his hand on your hip, and the grip became tighter, fingertips digging in, smacking his hips into your ass, and your body threatened to throw him back, carnal power meeting his every thrust, clenching around his hard length, and you could hear Yoongi growl your name, low and deep and voracious.
Somehow, his name fell from your lips too.
Rough and sinful, no better than an animal.
His nails dug into your back and dragged down, burning lines into your skin.
Your head tipped back and you moaned, a clear, shameless sound that would become familiar to this ceiling. Pooling wildfire, tightening muscles, wasted nectar sticky between joined thighs, surge after shivering surge of orgasmic apex stinging your veins as you barely registered Yoongi’s shudder and blissful groan, feeling the pulse inside you made than hearing the sound.
The rush of blood roaring in your ears was far too loud for you to hear anything.
Your face felt hot, so hot.
Gripping the sheets, twisting them, pulling them off the edge of the bed.
This moment.
Very few things were as intense and exigent as an orgasm. Fleeting, but a violently memorable. Pure nothingness of soaring high. You chased it. Again. And again. And again, your fingers tangled in Yoongi’s dark hair, pulling it over his face but he didn’t look at you anyway, eyes closed and teeth trapping his lower lip, breath trapped in his chest, driving his hips into yours again and again.
You both kept going until the limits were reached.
The darkness willingly swallowed you up.
-
Min Yoongi always considered himself a rational person, which was precisely why he found himself entangled in the break-up between his former best friend and the only woman he ever considered committing a felony for.
Yeah.
He also didn’t believe in love at first sight.
She was still way too hot for that idiot though.
His eyes could communicate well enough with his dick. The short skirt and exposed thighs didn’t really help either. Still, Yoongi had let it be. Respect was keeping his distance despite racing heartbeat and keeping calm despite shaking hands. He got used to it once the late-night talks about music and wordplay became a regular thing. Sometimes they talked about general life and were surprised on how well they aligned. Still, she never spoke poorly about her then-boyfriend even though there was plenty to talk about.
Scorched earth was their sacred ground.
It was painful to witness.
Yoongi regretted valuing the friendship, mostly because it didn’t mean jack shit at the end of the day. He regretted believing in the elegant, age-old saying.
Bros before hoes.
Tch.
But mostly, Yoongi regretted pretending like nothing was wrong.
He would see the pain in her expression and not say anything. Watch her pack it all away and greet him with warmth that he didn’t deserve because he had a racing heart and shaking hands every time they met. He would watch his former best friend disappear into hotel rooms without explanation and Yoongi knew damn well it wasn’t right, but he kept his mouth shut because he was a coward, something he figured out later.
He could have washed his hands clean of that shitshow, but instead his hands had held her shaking shoulders and watched her struggle not to cry on that cold night.
Yoongi considered himself a rational person, but never a good one.
Too many ways to judge, and her lips had already connected with his as soon as his shoulder blades hit the wall. He didn’t stop it. Maybe it was bitterness. Vengeance. Hate.
No, it wasn’t any of that, actually.
He didn’t know exactly what but, in that moment, Yoongi knew that he would murder that asshole if he saw his former best friend’s face right then, ready to commit a felony all because those beautiful eyes couldn’t look at him, closing instead to blink back the tears that bastard didn’t deserve.
That meant something, all right.
He knew it could take a long time. He knew it would almost certainly be hopeless. He knew he would probably end up with a broken heart and broke as hell. He knew it was a bad idea and he knew it was going to tear him up, this spiral, but when he found himself looking up to the ceilings of these mostly empty rooms, this condo he now half-owed with the woman that was formerly his best friend’s girlfriend, and Yoongi found he didn’t know and he didn’t care what the future held.
She had trouble sleeping.
Less trouble after exhausting themselves.
He had trouble sleeping too, but that was because he was staring at the ceiling and wondering just how rational he really was. One hand behind his head, under the pillow. The other resting on the blanket, on the curve of her hip, feeling the steady hum of her breathing.
She never cried in front of him.
He knew she did cry, because he heard her in the bathroom sometimes. But never in front of him. Showed anger, yes, but never acted helpless even though it was perfectly reasonable to feel that way after everything that happened. Living on the least for his sake, even to the point of skipping meals and spending all her time trying to write, trying to get back to her livelihood, trying to get past all the false starts. Personally, Yoongi felt that she should give up for now and heal herself, but he also knew how it felt to feel stubborn and useless.
Hah.
It was weird, being so close and yet so far away.
He felt it most in the nighttime, even though that was when he was closest to her.
He was never going to be the same. He knew that. He already wasn’t, surprising himself with his own recklessness, and for what? He didn’t even know what she was capable of reciprocating after receiving all those scars. Didn’t even know if he was the right one, if he was better or worse, if…
If he was believing in something that wasn’t there.
Yoongi closed his eyes and went to sleep.
-
Livid.
It was weird. Feeling it. In the past, you buried it, numb, and promptly lived in delusion. But now you could feel it. What was more, you let yourself feel it. There wasn’t anything to stop you except for the occasional mental peanut gallery of you’re a bad person if you feel jealousy, but anger could overtake anything if you let it.
You stared at the scene before you, several meters away.
Seething.
It felt good.
Mostly because it was honest.
It surprised you. You hadn’t expected to feel anything. Sad, maybe. You had already been cheated on, so naturally you assumed the cycle would begin anew, just with less promises and in the gray area of uncertainty. But, no, instead of being distraught and delusional, you felt maddeningly, viciously, nearly on-the-edge of making a fist and dislocating Min Yoongi’s jaw from his skull because he was speaking to a female-presenting human at the entrance of the building that housed his and others’ music studios.
Did you lack context? Yes.
Would that get you arrested? Yeah, probably.
Would that probably not get you laid anymore and label you as an unhinged psychopath? Without a doubt.
But would it feel good?
Don’t know.
You had never punched someone before, although maybe you should have practiced on your ex-boyfriend. He was probably a more deserving candidate. In any case, you remained frozen in perplexation at your willingness for violence because you were pretty sure your… relations… with Yoongi were nothing more than a lonely bitch and a spiteful silver tongue executing revenge, so the amount of fucks you should give about Yoongi speaking to any human being – other than the obvious health and safety precautions – should be zero.
None.
Basket of fucks empty.
And yet.
Clearly wasn’t since you were mentally calculating the angle and force for jaw dislocation while having zero experience in doing so. In any sort of non-virtual manner, that is.
Hm.
Your hands were firmly in the pockets of your black cargo pants. The hip ones, although you had plenty of choice. You kept them there for the safety of passerby or, maybe deep down, yourself. This caused your jacket to fall open, the outlines of the sew-on patches and thick, bunched-up black denim crowding the space between your forearm and waist, your black cropped tank exposed to the chill evening air. You used to wear a plethora of band t-shirts, but, well, those were probably in a landfill or rotting in a secondhand shop.
You figured you would be cold. Unsurprisingly, the anger kept you warm.
Huh.
You thought about turning around and just straight up leaving, petty and picturesque of course, and then Yoongi seemed to sense your projected violence, looking up from the conversation. Dark waves over his cheeks, striking body line, backing away, hiding his eyes for a moment, not that you could see them that well from this distance. You twitched.
The girl reached out.
Yoongi simply bowed, out of reach, and pushed the glass door open.
Honestly, her role in this moment was so miniscule that you completely ignored whatever she did or possibly could have said to Yoongi’s retreating back. Sharpened gaze, and then he crossed the street with the crowd, walking past oblivious bystanders who may or may not become the harrowed audience of the next thirty seconds.
He stopped before you. Bomber jacket, white shirt, black track pants. Monochrome elegance.
You looked up at him, saying nothing.
Over one shoulder was his usual guitar bag that held said instrument and his yellow notepad sticking out of the pocket. He used it to jot down whatever came to him. You almost said something. Almost. Then you remembered that if this, this between you and Min Yoongi, if this was supposed to be nothing, then weren’t you supposed to do nothing but voice your casual annoyance for making you wait rather than, well.
Admit insecurity?
You looked away quickly.
No, it did not matter how reasonable it was, you didn’t like knowing that somehow you had been weakened by an ex-boyfriend, barely a man, no, a mere locust at best, so it was better to not say anything and accept that this was–
“Sorry, I got caught up with the staff about ending my lease.”
Compromised.
You didn’t look at him. “What?”
“Gonna end my lease this month and move my studio stuff to the condo. I can’t afford both.”
He had told you this already. It had been your idea. You already knew you were overreacting to a situation that you created in your head rather than reality. And, yet, the best your mind would allow was uh huh, a plausible explanation, sarcasm included.
“Ah. Right,” was your sharp, mildly frigid reply.
“I can’t read your mind.”
Do you intend to be exhausting?
Your mental peanut gallery was super annoying.
You breathed in. Cool, crisp air. The sound of cars and people bustling in and out of stores. You breathed in again. Did you really intend to be exhausting, irrational, and, worst of all, dishonest? Really, after all that had happened? After getting here, standing here, arriving to pick up Yoongi at his request to do the grocery shopping together?
You turned back to look right into black-brown, piercing orbs.
“I just realized that I have the ability to be jealous,” you exhaled, draining your lungs. “It’s unpleasant and not nearly as delightfully pivotal as the media makes it out to be.”
Something fluttered in those orbs.
Or maybe it was the wind catching his bangs, drifting black strands over his eyes shadowed by dark circles.
Yoongi half-smiled.
“Makes for good songwriting material though.”
There was an air of helplessness to his words. A tone you couldn’t define, except for the understanding, which left you both baffled and with a sense of guilt. There were emotions in that barely-there smirk on those familiar lips. Relief. Maybe a slight bit of shame. A shadow of guilt too. You realized people were glancing at you and him as they walked past, wondering why you both were at a standstill on the sidewalk. Yoongi seemed to not notice them or care.
You pulled your hands out of your pockets.
“Come on. We should go before it gets dark.”
Before you noticed it, your hand was rising.
You pulled it back, but not fast enough.
Yoongi’s free hand reached out and grasped around yours, strong fingers enclosing. Sliding up, calluses on your palm. Your hand lowered, slowly, your eyes moving in the opposite direction. Lips parting. His hand was colder than yours.
You stared at Yoongi.
He looked back, expression unreadable.
“I don’t hold hands,” you said, suddenly breathless.
You tightened your grip.
“Neither do I,” Yoongi replied, taking a step, on the cusp of walking past you, his hand around yours. “I simply just don’t like the idea of yours getting cold when I can do something about it.”
Previously, when you held hands, it was always with a purpose of showing public affection. The look-how-real-this-is-because-there-are-clear-witnesses show. Front row tickets nobody asked for. But this.
This.
You blinked hard and the sting was inside.
The sting of wasted time.
Your name in that raspy, soft voice. Familiar. You looked up, not saying anything and hoping the eye contact was enough. All Yoongi did was smile lightly and tug your hand.
“Let’s get take-out and shop tomorrow. We have plenty of time to eat healthier.”
-
“You can cry in front of me.”
Min Yoongi heard her breath hitch and still.
Seconds that felt like hours ticked by. It was the dead of night. Or maybe one could call it the time when honesty came to life, if the conditions were right. He knew this time well usually with a drink in his hand, but this time he was laying on his side with bruises of bites and carnal memories lingering on his fingertips.
“I wasn’t crying.”
Her voice was thick and strained from trying to keep it even. Her moment of jealousy had happened days ago. He had recognized it right away. Call it personal experience. He also recognized that she didn’t like to feel that way. It was obvious from her torn yet furious expression. It confirmed a lot of things for him. Still, she seemed pleased to help him move and set up his things in the bedroom. They found the living room to be a bit too echoey due to the large space so they switched the two, pulling the mattress to the living room and setting up his equipment in the center of what was formerly the bedroom.
He told her to paint the condo.
She had mentioned in passing that someday she would like to paint her entire living space black. Not this place, because he owned it too, and you probably think I’m crazy for wanting a dark space, huh, Yoongi? He asked her, why wait? No one lives forever. We’re just passing through.
She had given him a weird look.
We own this condo. Paint it.
There were cans of black paint waiting.
Yoongi had intended to go visit his family over the weekend. His parents and his brother who had recently been promoted to head chef at the classy restaurant he worked at. Someone in the family needed to have prestige. Well, that was his own personal feeling. Surprisingly at this point his parents had given up on telling him to get a higher-paying job. They told him to simply be happy.
And get married.
Yeah, about that.
He was still trying to get used to the music producer thing, for fuck’s sake.
“Are you afraid I won’t understand?” Yoongi let himself say, not turning around yet.
Sometimes, people didn’t want you to see them weak. He could understand that.
Call it personal experience.
A shuddering sigh. Deep breaths. Words bogged down, drained.
“I can only be so pathetic before I lose my mind recalling the past,” she mumbled. He felt her weight deepen on her side of the bed, as if she was trying to melt into the mattress. “I made things hard for myself. For you. It’s pointless to cry about it anyway. In the end, it only makes me look ungrateful.”
Yoongi thought about it.
“It’s true that you probably shouldn’t have involved me.”
He shifted, laying on his back now.
“But I’m not a good person either. I agreed, after all,” he murmured, his skin tingling with bruises and carnal memories. “Hm, to be honest, he was always a dick though, from high school till now. Always will be, I fear.”
“You’re easygoing enough not to be affected by his asshole behavior.”
“Not my job to change people. I leave that to parents and clueless fools.”
A pensive silence. Surprisingly not an irritated one. She seemed to accept it.
“Why did you become his friend?” she asked, staring at the ceiling with him.
“We just happened to like the same thing. Music.”
“I’m lucky you decided to become his friend.”
He didn’t say anything for a moment. Then, “I’m lucky that somehow he managed to bamboozle a hot and clever girl, two things he’s obviously not.”
She almost laughed. Almost.
“Who the fuck uses the word bamboozle?”
“You had to admit you were bamboozled, because you sure as hell weren’t dick-drunk.”
“Oh? You think you’re that good, huh?”
“No, I just know he’s that much worse.”
The faintest of chuckles.
“You… You get better every time,” she admitted. “I think I just caught you off guard the first time.”
“Firstly, I don’t like wasting time and, secondly, I had given up for a while before…” I met you. “Romance seemed like an expensive, worthless distraction when I could be using that time and money trying to push the band forward,” he pivoted, running a hand through his hair to push it out of his eyes. “Then that went to shit.”
“Sorry.”
Automatic.
He chuckled darkly. “I’m confident I got the better deal.”
A trembling pause.
“Why do you think that?”
He reached over and placed his palm on the top of her head, lacing his fingers in her hair. Messing it up.
“Tell me the truth. Was he good at sex?”
A burst of laughter. “Really? Alright. No, he wasn’t. He sucked. Thought he was a piston of a muscle car instead of a human being. Oh, and once he fell asleep on top of me.”
He cocked an eyebrow. Turned his head and forced hers to turn as well.
She was smiling.
Yoongi found his chest tight and breath shallow.
“And you didn’t leave him then… why?” he pressed.
She winced, albeit playfully. “I yelled at him. A lot. I don’t know, maybe he was tired.”
“Not an excuse.”
“I know, I know…” Sigh. “I… I didn’t want to believe I made the wrong choice.” Her eyes shifted, but her body was still turned to face his. “I… It made my entire family angry, dating him. Especially my parents. They would never forgive me and hold it over my head forever. I had to make it work. I thought, if only I worked hard enough…” Another heavy breath, squeezing her eyes tightly. “I know it was pride, but I wanted to prove to them and myself that I could do anything. Bad choices? Maybe. But they were mine. I don’t want my life decided by what is best for me. If I suffer for it, those are my consequences.”
Her eyes opened, but barely.
Yoongi kept his hand on her head, running his fingers through her hair.
“I… I feel like shit because now you’re stuck in my mistakes,” she breathed.
He liked to touch her hair. It felt comforting.
“You know what your problem is?”
She glared under lashes and dared him.
Undeterred, he continued. “You blame yourself for shit that hasn’t even happened.”
A disapproving frown. “Hah?”
He tapped her forehead. “You think it’ll bother me if you cry, but what truly bothers me is that you cry alone.” Pushed back the strands, and now he was closer, sharing breath. “You think I’m stuck in your mistakes. Mistakes don’t inherently have only negative consequences. They almost always exist in a gray area.”
“I... I know that,” she grumbled, face against his chest.
“I did say you were clever.”
A drifting, drowsy silence.
“I’m not clever,” she whispered to his skin, pulling her body closer. “I just like you.”
Yoongi felt himself losing to sleep.
“I’ve always liked you, since the moment I saw you,” he muttered into her hair, breathing in the familiar scent, so quietly that he wasn’t sure if he said it at all.
-
“Ah? Yes? Sorry about that. Oh, yes, uh, I’m painting. Everything. Yes, I’ll be sure the keep the windows open. Thank you.”
You closed the front door of the condo. Well. You had expected nervousness, but somehow the conversation between you and the downstairs neighbor had been very calm. Apparently, he worked from home and wasn’t expecting the loud crash of the ladder from your unit.
In your defense, you hadn’t expected it either.
Thankfully, you hadn’t been on the ladder, only trying to figure out how to set it up. It was one of those compact ones that saved space but required some innovative thinking to get the taller height you needed. One crash and a YouTube video later, the ladder was now secure, and then came the knock on the front door.
The thoughts flew by – I don’t belong here, I can’t do this alone, they’re going to scold me and I haven’t even done the upper half yet – but the guy just seemed curious and confused. Didn’t even comment on your awkward outfit of navy boys’ basketball shorts and ill-fitted gray sports bra. Both on super sale. You were still wearing your bra because of the incorrect size, so the gray blob was bordering on ugly-ass tank top.
Look.
Some people had clothing they didn’t care about to paint in and some people had to dive in sale bins because they left behind most of their wardrobe and, with the clothes, their bad memories.
That was the intent.
Things rarely go as intended.
For instance, you thought you were going to feel imposter syndrome for a neighbor knowing that you were painting your own goddamn walls. You turned away from the door after you locked it, frowning. That’s right. Like it or not, bad decisions and minus an ex-boyfriend later, these were your walls. You looked up, out the large, floor-to-ceiling living room windows, and saw the sunlight sparkle over the sprawling city, walls painted half-black and half white surrounding you, and you could say that you never wanted to be here, but.
It was a sick view.
We own this condo. Paint it.
Your muscles were sore from the repeated swiping motion of the paint roller, but there was still this inexplicable energy coursing through you.
“What if it doesn’t look good?” you had asked Yoongi.
He had shrugged. “Then we paint it again.”
“It’ll be dark.”
“Wow, really? I thought black was supposed to be bright and cheerful,” was the sarcastic quip. “Just believe you have good taste and paint the damn walls.”
This condo was an investment that made you poor.
That was the truth you needed to face.
You have good taste.
You scrunched your face slightly as you remembered Yoongi’s facial expression. Was he… praising you or himself? You squinted. This guy. Picked up the paint roller again and saturated it with ink black, making crispy crinkly sounds as you shuffled over the plastic. Good taste. Well, that was relative, wasn’t it? Everything was at the end of the day. You climbed onto the ladder and began the repetitive, monotone motion once more but at a higher elevation. You should have put your music back on. Your phone was on the plastic-covered mattress and you were not about to go back down until you finished this section or ran out of paint. This was going to be a long process, but you had several days and too much time as Yoongi had already left to visit his family.
Now you were alone with a lot of paint and mind-numbing fumes.
Shit, you should have opened the window.
You would have to paint a second coat anyway. Who cared if the first coat was shitty?
Sigh.
Climbing down and doing your due diligence before returning to your post.
You had forgotten once again to put your music back on. Hah. Well, that was fine; you had yourself. You didn’t mind being alone. Heh, sometimes it was better to be alone. You continued rolling away, hardworking in the consistent rhythm. Thinking about it now, this might have been the first time in a long time that you were okay with being alone. Before, you had felt guilty whenever you weren’t thinking about your relationship. Huh. Odd. Was it some kind of mental self-reassurance when you knew something was off? It was hard to tell, but possible.
Everything was off about that relationship. You just had too much pride to admit it.
You sighed, climbing back down to reload.
Wait a second. Was this why there was that wider step towards the top of the ladder? You poured some more paint in the tray and carried it up with you. Oh shit. Wow. Innovation. You coughed and went back to a different patch of wall. No one saw that. See, perks of being alone.
Well, you didn’t hate Yoongi being here.
You stopped painting.
You didn’t just think that.
You went back to painting. Shut up, nagging feeling. You furiously painted on, ignoring your soreness, telling that little voice in your head to shut up, because there were plenty of reasons not to think stuff like that. Firstly, you weren’t ready to think stuff like that. And what if it was only hopeful transference rather than genuine feeling? Asshole or not, your ex-boyfriend’s betrayal of trust was not something so easily overcome. It wasn’t fair to Yoongi either, pretending to like him if you weren’t sure.
You liked Yoongi before you broke up, too.
Wasn’t that fucked up?
You sighed and came back down, careful to scoot the ladder without spilling and causing a mess. Back up and at it. Of course, it was fucked up. And you knew it was, which might have been why you let it get that bad. Might? Was why you let it get that bad. Two hypocrites were meant for each other. You huffed, puffing your cheeks. It wasn’t enough to hold the ticking grenade; you had needed confirmation it was a, in fact, a bomb.
Maybe even hoping it would end you.
It didn’t.
For some reason, you thought Yoongi could see that in you.
Damn, he’s really living in your system, hm?
You frowned.
Your phone rang.
You almost jumped, startled at the sudden sound of an old song you used to enjoy. Back when you were a teenager, and the memories came back as you climbed down. A kid who just really liked rock’n’roll, and parents who did not, but that kid didn’t care, annoyingly setting it as her ringtone on her shitty flip phone. Couldn’t you be her again? Before you had time to ponder, you checked your hands for paint and picked up your phone, answering it.
“Hello?”
“Did you eat?”
You blinked, sitting down on the crinkly plastic upon hearing that deep, raspy voice. “Uh, no. I was gonna stop by the convenience store when the first coat was done.”
“No, you weren’t. You were gonna skip a meal,” Min Yoongi tutted. “Because you don’t want to be a nuisance and use the money I had left you.”
Damn. He knew you, all right.
“If I forget, I forget,” you grumbled.
“Yeah, yeah. Anyway, pick up the food order from the front desk when it comes. They told me about thirty minutes.”
“You don’t have to order food for me. I’m not a kid,” you hissed.
“It’s the pho spot you like and if I don’t put food in front of you, you won’t eat. You intend to do all that hard work without some fuel?” A pause. You made a disapproving noise. “And I know you’re not a kid. By the way, what’s your waist measurement?”
You remained a grump. “Why?”
“I’m here, so I’m going to buy you some clothes.”
“Don’t buy me clothes. Don’t spend money–”
“You need things,” Yoongi cut you off. “Unless you want to come with me? You don’t trust me?”
“That’s not it and you know it,” you snapped back. “It’s not worth–”
“Of course, it isn’t. It’s vain and silly and superficial. And I’m still going to buy you things, so tell me your waist measurement.”
“Yoongi, this is your hard-earned money,” you puffed out, exasperated.
“Yeah, and I make money to provide you with a good life because I think you are the most important person to me. So, do you want me to guess with my hands or are you going to meet me halfway?”
Dead silence.
He called your name, softly.
You told him in centimeters.
“Got it. Don’t forget to check the front desk in thirty minutes.”
-
“I love you.”
His hair was stuck to his face due to sweat. “What?”
“I said I love you,” she said, staring right at him, their chests shuddering from exertion.
Yoongi couldn’t believe it, but also he wasn’t surprised. The room still smelled faintly like paint. The windows still had no curtains or blinds. They were still fucking on the mattress in the center of the living room and he was holding the used condom when she said I love you.
The walls and ceiling were all black, covering them in darkness as the city below glimmered with light.
“I love you,” was his reply.
It startled him, the suddenness of his response. He knew he did. Of course, he did, and he turned away quickly, making his way to the kitchen and throwing away the condom, skin tingling, cheeks aflame, and he was startled by the feeling that remained. He hadn’t expected those words to come out of her mouth even though he was sure of his own feelings. Yoongi had resigned himself to not hear it from her lips. He also didn’t need to hear it to know that it was true.
He saw her head to the bathroom.
Time was funny sometimes.
Suddenly they were both staring at each other on the mattress, the usual ritual completed, and the moment suspended.
“You didn’t have to say it,” he finally said. “For my sake.”
“I didn’t.” Her hair curled over her shoulder, caressing her curves. “I said it for my sake.”
Blankets and pillows and questions.
“I wondered about the validity of it,” she admitted to him. “Been wrong before and all that. Might still be wrong. So, I said it just to see if I regretted it.”
“Ah.”
They stared into each other’s eyes.
“Do you?” he asked.
She shook her head. “No.”
He half-smiled. How very simple yet complicated. He understood. “All the paint fumes really got to your head, huh?”
She looked up at him and he realized with a start that she, too, was half-smiling.
He reached out, smoothing her hair.
“You have a pretty face, Yoongi,” she teased, eyes sparkling.
He raised an eyebrow.
“I thought it would be too cliché, you and me,” she continued and the tone was different now, softer and more serious. “I thought you would get tired.”
She meant, of me.
He had thought this was cliché too. Cliché didn’t mean worthless though. His hand fell, and rested over hers without a second thought. Warm and against the sheets. “If I felt that way, I would have stopped speaking to you long ago. You could take care of yourself too.” Not safely, but could. “Except for money.”
She smirked.
“So you’re saying I need a suga daddy.”
Yoongi twitched.
“Part of me wanted to sell the condo as soon as possible,” she went on, casually glossing over the comment. “But the realtor said it would be a bad idea. I wouldn’t have any buyers without a minimum of six months or a year. Too many superstitions. Part of me thought I should…”
She looked up to the ceiling.
It was a high-rise, after all.
“All the reasons to move here were his. More convenient, better opportunities, owning rather than renting for the investment… I believed in it, more than myself.”
He didn’t say anything. Couldn’t because all those things had benefitted him already. He didn’t only agree to move in help her out. He was still a working music producer. But she didn’t seem to be saying it to condone him.
“I didn’t really think this place was mine until I painted the walls.”
Yoongi thought he should at least confess this part. “That’s why I told you to paint them.”
A small laugh. “You don’t like it, huh?”
“Don’t you remember the walls of the old studio were dark gray? That was my doing. I always resented the last place I rented because they didn’t let me paint the walls.”
“Ah… He painted over the gray.”
“I bet he did.”
They had fallen to the bed now, side by side.
“I didn’t think this would work out,” she breathed.
“I thought it might,” he hummed.
“Why?”
“You’re hot and clever and I wanted you from the first day I saw you.”
A warm chuckle. “Just like that?”
“Well, you had to give me a chance. Couldn’t make the first move due to the circumstances.”
“It was a convoluted and confusing one.”
“Eh, life’s unfair.”
-
“Your husband already paid.”
Your what?
“What?”
The cashier waved you away. You shuffled back, dazed, seeing Min Yoongi emerge from the bathroom in the corner of the restaurant, tucking a bit of his long black hair behind his ears and finding you in front of him.
“The cashier just called you my husband,” you declared.
He shrugged.
“Surprise.”
You blinked at him.
Patrons chatted and laughed as if this was a normal day. The music was horrendous covers of cheesy 2000’s pop. It was very strange, but the pho was good and well-priced, which was why Yoongi and you came here often after his meetings with music companies. Popular talent was in high demand.
He ticked his head to your outfit. “I know you like this dress I bought you, but you’ve left your coat at the table.”
“Oh, shit.”
“You’ve been scatterbrained ever since you started writing again.”
“Shut up.”
--
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hii!!! i love ur work!!! i was just wondering if u could do a part 2 of the hobie x reader where they have no strings attached when they were both reallyyyyy horny
(if u could, could they be like uhh either reader or Hobie somehow is close to getting a relationship [or is acc just going to answer someone asking one of them out and wants to be exclusive] and is talking to the other abt it and it could change their little f buddies relationship or something maybe angsty?? maybe fluff?? or maybe like yeah no congrats lets do this one last time until you break up)
thank u v much!!!
No Strings Attached Pt. 2
Hobie x Fem!Reader
(Hobie and Reader are obviously adults in this fic.)
TW/CW: NSFW, Smut, PiV sex, counter sex, condom usage, safe sex, wee bit of angst, feelings, a whole lotta feelings(?), marijuana/pot usage (bro nobody can convince me Hobie seriously doesn't smoke it), some alcohol, bad date
MINORS DNI I AM NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR CONTENT YOU CONSUME
A/N: Spoiler alert: Strings got attached. A bit shorter than the first chapter, but I like it like this
🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸
You and Hobie had agreed to be "friends with benefits" on the account that the biggest rule was it wouldn't affect your friendship, that you wouldn't lose each other due to petty bullshit.
And it was a system that worked. Mostly.
Hobie couldn't deny the twinge of... of something inside him when he saw some loser bloke try to rizz you up with cheap pickup lines. He would crush it by downing a cheap shot of whatever liquor he had, and remind himself that you could do whatever--or whoever--you wanted.
In the end he never had to worry, though. Whenever you needed that "itch" scratched, you two would hook up. Most of the time in his flat, or yours, sometimes he'd park his van somewhere and you two would do it there.
One time you two were in the middle of something and some coppers started pounding on the van doors. You two were quick to make sure they knew they were interrupting something, and peel out before they asked too many questions.
Man, the look on their faces when you swung the door open while only dressed in your panties and one of Hobie's almost-too-tight tank tops was priceless...
You two were hooking up more and more often, the relief and euphoria of just having rounds of backbreaking sex was almost enough to distract you from everything that occurred during the day.
Almost.
Right now you were bent over your kitchen counter, Hobie's long, nimble hands gripping your hips as though his life depending upon it as he stuffed his cock into you at an earth-shattering pace.
"Gh--fuck." You groaned, wiping the drool from the corner of your mouth. "God--fucking--damn it." You bite out after each punishing thrust, stuffing you full in a way that only he has been able to manage this far.
"Ey? What's what?" Hobie chuckled breathlessly as his hips smack into your ass, sending the skin ripping as he fucked into you. "Got somethin' t' say, luv?"
The moment he angled his hips at just the right angle, your body went rigid, your gummy walls crushing down around him as you came around his cock, squeezing him tight as he kept pushing and pulling into your hot cunt.
You buried your face in your arms as they folded on the counter, whimpering as Hobie gritted his teeth and pounded into you at a less coordinated, frantic pace, instead focusing on his own release and need to cum, now.
God damn was Hobie a good lay. He was probably one of the better sexual partners you've ever had, always making sure you cum before he does, taking the time to learn what makes you tick; taking you apart with every swipe and stroke of his fingers and cock.
You wondered how in the fuck Hobie hadn't gotten a girlfriend. Had half the women in the city known how endowed and how well-versed he was in sex, he'd had every eligible bachelorette (and not) breaking down his door to have a chance for a romp in the sheets with him.
You felt Hobie slam up into you in a way that knocked air from your lungs in a choking gasp, eyes rolling back as you felt the condom swell with his cum as he fucked you through his high.
"Fuckin' shit." You sigh, laughing softly as you relax as the last few waves of his orgasm ebbed.
"Mmm... Now what were you sayin' earlier?" Hobie laughed, swatting your ass playfully.
"Ugh. Don't do that!" You laugh at him over your shoulder.
"Mmm, fine fine." He said, cock still sheathed inside you as he put his hands up dismissively. "Now what is it?"
"Oh, right. I have a date tonight."
🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸
You'd gotten all dolled up, your best dress, nice comfy heels, makeup... The works.
Your dress was a deem emerald green plunge, v-neck that revealed the right amount of cleavage; the hem of the dress ended just above your knees, a slit cut up to mid-thigh, revealing the sheer stockings you wore that hugged your thigh.
You had been asked out by a man who looked far too out of his element in the punk pub you both met in, but he seemed charming and relatively well-mannered. Better than half the drunk idiots who hit on you when you went out.
And being brought to a four-star restaurant? Yeah, you were an idiot to say no to that. You weren't shallow, but hey, you've never gone anywhere this fancy before.
And he seemed nice, you really hoped that maybe, just maybe, you could have a sincere relationship with him. Like, as in, keys to the flat, boyfriend material kind of relationship.
Yeah. You were wrong.
An hour into the date and you were tempted to slip an SOS to the waiter to distract him long enough for you to slip away from Garrett (your date).
He was arrogant, a snobbish prude who, upon inspecting your dress, crinkled his nose and said he expected someone as "refined" as you to dress more conservatively. He also said that women should not be involved with such "heavy" music such as punk, rock, or metal; which happened to be some of your favorite genres.
Garrett had also admitted that the last woman he was with wasn't forthright about her previous "dalliances" in bed. That she was "used goods" and couldn't "satisfy his needs" in a way that a woman lacking would be able to do.
Translation: he was so shit in bed he wanted a woman who had no experience to compare his miserable excuse of a forty-second orgasm, bean dick to.
A misogynistic prick who had a virgin fetish.
Yeahhhh... No.
You finally got sick of it, standing up and splashing your chocolate martini all down his expensive suit, the brown liquid staining the white of his button-up.
"Blood hell, are you insane--?!" Garret spat at you, standing up to glare at you.
"I'm fucking my best friend." You say, flipping him the bird after slapping a wad of notes on the table for the poor wait staff. "So you can take your weak ass dick and fetishes to some club where women can point and laugh at you, since you think women who have "given themselves" to men before you are disgusting."
Your heels clicked as you spoke over your shoulder, "And you can lose my number."
The whole restaurant went quiet, aghast and amazed, breaking out into excitable murmurs about the scene that unfolded.
The staff gossiped about it for days.
🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸
"Bloody hell!" Hobie laughed as he slapped his knee as you retold the story. "Wish I coulda seen that bloke's face!"
"Ugh, I was so close to skewering his eye with a champagne flute." You sigh, taking a drag of the joint in-between your lips, puffing the smoke out of your nose with practiced ease.
"Ah, if ya did that I'd have to bust you free from the goddamn cops." Hobie snorted derisively as you passed him the joint.
"My hero!" You say, clasping your hand under your chin and batting your eyelashes theatrically.
Hobie laughed, choking on the smoke as he puffed the joint. "You li'le shit! Don't make me laugh while I'm smoking!"
You giggle and kick your feet at him as his spindly hand swats at you.
Once your laughter dies down, you lay your legs across his lap, and you both fall into a comfortable silence, smoking and drinking as you watch the television.
His thumb caresses soothing circles into your ankles, your heels long discarded and tossed by his door.
Surprisingly, to his credit... Hobie didn't slide his hand up your thigh and under your dress like you anticipated he'd do. He kept his hands low, massaging you.
And you stayed like that, for almost two hours until he spoke up as the credits began to roll, your name tumbling out of his lips awkwardly.
"Yeah?" You say, stretching and arching your back as you reclined on the couch.
"Shoot me if this is crazy." Hobie said, rubbing the back of his neck, looking somewhere else in the flat.
You blinked at him, sitting up like someone dumped a bucket of ice water on you.
Was Hobie Brown nervous?
"I know you said when we started this you didn't want anything serious..."
"Hobie...."
He held his hands up to stop you so he could continue, "But hear me out. We get along great, we've got a shitton of great chemistry. You're funny as shit, and a badass..."
You lean forward, tucking your knees underneath you.
"You're fuckin' smart as hell, got no business bein' around me, but--"
"Hobie!" You snap, leaning into his face.
His eyes go wide and lock with yours, his thick, full lips opening and closing as he struggles to find the words to speak.
"Are you asking me to be your girlfriend?"
He awkwardly looked to the side, and you gripped his jaw with your hand, jerking his face to look at yours once more.
"Hobie. Again. Are you ask--"
"Yes."
You weren't sure what knocked you off more, the fact he interrupted you with such a matter-of-fact answer, or the fact you knew he was serious. And Hobie was rarely serious about much in his life.
But this?
You lean back, blinking at him, looking at your hands as you dropped them in your lap.
The seconds tick by at an agonizingly slow pace as you carefully make your decisions, pick your words like a farmer selects the best, ripest crop from the vine.
But at the same time... Maybe the decision had been made for the two of you all along?
A grin slowly creeps up your face and you look back at him. "Fuck it. Why not?"
What was it Miguel said? Canon events, and all that?
#🌙 answered#hobie brown x reader#hobie x reader#hobie brown x you#hobie brown#hobie spiderverse#atsv hobie
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Bonus Tracks (WIP) by @hangon-silvergirl
When Chrissy suddenly slams flat against his ceiling, Eddie decides that wigging out is now a very appropriate response, and he rushes back and away from whatever bullshit this Wes Craven fever-dream is trying to snap his addled mind with. His own body smacks into the kitchen counter with enough force to knock him, literally, onto his ass, and to bounce Wayne’s portable radio off and onto the linoleum floor with a thunk. In some overwhelming joke of deviant, karmic irony, it starts playing the local FM station, breaking through the buzzing electricity, supernatural tension, and Eddie's own panicked breathing, by introducing Billy fucking Joel to the moment. And of fucking course he's singing "Uptown Girl".
Five times Eddie Munson didn't kiss Chrissy Cunningham + The first time that he did.
Chapters:
"Uptown Girl" - Billy Joel
"Come Sail Away" - Styx
"Wish You Were Here" - Pink Floyd
"Born to Run" - Bruce Springsteen
"Whole Lotta Love" - Led Zeppelin
"And We Danced" - The Hooters
#hellcheer#hellcheer fanfic#eddissy#eddissy fic#eddie x#chrissy x eddie#my stories#hellcheer fanfic: bonus tracks#this used to be called something different!
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Cruel Summer - Part 10
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pairings: Eddie Munson x fem!reader
summary: After breaking up, you and Eddie do your best to soldier on with your lives, but you slowly begin to discover that there is a stronger line of connection keeping you together than just history…
word count: 10k
warnings: Angst, some fluff, descriptions of violence, mentions of throwing up, so sorry if I forgot anything!
A.N.: Part ten!! A little later than I had hoped to get it out (you know... life) honestly I think we can all just agree that Jason Carver is a douchebag — if you see typos, no you don’t I posted this while I’m at work lmao
It’s all weirdly fucked in the worst way and Eddie is not sure it’s entirely his fault, despite how you’re certainly endeavoring to make him feel that way, and how his psyche is pulling out all the stops to help.
It had been such a bizarre fight, one he was only semi-conscious of as just as it had last summer, Eddie’s brain clicked off the moment you started in on each other, rendering him useless to defend you from whatever hurtful things his psyche drummed up.
He shouldn’t have said what he said, he knows that… but goddammit if you didn’t break his heart a little saying what you said.
Maybe he was a fool to think you could pick things up where you left off, that things going forward would be okay again… maybe he’d allowed himself to get lost in a flight of fancy that you’d come looking for him out of anything beyond the promise you’d made to Wayne.
Maybe he was just feeling sorry for himself.
At the time, Eddie didn’t know if he was glad you followed him to the back of the boathouse, on account of the black cloud of violent hatred his hurt feelings were endeavoring to stir up in him to muddy his mind. That part of him, the rational part, was only glad that everyone else had taken the hint and left the room because they’d already seen enough, and if you two were going to fight he much preferred not to have an audience.
Only you aren’t that couple, you never fight.
The way Eddie sees it, most things aren’t worth fighting about, but the problem with when you did is that neither of you is willing to back down and let the other win.
You’re both just too damn stubborn.
“So, what, you’re hanging out with Steve now?” Eddie had asked sullenly, cutting off the apology you were trying to make and gesturing to the house.
You recoiled in response, eyebrows jumping up to your hairline, blinking rapidly as you shook your head like it was the most ridiculous thing you’d ever heard.
For some inexplicable reason, it only made Eddie furious – maybe because the rational part of him knew it was ridiculous but it was an easy irrationality to jump to, a quick way to get angry, and he was angry with you, just not for that reason
“Steve?” You choked, “What are you — Eddie, that’s bullshit. We aren’t even friends,”
“Coulda fooled me,” he sniffed, “‘Cause you two? Oof, gettin’ real heated — lotta tension there … And jumping in to save him like that? From me, no less—”
“Stop that,” you spat, “Don’t be mean over nothing,”
The word struck him like a slap to the face and Eddie had to fight very hard to stay calm.
“Nothing.” He echoed, taking the time to breathe before really reacting because you’d just thrown him away like garbage in front of everyone and now you were calling it nothing?
Talk about bullshit.
The fight went on from there, needless and stupid until you finally threw up your hands and made a harsh, aggravated sound.
“Why are you being such a jerk? I mean why are we even fighting?”
Eddie bit the inside of his cheek until he tasted blood in a futile attempt to keep his mouth shut, but just like with everything else in his life, he just couldn’t help himself.
“Well, Princess, it’s like you said, I’m not your fucking boyfriend.” He sniffed, feeling a bit too much like he’d just opened his mouth and breathed in a lung full of water to drown himself, considering the way he knew how much you hated that pet name — Princess.
Your jaw flexed as you clenched your teeth and fought the rush of tears suddenly shining in your eyes and, like coming back to his senses, Eddie could feel himself breaking the surface too late, just like last time.
“… and you don’t love me anymore — silly me, how could I forget,” you spat, and the venom in your tone burned him down to the bone.
Oh, that’s not fair… it’s just not fair…
Despite the deep and penetrating ache swelling behind his lungs and all his hurt feelings, hearing you say it made Eddie’s guts seize and his vision go briefly spotty.
The blame swung around and hit him with enough force to leave him winded, one final blow before the ringing of the bell, and just like that it was over. As suddenly as it had descended, the black cloud of his anger lifted, leaving Eddie alone in that room with you and the ringing echo of what he had just said.
He’d done it again.
It’s not fucking fair.
You turned on your heel and stalked off into the house before he could even try to think of what his next move was — should he defend himself? Apologize?
He didn’t do either, instead, he followed you and called your name only to have it drowned out when you slammed the door and left him standing there, feeling like an asshole with everyone staring at him.
You didn’t speak to each other the rest of the night following the departure of Dustin and the others. Eddie didn’t even see you again until the following day, as you stayed in the room you’d closed yourself in, and he took the couch because you needed your space and he was too ashamed of himself to try and go face what he’d done.
In the morning Eddie was a little braver, and when you finally reemerged, eyes red and swollen – from sleep or crying, he couldn’t rightly tell, he wasn’t quite brave enough to ask – he’d tried a whole host of jokes, and comments to test the waters. He complained about his sore back, gently teased you about sleeping in Rick’s bed, wondered idly if this is what Wayne imagined you’d be doing when he sent you to find him, anything he thought might get a reaction out of you.
None of it garnered any sort of response, save for you gently asking him to leave you alone.
Eddie could hardly believe he’d heard you correctly.
“Are you serious?”
You wouldn’t look at him as you twisted the sleeves of your jacket down over your hands, just like Chrissy had in the hallway only a few days ago – Christ, that felt like years ago now…
His whole life came rushing back to him in a second, and Eddie remembered with a start the conversation he’d had with Ms. Kim – he’s graduating … he needs to tell you that he’s finally graduating … but you won’t look at him.
“I just need some space, okay?" You'd sighed, "You stay on your side of the room and I’ll stay on mine and we’ll leave it at that until we’re both ready to talk about it.”
He was ready to talk now, but much as it hurt to do so, as much as it felt like you were hurtling down the road toward breaking up all over again, Eddie took the hint and left you alone.
It's a miserable day, sitting together in the deafeningly quiet house, weighed down by the miasma of everything you’d said to each other the night before.
By the time the sun sets again, Eddie is crawling out of his skin.
He needs to apologize, beg your forgiveness, but he doesn’t want to make things worse by trying to talk to you before you are ready. So far he’s been smart enough not to push it, but it’s dark now and you haven’t so much as looked at him all day – he can’t stand another minute of this bullshit tension.
He doesn’t care about what you said, he doesn’t care that you hurt his feelings, he just needs to fix what he’s broken so that you can move past it already and try to get back to the good part.
From his spot on the couch, he can see you sitting at the kitchen table, shuffling a deck of cards you’d pulled out of a drawer a few hours earlier – he’d seen you do it and asked if you wanted to play Hearts, but you’d pretended you hadn’t heard him and slunk silently into the other room.
He wishes you would look at him, that he could crack a stupid joke and be certain that you’d level him with that same dour look and pretend you don’t think it’s funny like you always do.
It’s now or never, he supposes.
Eddie swallows hard and fights to bring the words up around the knot in his throat.
“Hey,” He calls.
He feels tender and bruised under the harshness of his voice, ringing strangely against his ears after not speaking all day.
Slowly, you glance over at him. You hold his gaze for a brief moment before looking away again, and Eddie tells himself it’s a good sign. At least you aren’t ignoring him anymore.
He takes it as permission to approach and leaps up from the couch to cross to the kitchen with an odd desperation, practically tip-toeing as he goes like he’s afraid to make too much sound.
When he reaches the table, he lingers at your side, standing idly for a very long moment and anxiously wiping his palms across his jeans as he waits for you to say something.
Silence.
Eddie gestures awkwardly to the chair.
“Can I sit?”
You shrug.
It’s not a no – Not-a-No is a win in Eddie’s books – so he whips back the chair beside you and plants himself in it, realizing too late that maybe the one across from you would have been the safer option, but he’s too committed now to get up and move.
You don’t acknowledge him as he settles, you just keep shuffling those damn cards.
It’s another long moment of watching your hands move before Eddie musters the courage to address the nasty little elephant in the room.
He clears his throat and your hands stutter over the cards.
“... So… about last night,” He starts, “About what I said–”
“I don’t care.” You bite, and Eddie feels his heart seize.
Oh… shit.
Thankfully, before he can drive himself crazy beginning to try and decipher what that could possibly mean, you heave a sigh that carries the weight of the world and finally — finally set the cards down.
“I mean I don’t want to talk about it,” You clarify, folding your hands neatly in front of you and twisting the cheap silver ring you have sitting on your middle finger.
Eddie hadn’t noticed it before, he can’t help but stare at it with a strange and misplaced vehemence before glancing reflexively at the ring with the dark stone sitting on his own hand.
He resists the urge to take your hand and slide the delicate silver band off of your finger to replace it with his own as you continue.
“I’m over it.” You say, shaking your head.
“...Even so–” He insists – he's been quietly practicing his apology all day and he'll be damned if he doesn't get to say it.
You don’t let him finish.
“Look, we both said things we shouldn’t have, but there’s no taking them back and now we’re just going to have to live with it.”
Eddie doesn’t know what that means – just live with what?
All he wants is to bask in the euphoria of you finally talking to him again, but he doesn’t like the jagged edge of what you're saying. It sounds too final, like you’re going to suggest that once this is all over, you should go your separate ways and never speak to each other again.
He doesn’t know if he could handle something like that, even if it would be fair, he thinks it might break him.
“...All I want to say is that I’m sorry.” Eddie says in a rush, tentatively reaching out to trace his index finger along the ridge of your knuckles, “And that I do love you…”
You breathe out hard through your nose and furrow your brow.
“You’ve got a funny way of showing it.” You bite, glaring at him from the corner of your eye, but you don’t flinch out from under his touch, so he uses it as permission to take your hand, in spite of his better judgment.
He turns it over in his, lacings his fingers with yours, and searches for comfort in the familiarity of how his hand dwarfs yours in size.
“I’m sorry…” he says again, and then because he’s been silently rehearsing this speech all day, he can’t help but finish the line, “I love you…”
If things weren’t so heavy, he might have tried to lighten the mood by prompting you to return the feeling.
Now you say it back, he would say, but he doesn’t dare, despite how desperate he is to hear it.
It’s the fourth time he’s told you he loves you in less than twenty-four hours – not that he’s been counting – and he hasn’t been able to keep himself from getting stuck on the fact that you haven’t said it back…
“…I know,” You mumble, hanging your head and picking at a piece of laminate, flaking up from a deep groove in the tabletop.
It hurts more than he’s willing to admit. Part of him wants to brush it off, chalk it up to nothing more than a Star Wars reference – Empire Strikes Back no less, which under normal circumstances would be very fucking cool of you – but another part, smaller if not decidedly louder, is insisting that you’re refusing to tell him you love him because you simply don’t anymore – it makes Eddie feel like his throat is closing up.
That part of him wants to grab you and shake you out of this weird, sad version of the person he inadvertently manufactured – it wants to tell you he loves you until he’s blue in the face and you have to say it back so that he doesn’t keel over and die from the apparent lack of your love…
Eddie doesn't get the opportunity to address it, however, as suddenly there is the sound of an approaching vehicle, drawing your collective attention and cutting the moment short – tires crunching on gravel, the dull roar of an engine pulling closer before cutting out, and the whine and thump of car doors opening and slamming shut.
“Finally,” You sigh, “I was wondering where those guys had gotten to.”
Eddie watches as you push up from the table and breathes out harshly as he tries to swallow the emotion rising in his chest.
It’s not fair that after a full day of radio silence, they would show up now when he’s trying — and failing — to bear his soul to you.
He wants to ask where you stand, if you’ve got any chance at a future after all this, but he’d gone and wasted the whole day trying to muster the courage to say his piece, and now he’s just going to have to wait.
Still, he tells himself that it’s probably better this way. With Dustin and the others here, it will give him something to distract from the gaping question mark that is your relationship and whether you’ll ever want to see him again after this.
Only suddenly Eddie can’t help but wonder why they would pull the car right up to the house after all that talk about laying low, not drawing attention to his whereabouts – that seems… wrong.
You cross the room to the front window just as a cold and creeping foreboding begins to ooze into Eddie’s veins, like the jelly from inside an ice pack – something is not right, and the feeling is only amplified by the little voice quietly but persistently warning Eddie to proceed with caution.
When the first of the flashlight beams cross the window, Eddie feels his heart drop into his stomach and ricochet right back up into his throat. He chokes on it.
Danger! Danger, Will Robinson!
“What the hell are they doing?” You ask no one in particular, inching toward the window to steal a peek through the shuttered blinds.
“Sweetheart, don’t—” Eddie starts, jumping up from the table to reach out and try and grab you, but then your body goes rigid and you rocket backward, colliding bodily with him.
There’s that trilling alarm once again, screaming run! Only this time you’re there to back it up, which is highly disturbing.
“It’s not them.” You gasp, curling your fingers into his jacket sleeve as you twist around to face him.
Of course, that’s exactly what he was worried about, but being right doesn’t do anything to alleviate the way Eddie’s body is attempting to send him into cardiac arrest.
“Shit —”
You take him by the hand and pull him through to the living room as the shining of the flashlights intensifies through the kitchen window. You move as quickly and quietly as you can, slipping through the inner door and back out into the boathouse which has suddenly become that much worse by darkness and imperceivable danger.
Eddie had foolishly hoped he wouldn’t have to go back out here, what with the spiders and the lingering atmosphere of your fight, but desperate times call for desperate measures, and any creepy crawly creature is suddenly much more palatable to whoever it was you’d seen out the window.
You shut the door behind you with a loud thump, and he holds his breath as he can only imagine the sound must have rung out through the house like a gunshot.
He didn’t see you grab the walkie-talkie, but suddenly you’re holding the big clunky device out to him and imploring Eddie to take it.
He doesn’t need to be told what to do with it as he switches over to channel two and presses the button on the side.
“Dustin, come in Dustin— are you there?” No response, just loud, screaming static. “Hello?”
Of course, it is absolutely fucking typical of his luck that no one would be on the other line. What else did he expect?
You’ve got your ear pressed to the inner door, listening for any apparent signs of movement inside the house, which is extremely unnerving.
“Who is it?” Eddie asks, not daring to raise his voice above a whisper
You don’t answer, electing instead to put a finger to your lips.
“Sweetheart —” you shush him harshly, and he turns his frustration with it back on the radio “Dustin, do you copy? It’s me, Eddie — remember me? Pick up, pick up, somebody pick the fuck up!”
Nothing but static.
Eddie can feel himself breaking into a cold sweat as he watches you move from the door to one of the tiny windows, peering carefully out into the darkness. He strains to listen for any sort of movement – in the house, outside of the house – thinking back to the blinding terror he’d experienced in the moments before he’d discovered you skulking around outside the day before.
For a long moment, there is nothing but the whirring white noise of the walkie-talkie and a very tiny part of Eddie starts to wonder if maybe they’d gone, whoever they were. That part of him, foolish as it is, hopes that maybe you jumped the gun on panicking and it’s just Wayne out there, coming to meet up with you.
Somehow Eddie can’t imagine he’ll get so lucky twice.
“Sweetheart—” He starts, hoping to circle back to the looming question of just who the fuck it was you saw out there, but you drop from the window and steal a glance back toward him before he can get the words out.
“It’s Jason Carver.” You say flatly.
Eddie feels his blood run cold.
“Shit —”
Surely this has got to be some kind of sick joke the Universe is playing on him, some kind of karmic justice for all that thinking about corrupting Chrissy just to spite Jason.
“Hey, Dustin, it would be really great if you would pick up because we’re in serious need of help here!” He hisses into the radio.
Static.
He is so fucking stupid, and he is so, so fucked… and now he’s pulled you into this, and no one is coming to help.
“Dustin? Fuck— anyone! Please!”
Nothing.
In a fit of desperate frustration, before he realizes what he’s doing, Eddie swears harshly and whips the walkie-talkie to the side. He regrets it immediately as it collides with a heavy tackle box and sends it and its contents scattering to the floor with a thunderous crash.
Eddie exchanges a wide-eyed look with you and for a moment it is all either of you can do but hold your breath.
There are muffled voices then, sending you skipping across the creaky floor back toward him.
“Please tell me you’ve got a plan,” Eddie says in a quiet rush, feeling ever so slightly dizzy from the blood pounding in his ears as you come together in a huddle, “Because we’ve gotta get the fuck out of here right now.”
He watches you think, biting your lip then like you’re frantically wracking your brain for solutions. Then your brow smooths and your eyes go wide as something like a lightbulb going on flashes across your face.
“...Not both of us,” you say slowly, “...just you.”
He thinks he must not have heard you correctly because that sounds an awful lot like you’re suggesting he leave you behind.
“What?” He stammers.
You jerk your head toward the space behind Eddie, and he turns to see the boat launch, the moon shining on the black water behind him. He feels a cold lump forming in the pit of his stomach.
Surely, you must be joking.
“Get in the boat.” You say, “Make a run for it. I’ll try to buy you some time.”
Yeah… that’s what he thought you meant.
“…What are you nuts?” Eddie practically shouts, whipping back around to gawp at you – he drops his tone when you put a frantic finger to your lips, imploring him once again to shut the fuck up.
When he fails to act, you push past him to begin untethering the dinghy. Eddie follows, doing absolutely nothing to help and everything to try and make you see reason.
“You’re just gonna go out there and… and what? Talk to those guys? Just act totally casual and pretend like you haven’t seen me?”
“Yes.” You insist, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world as you unwind the last bit of rope anchoring the boat to the post.
It drops to the water below with a thunderous splash and makes Eddie feel sick.
“No —” He says, fervently shaking his head, “No, no way, this is crazy – Babe, they’re crazy. They’ll tear you apart!”
“We don’t have a lot of options here, Eddie.” You argue, taking him by the shoulders to twist him around so that he is facing the boat.
This is so crazy, he hates every part of this stupid plan.
“We have at least one other option –” he insists, “We both get in this boat and get the hell out of here!”
Eddie takes an involuntary step forward when you give him a gentle shove and suddenly he’s standing with one foot in the hull and one foot on the deck.
“Look – see the motor?” You say, pointing, “It’s pull to start, just like a lawnmower.”
He turns to look, dutifully, but barely gives himself the chance to register what he’s supposed to be looking at – the motor? Fuck the motor – before he turns back and says your name, begging you to reconsider.
“Please tell me this is a big stupid joke and you’re about to tell me the real plan.”
You aren’t listening to him anymore, your attention is fixed on the outer door where the sounds of voices are growing steadily louder.
You are very quickly running out of time here.
“Go,” You say, dismissing him with a wave that feels entirely too flippant for the gravity of what you’re suggesting – what, just leave? Without you?
Fuck that.
Before he’s realized he even moved, Eddie is grabbing at you, pulling at the sleeve of your jacket to try to coax you down into the boat with him.
“Come on,” He says, “We can go. Let’s just go.”
You tug against him, but he refuses to release you.
“We won’t make it if we both try to go.” You say, and he hates how rational you sound, “I’ll be right behind you, I promise – just go.”
As you turn to leave, Eddie snatches your hand up and holds you firmly to the spot – he’s so sorry he ever picked a fight with you because this has got to be some bizarre way of punishing him for saying all those things, trying to push you away a second time.
He can’t imagine what else it could be considering you’re not that stupid to go risking your life for him like this – he’s suddenly so afraid that if he lets you go out there, he’ll never see you again.
He’s losing you again, watching you slip away with you standing there right in front of him.
“Baby, please — please, just come with me —”
You jerk your hand out of his grasp and whirl around.
“Will you get the fuck out of here already?” You hiss, raising your voice as much as you dare.
Eddie’s heart is in his throat, throbbing, and swelling and threatening to choke him, and he’s halfway to panicking that if he leaves you behind something terrible is going to happen, and it’s going to be his fault.
He can’t let you go out there and face Jason and the Argonauts on your own, but you won’t listen, no matter how he pleads with you.
You’re really going to do this. Oh, Jesus fuck, you’re going to get yourself killed. For what? For him? No, no no no please no.
“You said you wouldn’t leave me.” Eddie chokes, getting caught on the jagged edge of his breathing and fisting his hand in the front of his shirt as the pervasive skittering of panic begins to wash over him – it always hits him in the worst moments…
“Eddie, I’m not leaving you.” You insist, staring back at him with wide-eyed desperation, “I’m trying to save your goddamn life.”
Of course, some part of him knows that, but it’s still shocking to hear you say it, like the clanging of a bell.
He’d been so caught up in the rush of having you back and the concept of losing you again so soon that he’d completely forgotten that this isn’t about your relationship — Eddie remembers too late that he is in danger. Real danger. He’s still that animal caught in a trap, and suddenly he’s lingered too long. The hunters are closing in and there is a very good chance that they will kill him if they catch him.
The crunch of gravel beneath approaching footsteps reaches you and Eddie stands paralyzed, helpless to stop you as you rush to the door.
You latch the flimsy lock – some good that will do if those fuckers decide to kick the door in.
This is wrong, this is all so wrong. He’s not safe, and you’re here which means you’re not safe and he can’t let you go but if he stays he’s going to die. He doesn’t know what to do, and it has him frozen to the spot.
Eddie doesn’t know when he took that second step back, but suddenly he’s standing in the boat and you’re kneeling on the deck above him and you’ve never felt so far from him as you do now.
Your hands come down to bracket Eddie’s face and you force him to look at you – you have to say his name twice before it makes it through the haze of his panic.
“Eddie – you have to go, now.” You plead, and he can’t help but shake his head, like a petulant child – he’s got to run, but he won’t leave you, and you’re very clearly hell-bent on staying — somehow he knows there is nothing he can do to change your mind, and it makes him feel like he’s about to come apart at the seams.
“Please go,”
“Not without you,” he argues, hands coming up to grip your wrists.
“Eddie–”
“No, Man – I’m not gonna leave you here!”
You stare at him, brows pinched tight over your eyes as you search his face for the answer to an unknowable question.
The faintest hint of something he can’t make out flashes across your features and you make a harsh sound of aggravation before pushing forward to slant your lips over his in a hard, frantic kiss. It’s startling, in a brightly euphoric sort of way, but it is a rushed thing that is over before it’s even really begun.
Still, it does the job of breathing a little rationality back into Eddie’s shaking form.
There is no time for sentiment, but when you pull away it is only to press your forehead tightly against his.
“Why do you have to be so goddamn chivalrous all the time?” you grind out, and in spite of everything it pulls a short burst of airy, relieved laughter out from Eddie’s lungs. His head is swimming from the kiss, from the sudden and inappropriate levity of the moment, and how desperately he loves you — only he realizes too late you weren’t being funny.
You breathe out harshly in a way that is more of a sob than a sigh and the sound is disturbing enough to startle Eddie into a strange clarity.
“Eddie… please just go.” you whimper, fighting a losing battle against the tears collecting on your lashes, “I can’t – I can’t lose you again.”
Hearing you say it causes his heart to thump solidly in his chest, and suddenly there’s no arguing with you. You’re not calm, you’re scared, scared enough that you’re willing to risk life and limb to make sure he gets away because you don’t want to lose him — it’s the closest thing to I Love You he’s heard since August, and he decides in an instant it’s enough.
Now he has to go.
Eddie can hear Jason’s voice barking orders right outside the door, and he feels you bristle under him.
It’s now or never. Move or die, Man.
“You’ll be right behind me, right?” He prompts, failing to suppress the anxiety spiking in his midsection when you nod against him
It’s not enough, he needs to see your eyes when you say it — he puts a hand on your neck at the base of your skull and pulls you back to make you look at him, really look at him.
“Yes? You promise?”
“I promise.” You breathe, red-faced and sniffling.
“Okay… okay… get out of here.”
You push up in a flash and bolt to the inner door shared by the boat house and the house proper, and Eddie stands in the boat, turning in useless circles and fumbling with anything else he thinks he needs to do to escape. Any kind of proper nautical procedure flies right over his head – he doesn’t know boats, he barely knows cars except for how to hotwire them, and he’d gained that knowledge against his will.
You don’t know anything about cars or boats, but he wishes you were coming with him.
He can’t shake the feeling that this is about to go horribly, terribly wrong, because as much as he hates to admit it, you have never made the best plans.
You’ll be right behind him, you promised, but suddenly, there is an old familiar voice screaming at Eddie to call out to you, the same one that had implored him to call out to his mother the last time he saw her.
Just in case, it tells him, and the suggestion of it seizes his heart in a cold panic.
“Hey!” He bites, perhaps a little too loud, whipping around to look at you where you’ve paused at the door, hovering just over the threshold, “I swear to God, if I don’t see you in two minutes I’m coming right back for you, you hear?”
You nod breathlessly, then disappear back into the house. Eddie stands listening, stretching what borrowed time he still has to the nanosecond until he can hear the faintest sound of your voice calling out to the interlopers. It is met by their own shouting, and the sound of receding footsteps as your challenge is met with a chase.
Another wave of paralyzing fear threatens to wash over Eddie, but he shakes it off with a harsh exhale and twists around to become acquainted with the motor.
Pull to start, you’d said, just like a lawnmower … Eddie’s never mowed a lawn in his goddamn life. He thinks he hears a desperate shout, but he brushes it off.
He tells himself that you’re fast and you’re smart, smarter than any of those meathead jocks, you know what you’re doing, even if he doesn’t know if he really believes it himself.
You’re fine, you’re going to be fine.
He does his best to steady the rock of the boat as he takes one, two, three steadying breaths, then rips back on the rope with everything he’s got.
The engine roars to life.
+++
It was a bad plan from the start, you’re big enough to admit that, but you never in your wildest imagination thought it would take the turn it did.
The fingers of your right hand are broken – bent and twisted up out of shape like Patrick McKinney’s body, lying at the bottom of Lover’s Lake, and the pain is bad.
Worse than anything you have ever experienced, worse even than the time you’d foolishly let Dustin get behind the wheel of your Toyota and he proceeded to back the car over your foot.
That idea had been just as stupid as the thought that you could just lead Jason and the others away from Eddie with no trouble.
Worse than the pain is the image burned into the back of your eyelids. You can’t stop seeing it every time you close your eyes, can’t stop hearing the way Patrick’s bones snapped, the wet smack of his body hitting the water as he dropped.
It makes you feel like you’re going to be sick.
The memory combined with the throbbing pain in your hand is too much, and before you have time to realize what’s about to happen, you double over to empty your stomach contents into the underbrush creeping up around your ankles.
You’re so glad you didn’t eat those Spaghetti-o’s.
You cough and spit, and then miserably kick at a pile of leaves to cover the mess before twisting away from it. You’re exhausted, you’re cold, and you’re starting to think you’ll never feel anything but pain and fear ever again.
You’d walked all night through the woods, and Eddie spent half as much time walking as he did turning around to make sure you were still there, like Orpheus leading Eurydice out of the underworld.
Only you didn’t fade away under his gaze, you were there every time he turned back to look at you, dutifully trudging along after him, cradling your hand against your body and offering only the briefest hints that you heard him when he asked for the hundredth time if you were alright.
You’re really not, but you couldn’t seem to answer him, no matter how many times he asked.
Your jaw had wired itself shut and your brain had deflated in your skull to the point that you were really only even vaguely aware of everything around you. The pain in your hand shooting up the length of your arm, the dull throbbing of the bruise you were sure was forming over your eye, the crunch crunch crunch of Eddie’s footsteps as he led you on through the woods.
Sometime after the sun had risen, you reached the clearing, and Eddie set you down on the big flat rock that you’re currently perched on, promising he’d be right back before disappearing through the trees beyond.
You don’t know how long ago that was, you don’t even know where you are in relation to the lake, to town, to anything, you only know that you should have just gotten in the boat with Eddie and made a run for it, but you didn’t, and you paid dearly for that spectacularly bad decision.
You don’t know why you thought you could outrun Jason and the others, except that you’d fooled yourself into believing it for Eddie’s sake.
You needed him to run, but he wasn’t about to leave you behind, the big dumb chivalrous idiot that he is, so you made a promise you weren’t optimistic about keeping – you told him you’d be right behind him.
You suppose you were, though not in the capacity you’d imagined.
You went out to face the tigers, and you ran when Jason and Patrick chased you – that was the extent of your plan.
Get them to chase you, find a way to give them the slip, and then go find Eddie on the other side of the lake.
Lots of moving parts, lots of variables, and lots of ways it could go wrong, and you’d very conveniently forgotten how your plans always seem to go wrong.
Maybe you thought you could reason with the basketball team. You’d been the herald of their celebrations not even forty-eight hours earlier, after all, maybe they trusted you enough that you could simply send them on their way with a false lead and a phony promise of honesty.
Then again, you’re good enough friends with Lucas that you had no doubt in your mind he would have vouched for you, had he been with them. He wasn’t, of course, because that’s just typical of your rotten luck.
You ran when they chased you, and they caught you because you foolishly hadn’t accounted for the fact that they would split up in their search for Eddie. It was Jason and Patrick lurking outside of the boathouse, and it was Andy, the fucking skeezeball, who’d caught you coming out of the house and held you by your hair until Jason could catch up.
“Where’s your freak boyfriend?” He taunted you as you thrashed under the grip of his sneering toady.
You didn’t have time to answer, as the roar of the dinghy’s engine cut the air and answered for you — well what do you know… he’s right there.
Jesus Christ, you really didn’t think this one through.
You did, however, take the opportunity of their distraction to escape, bracing one foot in the gravel and kicking out hard with the other. Your foot collided with Jason’s stomach and forced you backward into Andy, who toppled over backward with a surprised grunt and pulled you down with him.
Escaping his clutches was as easy as slipping out of your jacket, and once you were free, you scrambled to your feet and made a break for the shore.
You knew well enough that you hadn’t bought Eddie enough time to put any kind of distance between himself and the shore, but then again he’d only given you two minutes to throw these guys off the scent, so really, bad plan all around.
Still, you thought maybe if you could reach the water you could swim for it, get out to the boat and to safety — no such luck.
You’ve always been fast, but you’ve never been a star basketball player running purely on rage, adrenaline, and the blind determination to catch the girlfriend of the guy who apparently killed your girlfriend.
Vengeance is one hell of a motivator.
Jason was on you in an instant, tackling you and wrestling you to the ground – you managed to slip from his grasp if only briefly, but you cried out in strangled protest when he seized you by your ankle and wrenched you right back.
The sound echoed across the lake like a skipping stone, alerting you to the fact that it was suddenly much too quiet over the water — you could no longer hear the boat’s motor running, but you could hear the faint trilling of Eddie trying to reason with the piece of shit. Your heart seized with the realization that he was now stranded out on the water, and you twisted and thrashed in an attempt to claw your way to freedom.
That’s when Jason’s foot came down on your hand. There was nothing you could do to stifle the scream that tore itself out of you when you felt the bones in your fingers snap, giving way and folding beneath the force of all his weight pressed into his stupid sneaker.
He was saying something to you, monologuing about Chrissy you’re sure, or maybe about what he was going to do to Eddie when he caught him, but you could hardly hear him over your own pitiful sobbing.
How had this gone so, so terribly wrong so goddamn fast?
Then that same stupid fucking sneaker came down to collide with your midsection, driving the breath from your lungs with a harsh gasp and a fit of coughing.
You rolled onto your back, trying simultaneously to shield your abdomen and cradle your ruined hand as Jason straddled you in the sand and held you pinned. You thrashed beneath him, kicking and screaming and fighting for an escape until your good hand came free, then you thrust the heel of your palm up into his face and dug your nails in, scratching deeply where you could find purchase across his skin.
He seized you roughly by the front of your shirt – Eddie’s shirt – and jerked you forward. And then he hit you, a hard crack to your brow that sent stars skittering across your vision as your head snapped back into the dirt.
Your mouth filled with the tang of blood as your teeth snapped closed on the tip of your tongue and you made a harsh, pitiful sound. Somewhere in the distance, you thought you could hear Eddie shouting your name, kicking up a wild, desperate fuss, but your ears were ringing too loud to hear any of it.
You could hardly believe any of that had just happened. You could almost dismiss the whole breaking your fingers thing, but he’d punched you in the face.
Jason Carver punched you in your goddamn fucking face and you’re pretty sure you’ll never get over that.
You don’t even think Billy Hargrove, the equal opportunity motherfucker that he was, would have sunk so low as to sock a girl in the face like that, but apparently, Jason Carver would – some upstanding fella he turned out to be, truly one of Hawkin’s finest.
Strange to think that getting punched in the face and having your fingers stomped into oblivion wasn’t even the worst thing that happened in the time it took to flee Rick’s place and find you sitting on this rock in the middle of the woods.
Your clothes have not dried yet, and you sit shivering where Eddie left you, feeling the chill and the horror of what you’d witnessed seep into your bones.
Much of what happened after is a blur, you don’t know how you finally managed to get away from Jason, you only know the shock of the cold water when you finally hit the lake was enough to stop your head from spinning enough to force some clarity to the front of your mind.
You remember swimming, you remember Eddie pulling you up into the boat, and you remember him grabbing you and trying to shield you from what was happening.
“Jesus Christ – don’t look–!”
You remember thinking his voice sounded strange, high, and panicked like that, and when you looked Patrick McKinney was fifteen feet up in the air, rigid and trembling – you’re gonna think I’m crazy, she started fucking floating…
You choked on a strangled scream when the first of his bones snapped up out of place, and you staggered back a step, instantly forgetting that you were not standing on solid ground. You weren’t even really aware of your body moving, jerking backward in alarm, but then you collided with Eddie, the boat listed, and you were in the water again.
The dream was bad enough, but dreams are dreams. Dreams are bullshit, what happened to Patrick was all too real, and somehow you know you’re never going to stop hearing the sound of his bones breaking.
A ruckus draws your attention to the copse of trees standing ahead of you on the other side of the clearing. Your head snaps up in alarm, and you hold your breath, bracing yourself for the gold and greens of the Hawkins Tigers catching up to you, but it’s only Eddie who comes crashing back into the little hollow that has become your temporary haven.
You force a harsh sigh of relief out through your chattering teeth and watch him lope across the clearing toward you.
He has a new walkie-talkie strung around his body and a white plastic case swinging in his hand – you realize with a start that you don’t know how long he’s been gone. It could have been fifteen minutes, it could have been two hours.
You don’t care, you’re only so desperately glad he’s back.
Eddie skids to a halt and drops to his knees in front of you.
“Hey,” He says breathlessly, discarding his new items and reaching out to grab you and rub his hands up and down the length of your arms, trying to create some kind of friction against the way you’re shivering, “Sorry that took so long, how are we doing? Are you good? …talk to me, Baby.”
You shake your head and squeeze your eyes shut, because how are you supposed to be okay after something like that?
“I threw up,” You say honestly, breathing hard against the way his touch jostles you and makes your arm throb.
Under normal circumstances, you might be ever so slightly embarrassed about admitting that, but the only thing you can manage to think about is how badly your fingers fucking hurt.
“That’s okay,” Eddie hums, “Hey— I’ll tell you a secret. I did too. After Chrissy…?” He trails off under the harshness of your gaze.
It doesn’t make you feel any better, you don’t want to talk about Chrissy anymore.
Almost as if he can read your thoughts, Eddie drops the subject quick and releases you. He turns his attention to the little white case, flipping the lid open then to reveal a host of standard first aid equipment — bandaids, burn cream, gauze.
“Where’d you get that?” You manage to grind out through your clenched, chattering teeth.
Eddie dismisses the question with a quick shake of his head.
“Don’t worry about it,” he says, but you are worried about it. You know Eddie to be a lot of things, but discreet has never been one of them. You watch him carefully as he sifts through the little case.
“Did you steal it?” you press.
He flinches and hesitates, glancing warily at you like he’s afraid to admit it.
“...Construction site,” he says after a moment, and you feel your stomach bottom out. “Nobody’s gonna miss it.”
But of course, that’s not the point. He’s perhaps the most wanted person in Roane County by now, and he’d gone off on his own for the indiscernible amount of time it took to find the walkie-talkie and the first aid kit. Someone could have seen him.
“Eddie…”
“We need it more than they do.” He mumbles.
You can’t argue with that sentiment, as much as you hate to admit it.
“Okay, let me see,” Eddie says once he finally finishes taking inventory of the first aid kit. He reaches for your ruined hand, and his brows come together over his eyes when you hesitate. “Let me see it, Baby.”
It takes you the better part of half a minute, but you finally relent and peel your arm from where you’ve had it pressed to your body. The movement alone is enough to send a lancing pain surging through your broken digits, but when you feel the pressure of his fingers on the throbbing flesh, as gentle as you’re sure he’s trying to be, you flinch involuntarily away from him and draw a sharp intake of breath – fucking shit that hurts.
He releases you quicker than if he’d put his hand on a burning stove and makes a distraught sound in the back of his throat.
“Christ — okay, it’s okay.” He says immediately, breathing out a shaky sigh to try and steady himself, you can’t be sure if he's saying it for your benefit or for his own.
By the time you went in and out of the water and finally got to the shore on the other end of the lake, Eddie had been a wreck — of course, you hadn’t accounted for that in getting stuck out in the doldrums like he had, he’d been forced to sit helplessly in the boat and watch Jason kick the shit out of you.
You’ve lost track of how many times he’s apologized to you since you crawled out of the water.
It takes all of your willpower to resist the overpowering urge to jerk your hand back, as you know that the movement of doing so is going to hurt just as much as his tender probing does.
You whine out a pathetic noise as he turns your hand over, pressing down on the palm of your hand with his thumb to try and assess the damage.
“Shh, I know,” Eddie assures you gently, “I know it hurts.”
You swallow hard against the sentiment and watch him in an attempt to try and gauge his reaction.
It’s not good. You knew that from the moment it happened, but part of you hopes that maybe it is not as bad as it seems.
Somehow you are having a very hard time trying to convince yourself of that.
Your ring and smallest finger are bent and twisted out of shape where Jason crushed them under the heel of his shoe, the purpling bruise is spread across the length of your hand, stretching up nearly all the way to your wrist.
It throbs unbearably under even the faintest ghost of Eddie’s touch.
It takes him a long time to react, and when he does, he makes a strange lilting sound in the hollow of his throat, an uneven, shaky thing he hums out as he tilts his head.
“Oh, it’s not so bad.” He lies, and based on the way his tone does not match his words, you know it must be for your benefit because it actually is that bad— he clicks his tongue, dark eyes flicking up to regard you with a wry smile that he has trouble holding, “Look at you. Such a baby, making all this fuss over nothing.”
You know he’s joking, trying to lighten the mood, but the only problem there is you don’t think it’s funny in the slightest. There’s not a lot that is funny about what happened over the last few hours, despite the way something deep inside your psyche is imploring you to try and lighten the mood.
You can’t muster the effort, so you just sit there and try to breathe against the pervasive ache that lances up the length of your arm with every throbbing beat of your pulse.
A moment of heady silence bleeds between you as Eddie finishes his assessment of your broken hand.
“Okay.” he finally says, “So d’you want the good news or bad news first?”
You don’t have to think to answer.
“Good news,” you force yourself to say. “Always.”
Eddie breathes out an airy laugh and tries to bite back the smile quirking up his lips as he shakes his head, sending his shaggy curls dancing across his shoulders where they are still damp at the ends.
“Good news, huh?” He hums, then, “Okay, yes ma’am. The good news is it looks like that fucker only really got these two little guys on the end here,”
Eddie reaches for your fingers like he means to tug on them, but stops short as he thinks better of it and shows you his instead, waggling his ring and pinky finger at you.
He holds your gaze when you glance up at him and waits for you to acknowledge him.
You give a curt nod.
“Good girl.” He says, “Now the not-so-fun part – the bad news is … I’ve gotta set ‘em.” He hesitates a moment before continuing, “…it’s gonna hurt, Babe. I’m so sorry”
Your heart leaps up into your throat as suddenly he’s got your twisted fingers pinched delicately between his own.
“No, don’t — please don’t!” you gasp, seizing him by the wrist with your good hand and trying to jerk the wounded one away.
Eddie holds you to the spot and levels you with a deeply apologetic look.
“I can’t fix you up with ‘em bent like that.” He insists, but you shake your head.
“Eddie—”
You don’t know what it was you planned to say, how you planned to reason with him, but he doesn’t give you the chance to say it.
“Don’t worry, Sweetheart, it’ll be over real quick. I promise,” then, strangely, he perks up ever so slightly. “Hey – I’m a child of abuse, remember? I know what I’m doing.”
It’s yet another joke that doesn’t land.
“That’s not funny.” you snap.
Eddie offers you a lopsided shrug.
“It’s a little funny.”
You breathe out hard and feel a hot and burning panic welling up in your chest. It already hurts so badly, you can’t imagine what it’s going to feel like when he tugs them back into place.
You won’t dare ask what his exact qualifications are, how many times he’s done this before – you don’t want that kind of context, but you’re smart enough to know it isn’t going to be like it is in the movies.
A harsh tug followed by a loud click, and a manly grunt, then miraculously you're healed? Not a chance in hell.
“I don’t think I can do this.” You whimper, leaning reflexively into Eddie’s touch when his hand comes up to cup your cheek.
“Sure you can,” he says gently, “Come on, Babygirl, you’re way tougher than me — we'll go on three, okay?”
“Eddie, please…” you whine, “Let’s just wait, let’s just…” you trail off.
Just what? Just find a hospital? Sure, just go waltzing in with Eddie in tow and try to explain what happened to a doctor. There’s no good option here, it’s all so fucked.
“I ever tell you about my pet raccoon?” Eddie says suddenly.
It leaves your ears ringing. You feel your brows come together over your eyes as you gape stupidly at him.
“…What?”
“Yeah … I’ve made some stupid decisions in my day, but that one … well, it’s up there. Gotta be top three at least.”
You don’t answer right away, though only because you don’t expressly know what to say. You can’t say you’re exactly shocked, it’s a very Eddie thing to say, it’s only just that you cannot possibly fathom what has possessed him to break into a story about a childhood pet.
“What has this got to do with anything?”
“Shh, just listen, it’s important,” He says, “So, when I was a kid, all I wanted was a pet – this was before I went to live with Wayne, so it’s not like we didn’t have the room. The old house had a backyard and everything, it wasn’t exactly what you might call nice, but it was a legitimate house, y’know? So every year, all I asked for was a pet. Christmas, birthdays, it’s all I wanted. I was obsessed with it, but my old man didn’t like dogs and my mom was allergic to cats, so no dice in that department. Then one day, I get it in my head that if I can’t have a cat or a dog, I’ll just have to go and get myself some other kind of pet… so I’m like nine or ten, and somehow, I managed to lure this big fat raccoon into the yard and trap him under a milk crate – I know, hey I was a kid, I didn’t know any better–”
“Still don’t,” you can’t stop yourself from saying.
Eddie pulls a face.
“Hush – so I get him in the house, and I’m so proud of myself. I run my ass down to Benny’s where my mom worked, just like, so excited to tell her, show her how clever I was rigging that trap, right? The whole way home I’m hyping it up, I’ve got this big surprise and I won’t tell her what it is because I want her to see first hand. Only problem is that raccoons – they’re smart little fuckers, right? Getting out of traps is like their bread and butter, and this guy… man, this guy was crazy. Like, certifiably. He got out and he just went ape shit. We get home and the place is trashed, curtains are torn down, scratches all over the couch, pillows are ripped to shreds. My mom starts to freak out, so I panic and go looking everywhere for him like I’m gonna find him and fix it, right? I end up cornering him in the kitchen, you know, like an idiot, and what does this fucker do? He bites me–”
Without warning, Eddie jerks your fingers straight and they snap back into place with a loud click that you feel more than hear.
“Oh, fUCKING—SHIT!” You gasp and cry out, slumping forward to press your face against his shoulder.
For half a moment it is all you can do to suppress the urge to be sick as spots and colors explode across your vision.
The agonized sounds you make are muffled by the layers of denim and leather as Eddie rubs wide circles into your back and whispers reassuring, sweet nothings into your hair, punctuated by a litany of soft kisses.
“It’s okay, Sweetheart —I know — you did so good — try to breathe.”
You do, sucking greedily on a deep inhale and shouting out your pain and frustration and alarm and everything else you’re currently feeling.
“What happened to three!?” You wail, rocking back to level Eddie with a tense, incredulous glare.
He pulls a face that is almost halfway apologetic.
“You’re right, that’s on me.”
He reaches for your hand again, and you are reluctant to give it to him, for obvious reasons, until you see the ball of gauze in his hand. You relent, and watch him make quick work of binding your fingers, individually at first and then together.
It takes a long moment for the worst of the pain to fade back to the dull ache, and even longer for the urge to punch Eddie in his stupid, handsome face to go away. You won’t do it, especially considering the outrage you still feel over the fact that Jason punched you.
“So what happened after?” you sniff in an attempt to try and distract yourself – Eddie’s brows furrow in confusion, “What was so important about the raccoon?”
You watch as he goes through a strange journey of several emotions flashing across his face all at once - realization, chagrin, and humor even, and you feel your stomach sink as you can guess what it is he is about to say.
“Nothing,” he says honestly, and shrugs. “I needed to distract you,”
You aren’t sure if it’s the lingering effect of having your fingers pulled back into place or the bell-clanging shock of his response, but your ears are ringing again.
You could kill him.
“You’re the fucking worst—!” You shout, shoving him hard enough to knock him from his knees onto his ass. You regret the decision immediately as you remember your broken fingers and yelp as they light up in white-hot pain.
Eddie is laughing as he tries and fails to catch himself.
“It worked didn’t it?”
You ignore him in favor of stoking the fires of your indignation because as much as you hate to admit it, he’s right. He’d held you enraptured in the palm of his hand with that stupid story, and you hate that you’d let your guard down like that.
Then again, this is Eddie, isn’t that what you’re meant to do with him?
He watches you, groping aimlessly in the dirt, digging up handfuls of leaves and tossing them to the wayside as he waits for some kind of reaction you are unwilling to give him.
“If it makes you feel any better, that story ends with me getting a rabies shot.” He hums.
“It doesn’t.” You snap, but immediately regret it when he gives you a weak smile. You breathe out hard through your nose and chew at your lower lip, “...Was she mad? Your mom?”
Eddie huffs out an uneven breath and shrugs.
“Yeah, she was fucking pissed.” He says, casting his eyes down to his sneakers and smiling to himself in a way that feels secretive, “Only time I was ever in real trouble with her.”
Suddenly, inexplicably, you feel like you’re intruding on the moment. You are not oblivious to what it means, the fact that he shared that memory of his mother with you. You’d have to be living underneath a rock to miss the size of that gesture.
It hits you like a bolt of lightning – Skull Rock, not too far from your old house, and almost guaranteed to be abandoned in the middle of the day like this. It's the perfect place to hide.
“...I know where we should go.” You say suddenly. “Where we might be safe? For a little while at least…”
Eddie glances up at you with those big, dark eyes and nods to himself after a moment. He stands, brushing the detritus from his knees and backside, and offers you his hand.
You give him your left – the good one – and let him pull you to your feet.
“Lead the way, M’lady.” He says, still holding tight to your hand.
You stare down at the point of connection, then look back up at Eddie and feel a sudden and overwhelming rush of affection for him. All that fighting, the stupid way you’d ignored him all day – what did any of it mean in the face of everything happening here? Considering all the time you'd spent without him, missing him, what is the point of fighting about who said what when you’re together?
You surprise yourself by pushing forward then, closing what little distance there is between you with two short steps and wrapping your arms around his neck. You can’t help the sigh of relief you breathe when he pulls you tightly against him without a moment’s hesitation.
“I’m sorry–”
“It’s okay.” Eddie says immediately, stopping you before you can clarify what it is you are in fact sorry for, “It doesn’t matter,”
The sentiment makes your chest hurt.
“It does though…” You insist, stepping back so you can meet his gaze. “It matters to me,”
He purses his lips into a tight, horizontal line like he really has to think about it, then nods.
“Okay …” He hums, “No more splitting up though, okay? I know you’re out here being all brave and shit, trying to save me, but no more hero stuff. Together is better.”
You nod, and he gives you a very pointed look.
“Let me hear you say it,” Eddie prompts, and you nod again.
“Together is better.” You repeat, dutifully.
“Good girl,” He says. He adjusts the strap of the walkie-talkie across his shoulders and nods to you, “Let’s go.”
Taglist: @harrys-titties, @r-a-d-i-0-n-0-w-h-e-r-e, @itsrainingbisexualfrogs, @thicksexxualtensionaltension, @ganseysgff, @scoopsr0bininn, @pbs-theundeadmaggot, @audhd-dragonautagonaut, @clilxlxx, @alexandriaemily200, @averagestudent03, @but-vanessa, @cosmictime45, @timelordfreya, @forever-war, @munsonzzgf, @chervbs, @irisabrams, @mopeymopeymouse, @violetsandroses8
#cruel summer#cruel summer fic#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson fanfic#eddie munson x you#eddie munson imagine#eddie munson#stranger things fic#stranger things#i think i need to take a bit of a hiatus after this just because life is NOT slowing down and not even in the good fun way you guys#also I need to figure out how to get from here to there lmao
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in the big ol google doc, when esau dies, jacob is completely distraught. how does he try to cope? like i feel like hair pulling as an unhealthy coping mechanism for jacob. in the game, tainted jacob has a bald spot. and jacob seems the kinda guy to pull on his hair until it comes out when under a lotta stress. also, how does laz try to help? laz is shown to be abit more of less sympathetic person.
Another thing, what is Esau after he comes back to haunt jacob? A spirit trying to remind Jacob of his sins, or was it jacobs negative emotions and thoughts that made esau manifest as he is?
Lastly, how does both Jacob and Lazarus deal with esau?
Someone has read that monster of a Google doc????? Waow………
Anyway I feel like Jacob would be super depressed. I like the idea of him pulling out his hair in distress, but also consider: stress so big it just falls out. Lazarus brushes his hair and it just falls out in clumps… Speaking of which, yes, Lazarus is a bit of an ass, he’s not a bad person and Jacob is still his best friend (and future partner). It’s kinda sad but I envisioned Esau’s death as a huge growth opportunity for both of them, Jacob will learn to live as his own person without Esau and Lazarus will grow to be more responsible and less of a prick. He’ll finally realise how much Jacob means to him and will have to confront the fact that he’s not always been the best of friends to him (and Samson too, especially Samson, but that’s for another time) so he’ll try to make up for it.
I guess Lazarus would try and take over for Jacob. Like, taking care of him, making him food, making sure he eats and stuff… Jacob is also disabled, and Esau had been helping him in day-to-day life for the longest time, so Jacob is not only missing a brother but also a caretaker. Lazarus would immediately go to his house and take it from there, keeping tidy, making food etc. etc. he wouldn’t be alone of course, Bethany, Samson and even Eve will gladly stop by to help and make Jacob feel less alone… but also the fact that Jacob blames himself for his brother’s death will not make things easier for them. I feel like all my characters need therapy ngl. Maybe Samson can help him find a therapist…
As for Dark Esau… it’s Esau. He’s back. Basically the main idea was that Esau, in his first life, made some sort of deal with the devil to get revenge on his brother for everything he did to him (the birthright, the blessing etc.) but Jacob always managed to die before him, or before Esau gained his memories back, so he could never truly get revenge until now. This idea is still a bit fuzzy tho, don’t treat it like gospel. I also liked the idea that Esau’s rage is what constantly brought him back to life over and over, he just couldn’t let go. And not only because of Jacob! Esau’s grudge is also directed towards Isaac!!! Yes, Jacob stole his birthright but Isaac also refused to give him his blessing (and for a very stupid reason too!). And probably towards Rebekah too, since she was the one who originally pitted them against eachother… what I’m trying to say is that Esau has a huge grudge against his whole family, and nobody is safe.
When Esau started manifesting it was for Jacob only, and the man really thought he was going insane since nobody but him seemed to be able to see him. Lazarus was skeptical at first, but he’s dealt with enough supernatural bullshit (like being on a first name basis with the literal angel of death, knowing that demons exist etc. etc.) so while he thinks Jacob is only having a mental breakdown, but he’s still open to the possibility of him being actually haunted by his brother.
As for resolving the situation… eeeeeeh that’s still a bit fuzzy tbh. Like my main idea was that this situation would progressively escalate until Lazarus and Jacob had to find help with Judas and the others (because Apollyon is real powerful, Azazel is a demon and he might help, even Eden could chip in and lend a hand) but THEN Bethany would explode because of Dogma, and even Esau can’t bear to see someone he loved so much in so much pain, and I had this idea he would try and fight Dogma to save her and in doing so his should would be cleansed and ascend to heaven? It’s still a bit fuzzy, but I also think Isaac and Rebekah apologising could help… like it wouldn’t really do anything for Esau, but maybe it could help him let go of his anger and move on. Hell you know what? I’ll throw in Cain too, if someone knows what it’s like to kill your own brother and why it’s a bad thing it’s him! And his whole arc is about the importance of letting go and not let the past consume you etc. etc. it’s too perfect, he can help the flaming ghost. I also know how to shove it in the action: Dark Esau has completely reverted to his old memories and personality, which means he can only speak ancient Hebrew, like in Bible times. And Cain is the only one who can understand him! And then thanks to Cain he could unlock his most recent memories and realise he’s being stupid.
#godddd this was so long but I had a lot of fun answering this ask heheeeee thank u#I’ll eventually update the doc once I have the energy but damn this was enlightening#ask tag#lore post
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Ummm, I had a request in twisted wonderland could you make like a father figure guardian that gives gender neutral yuu hug or a pat on the head (any fatherly affection) and yuu’s so overwhelmed with happiness that yuu breaks down? It’s just that yuu didn’t have the best relationship with their dad and they never ever received any physical affections. Not that their dad was abusive physically or mentally but he never was really there and when he was he treated them sorta poorly because he didn’t know how to raise a kid. Or like he sorta put them thru a lotta dysphoria and they never felt comfortable enough around him to actually touch him. Haha if you could it’d make me very happy but if not that’s fine too!! Love your fics, have a good day! :)
This sorta feels like a pt.2 of my previous MC with a shitty father fic, but it's nice to have this approach too, not everyone with daddy issues was necessary abused so!
Guardian! School staff + MC that didn't get enough affection from their father back at home
Characters : Crowley, Crewel, Trein, Ashton
Gn pronouns were used.
TW : none
Context : From time to time, as you got more used to your new home (not sure if you can return to your previous one) you couldn't help but mentally compare your new guardian to your actual father.
A feeling of both relief and sadness washed over you the more you thought about it.
Do other people really grow with parents like your guardian? Not feeling uncomfortable around them? Not having to earn every bit of affection?
Dire Crowley
This man is the embodiment of "Where's my hug at?" but in the most dad way possible.
Especially if it's embarrassing for you in front of your friends.
he always hugs you goodbye when you're already heading to Ramshackle,
sometimes as he glares at your friends if he suspects any of them to have a crush on you.
i mean, he's not overly affectionate, but he's an eccentric, proud dad, and he HAS to show it.
You're used to this by now but you won't ever forget the first time he hugged you.
it had been several months since you arrived, and you were frustrated because Crowley didn't seem to care enough to bring you back home, even when he was so eager to be your guardian.
it didn't help that your classmates could always be in contact with their families and friends and you didn't even know how people you knew back at home felt about how you literally disappeared.
you were so mad.
you refused to attend your first morning class, Instead you went straight to his office.
and there he was, doing anything but research a way to send you back. As always.
that very day you were so homesick, and so fed up with his bullshit behavior that you lashed out at him.
As you were listing all the things that you missed from home, whether they were big, small, few, or many
You started to get more and more upset by the moment, and his response was to get up and
hug you????
you were shouting at him, angry as ever, and he had the nerve to do that??
nah but that sure made you shut up in an instant, in fact, as your eyes started to water you just hugged him back.
ok let's be honest it's most likely that he did that not knowing what else to do.
But there was a tiny part of you that only wanted that to happen whenever you were upset.
and that part of you wasn't new...
But it was just now, in this moment, that this piece of you, deemed insignificant, was finally heard.
and of course you started bawling like a baby right after. Happy, angry, sad, confused...
from that day on Crowley at least pretended to be trying to find your way back home.
Divus Crewel
it was the first time you got the max. score at one of his exams.
You figured that, that subject in particular was very similar to chemistry, so at least you weren't starting from scratch.
after two failed exams, you started to usually pass with the lowest grades but-
today you finally did it!!
and he was. SO PROUD
He's not that expressive or affectionate but he walked over at your desk to pat your head.
"Well done pup. i knew you could do this."
okay so
there was so much going on.
you were proven (by yourself) that you could actually keep up with your magic-user classmates and your new dad just told you how proud he was of your work!!
you were so happy-
so why were you crying?
but thinking about it, it actually made a lot of sense...
when Crewel noticed he freaked out a little bit. He just patted your head right???? he didn't hit you THAT hard.
when he asked if you were okay tho the answer wasn't so clear.
You were so happy right now, but so sad, because as you stared down at your score, you realized how much you've needed this kind of reassurance all your life.
it's not like you hated your dad from your og.world but... Any kind praise, any tender words... dude. even a hug felt like to much to ask.
So you figured that if you didn't have any of that you just had to try harder and prove you were worthy of it, right?
but, back at home, not even being the top student, most athletic, or most talented child would have been enough even if you tried.
you knew that by now.
but-
You just got a good score on a stupid piece of paper, right? and Crewel appreciated that...
wiping your (not so noticeable) tears, you smiled at him. "I'm okay now."
Mozus Trein
this man is about as affectionate as Crewel.
History teachers, am i right?
they will get mad at you for not remembering the blood type of the king's dog who died 400 years before people figured out that earth is not the center of the universe.
Mr.Trein could be ruthless if he found out that you made up your answer for the EASIEST question of the exam.
Even if he was your guardian, you felt really stressed by this, since you didn't even know the basic history of that world.
No. Especially because he was your guardian, you were scared for your life of failing.
Today, you did.
You really tried to study as hard as you could, but shit just wouldn't stop happening around you.
"the leech brothers" this, "Rook-" that "Kalim has set the kitchen on fire again" "PLEASE Y/N, WE HAVE TO SAVE HIM FROM JAMIL" and so on.
you didn't have the privilege of remembering even the most obvious answers because of legends, pieces of fiction, or conspiracies,
because you simply were never exposed to this information before.
He was so scary even when he didn't even look mad...
Anyways, he told you to look for him after class.
you were so prepared for the absolute worst omg.
and when you two met he only gave you... more homework?
"Look, you clearly need to put more effort on this so let me help you."
man that's a lot of homework. like, a ridiculous amount-
but you were expecting him to be furious at you for failing, and you actually told him about that.
"y/n, most of this is just reviewing in class what your classmates have been learning since middle school, of course, not as detailed but- it's not your fault that it's harder for you to remember all of it."
as he said this he put a hand on your shoulder, and spoke with the most patient tone ever.
"But you have to hand this over next week. Alright? I'm sure it'll help."
You were smiling widely without even noticing. Ignoring that tiny bit of sadness that echoed from the back of your mind.
"What's the matter?"
oh, nothing, just the fact that a man that you only have known for months is showing more care for you that your actual father.
no big deal.
as you looked down you said it was nothing, and thanked him for the extra homework (😭🖐️)
next time you're aiming for a full mark, let's see if that's enough excuse to get a hug!
Ashton Vargas
Nah be careful around this man.
he's definitely a hugger but the kind that'll break your ribs and swing you in the air.
okay so at first he wasn't very sure if you were okay with um, affection in general?
(this actually happened with the rest of the guardians like, you would NEVER initiate a hug. you were very formal the first few weeks so it was hard to tell even if you wanted any people around 😭)
But after a match between some first and second years, you celebrated your friends victory by, yk, hugging them real tight! (even if they were stinky af)
so, your guardian (NEW, AWESOME DAD) took good notes of that.
look, i don't care if you're athletic or not. learning to fly on a fucking broom seems hard enough.
now add the stress of it being a race!
yup! poor normie human fighting for your life 6ft above the ground.
but somehow ????you got second place???? lmao
and damn he was PROUD
he even ignored the actual winner
okay but listen it would be SO FUNNY if the winner was Jamil.
he went straight at you-
and LIFTED YOU IN THE AIR!!!
btw, yes, that's the sound of your bones cracking.
then someone points out you're crying a little-
okay maybe it's partially his fault but.
just before he put you down you hugged him back.
let's be clear, you were overwhelmed, yes, but like in a good way for once?
as suffocating as it was, it was the best hug ever, and you knew full well that you wouldn't have got that at home.
strange as it is... from this moment it felt more like home here, than your actual world.
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Falling Away With You | Ch. 45
Sebastian x F!Reader and M. Rasmodius x F!Reader
Rating: Mature/Explicit
Chapter Summary: Time for that cute date with Magnus! :^)
Author’s Note: I was gonna release this chapter either tomorrow or next Wednesday, but here it is early, as a little Halloween Spirit's Eve present!! (Totally beating myself up rn for not lining up the Spirit's Eve chapter to come out today.. ough)
Anyway, there's a lotta RomRas referenced in the first half of this one! It’s pure, cavity-inducing fluff >:3 And some sillies, because of course there is.
I hope y’all enjoy it, take care, and happy Halloween! x
Table of Contents + Work Summary
Check it out on ao3!
Prev | Next
After freshening up in Magnus’ restroom, I jog back downstairs to the main floor, where he’s patiently waiting for me to head out.
After I slip on my shoes, he takes both of my hands in his, calmly stroking my knuckles with his thumbs. “Ready?”
I hum my affirmation, nodding and smiling at the handsome wizard in front of me. As per usual when I’m being teleported, I close my eyes, saving myself from any potential freak-outs. I’m curious to know what it looks like to teleport, but today isn’t that day… Or tomorrow. Baby steps, (y/n).
I realize we must be at our destination when I feel a soft breeze against my cheeks and hear the sounds of nature.
The air smells fresh and crisp, and as Magnus steps aside and I open my lids, I’m met with a beautiful, serene forest, like something out of a fairytale. The pine trees directly ahead of us are coated in green moss and beige fungi, and as my eyes scan upward, I notice that there’s a vast cliff behind them, with more woodland up top.
As my gaze pans right, I see a waterfall that drops onto a small, elevated piece of land before creating a new and thicker cascade just below it. There’s a pale rainbow forming around the foam at the bottom, making every straying droplet look like glitter bouncing through the air. The crystal-clear water of the river it flows into shines iridescently under the sunlight, and as I turn around to follow its path, I realize it’s all gathering into a vast lake full of fish I’d never known existed. Some are purple, with pointy pink fins; others teal, with what looks like small rubies and emeralds and sapphires embedded into their scales.
Completing my full circle, I peek behind Magnus, noticing a similar pattern to what I’d already seen: a long and wavy river, waterfalls, and trees galore. When I finally look back up to him, he’s peering down at me. His cheeks are pink but his eyes stay maroon, and he has that cozy, lovestruck gaze he usually does when looking my way.
“Where are we?“ My voice comes out quiet, as if speaking any louder would somehow disrupt the peace.
“Grenville Falls,” he answers. “A forest of magical origin that lies far from civilization, and one of the most beautiful places I’ve ever come across in my travels.” I guess that explains why it’s so serene here. Humans haven’t been around to taint it yet. “Until now, most of the magic we’ve discussed has been almost purely pragmatic.”
“Almost.” I give him a shit-eating smirk.
My brother in Yoba is seriously trying to pull the “Magic must be used responsibly!!!” bullshit after casting spells on me for his own horny entertainment on several occasions. Magnus laughs before looking around at the grove we're standing in.
“Buuut,” he pointedly continues, “we’ve only barely touched on the simpler joys that magic can bring.” He turns back to me and laces our fingers together, a soft grin slightly plumping the warm apples of his cheeks. “I realize that, spiritual interference or not, it must have been hard to befriend me – let alone begin seeing me romantically – given how suspect our first interactions must have made me seem, alongside how out of touch I am in current social practices.”
Oh. So he really had almost no idea that I was unwillingly swooning right off the bat? I thought he’d read my mind plenty back then… maybe it was less than I’d assumed.
I give his hand a reassuring squeeze. Maybe he knows now, if anything – and if not, I could always just tell him when he’s not, like, pouring his entire heart out to me.
Magnus continues, “And yet you took the trouble to give me a chance, my dear, in spite of all that stood in our way. You’re so incredibly precious to me, and I wanted to give you even a sliver of the joy that you’ve brought into my life. So,” he sighs, reaching into his shirt pocket, “Although I don’t have a bouquet, as per tradition with the humans of the Valley, I thought you deserved to be properly and officially courted.” Magnus pulls out a fucking ring, and upon seeing the whites of my eyes, he chuckles. “I promise, this is not a marriage proposal.”
“Oh thank god.” I breathe out a nervous laugh, my right palm resting over my heart.
“But I am asking if you’d do me the honors of being my… girlfriend?” Magnus looks off to the side briefly, tilting his head as his eyes pinken. “I’ve always preferred the term ‘partner,’ but I’m not sure how common of a label that is in these times.” He shrugs, bringing his gaze back to mine, and beaming with again-maroon eyes upon seeing me enthusiastically and vigorously nodding my head.
“‘Partner’ is fine, I like ‘partner,’“ I squeak out. My cheeks are on fire, I can’t tell if it’s more from the thick blush coating them or from smiling so wide.
I jump to koala myself onto Magnus, unable to resist pecking his cheek and burying my face into his neck before accepting his gift. As always with physical contact, he barely needs time to think as he wraps his arms around me for support, one hand resting on my lower spine and the other against the back of my hair.
“I honestly didn’t think you were gonna ask,” my mumbles muffle into his collar. “I just assumed it was some sorta elemental tradition for sex to solidify a relationship, or something.”
“That is true in many cases, actually,” he confirms, setting me back on my feet. “Luckily, we more mindful beings have a say in the matter.”
Now that I’m not frazzled by what seemed like an engagement waiting to happen, I can actually look at the ring – which Magnus had looped onto his pinky for safe keeping during our embrace – up close. It’s fucking gorgeous, oh my god. A small moss agate is clasped against a gold band, and the bits holding the stone in place look like thin vines. Seems almost too delicate to wear.
Holding the ring between his left thumb and forefinger, he says, “That necklace Lady Welwick gifted you is an artifact imbued with her clairvoyant magic to aid your clairvoyant magic, generally speaking. But artifacts can be made to assist you in any aspect of magic, or of life itself, really.” Bringing his right hand up to his right earring – with his usual long, red ones adorning both ears – he explains, “These are similar, in that they provide a defense I don’t normally have. Although young for my kind, I’m still… er. I am an old man.”
My lips twitch as I attempt to hide a smirk. Magnus notices and chuckles.
He shushes me teasingly before continuing, “I don’t have the same oomph in me that I used to, so I wear these to keep myself safer in case anything should go awry. The rings I often wear serve a similar purpose — but those, I change to accommodate what is on my schedule each day.”
I nod in understanding, eyes wide with intrigue as Magnus brings his hand down to match his left.
“I conjured this with the same purpose as my earrings. I’ve yet to teach you defensive or combat magic, and while you may hopefully never be put in such a way that someone or something could threaten your well-being, this will offer a veil of protection, as well as invigorate you once you’re able to arcanely fend for yourself.”
“That’s so cool,” I mutter. “Thank you, Magnus,” I smile up at him. Swooning completely. “I love it, it’s perfect.”
“It’s the least I could do for you, my love,” he offers, his expression mirroring mine. He then asks, presenting an upturned palm to me. “May I?”
I nod, opting to place my right hand in his. Rather than looking down at our hands, I keep observing him:
The way he mutters something about hoping it fits under his breath.
The soft squint in his eyes.
The way his bottom lip rests subtly beneath his top teeth.
How his almost nervous expression turns into a bright grin as the ring is slipped on in a flawless fit. That familiar spark I experienced when putting on my necklace for the first time buzzes through my newly-accessorized digit, but I ignore it in favor of watching Magnus for just a bit longer.
Happy, dense crows feet form at the corners of his eyes as he pans them up to mine, before they widen slightly, his irises turning rosy as he notices that I’m staring. I simply smile up at him. The crinkles next to his eyes come back and he chuckles, taking my cheeks in his hands before leaning way down to softly plant a kiss on my forehead, and then my lips.
I giggle out of our smooch.
“What?”
“This feels like an actual proposal, honestly.”
His brows furrow. “Did I do too much?”
I get back on my tippy toes and pull him back down to me before he’s out of reach, whispering, “No way,” before stealing his lips again.
_______________
After all the cheesy stuff, Magnus summoned us a picnic! It took him a bit, and I needed to lend him some mana as he had to teleport it all from storage at home, but he managed. The blanket he brought for us to sit on has a purple gingham pattern, and the food and drinks were rested within a stereotypically tan, woven picnic basket.
Encased within the basket was a large bottle of cherry wine, a few empty cups, and some snacks. Mostly charcuterie-type things, like cheeses, fruits, and sliced meats, but he included some raw veggies and a few dips for ‘em as well. When I asked about the extra cups, Magnus said that the water here is perfectly safe for drinking, and that he added those so we wouldn’t need to mix the water and wine at all.
As soon as he told me that, I grabbed a cup and rushed over to the river. I’ve never had fresh water like this before – and holy fuck, it was so nice. Never tasted anything like it.
Fast-forwarding to right now, we’re laying side-by-side, lazily snacking on the few crackers and apple slices that are left. Both feeling all silly and happy and wine-drunk. About halfway through the bottle’s contents, we abandoned our cups in favor of occasionally passing the glass vessel back and forth to each other.
Speaking of which, now seems like a good time to top myself up!
I lean up onto my elbows and grab the bottle by its neck, chugging a few gulps back. Magnus, who’s peacefully lying still with red cheeks and closed eyes, startles a bit when I tap his arm with the bottle. I smile down at him.
“Sorry,” I giggle, “want more?”
He nods, then shuts his eyes again. “Feed it to me.”
My giggle turns into an ugly snort-laugh. “Why?”
“I’m sooo comfortable, (y/n)…”
“Too bad! It’s dangerous t’drink laying down.”
Magnus rebuttals, “I love danger.”
“Why are you lying?”
“Who, me?” He opens just one eye, smugly smiling up at me.
“Don’t play dumb.”
“To think my beloved partner would accuse me of such a horrible thing…” he trails off, sighing dramatically while closing his eye again.
I know Magnus is only teasing, but I still pout with furrowed brows. What a little shit! It’s at least nice to learn that he’s a coherent drunk, instead of the bumbling mess I am.
“Y’know what? Fine!”
I take a little wine in my mouth, then lean down, meeting Magnus with my lips against his. A surprised hum escapes him, but he melts into the kiss regardless. I stay still, so as to not blow my own cover (this would totally blow it easily in most cases, but right now, he doesn’t seem to notice). Finally, the moment Magnus’ lips part, I let the wine trickle onto his tongue. It’s barely even half of a sip, so it should be safe enough.
Another startled noise emits from the wizard’s throat, but he quickly adapts, swallowing the wine before bringing a large palm to the back of my head. Kissing me harder and deeper. Catching me off-guard. Oh boy.
I put a palm against his chest to steady myself, feeling my already-toasty cheeks heating up some more when he adds tongue. Noticing that my lower half is heating up too, I pull away, rolling over to lay on Magnus’ belly. It would feel wrong to do The Sex in such a seemingly sacred place.
My head jostles as Magnus sighs contentedly, and I turn onto my side to look at him.
“You’re s’handsome…” I murmur, reaching over to trace his jaw.
He raises his head a smidge to meet my gaze. The little bit of a double-chin this gives him is adorable. Makes me laugh. After a lazy smile, he lies flat again. As he moves, he reaches a hand to my hair and begins running his fingers through it, occasionally soothing my scalp with some light scratches. I hum, thoroughly enjoying how it feels.
Magnus sighs again, then dreamily murmurs, “It’s truly remarkable how lucky I’ve gotten meeting you.”
Smiling, I shake my head. “It’s more—“ I swallow back a small hiccup, “S’more fate than luck, no?”
“I suppose, but it feels lucky, nonetheless.”
I pop the last bit of apple into my mouth before letting myself relax into his touch. After a few moments of thought, I wonder out loud, “What kinda hobbies do y’have other than magic?”
Magnus doesn’t respond right away, but knowing how little time he has for things not magicky, I don’t rush him.
“I’m not so sure, honestly…” he eventually answers. It comes out quiet, almost whispered. “Gardening, I suppose, although that is often tied to my magic in some way.”
I frown, then suggest, “So let’s figure something out together.”
He peers down at me. “Anime,” he announces determinedly.
“Wh-“ I cut myself off to laugh, “What?!”
“I would like t’watch anime.”
Maybe it’s the booze, but I hug my tummy as I roll to lay on my side, curling in on myself with giggles. I almost knock the wine over, and Magnus quietly tuts at my clumsiness.
“Why don’t we start you off with manga instead?,” I suggest once I’ve relaxed. “Might like it better.”
“Manga?”
“Anime, but in book form.”
“Oh, that sounds splendid!”
“You read it backwards, just so you know. It’s usually published in Gotoroan, an’ translated for distribution elsewhere.” I emphasize the last two words with a vague wave of my hand.
“I can do that.”
I close my eyes for a few moments, the conversation coming to an abrupt end by my spinning head. “Is there a spell t’cure drunkenness?”
“I don’t believe so.”
I groan, rolling some more to nuzzle my face into Magnus’ chest.
“Although,” he adds, “a cheeky dip over there might help us sober up.”
“What about the fish?”
He snorts. “Why would they care?”
…Y’know. I was worried, at first, about the potential danger of swimming with these funky lookin’ fish. But something about how candidly Magnus responded convinced me that I should’ve been more worried about the critters’ opinions.
And you know what? He’s sooo right! Why would they care? Why should I care?!
I flop off of Magnus, laying flat against the blanket for a moment. He stumbles onto his feet, then assists me in doing the same, before beginning to strip.
My mouth falls open, a little bewildered. For some reason I thought he’d conjure up swimsuits, or that we’d swim in our underwear, or something like that. Promptly, I begin lifting my sweater over my head.
I observe, “We’re raw dogging this lake, huh?” The chilly air gives my skin goose bumps, but I don’t mind, given how much alcohol raises my temp.
“What are we ‘dogging?’”
I snort. “Oh. Slang.”
“For what?” he asks, stepping out of his boxers. He stumbles a bit and I hold his arms to stabilize him. Shamelessly give him a once-over, too.
“I’ll tell you when you’re older.”
“I’m very old, (y/n).”
“Not old enough!”
Seeing me struggle out of my skirt, Magnus offers the same assistance I gave him. Then, he glares at me. Silently, but not even telepathically, telling me he’s gotta know. Sighing and remembering his yearn to be hip and cool, I give in.
“Fine. Sex. But like, without protection or whatever.”
“Ah… we are indeed raw dogging this lake!”
I chuckle at his enthusiasm. “Hell yeah we are!”
He holds his hand out to me, and practically drags me with him upon contact. I stumble a bit, then jog, wanting to match his pace. Don’t have the time or coordination at the moment to hold my boobs in place, which has me feeling a little self-conscious…
The water shocks me out of any negative thoughts though.
“Holy shit, s’freezing!” I strengthen my hold on Magnus as if it’ll steady my shivers.
“It’s not that bad.” His teeth are chattering.
“Liar.” I splash him with my free hand. He lets out a tiny yelp and tries to pull away, but I keep my grip firm, attempting to hit him with a few more watery snipes.
“Oh, if it’s a war you want, so be it!”
“What?”
“Hold your breath,” he warns before promptly yanking me down.
I scream out bubbles, laughing in delirium due to both the sudden change in temperature and Magnus’ own distorted under-water laughter. After a short moment of observing how ethereal he looks — his purple hair floating around him, the sparkle of his pale gray skin being tinted blue, the otherworldly fish circling around us — I shake my hand free and promptly bring myself back up to the surface. He follows my lead.
“Damn it,” I continue to giggle, repositioning my wet hair out of my face. Swiping some water from my eyelashes, I once again mentally thank Yoba for waterproof makeup. “So cold…”
“This seems to be doing the trick though, wouldn’t you agree?”
Unfortunately, he’s right. I feel surprisingly more level-headed now than when I was laying on him in a wine-driven stupor. “Yeah, yeah…”
I look around, admiring the beauty of our surroundings again, now from a different angle. I don’t notice anything new, but it’s still just as pretty, nonetheless.
Feeling something tickling my ankle, I look down into the water, watching as a sparkly blue fish swims around me. I giggle.
“Hey buddy,” I murmur, reaching down to try and stroke its scales. The movement scares it away, though. “Aw, man.”
“‘Twas a good effort.”
I meet Magnus’ fond gaze and furrow my eyebrows. “Not good enough.”
“Maybe someday.”
I sigh. “What are these fish, anyway?”
My partner shrugs. “Many are your typical river fish, such as carp or bass, whose forms have been altered due to the magical properties of the area.”
“Huh,” I grin, returning my gaze to the fish that swim a mere few feet away from us. “That’s sick.” I look back up at Magnus, quickly diverting my attention again when I notice the dreamy stare he’s still boring into me. My cheeks heat up, warming my whole body a little, as if I’m not skinny dipping in an almost freezing-cold river.
Then, my mind ruins the moment — as it typically does — suddenly drifting to my fish friend’s scales, then back to the weird note I received earlier.
“Can these fish’s scales be made into ink, or something?”
“Perhaps.” With a brow furrow and head tilt, he asks, “Why do you ask?”
“Um…” I think for a moment.
Do I tell him? Well, I suppose there’s no backing out now, really. He’s looking at me so expectantly, and he could read my mind if I were to lie too poorly.
“I got this letter earlier,” I go on, “and the ink looked really similar to that blue fella that was here before, right down to the way it shimmers. Never seen anything like it.”
Magnus frowns. “I hope it hasn’t come from one of them.”
A particularly small fish swims closely by the old wizard, this one a vibrant purple. It almost matches his hair. He reaches a gentle hand towards it, and it doesn’t back away, unlike the blue fish who graced me a moment ago. Lucky…
“It’s been a mutual decision between the Ministry and First Slash that places such as this remain unscathed.” He peers back up at me, letting the guppy move on. “Who was its sender?”
I shrug. “Didn’t have a name or return address. I didn’t feel any energy from it, either.”
He hums in thought. “I’ll take a look, if you don’t mind the intrusion. Maybe I can discern who or what it’s from.”
I offer a small salute. “You got it, boss.” Then, I sniffle. It’s super boogery. I better not be getting sick from this…
“Let’s get you out of here,” my partner prompts, noticing my… goopy state.
Magnus wades over to me, reaching out a hand. I’m surprised it’s so warm as I clasp mine into it, and take advantage of his body heat, looping my arm through his and pressing my bare body closer as he guides us to the shore.
“We’ll head back once you're warm and dry, alright?”
I grin up at him. “Sounds good to me.”
#sdv rasmodius#sve magnus#magnus rasmodius#magnus rasmodius x reader#stardew valley rasmodius#sdv sebastian x reader#stardew sebastian#sebastian stardew#sebastian stardew valley#m. rasmodius#stardew valley#stardew#sve#sebastian sdv#sdv wizard#stardew wizard#stardew valley fanfic#stardew fanfic#stardew valley sebastian x reader#wizard x reader#rasmodius x reader#rasmodius#FAWY#sebastian x reader#sebastian#sdv sebastian#sdv
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lotta bullshit going on lately, if I seem less responsive than normal for a while Im sorry in advance ;;;;
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Faerun!Alisaie vs the Nautiloid
Getting ambushed by a gith while in a very precarious position
Lae'zel: DIE, ABOMINATION!
Alisaie: Oh, go fuck yourself!
Lae'zel: ...What did you just say to me?
Alisaie: You heard me! I was minding my own business, putting on one hell of a show, I might add, and then this bunch of squid-faced assholes descends like a bunch of harpies and next thing I know, I'm in the middle of squid-versus-hellspawn bitch-fight with some itchy fucking tadpole living behind my eye, and then there's you waving a sword in my face! Now, I'm going to take this intellect devourer who is apparently following me around now and I'm going to find anyone still responsive on this doomed Ship O' Squid and I am getting out of here, because I can't figure out what comes next if "what comes next" involves becoming a smear on the landscape! If you want to come with me, fine, great; have fun murdering imps and whatever else and we'll get gone. But if you're going to point that sword at me - nice sword, by the way; hope it's as deadly as it is pretty - I will yeet you right the hell off this ship because nobody has time for this!
Lae'zel: ...If you fight as passionately as you speak, we might have a chance.
Alisaie: *turns to nearest imp; Vicious Mockery resonance* I'M NOT WASTING MY TIME ON THE SNOTRAG-WIPINGS OF A CUT-RATE DEMON!
Imp: *straight-up dies*
Lae'zel: .........All right, yes. We might actually get along.
A little ways further in, rummaging around a room with a yelling cleric in a pod
Lae'zel: That thing I said about getting along? I take it back.
Alisaie: I said I was going to find anyone still responsive; not my fault you didn't listen. Okay ... I figure rune goes in here and ... oh fuck the tadpole's yelling at this thing to open up.
Pod: *opens up*
Alisaie: ...All right, I'll skip being pissed off about it just this once. Hey. You vaguely coherent?
Shadowheart: You keep dangerous company.
Alisaie: I am dangerous company, but that too. Honestly, as long as all the dangerous is pointed at this clustermolest, I say "Let's go, Team Dangerous Company". Want out of here?
Shadowheart: Just let me find ... ah. There it is.
Alisaie: Good. Let's go.
Shadowheart: Kind of surprised you're not asking--
Alisaie: Maybe later, when I'm not just the obnoxious bard who's really wishing she'd picked a better outfit for this bullshit, accompanied by a freaking-out gith. For now, let's move.
Shadowheart: Hang on; why is there a brain on feet--?!?
Lae'zel: Do not ask her about that ... thing at her heel. It murders imps so it can stay. For now.
Alisaie: TEAM. DANGEROUS. COMPANY. MOVING NOW.
Lae'zel: Look, I am in charge here, and--
Shadowheart: Get fucked!
Lae'zel: You half-elves keep saying that!
Alisaie: It'd probably loosen you up and better shagged bandy by this lovely half-orc I met in a tavern outside Waterdeep than mind-fucked by a gods-damned tadpole now can we go?!?
Shadowheart; Lae'zel: *exchange a look*
Shadowheart: I'm with her. Pragmatism's great but I'm a bit full up on fanaticism, as you can probably tell by my outfit.
And, approaching the illithid-vs-demon fight at the helm
Lae'zel: Ugh. I don't believe I have to let the abomination live--
Shadowheart: Just focus on the hellspawn blocking the helm!
Lae'zel: I know, I know; just-- Oh fuck.
Shadowheart: You're getting the hang of swearing in Common. Bravo. What-- Oh fuck.
Alisaie: *is confronted by imp and hellhound-looking thing; which is probably why the swearing*
Alisaie: FUCK. OFF. *pulls lute; dive-bombs to cast Thunderwave*
Hellspawn: *go flying and splatter all over the helm*
Alisaie: Right. Connect this to this and--
Red Dragon: OHAI.
Alisaie: Oh, fuck a bunch of this--
Whole Lotta Shakin': *goes on*
Following a crash, a rather long free-fall, and a psionic reprieve from becoming half-elf jam on a beach someplace...
Alisaie: *looking around at the general landscape* ...Well ... fuck.
#Faerun!Alisaie#Thess liveblogs Baldur's Gate 3#baldur's gate 3 spoilers#Though at this point I think everyone who wants to play has a sense of act 1
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also idk i just said like we ignore it snd like i rly talk abt it v rarely on here but. we were all reminicing abt our mutual friend who we dont talk to no more bc....... she fucked so many of us up so badly :/// and like. we all loved her so much and cared and frankly we still do but there came a time when after she. just kept hurting ppl and could never take responsability we just.. :///// none of us rly talk to her now. i should have reached out for her birthday. i feel bad that i didnt. i dont have words to explain how much i loved her. she was my best friend. we spend almost every day together for years..... ive also never been so deeply hurt by someone psychologically outside of idk family bullshit....... a lotta times it hurt way worse than childhood family bullshit cuz i rly trusted and loved her. ugffff idk. yea. i wish it went down differently. i hope shes doing better and gotten better. we all still miss her. but she hurt so many of us so bad
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hi! not a request but i was wondering how you go about making your bots?
long response, more under the cut
hi! so firstly i'm gonna use this request to apologize for the lack of bots recently, i'm sick and unmotivated.
but what i do when i make my bots, i usually take the request and try to give it some backstory/ a whole lotta random bullshit that leads up to the scenario that was requested. after i write and edit the greeting, i put basic adjectives in the description; so like for daryl i usually put 'southern, redneck, caring, tough' etc. then, for the definition, i look up *character name* characterization and go to the character overview on the twd wiki page.
ex (you might have to scroll past a few other website to find it):
click the link and scroll past the short summary until you see this:
don't confuse the weird summary for the overview. the overview is much more in depth, so i think you'll notice since the summary is only a few paragraphs, but just in case.
that's the overview, just copy up until the amount u need because it describes him and the whole story up to like the finale or maybe even the spin-off? so like, if you make a bot that takes place in s2, then you would only need to copy the backstory up to season 2 so the bot doesn't have the prison arc, terminus arc, alexandria arc etc. in its system because those haven't happened yet in ur scenario.
when you paste it into the definition, i recommend going through and censoring words like murder, killed, death, abused, etc. because the sensors are complete shit now and IT WILL shadowban your bot, making it unable to show up even if it's public. so use words like, sophia's passing, growing up he was mistreated by his dad, etc.
then i go to pinterest, find an icon/picture specifically from how the character looked during the time the scenario takes place. so if it's during alexandria arc i get a pic from the alexandria arc, if it's post-terminus arc i get a pic from there.
then since i like my characters to look pretty neat, i edit them by using picsart and putting a b&w filter over them then slightly reducing it so there's still a bit of color poking through. u don't have to, i just think it looks nice. picsart has a lot of other filters and things that make the account look more neat so if you are interested in that, i totally recommend it.
then i write the tagline, usually a few words to describe the scenario. i also use a fancy font symbol to also make it look neater and cute.
here is the website if u want to do that
then i usually try out my own bot to make sure that its in character and such before i make it public and post it here. anyway hope that helps and maybe ill do a request later
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If Social Media Was Around During the SNES Era
Okay so let me get this straight! Mario and Peach go on a well deserved vacation hoping to get away from all the bullshit that they have gone though in the last few games… And Bowser still kidnaps Peach anyway? Okay, sure thing Nintendo! Just reuse the plot of the previous Mario games! Cause that’s not lazy storytelling or anything.
Oh, and the place they go to, get this, is called “Dinosaur Land.” Wow, what a creative and unique name for a new location that is. But then again, what do we expect? This is the same company that named the main location for their games “Mushroom Kingdom.” What’s next? Bean kingdom? Flower kingdom? We get it Nintendo! There are mushrooms in the Mushroom Kingdom and dinosaurs in Dinosaur Land! You can name your fictional setting ANYTHING! Why name it after the thing that’s most common in that place? That’s just lazy writing!
Can someone explain to me why when you play the space levels in Star Fox you can still hear explosions and laser fire and stuff! Hello, there’s no sound in space! Space is a vacuum!
Or how about the fact that it takes only a few minutes for the Star Fox team to travel to a new level. In Space! It took NASA four days for one of there rocket to get from our earth to the moon! The closest star to our star, the sun, is Alpha Centauri A. That is 4.3 light years away from us! And I can only assume that the Star Fox universe runs on many of the same rules as our universe! Lotta planets and stars, very far apart from each other! It should not take only minutes to travel between levels! What Nintendo, did you just expect us to forget about astro physics for the sake of “having fun” in a space game?
So the newest Zelda game, A Link to the Past, is a prequel to the first two Zelda games and the intro tells the story of the Triforce and how it was hidden in a golden land that people fought tooth and nail to get into, and that the king ordered seven wise men to seal that land up… Christ, stop adding so many things to the lore Nintendo, your ruining my Zelda and making it two overly complicated!
Who is Smithy in Super Mario RPG!? Where does he come from!? Why is he evil!? Who are his parents!? Why do people follow him!? And why are so many of his minions and weapons so impractically designed? Is he meant to be evil or a clown!?
Let me get this straight, Konami releases a brand new Castlevania game, name it Super Castlevania IV implying that it’s a brand-new game in the series… And it’s just a retelling for the first game with the same protagonist!? Hey, Konami! If I wanted to play Castelvania 1 I would of just play Castlevania 1!
You guys aren’t going to believe this. In Super Mario RPG one of the party members is PRINCESS PEACH? Why!? No one asked for this! Why are they having a woman be pro active and actually help in this game!? This is an attack on masculinity and men! Nintendo is clearly trying to pander to the woke crowd with this shit! Don’t buy Super Mario RPG folks! Vote with your wallets!
Have you guys seen the new Mega Man design they gave the character in Mega Man X? What the hell is this? Why did they change him from this cute and adorable little guy who could still kick your ass if he needed to into this grownup edgy ass looking as mofo? Who is Capcom trying to appeal to here!? Adults? Edgelords? We should boycott this game and show Capcom we aren’t having this new design! That’ll make them go back to the old one, I’m sure!
Wait a minute, Bowser has spent several games up to this point being at odds with Mario and trying to kill him… And Mario’s response is to invite the guy to a fucking go kart race!? Why!? Did you just forget all the shit Bowser has put you though Mario? Is Mario retarded or something? Come on Nintendo, this is basic story telling! You can’t just ignore the fact Bowser’s a villain!
So the Contra series began on NES with Contra 1. Then for the next game they decided to name it Super C for whatever reason. But now, with this new game on Super Nintendo they call it Contra 3? Umm, where’s Contra 2 Nintendo!? Did we skip a number? Or are you guys meant to be telling me that Super C is Contra 2? If so, why not just call that Contra 2? In fact, why don’t we just stick to numbered sequels anyway!? It’s not that hard people!
Man, those mech things in the opening of Final Fantasy 3 were so stupid. The cockpit is exposed meaning your way more exposed to attacks and dangers. It’s just a really impractical and dumb design overall ha ha ha. No wonder the main villain of this game is a clown!
Actually, why is Kefka evil anyway!? Is there a reason? Or is he just doing evil shit for the sake of doing evil shit!? Basic storytelling Square!
So, what the hell is up with the backgrounds during the battles in Earthbound? What were they trying to do with those things? Blind the player? Give them epilepsy? Well congratulations! You did just that! Had to check myself into the hospital because my already poor eyesight was ruined by this game!
WHY IS THERE NO NEW ICE CLIMBERS GAME FOR THE SUPER NINTENDO!?
Christ, why are the Kirby games all so easy? Games need to be hard! Games need to push the player to all limits! Kirby doesn’t. Oh sure, Kirby Super Star does some new things not seen in the previous games but you know what else it’s never done that would be appreciated? ACTUALLY MAKING THE GAME HARD! We aren’t babies Nintendo? We can handle a harder challenge! So just give it to us already!
OH MY GOD NINTENDO WE GET IT! Metroid 1 was a thing! Just because you make us play though the opening section of it in Super Metroid doesn’t make you look clever!
So is there any specific reason King K. Rool want’s Donkey Kong’s bananas so much? Yeah Crocodiles eat bananas but why Donkey Kong’s specifically? There are bananas across this whole island! Just pick those instead! Maybe put a little more thought into your writing game!
Let me get this straight Nintendo. You make a sequel to Super Mario World, put Mario in the title… and you make it a Yoshi focused game!? Come on guys, you can’t just put a character’s name in the title and then have us not play as them!
Oh and the crying Baby Mario does when you get hit is so fucking annoying! Were they trying to drive the player insane or something? Well congratulations, you’ve done just that! I’m taking my copy of this game back to my local Blockbuster and getting a refund!
Jesues fucking Christ Nintendo, did you really have to go that dark for the final boss of Earthbound!? This is a game for kids, are you trying to traumatise them or something?
If you ask me I think the Metroid series would be selling much better if Samus was a guy! Keep your wokeness out of my games Nintendo!
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Long self insert self ship fic about Ash and I that's set in Ash vs Evil Dead. This is part 1
When Ash, Kelly, and Pablo were trekking to Florida after the deal with Ruby, Ash decided to take a detour very southwest of Michigan and in the opposite direction of Florida. Considering he had no home since he awoke evil once again, Ash thought he might as well visit the only flame of his who genuinely loved him (besides Linda from ED1), he suddenly remebered the yellow sticky note with her address was hidden somewhere in the glove box. Without making anything awkward, he asked Pablo to get the sticky note from its compartment.
The blue ink of her pen strokes were faded over time, but still legible in a few spots. "Audrey", her signature was somehow in perfect condition as if she just wrote it down, "Hey Jefe, who's Audrey?" Pablo asked. Ash cleared his throat, "she was a girlfriend I had, haven't thought of her for years. I dunno why I suddenly remebered that I have her address. Knowing my shit luck, she's either dead or moved homes" Ash's grip on the steering wheel tightened. Kelly and Pablo gave concerned looks at Ash, neither fathoming Ash having a range of emotions like this. Knowing this was an emotionally driven subject, Ash pulled over to the side of the road a shut the Delta off.
Impulses took over his mind at that point, Ash opened the glove box and looked for all traces of this "Audrey" figure. He was wondering why he was always apprehensive about anyone opening that compartment. Ash made a small pile of the papers and photos he found, on top was the aforementioned sticky note. Considering the many decades this has been sitting in the Delta, it's no surprise the adhesive on the note deteriorated and serves no purpose and was easy to remove. Below the note there was a folded up piece of notebook paper with "Ash" written on it in cursive, curiously he opened it up, expecting a goodbye note.
"Songs that describe Ash + Audrey" was penned at the top of the paper, in cursive. For the time this was written, the songs were mainly from early 20th century to about 1979 to 1980. Taking his time to remember if she chose all these songs or if it was a collaborative effort, either way song titles rang bells in his head. Don't Worry Baby - The Beach Boys, I Only Want To Be With You - Dusty Springfield, You Stepped Out Of A Dream - Tony Martin, You Still Believe In Me - The Beach Boys, Whole Lotta Love - Led Zeppelin were some of the songs Audrey viewed her relationship with Ash.
"Damn, this lady's got some fancy handwriting" Kelly looked over the paper, Pablo asked why is there a sad sounding song on the list. Memories filled Ash's mind as the opening drums and harmony of the song played in his head, he can't recall why exactly Audrey loved the song Don’t Worry Baby, but it has to do with him in some way despite the song releasing in 1964 and her liking it before she even knew of Ash's existence. She never said the phrase to him, but this song is, in a nutshell, how she treated him and his bullshit. He stared blankly at the paper and smiled when remembered "there was this one time after she hung out with me at home, I was embarrassed and pissed off about my dad trying to get her in bed with him. I tried apologizing about it, but she said something along the lines of that I'm not responsible for his shitty and creepy behavior because he's a grown man who can make his own decisions, or some shit like that."
"She was probably the only girlfriend I ever had who didn't put up with his shit and didn't leave me for him. In fact, I think she genuinely hated him." Ash thought out loud. Kelly and Pablo reacted in their own manner of disgust, no wonder why Ash is a dumpster fire. Ash explained that pretty much everything went right for them, and that she really loved him despite their relationship ending. They both wanted different things in life, sure she might have married him, but the reason why there was no proposal or marriage between the both of them was still a foggy memory to him.
Ash put the car into gear and began heading west.
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"Yeah, that's exactly what I'm tellin' you," Luther said with a little smile. "In some ways, maybe I did. I got more jobs, more responsibilities, Andrei trusted me more, that sorta thing. But it wasn't anything I did, it was because Irwin was a completely erratic liability. He talked to much, did too much on his own without checkin' with Andrei first, broke rules, and brought down a lotta trouble on the family. You gotta have rules, obedience, and caution in the mafia, it's not all about comin' out guns blazin'. Families who do that go to jail real fast. Andrei ran a tight ship to keep the family safe and Irwin didn't like that. He didn't wanna be told what to do. So... if I got any preferential treatment, it was his own damn fault."
Luther chuckled. "Yeah, he's got big daddy issue, that's for sure." He grinned at her next comment. "Oh, for sure. I wouldn't hurt a fly. Isn't that right?" She's seen him do a lot more than that, but he knew she wasn't afraid of him. That was something Luther never really liked, for people to be afraid of him. Maybe it'd come in handy during his time in the mafia, but deep down it always made him feel terrible about himself. Eleanor, though... she seemed to accept him just the way he was and didn't feel intimidated by him. If anything, she was more intimidating that he was.
She really wanted to do this, it seemed. Frankly, Luther would've been happy never to see Irwin again. He'd like everyone in the Petrov/Walraven family except Irwin. There had never been a time when Luther had ever thought he was anything other than a weasel.
When he was finally addressed, Irwin seemed impatient. "Yes, like I told these idiots here, I'm looking for- Ah! Luther!" A fake smile was immediately plastered across his face. "Just the man I wanted to see!"
"The hell're you doin' here, Irwin?" Luther said.
"Can't I visit the man who grew up like a brother to me?" he asked.
"Cut the bullshit," Luther said, wincing at Irwin's act. "What do you want?"
The smile left Irwin's face. "You're coming with me."
"Is that right?" Luther asked.
"Absolutely. You know how you told Marta that anytime she wanted, she could call you and you'd agree to turn yourself in?" Irwin asked.
All confidence seemed to drain from Luther.
"Well your old number wasn't working anymore, so... I had to track you down in person. It's time," Irwin simply said. "So let's go."
Marta had told Irwin about that conversation, but since then, she hadn't mentioned it or Luther again. Irwin, however, saw this as an opportunity to get Luther back to San Fran and make him pay. Then Andrei had to recognize him as leader of the Petrov family in his absence... right?
"Luther, I've had a report that there is someone in the city asking for you. Claims that you know him well, that you were family?" (Eleanor; @mxrvelouscreations
@mxrvelouscreations
"His name wouldn't happen to be Irwin, would it?" This wasn't welcome news. After almost dying from an obvious hit job, he was hoping Andrei would believe he was dead and leave him alone. If Irwin was here, though, then that definitely wasn't the case. "Family, my ass. Yeah, I know him well, but he never considered me family. He's a bullshitter, but a dangerous bullshitter. Only son of my former boss. Good chance he had a hand in me gettin' shot. Point me at 'im, I'll handle 'im," Luther said. He couldn't kill Irwin because of Marta, but he could scare him pretty damn well now that he was a vampire.
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