#the consequences he’ll face if he goes through with this. just stop and think it through first

[s0fter-sin]

thinking about the way ghost doesn't hesitate to start killing shadows when graves betrays them but soap only takes one hostage

you can almost hear the voice in his head telling him it doesn't have to be this way; they can still talk it out

"i'm calling shepherd"

his first instinct when confronted with betrayal is to play it by the books; to go up the chain and sort it out democratically. that goes against everything we've seen him do; he’s quick to drop his enemies and bucks authority at every chance except for the one time he's confronted with the barrels of his allies' guns

he wants a peaceful resolution; for the first time we've ever seen, he doesn't want violence to be the answer

there has to be another fix, a solution that doesn't end with him killing the same men he's been working with; his friends

nothing's happened yet

it doesn't have to go this way

but ghost has been betrayed before. he knows the way this ends; either with him six feet under or his enemy

he doesn't hesitate

it's only when they knock alejandro out that soap shoots; when they spill the first blood and cross a line they can never come back from

only when ghost orders him to run and he has to cover his retreat

and somewhere along the line, between civilians’ screams and taunting voices, between his shaking breath and ghost steady in his ear, that naivety is stripped away; his trust turned to teeth that he uses to sink into throats of men he'd have given his life for

"be careful who you trust, sergeant; people you know can hurt you the most"

he's learned the price of trust

just like ghost did

but unlike ghost, he has someone to guide him through the aftermath

"good advice, It"

[moonstruckme]

hey babe!! i’ve been re reading all ur fics and i keep thinking about how lovely your one with remus and the reader who goes nonverbal is! i was wondering if you’d be down to write something like that again? maybe the first time r goes nonverbal with remus and him being worried but really caring once he realises what’s happening? or something w poly!marauders? it’s up to you!!!

i hope u are having a fantastic day!

smooches, rosa (mareagirls) 😽

Hi rosa my love! Thank you for requesting, I really hope you're doing alright <333

cw: reader is overstimulated, goes nonverbal

Remus Lupin x fem!reader ♡ 1k words

“Excuse us,” Remus says, pushing your cart between two others with you following closely on his heels. “Excuse me, sorry, can I just—yeah, thanks.” 

He knows better than to save his shopping for a Sunday. Unfortunately, the two of you had been too cozy watching movies and eating ice cream last night to think of the consequences, and now his apartment is completely out of food. 

“How do you feel about cinnamon raisin bagels?” Remus asks you. He feels like he almost has to shout to be heard in the mayhem of the supermarket. 

You shrug and make a noncommittal humming sound. 

“Fair enough.” He puts them back, grabbing the regular ones. “I know I can’t finish a pack before they go bad, so I’ll need your help.” 

Ordinarily, you might tease him about the unfairness of placing this responsibility on your shoulders, or quip that simply having James over would solve any problems of excess food quickly enough, but right now you don’t seem inclined to. You’ve been oddly reserved since you entered the store, your usual attempts at conversation petering off as if you’re trying to offset the noise of it all with your own quiet. 

Remus looks back at his list. “Oh, did you want to make that macaroni salad this week?” 

Another shrug and a sort of half nod, as though you do but you’re hesitant to say it. 

“We can, dove.” He gives you a small smile. “What do we need for that?”

Your eyes fall from his, going somewhere he can’t reach as your lip dents like you’re chewing on the inside. A child who’s commandeered a cart pushes it into you roughly, causing you to take an unwilling step forward. Remus folds you in between him and your own cart, giving the child’s mother a severe look. 

“Hey,” he says to you gently, “you okay?” 

Your throat moves with a swallow. You’re looking more and more in distress the more he looks at you, shoulders tight and the faintest of lines in between your brows. 

Remus is starting to worry. He clasps the back of your arm kindly, rubbing up and down. “Can you talk to me, dovey?” 

Your features pinch suddenly, and you shake your head. 

His mind whirs. “Let’s get out of here,” he says in the softest tone he can manage, letting his grip slip down to your hand. “Let’s go, sweetheart, okay?” 

This, you seem more than amenable to. You clutch his hand just as tightly as he clutches yours, allowing Remus to lead you through the aisles to the exit. He feels a bit guilty about leaving the full cart where it is, but he’ll deal with that later. 

The parking lot isn’t much better than in the store, but the inside of his car feels like a tiny bubble of peace. Remus sits sideways in his seat, assessing you worriedly. You’ve stopped chewing your lip, but the line between your brows has worsened, your eyes closing as you take a deep breath through your nose. 

“Are you alright?” he asks. 

You nod, exhaling. 

“Can I hug you? Would that help at all?” 

Your eyes open as you nod again, reaching for him. Remus doesn’t make you do the work, practically crawling over the center console to wrap you up. He pushes his palm in between your shoulder blades, imagining his affection pouring into you through it. You make a tiny sound, nestling your face into the crook of his neck and shoulder. 

You stay like that for some time. Remus takes his cues from you, hugging you as long as you grip him tight and swaying back and forth a bit when that seems to help. His worry has crawled all the way up his throat, but it feels better just having you in his arms like this, knowing he’s got you close. 

After a while you let out a little sigh and loosen your grip. Remus lets you slip away, trailing his touch down to your forearms. 

“Feeling any better?” he asks, fully prepared to do whatever needs to be done if you say no. But you nod, and the tension in his chest eases slightly. “Yeah? Are you able to tell me what’s going on?” 

You start to chew your lip again, but Remus tsks, pressing his thumb into your chin so it comes free. 

“It’s alright if not, dovey.” 

You shy a bit, then open his glove box, taking out one of the small napkins he’s stowed away from past takeaway orders. Next you pop open his center console, digging around until you find a pen. 

“You want to write it down?” he asks, realizing. “That pen’s shit, let me find you a better one…here.” 

You take the pen from him with a hesitant smile, leaning down over his dash to write. Remus tries not to appear too nosy, looking out the window and watching people move past as you scribble on the napkin. Eventually, you hand it to him. 

Your handwriting is not at its best given the surface you’ve had to do it on, but he can make it out. You’ve explained, as succinctly as you can, what happened in the store. That this is something that happens to you from time to time, and that you’ll be okay in a while. 

Remus tsks as he finishes, lowering the napkin. “Sweetheart, I wish you’d said you were overwhelmed when we went in there. I would’ve taken us home.” You shrug, looking down at your hands. He takes one in his own, thumbing over the bumps of your knuckles. “How about this. I’m going to tell you an idea, and you let me know if it sounds good to you. Yeah?” 

You look up, nodding tentatively. 

“I’ll go back in and buy what we’ve gotten already, and then we’ll go back to my place and cuddle until it feels like we never left. Okay?” 

This time your nod is downright eager, a sort of relief in your eyes. 

Remus smiles, leaning over to kiss your cheek. “Alright, lovely. Don’t go anywhere.” 

[mouwrites]

Next part of this series!! Shoutout to the hottie who suggested Young Neil, yk who you are bbg ;) ok I’ll stop being creepy now 😭

Scott Pilgrim - Dating Young Neil Headcanons

You guys met through a mutual friend

They had invited you both to their house to hang out, so you guys were just kind of chilling

Neil was a bit shy at first, but he quickly saw that you were actually really cool

He had way more fun at the hangout because of you; he knew he had to see you again

The more time you spent together, the more Neil started to realize that his infatuation was more than just platonic

So, one day, Neil asks if your next hangout can be a date

He’s sooo nervous and shy about it, but when you say yes he smiles hugely

He goes all-out for your first date: a romantic picnic with flowers and rosé and everything

You guys discover that this, unfortunately, is NOT your vibe

Future dates are much more casual, and consequently much more successful

Just hanging out, doing something mundane like watching movies or playing video games or (trying) to bake cookies—that’s where you guys really connect

Occasionally you will go out together, but it’s never fancy

Dinner and a movie at the most; usually just a concert or a mall trip though

You guys behave a lot like friends, but make no mistake, you’re much more than that

Neil is a touch shy when showing physical affection; but he’s not really opposed to it either

You’ll just have to initiate it if you want something more than a hand on your waist/arm around your shoulders

Because that’s as far as he’ll go; he wants to respect your boundaries

He loves to tell you (and others) how awesome you are, for example

He can and will rant about you for hours

Much to the dismay of his friends

And he loves to do cute couple stuff together, like getting matching onesies or doing face masks

He takes so many pictures…. Even when you’re unaware

If you scroll through his camera roll, you’ll find it to be mostly full of you

Half the pictures are at weird angles, clearly taken in secret

And there’s at least one of you sleeping/napping

He’s not trying to be creepy, he just thinks you look amazing all the time and he wants to remember every time he thinks to himself “wow, they’re gorgeous”

If it wasn’t obvious by now, his love language is quality time

The causal nature of your dates mean that they happen frequently, often on a whim

Neil is always glad to spend time with you, no matter what you’re doing, and no matter how long you’re doing it

Only have five minutes? He’ll take it. You’re filing your taxes? He’ll just play his game boy in the chair next to you; don’t mind him

Nicknames for you include “baby” and “my love”

He likes to be called “handsome,” “big man,” “my love,” or “Neil” (distinct from “Young Neil,” which is what everyone else calls him)

All in all he’s just a sweet guy who loves to chill :]

Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed!! Take care duckies <33

(divider by saradika)

[friendlylocalwhumper]

“Yes.” | “Kneel.” | Best of Three | Correspondence | Appraisal | Collapse | Cupcake | Foggy | Cracking | Just Breathe | Urge | Trim | Stupid | Upkeep | Old Defeat | Watching | Simple Loyalty | Overreaction | Set Up for Failure | Burning | Healed Wrong | Haunted | Boxes Buried | Heavy Blow | Loneliness

This, uh… owner? Isn’t all that bad. Could be a whole lot worse.

The hand sliding down his back isn’t welcome, but Major doesn’t fight it. He knows better. He knows better.

Shoulders angled down toward the floor an inch below them, dejected gray eyes locked onto a piece of dust just out of focus on the carpet, Major keeps from shaking off the touch. It’s not as creepy as it could be. Just seems to be, like… feeling along his spine as if checking for bruising on the piece of fruit he’s considering at the supermarket. Or checking out the ridges and valleys of his scars, but there’s no lingering fondles across the thick burn-ruined skin.

The smell of the guy’s breath hits him before the sound of his voice. Major holds his ground, only shifting to press his forehead to the floor as he listens. “I paid for one that leans into it. I won’t be all that hands-on, but still. I did pay for it.”

If he was in his right mind, Major would buck against that. Try to break the guy’s nose, maybe beat him for a while before killing him. But the warning, as polite as it might’ve been, hits like ice to his teeth. The training, with the gun and the consequences a split-second after each test… Major barely survived. He isn’t gonna fuck it up now. Especially not when he’s alone, bent down over his own knees, in some guy’s house.

The hand comes in for another swipe down his back, and this time Major arches up against it. Just slightly. It might not have been enough, he might be fucking up, there could be a gun held above his head where he can’t see it but he’ll hear the click of it, and… oh. He’s rewarded as if he was an eager purring cat, by an approving hum from above.

Disgust rises as goosebumps across his skin. But Major sinks down and feels his heartbeat thrumming in his temple after the terror of nearly disappointing the guy who… custom ordered a pissy, stubborn prisoner freshly trained to obey.

His mind goes blank, suddenly, when the guy ruffles his hair. Major doesn’t even fully register the condescending gesture, just lets his head be rocked back and forth with the rough petting to fried hair.

The voice, airy in a weird way, comes from higher above than Major was expecting. Thought the buyer would be leaning down close, but he’s up on one knee to rise, maybe. “Come on. Since you’re doing good enough. Got something to show you.”

The guy’s walking, and Major isn’t sure what to do. He’s scrambling up to follow, but a fog of stress locks his knees so he can’t stand. Is he… fuck, allowed to stand? To walk? Frozen by worry but spurred on by the fear of falling behind and breaking some unspoken rule, Major lurches forward on his hands and knees. No more goosebumps, no self-loathing curled tight in his stomach. The room feels cold when he goes numb and compliant.

The guy slows to a stop. When he turns to stare down at Major in bewilderment, it’s the first time Major sees him in full. He’s not… big. Slick black hair buzzed down on the sides and in the back. Tattoos across his face in swirling font that Major can’t read, a piercing in his nose. Which all would look tough, except there’s no real muscle on him, and even if there was it would be hard to see because the guy’s in a big sweater with a dress shirt poking out from under the sleeves and neckline.

Major swallows, trying to decide if the guy looks tough, or weak, or cool or lame. He’s distracted by a judgy scoff that sets his jaw clenching.

“What are you doing?” It’s not as mean as it could be, not cutting. Just too amused. “Crap, I didn’t think they were giving me one that thinks it’s a dog. Just walk.”

The words sting, through the numb distance he’d built up, and it’s more frustrating than it is humiliating. Major shoves himself upward and sways onto his feet, blinking against the odd waves of adrenaline and exhaustion.

“Just walk, we’re not… oh fu-... frick.” The buyer doubles back, hands raised and hurried. Major flinches back, eyes widening against the black fuzz swallowing his vision. He falls rapidly sideways, or upward, maybe… the world is spinning and he can’t figure out which way is down. He’ll be killed. He’s getting grabbed, fingers digging into his arms, he’s gonna die!

The room goes black, as pain erupts in his skull, and all sensations fade away.

[jaymari-lyn]

Fight or Flight (A Byler one shot)

“It’s not my fault you don’t like girls!”

The words rang painfully in Will’s head. It felt like a slap in the face, except he felt the sting in his heart. That kind of sentence spoken aloud already hurt enough, but to hear the words fall from Mike's lips made it infinitely worse.

Will felt the hot tears strain against the corners of his eyes. A fairy, a queer, a boy who doesn’t like girls—that’s all he’ll ever be, even to his best friend.

Will’s fists clench instinctively and through a fit of bubbling anger words begin to tumble from his mouth faster than he can catch them.

Words that he can never take back.

“Well, maybe it is!”

The deafening silence that follows that sentence is louder than any of the yelling that had taken place before. Mike stands in visible shock and so does Will. The next action either of them makes will define their friendship moving forward and they both know it.

Will knows it.

So he makes the most reasonable, self-preserving decision and grabs his bike to leave. He wants to run and never turn back, like the coward that he is. To just run away from his problems, his consequences, from the whole damn world entirely. Run away from everything, even from MIke.

Only Will Byers is a boy who loves very deeply and with his entire heart, so he doesn’t really want to run from Mike. He wants nothing more than to rush into Mike's arms and stay, but that could never—will never happen. Not in this universe, at least, or probably any universe. For in what universe could someone like Mike Wheeler ever love someone like him? Besides, Will is still just a coward, so he goes to run.

He’s swinging his legs over the seat of his well-loved bicycle—the one he would ride with Mike as well as the rest of the party—when Mike is broken from his trance-like state. In a swarm, he is suddenly all over Will, hands, body, words, and anything else that he could do to get Will to stay.

Mike’s lanky frame was now standing in the way of Will’s poorly thought-out escape.

Well, Shit.

Will didn’t even want to hear what he had to say since it was bound to be all those awful things he was sure Mike was thinking. Hearing them spoken would truly be a physical manifestation of his nightmares.

However, instead of hateful words or slurs, all Mike does is call out Will’s name, mixing quite a few swears in there as well.

“Will, please! Fuck! Shit!” cried out the Wheeler boy. “Don’t go, Will, please! Fuck!” The desperation in Mike’s tone startles Will, and even Mike himself.

He doesn’t care about you, Will’s brain reminds him.

As the surprise settles in the atmosphere like a thick layer of dust, rage fills up every fiber of the brunette’s being. Now that he’s had time to let the hurt subside a bit, Will realizes that he is so incredibly, awfully, nauseatingly angry.

Angry at Mike for treating him like shit lately, angry at the world for making him hate himself, angry at his deadbeat dad for somehow making him hate himself more than the world ever could. He was even angry at Mom and Jonathan for ever letting him think that there was nothing wrong with him, that he even deserved to exist. But most of all he was angry at himself for being a mistake.

Looking through his tears, he saw that Mike’s hands were still firmly placed onto his forearm and wrist, keeping him in place. Will could break free if he wanted, bike away, and try to extinguish the thought of Mike Wheeler from his brain forever, but he didn’t, he stayed.

Deep down, there has always been a part of him that no matter how much he was able to hate himself, he could never, ever, hate Mike. It’s that little bit of Will that wanted to rush back to him in the first place. And if Mike was going to be the stubborn asshole that he always is and try to stop Will from leaving, who was Will to resist the boy he was so terribly in love with?

However, just because he was going to hear Mike out, does not mean that intense fury has gone away. Will wasn’t used to this feeling, being mad at Mike, but he found himself unable to care, unable to give a shit about the terrible want to hurt Mike back. Mike, the one person who Will thought cared about him most, the person Will cared about most, had finally intentionally hurt him like he always knew he would one day—all it took was Will letting a bit of the real him shine through. God, he was so stupid for ever thinking that there was a slight chance Mike could love him.

“Is this all real? Or is it like the doctors say, all in your head?”

“I don't know. Just please don't tell the others, okay? They won't understand.”

“Eleven would.” Eleven, El, the girl that Mike loves. Will distinctly remembers holding back tears in that moment at the thought of Mike loving someone that wasn’t him, now Will is quite used to the thought, but it still cuts him deep, like a dagger piercing his heart.

“She would?” 

“Yeah. She always did. Sometimes I feel like I still see her. Like she's still around but she never is. I don't know. Sometimes I feel like I'm going crazy.”

“Me too.”

“Hey, well, if we're both going crazy, then we'll go crazy together, right?”

“Yeah, crazy together.”

Will still feels like that, like he’s going crazy, only this time he doesn’t have Mike there to go crazy with him. He’s all alone in his insanity.

“Will,” Mike lets out softly, yet his grip on Will is still firm and strong. He was using what the rest of the party would teasingly call his “Will voice”, it was stupid, but it always had a way of making Will melt. He tried to suppress that thought. He was mad–no, furious–at Mike! Yet, Will still couldn’t get the feeling to fully go away when Mike looked at him with those kicked-puppy-looking eyes. Will was so in love it was not even fair.

The rain he hadn’t yet noticed until this very moment poured down hard onto the two of them. Each raindrop reminded Will of every tear he had shed, every tear he was shedding right now.

Will mutters a “What?” low enough that it is almost unheard, but Mike's careful ears pick up on his question.

“I’m sorry,” is all Mike can answer. Will finds it to be quite a pathetic answer.

“‘I’m sorry?’ Really? ‘I’m sorry?!’” Will's voice raises at the second “sorry”. “That’s all you can fucking say?! What are you sorry for Michael? For treating me like a fucking afterthought for the past 5 months, If you even bothered thinking about me? For ignoring me and walking all over me and expecting me to just take it? For only being my friend when it was convenient for you?! There’s a lot of shit you should be sorry for, you’re going to have to fucking specify.” The rage burns Will’s tongue as if he had just swallowed fire. He looks up to see Mike's jaw hanging loose, and his eyes welling up with tears.

Mike looks as though he’s lost for words, simply keeping his gaze locked on Will. He shakes his head, seeming to also shake away whatever trance he was just in as well. “All of it. Everything.”

“And what am I supposed to do?!” Will is now shouting, bound to gain an outsider's attention if he continues. “Just accept that you're sorry and move on?! Be your friend again just to be hurt all over again?! I’m sorry, Mike, but I can’t live like that! I can’t continue being your friend knowing that I’ll always care about you more than you’ll ever care about me!”

“That’s not true-” Will doesn't let him finish.

“It's not fair! It’s not fucking fair! None of it is! Why are you pretending like you care? I know you don’t, Mike.”

“I do care, Will! I care so much! More than I should care! I care!” Mike changes his grip to hold Will’s shoulders and shakes him to further get his point across.

Will begins to laugh through his tears, it’s a maniacal laugh born from pain, sadness, bitterness, and anger. “Then why did you do it? Why couldn’t you be a decent fucking friend to me?” The question hangs in the air, like the dark clouds lurking above them.

Mike’s voice is trembling now as he averts his eyes from Will. “I-I don’t know, Will.”

“No more lies, Mike! Why?” Will repeats because he's going to get a real answer from him if it's the last damn thing he does.

“I DON’T KNOW!” Mike is both screaming and fully sobbing at this point.

“Why?” Will’s voice is stone-cold.

“I CAN’T TELL YOU, ALRIGHT!?”

“Why!?”

“BECAUSE I CAN’T!”

“WHY!?”

“BECAUSE I’M FUCKING IN LOVE WITH YOU, WILL!”

Both the boy's eyes widened in shock at what fell from Mike’s mouth. Mike’s hands fall from Will as he begins backing away, the most terrified look Will has ever seen is engraved on his face.

It’s hard to believe that what you've wanted for so long, the thing he’s wished upon every star for, the thing he prayed for to a god he doesn’t even believe in, all he’s ever dreamed of and yearned for since they met on that swingset, is something you can actually have. He wants to analyze everything Mike has ever said to him, every brush of legs on their movie nights, all the times they held hands while the other was scared, from horror movies to supernatural dangers, every soft gaze Mike held with him. Will wants to know if Mike loves him the way Will loves him. He wished he could read his mind, instead of being left with mixed signals and unexpected love confessions.

While Will thought, Mike was currently trying to make a quick escape while muttering one “I’m sorry” after another. Will then realized that his thinking was keeping Mike away, so he stopped thinking and let his impulsiveness take over.

Will found himself dropping his bicycle and running towards Mike to envelop him in a hug. He’s tense at first, but once Will nestles his face into the crook of Mike’s neck, he relaxes and rests his hands in a tight grip on Will’s back.

“I’m sorry,” Mike apologizes, his lips so close to Will that the words melt into his skin.

Will pulls back a bit, locking eyes with Mike, the chocolate brown of his irises looking as beautiful as ever. “You don’t have to be sorry. Mike, I love you too.” Will finally takes that leap of faith, saying the thing that has haunted him for years aloud. It feels good, it’s something he truly wants to admit, it’s no longer a secret that he’s left to carry alone.

Mike shakes his head in response, looking like he’s searching for a reason as to why Will doesn’t really love him. “You-you don’t get it. I don’t…I don’t love you as a friend.” 

Will’s breath quickens as his left hand moves to hold onto Mike’s forearm, similar to how Mike held his just minutes prior. It seems silly that Mike believes this, despite everything Will had confessed so far that evening. “Neither do I,” he tells him after a long, thoughtful pause..

The mutual confession rests heavily between them, neither knowing exactly what to do next. Society had told them over and over again that what they felt for each other was wrong, that it was something to hide and bury deep down until people like them couldn't feel it anymore. But here they were, admitting their love for each other in the quiet of the night

After a few moments, their faces begin to move closer, like two magnets attracting, and then their lips then find each other in a slow, hesitant kiss. It happens so quickly that it’s hard to tell who made the first move, but Will swears it was Mike who leaned in first.

It’s perfect by Will’s standards. There's those butterflies that everyone talks about fluttering in his stomach, there's the brand new feeling of warm lips on his, locked in a kiss that is slowly building up in both passion and speed, but there's also a familiarity of Mike that makes everything seem natural. As if he was always supposed to kiss Mike, and hold Mike, and love Mike. And, God, does he love Mike! He loves his smile, his laugh, his terrible jokes and puns, how caring he is (even if he is a shitty friend sometimes), and just about everything else that makes him Mike, even his bad moods and hot-headedness. He loves the soft side of him, the side that’s vulnerable and kind, and willing to let his guard down and cry. He loves the Mike he sees and the parts of himself that Mike is willing to bear to Will. He utterly and completely loves Mike, more than words can express.

A hand finds Will's hair, somehow pulling him closer until there's no room between the two (not that there was much beforehand). Their chests rise and fall against each other as they pull apart, both of them trying their best to breathe.

Mike smiles a gorgeous yet goofy, love-struck grin that Will wants to keep looking at forever. He returns his own loving smile and leans in to ignite another kiss.

In this moment Will no longer feels like a mistake, he feels so right with Mike. If being gay means having this, then he’ll take all the insults and beatings that he can, as long as he has Mike Wheeler. And if Mike can love him, maybe Will can find it in himself to try and love himself too. Maybe he can find whatever it is about him that Mike loves and learn to love it too. He wants to not only love Mike but love with Mike as well.

The two young boys continue to kiss in the rain, both completely soaked, but unable to care. They kiss as if it will be their only chance to do so, even though it’s only just the beginning of a lifetime of kisses shared between the best-friends turned lovers.

[supakixbabe]

Ah, hello. I welcome you back to your normally scheduled program of me deciphering what I think is happening within a wrestling storyline by concluding all context and visual representations. It’s a little something I call, “Kayfabe With Laura.”

Today’s topic: Hangman’s Redemption Story; Is Hangman Okay?

The answer is: No.

By now I’m sure you all have either come to the conclusion ‘Hangman’ Adam Page is either a face, heel, or justifiably morally gray before he returned and after he returned. Let’s break down Hangman’s vignette that was shown on AEW’s Saturday night program, Collision. The vignette showed Hangman sitting alone in what is to be believed to be his living room while movers are packing up his things and moving them to what we now know is where he relocated to. Followed by his favorite artist Orville Peck playing ominously in the background. While I can’t decipher the Peck song, I can give you my thoughts on what I think it means.

The song is, “Chemical Sunset” by Orville Peck. There’s a line in his song that goes: “I can see it in your eyes, you're not afraid to die.” And what I got from that is Swerve and The EVPs took everything he had. Made him hate who he is even more than he already does. This man is no longer afraid of the consequences of his actions and will go down swinging. He wants Swerve Strickland, that is his main goal. Swerve broke into his home and went into the presence of his kids' nursery to threaten them both. And Hanger being a family man, you just don’t screw with other people’s families.

We all noticed his shirt. It was the same shirt he wore when he was kicked out of The Elite the first time. The same shirt he went drinking his sorrows in. People are convinced Hangman is on a warpath for the championship, but I’m here to tell you it’s a lot more than that. Sure, he’s consumed by needing that gold strap around his waist; he feels like that will solve all his problems and he’ll be whole again, but he mainly doesn’t want Swerve to have it. Swerve went to depths no man should ever go to with another man, and Hangman wants his redemption, but not just for him, but his violated family.

Hangman lost to Swerve three times in their rivalry, the fourth was a triple-threat at Revolution 24’ so I can’t necessarily count that one. Their match at Wrestle Dream 23’, then their Texas Death Match at Full Gear 23’, then their Dynamite match before Revolution in 24’. Hangman has been blinded by unadulterated rage. Plus Swerve not giving him that ‘five more minutes’ really killed him inside. And his former best friends, the EVPs, Nicholas and Matthew Jackson are latching onto his rage and pushing him through obstacles to get what they want, not really caring if he gets the redemption he needs.

Hangman’s shot was unfortunately taken away by “The American Dragon’ Bryan Danielson by losing to him in the Owen Hart Cup, but I do not believe this is over.

This brings me to Blood & Guts coming up in less than a week; Team AEW Vs Team Elite. Now before you all get excited, Hangman is not a part of The Elite. This is merely a business deal for him to get his hands on Swerve. That’s all he wants – blood. Swerves blood on his hands and his head on a stick. Yeah, it used to be about a championship, but now it’s about Swerve not being on top any longer than he currently is. Now as Matthew and Nicholas seem to think they are on the receiving end of a good deal, they may have made a huge mistake by adding Hangman.

If Hangman is fueled by his rage, who's to say he won’t turn on The Elite during or after the match. Who's to say he won’t be blinded again and cost The Elite the match? Tensions are running high, but one thing is fairly certain, Hangman is on a mission and he will not stop until Swerve’s time on the mountain comes to an abrupt end.

My only question: Can Hangman and The Elite co-exist even after everything that went down? There is some serious bad blood between them all.

Note: Feel free to reblog with your own thoughts and opinions. I love reading them. ♥️

[chimerahyperfix]

Run down your list. You are currently on your way to intercept the King, before he gets to the house. Whenever he gets there, it’s a bloodbath; metaphorically and physically. How many more times do you have to see everyone get frozen? See the King smash those who stand before him? You can’t see it again, you can’t you can’t you can’t, so you sneak out to face him instead. If he can’t get to the House, no one has to die, right? Simple as that. The endless night of his approach hangs right over Dormont, so you have to catch him, NOW.

You make a pit-stop at the Favor Tree anyway. It’s tradition at this point.

You did… something, here. Before you started looping. The hypothesis is that whatever you did at the Favor Tree caused the time loop you’re trapped in. You know you wished, a ton— at least ten times, or maybe twenty? All in as many different ways you could think of. Stretching outside the realm of how you know to wish. The desperation drove you to doing random things in hopes it would save you, and— well, it kinda has? You’ve doomed yourself for everyone else’s sakes.

That’s all well and fine enough, you rationalize. One person for many. Who knows what’ll happen if he actually takes the House; you don’t want to find that answer out.

The Favor Tree is huge. It’s a nice tree, lots of leaves, lots of shade. You could probably climb into its branches and never leave, get trapped in a web of tree bark and leaves like a cage, birds and squirrels and other such animals as your jailers. Maybe that wouldn’t be too bad. You could try that, next loop, if you failed here. You know you’ll fail, because nothing has worked so far. Your mind flashes with images of blood-stained floors, of screams both by and for many, many people. Hands reaching to you, hands reaching out.

Breathe. The memory fades away. Your hands curl into fists.

You depart, to fight the King. To stop the King.

———————

The King is very tall. A couple stories high, you’d reckon. He towers over you, the trees and everything else. The clearing you’ve stopped him in is very close to the House. Too close for comfort. Shouldn’t have stopped at the tree. Everything is swamped with the scent of burnt sugar.

He looks down at you— do you look like an ant to him? One singular ant? Wouldn’t that be interesting. A single blockade to the anthill, standing its ground. One mistake and he’ll turn you into a dark stain, or an icy statue. One mistake is all it’ll take for him to rip through the House like paper.

The Craft Bomb is heavy in your pocket. The backup potions, seven or eight of them, all in little tossable vials, toxic and burning and acidic, weigh down the other pocket of your lab coat. You remember drinking at least three of them. They all killed you. Painfully. Curse your desk for not being clean before you started looping. If you’d just taken a few minutes before you wished, so many deaths would’ve been avoided…

But that’s not important now. The fire in your throat, as imagined as it is now, still hurts. Your voice has taken an odd rasp to it now, the consequences of toxicity and blind reaching for water forever etched into your very being.

“How have you done it?” The King asks. You can’t see his eyes, past his endless, wild mane of hair and his gauntlets covering his face, but he sounds both confused and enraged.

You don’t answer, instead brandishing the bomb you worked so hard on. You made it in record pace, this loop. It too reeks of caramel.

The King simply moves a hand. You know what’s coming, and you move before he does. The curse of being so, so tall, is that you’re faster. The bomb goes flying, and you toss the potions all in one go for good measure before skittering out of the way. The King lunges for you as the bomb explodes, sending waves of fire and craft energy everywhere. Blinding, deafening. Its force knocks you to the ground.

He still moves, though. Not enough. Damn. Maybe you need two bombs… do you have the materials for a second one? You hope, as he swings his giant gauntlet down onto you to mash you like a bug, that he sees the weird shade your eyes have taken lately. A pair of blaring, dangerous warning signs.

You’re not scared anymore. This has happened many times.

You still scream.

His attack hits, and through the veil of absolute agony, there’s a tug on your stomach. Back to the drawing board.

[gx-gameon]

I’m rewatching the first episode of Gx, and thinking about my Yugi raises Jaden au.

Jaden is running obscenely late. Seto left early to make sure today runs smoothly. His son is testing today. The security needs to be tight. Even if the no one knows who Jaden is Seto wants today to run perfectly. Yugi goes with him wanting to make sure Seto doesn’t fire anyone and to meet up with the rest of their friend group. They have a private suit to watch the entrance exams. Seto watches every year, though the whole staff isn’t aware of that. (Crowler is not aware of that)

But no one woke Jaden up. To be fair the boy has his own alarms and no one thought he’d sleep through them.

Yugi went outside to wait for Jaden before the exam started. He has a card he wants to give Jaden, a good luck gift. A card he knows is meant for Jaden.

But Jaden doesn’t show on time. Yugi sends a call to the staff to see if Jaden is up. Cue a panic Jaden running for it.

He crashes into Yugi on the way and gets Winged Kuriboh and the two rush him to his entrance exam, Yugi breaking away before they reach the entrance. He calls Seto to tell him Jaden is running late.

Seto hears the announcement for the last duel to take place and it’s not Jaden. The boy is late. An oversite on his part. He should have made sure Jaden was up before he and Yugi left, or sent one of their friends to do so (Joey most likely)

Crowler is closing the exams when he gets a call. It’s not from Sheppard who he gets a call from but Seto Kaiba himself. Telling him to make sure no oversite happen like last year. (He knows the man has a habit of cutting students for small offenses)

This saves Jaden from being cute for tardiness but not from Crowlers pettiness.

Yugi arrives at the suit just in time to hear Jaden to be called to duel. He made it just in time to watch his son duel.

He also made it just in time to stop Seto from breaking the glass separating them from the rest of the audience when Seto realized who Jaden’s dueling instructor was. Seto is furious. The whole point for keeping Jaden’s identity a secret is so he wouldn’t get special treatment from the staff. He didn’t realize that the consequences would be the staff taking out their pretty pride on his son!

Yugi calms him for all of a minute. “I’m sure he’s not using his real deck. Jaden is an amazing duelist, he’ll win I’m sure of it!” The two of them sit down. The duel starts and Jaden gets Avian out and a face down, it’s a good start for him, not the greatest but good.

Then crowlers turn comes and he is obviously playing his deck. Seto is right back on his feet and he’s not the only one as Mokuba, Joey, and Tristian are up in arms to. Yugi, Atem and Téa are telling them to calm down when Crowler sacrifices his two trap monsters to summon Ancient Gear Golem.

And now Atem wants to fight him to. He knows Jaden is a great duelist but this is just unfair. Crowler is using his elite level deck against Jaden. Sure Atem, Yugi, Seto, and Joey could beat it but Jaden was only 14. While he could beat it he shouldn’t have to. No other student had to take on a challenge like this.

It’s not the fact that Jaden is facing a strong deck that’s upsetting them. They know Jaden’s thrilled about this. They know he can win. But it’s the injustice of it! The fact this adult is punishing Jaden for being late by trying to make him fail his entrance exam. If every other student had to fight against a deck of this caliber then that’s one thing. But that’s not what happened. Jaden is being singled out. That’s what they are mad about.

But Jaden is laughing and it makes them all pause long enough for Yugi and Téa to force them all into their seats and let Jaden fight his own battle.

And Jaden fights beautifully.

He gets Winged Kuriboh out to buy time. Then in his next turn he is able to get Flamed Winged Man out on the field along with Skyscraper to win the duel. Jaden just beat on of the top professors, who was using his personal deck, during his entrance exam.

Yugi is so proud. The whole group is celebrating. Seto is proud but him and Mokuba are quietly planning to fire Crowler for his behavior. Also he lost to an enternce applicant when using his personal deck, obviously he’s not at the caliber he should be. Never mind it was Jaden who’s been dueling against the King of Games, the Pharaoh of the Shadow Game, Seto Kaiba, and Jumping Joey Wheeler for the past ten years. He’s not exactly a normal applicant. But Crowler and the school don’t need to know that.

The only thing that saves Crowler’s job is Jaden excitedly texting. “Did you see me? I won!”

Yugi responds “of course buddy! You were amazing!”

Seto is about to respond when Jaden types back “thanks Dad! It was so much fun! I really like that Crowler guy! He was so fun to duel against! It’s been a long time since I’ve had that much fun while learning! I can’t wait to be in his class and learn more!”

As Seto realizes he can’t fire the guy, yet. Jaden likes him and want to be ‘challenged’ more. Jaden didn’t even realize that he’d been singled out. He had a great time. He likes his teacher. And Seto isn’t about to upset his boy by firing the first teacher he’s liked in years.

Oh he’ll fire the man one day. But he needs a better reason than Jaden’s exam. A reason that will have Jaden upset at Crowler and not Seto for over reacting. Seto is a patient man. He knows Crowler will mess up sooner or later.

(Little did Seto know that not only would Crowler remain for Jaden’s whole run at Duel Academy, but would become his son’s favorite teacher and the only teacher in many situation that tried to protect his kid and his classmates)

[milune-vox]

The Dawn of Redeeming Grace

previous chapter <=> next chapter Chapter 8:

(weeks after the last date)

   Wisdom is often associated with old age.

Now, he is, in fact, old. Older than the vast majority of human beings around. One would assume that, in all his time on Earth, he would have accumulated a wealth of wisdom.

This assumption is incorrect.

The only bit of wisdom he’s ever retained is this: wisdom, as a state of mind, as this stoic, zen master type of attitude, is much like the art of balancing pebbles in neat little heaps at the water’s edge. No matter how much one masters the art, when a wave comes crashing down, the entire structure is ruined, finished, gone—you’ve got to rebuild it all. Start again. There’s no going against the power of nature through sheer fuckin' will, contrary to what some might believe.

When you’re struck down, you’re struck down.

When you’re drowning, you’re drowning.

You’re always where you’re at.

Right now, Hob’s in a rather miserable place. He’s so tired he wants to die.

But that’s not what he’ll do. It’s just how it feels. He knows that he will never ask for death, thank you very much.

This is another thing he’s learned in his long life. Most feelings are bullshit. Most thoughts are too. Meaning, anything he’s previously stated in the haze of his exhausted mind probably was bullshit as well. And perhaps believing it is bullshit is also bullshit in its own right.

They are but consequences of things that are far removed from his motivations and spirits.

Tired? Suddenly he curses the world and wants to bite the bullet.

Sick? Suddenly he dreams of curling up in a ball under the sheets to never come out again.

Hungry? His thoughts spiral into horrible recollections of what it felt like to starve, and despair claws at him, making him want to eat until his belly bursts.

Restless? He wants to break jaws and snap necks and bash skulls in. Those of others or his own. Not too picky in those moments, truthfully. 

He has learned to recognize when his mind is bullshitting and discard its input, focusing on getting rest, treatment, or a nice, healthy, balanced meal. As for the restlessness, a bit of workout usually does the trick.

But sometimes, he is a little too tired, too sick, too hungry, too restless.

Too heartbroken.

Sometimes, he just wants to give in and stop fighting, because, what’s the point, his mind asks in a sultry, apathetic voice, what’s the point of life, of going on, of—

A neighbor knocks on a wall and shouts, “Oi!”

It’s not for him, who’s been staring in silence at the wall from his seat on the couch for the better part of an hour. It must be for the students next door, partying hard, walls pulsing with music and shouting.

Yeah, right. That’s why Hob still can’t sleep. Not just the heartbreak this time.

He rubs at his face and sighs. What a fucking day.

He wishes he was privy to more occult knowledge, if only to get ahold of some metaphysical line and ring Dream up.

“Hey there, friend,” he would say. “I know you kind of left in a hurry last time, and I feel like I must have done something wrong again, though, unfair, like, you could have told me if I’d done something to offend you, right? Anyway, not the point. If you are not too mad at me, would you please come on down from wherever your bloody realm is, and sully yourself with my o-so-beneath-you human presence, and just, I don’t know, put me to sleep for the next hundred years? Like, if you’re going to make me wait, might as well not be conscious this time around, alright? I’m tired. I’ll still wait, okay, but I’m tired. I’m tired, I’m tired, I’m tired, I’m tired—”

The more he thinks about it, the more his lips start shaping the words, silently first, then a murmur, then he speaks them out loud, and his voice breaks, and he does it again and again until he breaks down in tears.

It happens for a total of seven seconds, after which his face, contracted in sobs, goes blank, and he stares off into the distance with an unbothered look.

His rational mind catches up with him and very helpfully provides that self-pity isn’t a very productive course of action. What’s the point of moaning about his issues? It wouldn’t fix them; it would only make them worse, deepen the wound, twist the knife in.

No need to get worried over things out of one’s control.

And so he goes, putting down the first pebble on the shore.

He rises from the couch, feeling like Atlas carrying the world, his body an uncanny mix of numbness and ache, his joints feeling every bit their six hundred years of age. He does not notice the mysterious figure looming down the street below, nor the gun glinting discreetly in a gloved hand.

***

A small black dot grazes the heavy sky. The rain has let up, for now. The dot free-falls like a meteor, but before it reaches the ground, its trajectory pulls up, aiming toward the castle with the speed and precision of a guided missile.

It flies through the open doors, under the ever-watchful eyes of three terrible gargoyles, past countless rooms and corridors.

Finally, after a convoluted, impossible route, it perches at the top of an extinguished candelabrum, its claws clicking against the metal as it shifts anxiously from foot to foot.

“Matthew,” greets Lucienne, her eyes still set on the book she’s reading. She gestures with a swift, accustomed motion.

“Eh, hi boss lady. How you been?”

No matter how many times Dream scolds him, he never drops the nickname. Lucienne doesn’t comment, so he thinks he’s in the clear.

“I have been well, thank you,” she replies, then adds, looking at him over her glasses, “Busy, as you can see.” Matthew considers leaving, though he truly doesn’t want to. His questions have questions, and he can’t think of anyone else to ask in the Dreaming. “Sorry,” he mumbles half-heartedly under her stern glare.

She focuses back on her book, and after a while, comments nonchalantly, “I’ve heard the weather has been less than desirable. I believe I can see the clouds slowly lifting?” She looks pointedly at the high arched windows further down the alley.

“Yeah,” Matthew sighs, answering the unasked question. “He’s with his sister right now, I think. Cool lady.”

“He is?” She stops reading for a moment, surprised. Then her face softens, and she nods to herself. “… Good.”

They sit in silence a while longer until Matthew’s claws start clicking against the metal perch again. Eyes snapping back to him like a librarian catching a noisy visitor, she asks, “Did you want something else?”

Matthew puffs his little feathered chest, bracing himself for the question he’s been burning to ask. “Do you know why he’s been like that? I don’t mean to snoop or anything, but, err, I’m Dream’s raven. I got to, maybe, know about stuff so I can help out? Like, if he’s in danger or something, I’d like to know.”

She halts, breathes in, then sighs. “He is not in danger, and he hasn’t confided in me. If he had told me and not you, I wouldn't break his trust by sharing with you.”

“Ah, okay, well, no, that’s fair, I guess.”

He’s still shuffling on his feet, now in tune with disappointment. “I guess I’ll—” he starts, but is interrupted by Lucienne’s voice.

“However, I have an inkling as to what might have happened.”

“Oh yeah?”

She takes too long to answer, and getting restless, he flies to perch on her chair’s armrest, ready to give his best impression of a begging cat if that’s what it takes. “Come on, spill the beans. You can’t tease a big reveal and drop it like that. You sound like a Marvel post-credit scene, you’re killing me, Lush.”

She chuckles softly, shaking her head. “I believe it may have something to do with a friend of his.”

“He’s got a friend?” he croaks, perhaps too surprised, for Lucienne raises an eyebrow. He rushes to correct himself. “Not to be disrespectful or anything, but he’s not got a very, uh, friendly personality. I mean, he’s nice enough with us. Sometimes. But how did that happen? Do I know them? Are they here?”

“He is not in the Dreaming. Hob Gadling belongs to the Waking.”

“Oh, it’s the guy, isn’t it? The guy from the pub. And the flat. And, yeah, I guess it makes sense they’d be friends; they met quite a few times. I just assumed it was some kind of business, like, made sense, you know. Usually, it’s how—wait, what did you say his name was? Hob? Never heard that one.”

“An old nickname. Several hundred years old, to be more accurate.”

“Yeah, well, he must be an interesting fellow if he caught the boss’s attention—wait, when you say several hundred years, you don’t mean… it’s not just an old nickname, is it? Please don’t tell me the dude is actually that old.”

“He is. I don’t know his exact age, but considering the number of centennial meetings, I’d wager he is around 600 years old, yes.”

“Centennial what?”

“Our Lord meets with one Hob Gadling every century. Or so it was the case. We understand this schedule has recently changed.”

“Holy shit. Leave it to the boss to have the weirdest friendship in all of existence. Well, if they’ve been meeting more often, shouldn’t he be, like, in a good mood?”

“He has been. Wouldn’t you agree?”

“...Yes? I don’t know. He’s been okay, I guess. Well, before it all went to shite.”

She sighs.

“Flowers.”

“What about flowers?”

Lucienne takes out a book, revealing pressed roses inside.

“Pressing flowers, Lush? A new hobby?” Matthew asks.

“I’ve been finding them in the castle. In the library. Growing unbidden, in secret places. Barely noticeable for now, but it’s happened before. If the sun comes back, and it seems like the clouds might be dissipating, then they’ll start growing everywhere.”

“I, yeah, I mean, I guess it’s nice that we get spring here, although with all this rain they’re probably all—oh. The flowers are like the rain. They, like, mean something, don’t they? What is it?”

Lucienne raises an eyebrow at him, waiting patiently with a knowing look. Matthew suddenly caws in realization.

“The boss has a crush!”

She immediately returns to her reading, dismissing him with a swift, “I wouldn't dare comment.”

He knows that in Lucienne’s talk, it means nothing but a resounding yes.

“Damn,” he mutters, thinking. “Daaaamn.” He pauses before asking, “Do you think they had a lover’s spat?”

She seems to mull over her response, her eyes stuck on the page, her lips thinning in consideration. Then, she slowly closes her book without making a noise and places it in her lap. She turns to him, and he starts feeling nervous. Solemnly, in a soft, confidential tone, she tells him:

“Our Lord has had some… unfortunate, if not downright tragic, forays into love before. It’s not the first time we’ve had such wretched weather. He will need our support in these times��not our gossip.”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it. No more questions. Damn. That dude must be something special to get the attention of Dream of the Endless, though, right? I kinda want to meet him. And pluck his eyeballs out if he’s responsible for this rain.”

She chuckles softly, readjusting her glasses with practiced ease.

“I would advise against it. You know the fate of the last denizen of the Dreaming who felt inclined to prey on dreamers’ eyes.”

“Ouch, yes, true. But if he hurt the boss? I’ll give it a shot.”

She smiles a patient, knowing smile at him, and he ruffles his feathers, all bravado and no thought. She shakes her head softly and resumes her reading. Matthew remains, climbing atop the back of the chair to sneak a read from behind her shoulder. As rays of the sun break through the clouds, they traverse the arched windows to fall on them. It is peaceful for a while.

And it remains so until the Dream Lord himself arrives in the library and announces:

“Lucienne, I will be leaving shortly.”

She raises her eyes in consideration, taking in his solemn demeanor, and suggests innocently:

“To the Waking, my Lord?”

He looks wistful, and both she and Matthew wait with bated breath for his answer.

“To Hell.”

“Again?!” Matthew caws indignantly.

And so the events continue to unfurl, as they did, until, finally, the time comes to visit the Waking. Their Lord has accomplished much in these last months. The Dreaming is now bursting at the seams with flowers, set in eternal spring.

“Lucienne,” he starts, and she nods, reading his intention in the slight awkwardness of his posture, the tentative happiness that struggles to rise from his stony expression.

“You’re going to the Waking,” she says, not asking.

A small smile graces his lips at last.

“Indeed. I count on you to watch over things in my absence. I should return in a day.”

“Of course, my Lord.” As he takes hold of his sand and prepares to leave, she adds, “Please do greet Hob Gadling from me.”

He stops, then slowly nods in her direction. They exchange a commiserative gaze, and then Dream disappears in a swirl of sand.

Lucienne goes back to her duties. She starts planning out the day. Some nightmares have been unruly, quite unsettled by the charming weather and the beautiful flowers, which they claim are detrimental to their “whole vibe.” The most recent nightmares had such interesting expressions, anchored in the Waking’s changing times. If only for this, it was good to see her Lord more connected to the Waking. In the past, she had feared for him whenever he left the realm—and if she still did, to some extent, worry—she considered it part of her job, for few beings knew him quite like she did. Now, she knew perhaps this wasn’t true anymore, and she felt warmth and relief at the knowledge. She had, of course, investigated the man, and, though some parts of his long life inspired disdain, he had most definitely changed over the years. His dedication to her Lord was evident through his actions and his dreams. She tried to avoid reading too much into them—it felt quite inappropriate.

Lucienne is about to leave the library and go about her duties for the day when, unexpectedly, sand rises back to where Dream had disappeared not long before. She frowns. It is abnormal for her Lord to return so soon after leaving. She braces herself for a storm. Something must have gone wrong.

She is proven correct when faced with a wide-eyed, terrible-looking Lord Morpheus: his appearance is disrupted, the pretense of humanity but an empty shell from which dark power oozes. His eyes have regained their natural state, galaxies swirling wildly in them.

“My Lord?”

“Lucienne. I need to look at Hob Gadling’s books.”

She’s usually quick on her feet, but the surprise halts her step, and Dream's voice thunders imperiously:

“Ñ̶̩̲͉̠͓̰̹̞̥̽͂͋́̄̅̍̊̈́̂͆̑̊̑ͅͅo̵͍̼̠̖̪̦̤̟̪͇̠͂̃̽͜͜ͅͅẇ̷̺̫̻̥̦͛̑̀̑̅̂́̈̇́̍̕̚.̷̩̰̜͍̯̯͉̗̀͑̄́̕.”

[tgmsunmontue]

It's all academic darlin' PART 9/10

PART 1 PART 2 PART 3 PART 4 PART 5 PART 6 PART 7 PART 8

Part 7 and 8 are Explicit. And nothing else makes sense without the first six parts but you do you!

PART NINE

            Jake goes through the next few minutes in a haze as he finishes the washing up and watches Bradley hug Admiral Kazansky good bye, telling him they’ll see him tomorrow. He’s told it was very nice to meet him and Jake returns the sentiment, meaning it wholeheartedly. Still difficult to think of the COMPACFLT as someone who makes amazing waffles and likes Star Wars, but he imagines he’ll get there. Bradley leans into his space, hooks fingers into the loops on his jeans and grins at him.

            “So. You survived.”

            “Yeah, he’s actually pretty cool.”

            “Well yeah, he’s… he was the steady presence for me. The one I felt like I could always call up and get advice. Proper advice. Not Mav’s just do it attitude, deal with the consequences later approach… It works for him but I’ve always been a little more careful.”

            “Risk averse?”

            “Not really, but definitely always wanted to weigh things up before committing properly.”

            Jake hums, because he’s wondering if he’s reading too much into that statement, that Bradley is saying something about not wanting to risk committing being with him. He doesn’t think so. It goes against everything Bradley has said and done in the last twenty-four hours but he can’t help the little niggle of doubt.

            “So… He gave you permission to tell your friends.”

            “You were listening huh?”

            “Of course I was. Ice knows I always listen in. More difficult to do when he’s only using ASL though. He’d have used pen and paper if he really didn’t want me to know.”

            “I’ll add it to my pile of stuff to learn…

            “You’re going to learn ASL?”

            “Well, I want to be able to understand whatever you guys are saying to each other. I mean, I thought this sign was pretty obvious,” he makes the two-handed gesture he had thought meant blowjob and Bradley snorts, rests his forehead on Jake’s shoulder and his laugh is gentle and quiet and he never wants this feeling of rightness to end.

            “Oh no, that’s totally the sign for what you think it is. Blow job.”

            “What?!”

            “It was a comment I made months ago, when Mav was telling me about you. About how you disobeyed orders and saved his life…”

            Jake can’t believe that Mav just talks about fucking top-secret missions. Obviously he’s assuming Bradley isn’t sharing it with anyone who doesn’t already know, but how the fuck has Admiral Kazansky not murdered Maverick yet?

            “How the fuck does Kazansky say anything at home?”

            “Well, he doesn’t,” Bradley says and Jake groans at the bad joke.

            “Shut up! You know what I mean!”

            Bradley laughs, shakes his head and shifts his hands from the belt loops to hook his hands behind Jake, pulling him close. He shoves his hands into the back pockets of Bradley’s jeans, needs somewhere to put them to stop feeling awkward.

            “Anyway, Mav told me about you saving his life and I jokingly asked him if he’d wanted me to give you a thank you blow job. You know he kept sending me things to do at the cabin, like he was trying to make me stick around until you got there. He likes to think he’s sneaky but he’s like a sheet of glass.”

            “So what, you’re with me because you’re grateful?”

            “Nope. Don’t get me wrong, I am grateful, Mav is pretty fucking important to me. But I’m not with you because of that. You’re funny and intelligent and you aren’t intimidated by me or my career. That’s a pretty fucking amazing trifecta right there,” Bradley says, and he’s completely serious now, his eyes intent on Jake’s face like he really wants to press home how much he believes what he’s saying and Jake shifts uncomfortably, not used to being the subject of such an intense gaze.

            “And then… and then, on top of that, my dad, Mav, already likes you. Tomorrow night he was going to try and set me up with you a third time. And Ice? He thinks you’re hilarious. That you’ll, and I quote, fit in with our crazy family without even trying, end quote. I’ve adlibbed a bit. Anyway, those are five things which I find are pretty important. I usually don’t have the Mav and Ice approval so early on… Jesus Jake. Do you have any idea how amazing I think you are?”

            Jake swallows, throat tight and he shakes his head a little, because no, he didn’t think Bradley thought anything like that about him. Not like that.

            “And then there are the sprinkles and cherry, which are you getting on with my friends, maybe a little too well to be honest. And all of this? Wrapped up in something that looks like you do… it’s like hitting the jackpot.”

            “Oh.”

            “Too much?”

            “Maybe a little?” Jake says, unsure as he sucks in a shaky breath.

            “Okay… so what did you want to do today? We’ve got all afternoon and all night…”

            “Whatever will we do to entertain ourselves.”

            “I’ve got some ideas.”

…         …         …

            Bradley doesn’t know exactly where Jake’s insecurities come from, but the lack of him talking about his parents makes him wonder. Jake hasn’t said they were dead, only mentioned his brother and sister when they’d emailed about family. Jake is confident, cocky and a touch arrogant like every naval aviator Bradley has ever met. It hasn’t seemed to bleed into his relationships though, not if he’s never really had one. And maybe that’s the telling part. It’s okay, he can work with that. Finds himself willing to work with it, when Jake is just… leaving himself so open like this.

            They make out against the kitchen bench for a little while, there’s no sense of urgency for him. Not when he’s had more orgasms in the last twenty-four hours than he’s had the entire week prior. Still, there’s a low buzzing thrum of arousal in his body and he’s pretty sure that it will just become his natural state when Jake is nearby. Another thing he’s willing to work with.

            “So, are you going to tell them?” Bradley asks, because he’s insanely curious and part of him wants all of Mav’s usual machinations to be ruined just so he can see the look on his face for once.

            “Who? Oh, the other Daggers coming tomorrow? Yeah. Probably. Think I’d like to introduce you to Javy if that’s okay?”

            “Yeah, of course. Why wouldn’t it be? You met most of my friends last night.”

            “Javy is my best friend.”

            “Okay…?”

            “He’s definitely going to want to meet you…”

            “You want to have him around, cook dinner?”

            “No. I don’t want to spend time cooking for them when I’m still getting to know you.”

            “You’re secretly the sweetest, you know that?”

            Jake looks embarrassed, doesn’t meet his eye and Bradley kisses him again, slow and gentle, tries to reassure with every press of his lips. Then Jake is pulling back, eyes wide and he’d be worried except Jake looks delighted.

            “Oh my god… I can fuck with him. I can fuck with him so bad.”

            “What? Who?”

            “Javy… this is like a triple blind.”

            “What do you mean?”

            “He knows I’ve been emailing this professor. He probably isn’t picturing someone like you, when you think professor.”

            Bradley’s takes that for the compliment he assumes is there somewhere, grins and nods encouragement.

            “So I let him meet you, and he’s not going to expect you at all… then… do you have a photo album or something?”

            “No, Mav’s got most of them. I’ve got a couple of pictures somewhere. What do you want exactly?”

            “Picture of you and Mav…”

            “Oh… what, you going to bring him back and introduce me and then just hope he stumble across a photo album picture of me and Mav?”

            “Well, when you put it like that…”

            “Nah, I think I can think of something. Put some on the fridge maybe? I’ve got a graduation photo as well somewhere. I hide it because Kezia gives me shit about how young I look.”

            “Yeah… do you mind?”

            Bradley grins and shakes his head, is pretty sure Jake is now feeling the same glee he had when he realized he could maybe get Mav.

            “I’ve got to ring him, stupid asshole, trying to hide the fact that he’s in North Island…”

            Bradley pulls away slightly, clearly isn’t allowed to go to far as Jake refuses to remove a hand from his back pocket, tugs him close as he presses call on his phone and waits for his friend to answer.

            “Hey man, how’s it going?”

            “Hey. I’m good. And I have a bone to pick with you. You’re in North Island.”

            “How the fuck did you find that out? It was meant to be a surprise!”

            “A little bird told me…” Jake looks at Bradley then and he laughs silently, little bird indeed. Standing so close he can hear everything, especially with how Jake is angling the phone.

            “Who?”

            “Not important. Anyway, I wanted to talk about something. You know that guy I was emailing?”

            “Who? The professor guy?”

            “Yeah. Him.”

            “Ooohhh… you hot for teacher?”

            “Yeah. I am actually.”

            “Holy shit! Really? He’s not like old as fuck and walking around with a zimmer frame?”

            “No, no zimmer frame in sight.”

            Bradley laughs silently again, is a little horrified that maybe Jake at any stage thought that maybe Bradley was that old, but listens as Jake arranges to meet Javy for an early dinner in a few hours at one of the burger bars downtown. He hangs up and then kisses Bradley firmly.

            “Man this is going to be fun. I see why the Admiral is so excited about tricking Mav now… and why Mav must enjoy doing it to people.”

            “Do not encourage him. He doesn’t need encouragement okay?”

            “Yeah yeah… okay. Fuck. I’m sorry. I should have checked. Are you okay with me going out to dinner?”

            “Of course… I’m not your keeper or anything.”

            “But we’ve only just… met. I don’t want you to think that he’s more important –”

            “Jake. He’s your best friend. Has been your best friend for years. Someone who you also haven’t seen in over seven months I’m betting. He’s more important. I don’t mind at all.”

            He really doesn’t, the fact that Jake had immediately wanted to arrange to see his best friend, even if he’s using the excuse to fuck with him, tells him more than Jake probably realizes. That’s he’s loyal, and places importance on his relationships in equal measure. It’s a good sign. He can’t handle being the only person in anyone’s life, learnt that one early on.

            “Well, I know you have work to do. Don’t pretend you don’t… you were complaining about it in your last email.”

            “Yeah, but you’re here…”

            “I am here right now. And I’ll be back later. Consider it an incentive to get as much work done while I’m gone as you can…”

            “Yeah okay, I’ve always been pretty focused with the right motivation…”

            “Good to hear. You know what I want to do right now?” Jake asks, and both his hands are back on Bradley’s ass, gripping him through his pockets.

            “What?” Bradley asks, letting himself grind up against Jake with clear interest.

            “I want to fuck you.”

            “You going to ask nicely?”

            “Bradley, please, let me fuck you. I want to get my mouth on you, my fingers inside, stretch you open for my cock, then I want to fuck you and leave those marks all over your chest you asked for and want to see if you’ll beg me to touch your cock, or if you can come without that…”

            “Yeah… that’s pretty nice…”

…         …         …

            Jake leans down, latches his mouth on the sensitive nipples he’d discovered last night and sucks. Bradley’s cock jerks between them, a spurt of precum dripping from the head.

            “How are you so hot?”

            “Good genes…” Jake snorts, licks his way across Bradley’s chest.

            “You sure about these marks? You know I’m not a horny teenager unable to control myself…”

            “Channel your inner teenager, go to town okay? I want to look absolutely wrecked.”

            “This better not fucking backfire…” Jake mutters, because while he’s not generally a guy that gets off on leaving marks, it isn’t exactly a hardship to suck at Bradley’s body when he responds so beautifully, because him enjoying it is something that will get him off.

            “Trust me…”

            Jake can’t believe it, but he does, he really does. He thrusts forward, not quite getting the leverage he’d usually have considering he’s trying to mark Bradley up as much as humanely possible with his mouth.

            “You can leave more later, please, just fuck me… come on.”

            “Okay.”

            He lets himself focus on drawing back before snapping his hips forward, watching Bradley’s face carefully to gauge whether that’s okay. The way his eyes fall shut the same time his mouth gasps open he’s going to take it as a winner and he does it again again again, feeling his own orgasm coiling up in his gut. He can see a half-dozen bite marks starting to darken across Bradley’s chest and collar bone, feels an unexpected thrill. Inner teenager indeed.

            Bradley isn’t making any move to touch himself and he wonders if he needs or wants Jake’s hand on him, whether he’s holding back for some reason Jake’s not aware of. Bradley’s hands are all over Jake’s body instead, running over his chest, down his arms, digging into his shoulders and he’s getting close, wants to touch Bradley now but also wants to know what exactly might tip him over the edge. He has a hunch. He adjusts slightly, mostly maintaining his pace and then he scrapes a blunt nail across Bradley’s left nipple and bloody fucking hell. He almost jackknives up and headbutts Jake in the face, though the loud whine he makes has Jake doing in again; ready this time for the entire-body jerk and he presses down with more force, captures Bradley’s mouth in a hard kiss.

            Then he shifts again, sucks the same nipple into his mouth and yeah, Bradley’s coming, his voice making broken sounds that have Jake’s name mixed in and he licks one more time, savors the full body spasm that Bradley gives and then he fucks into him a few more times, watching Bradley as he lies almost catatonic beneath him, and Jake has never felt so fucking smug before in his life. Yeah. This is fucking amazing.

            Later, post showers, music playing in the background, they sit on the sofa, Bradley reading through essays he’s marking, constantly muttering under his breath and Jake can’t help but smile to himself every time Bradley grumbles and taps away, clearly making comments. Jake’s replied to some emails and is now reading the manual for one of the aircraft he’s going to be asked to inspect as part of his interview for the test pilot position, and he feels quietly comfortable. He makes a few notes, wonders if he could ask Mav some questions and guesses he can likely ask Mav many things now.

            He gets up and uses the bathroom, comes back through to the kitchen for a glass of water and sees there is already a new photo on the fridge and it’s Bradley as a toddler, with an incredibly young-looking Mav grinning at him. There’s a couple and he recognizes Nick Bradshaw from the Navy database photo. The woman must be Bradley’s mom. She has the same easy smile and a little part of him aches for the fact that he’ll never meet them but Bradley will never meet his own parents either so it doesn’t make him feel bad enough to dwell on it.

            He’s a bit peckish so he raids the fridge and cupboards, prepares a plate of cheese and crackers along with some apple slices and grapes; things that can be eaten one handed. He brings it back to the sofa, kicks at Bradley’s feet and passes him a glass of water, leaning down to give him a kiss before going back to his reading.

            “Thanks…”

            “I’ve got a vested interest in making sure your energy levels stay up.”

            “Yeah you do…”

            They grin at each other but lapse back into doing their own thing.

…         …         …

            He has no idea how he lost time so quickly, or how he quite got through so much marking. Definite motivation he guesses, glancing at Jake. At least that’s what he’s going to put it down to. Jake bringing him snacks has let him keep his momentum, rather than get distracted and it’s kind of nice to have someone else just showing that extra consideration. He hadn’t expected it and it makes him feel a little unprepared for just how easily Jake had just simply thought of him and what he might need.

            “Hey, I’m going to go, I’ll see you in a bit okay? I’ll bring you back dessert…”

            “Mmm… look forward to it.” Bradley says, deliberately misconstruing his meaning and running his eyes down Jake’s body meaningfully. Gets a playful shove in response and he laughs.

            “I meant ice cream, but sure, you can have me too…”

            “Wait, you want to take my car? And take the spare key.”

            “Uh… what?”

            “Take my spare keys. They’re on a hook behind the door. It’s not like I’m going anywhere. Then you don’t have to book a Lyft or be buzzed in, or knock on the door. That okay?”

            “Yeah. Okay. Yeah.”

            “Good.”

            “That made my brain go offline…”

            “More than the idea of me wanting to eat you for dessert? Clearly not doing a proper job of it.”

            “Fuck Bradley…”

            “Yeah, we’re pretty good at that…”

            “Oh my god, stop already. I’ve got to get going,” Jake mutters, but he still looks pleased, and definitely less spooked than he did mere moments before. “I’ll stop in at the grocery store on my way back. I’m bringing Javy back to meet you remember? So don’t strip yourself naked and wait for me on the bed. Do more work and I’ll see you later. Don’t forget to eat something more than cheese and crackers. You need anything for these brownies we’re apparently taking tomorrow?”

            “Oh. Dark chocolate. I like the idea of being naked and waiting for you in bed… we’ll have to explore that later.”

            Jake grins, gives him another kiss, firmer this time and Bradley presses into it.

            “I’ll pick up the chocolate.”

            “Thanks. Enjoy dinner with Javy…”

            “Will do.”

…         …         …

            He walks into the bar and spots Javy easily. He hadn’t expected for them to be joined by Trace and Floyd but there they are, all chatting with each other and dressed in civvies, and he slides into the spare seat at the table, greets them all.

            “You don’t seem surprised. Did the little bird tell you that they were here too?”

            “Yep. Dinner tomorrow night.”

            “Huh. I want to know who this birdy is… Mav?”

            “He’s really shit at keeping secrets sometimes,” Jake provides, thinking about Mav’s whole secret relationship with the Admiral, but then not stopping to think about sharing mission critical information with Bradley. Or Jake’s own medical history. The fact that he hadn’t exactly told Jake that they were in town, and Bradley had just let him overhear is something he won’t ever be admitting to.

            “How are you two?” Jake asks, because unlike Javy who he’s emailed a couple of times a week since they went on their first deployments in different directions, he doesn’t keep in regular contact with either of them, just the standard group chat that the Dagger Squad have which goes through peaks and troughs of communication. They talk about superficial things for a while, take in the ambience of the burger joint and place their order with the waitstaff.

            “Any particular reason we’re eating so early?”

            “I had a late breakfast so needed an early dinner.”

            “A late breakfast huh? Were you busy in bed?” Javy asks, grinning and leaning back, knowing he’s just let the cat out amongst the pigeons and Jake doesn’t care, because he’s going to get them all and he’s going to enjoy every fucking minute. Phoenix and Bob both look between him and Javy, expressions only mildly interested.

            “Yep. Sure was. Had someone special cook for me as well…”

            “Jake’s been emailing this professor guy, getting all hot and bothered via email!”

            “God, shut up…”

            “I’m not saying anything untrue!”

            “Well, we’re not emailing anymore, I met him yesterday. Properly,” he adds, thinking back to over ten months ago when he’d first met Bradley at the cabin.

            “Yeah? What’s he like?”

            “He’s great. He’s smart, and funny and understands being in the Navy pretty well for a civilian. We went rock climbing with his friends last night… I was going to ask if you wanted to meet him,” Jake says, looking at Javy, because he’ll know how significant that is. He’s never introduced anyone to Javy before.

            “Oh holy shit. You’re serious?”

            “Yeah. It’s pretty serious.”

            “Wow…” Javy says and Jake’s pretty sure he’s at a loss for what to say.

            “You got a picture or anything?”

            “Uh, no…” He doesn’t want to say they’ve been a bit busy to take selfies, although he will definitely want some photos next time he’s away from Bradley. Fuck. Bradley’s going to need a better phone with a decent camera and Jake can’t trust him with that. They’re going to have to figure out something though.

            “Look at that blush!”

            “Too busy with other things huh?”

            “Shut up. You want to meet him or not?”

            “Hell yes! I’m picking if he’s into rock climbing he’s not in his eighties.”

            “He’s a couple years older than me, and he can definitely keep up with me…” Jake says, and he realizes then that Bradley likely grew up training with Mav and being expected to go on runs with him and likes to exercise, rather than needing to do it as a requirement for his job like Jake needs to do.

            “And I’m sure you’ve tested that out…”

            “Yes, several times in fact,” Jake grins back, feeling pretty smug.

            “That invitation to meet him open to all of us?” Phoenix asks and Jake shrugs, like he doesn’t care either way, knows if he plays it too keen they’ll get suspicious.

            “Yeah, sure. Come and meet him. He already said he wants to meet Javy.”

            “Really?”

            “Yeah, he’s heard a lot about you…”

            Javy’s eyebrow goes up at that, and Jake grins, because he’s referring to Bradley’s comment about Mav talking about all the Dagger Squad. Bradley’s likely to have an idea of each of them through whatever Maverick thinks of them, which is a little humbling because from what Bradley has implied Mav seems to think Jake is somehow someone worthy of his respect. And time. Someone he thinks is good enough for Bradley to be with, and he finds that to be a pretty huge commendation on what Mav thinks of him.

            Their food arrives and he flicks a quick message to Bradley, no idea if he will even check it before Jake gets back to the apartment. Their conversation turns to work, talking about different aspects of training they’re each carrying out in different parts and he mentions he’s applied for the test pilot position at Fallon on Mav’s recommendation. Phoenix is taking an instructor role at Top Gun for the next two years, while Javy and Bob are slated to do training of new pilots at Pensacola for eighteen months. Jake doesn’t have any current orders, having only returned from a seven-month deployment at sea, but he’s hoping he’s at least going to be land-bound for the next little while even if he doesn’t get the test pilot position.

            “Okay, I need to go to the grocery store on the way back. I’m just getting some ice cream and chocolate. I’ll meet you guys outside the apartment building,” Jake says, giving them the address and watching them all plug it into the map app on their phones.

            “Can you get Moose Tracks?”

            “Who said the ice cream was for you?”

            “You mean you’re getting ice cream and chocolate and not going to share it with us?”

            “The chocolate is for the brownies we’re making for dinner tomorrow, not for eating.”

            “Just buy more chocolate.”

            “Wait. Is he coming to dinner tomorrow night?”

            Jake freezes, and shakes his head, thinks frantically.

            “Uh no, of course not. I’m just bringing some brownies for tomorrow. Bradley’s a really good cook…”

            “I was going to say, inviting the guy to Mav’s for dinner seems a little rude.”

            Jake laughs, wonders if they can here how crazy he’s feeling. This subterfuge shit is harder than he thought. God he needs to get back to the apartment.

            “I’ll see you guys there! Bye!”

…         …         …

            They’re waiting for him outside and he’s glad he didn’t tell them the apartment number. Wouldn’t have put it past them to buzz Bradley and ambush him before Jake got back. Javy is looking at the keys in his hand with a raised eyebrow and Jake simply makes a what would you have me do face. He’s aware he’s falling hard and fast, but he also feels like Bradley’s a giant safety net ready to catch him. He opens the apartment door, trying to be a little noisy to give Bradley some warning, because his five phone messages have all gone unanswered and he wonders if it’s finally death-knell time for his current phone. For all he knows ten months might be a personal record.

            “Hi…” Bradley says, appearing in the doorway to the hall and he’s clearly had a shower and changed, no longer wearing the tank and sweats he’d lounged around in most of the day. Instead he’s in jeans and a dark blue Henley, looking all sorts of delectable and Jake gives him an approving smirk and gets an eyeroll back in return, it’s accompanied with a grin though and yeah, he’s falling and falling, doesn’t want to stop.

            “Hey. Uh. These two were there as well.”

            “Okay,” Bradley says, walking over and holding out a hand to shake, starting with Javy and he bites back a comment about making Mav proud with his manners.

            “Bradley, this is Javy Machado, Natasha Trace and Bob Floyd. Javy, Natasha and Bob, this is Bradley Bradshaw.”

            “Hey man, nice to meet you,” Javy says, shaking Bradley’s hand, and he’s definitely scrutinizing Bradley for asshole vibes and Jake can’t help but feel a deep swell of appreciation for his best friend. Yeah. He’s got his back. Bradley is shaking Natasha and Bob’s hands and then reaching for the grocery bag.

            “Let me take that and put it in the freezer… Wow. Did we really need four different flavors of ice cream?”

            “Well, I don’t know your favorite, so I got vanilla and chocolate, and then she wanted the Moose Tracks,” Jake says, pointing at Phoenix who looks suitably annoyed at being thrown under the proverbial bus. “And when I’m already getting three tubs of ice cream I figured I might as well round it out with strawberry. And I got fudge sauce…”

            “Fair argument. I prefer vanilla with fudge sauce, so top marks…” Bradley says, throwing him a wink and Jake flushes, because he knows Javy is going to take that as some sex role-play thing when it’s not, just a reference to their conversation yesterday. Fuck. Was it only yesterday?

            “Make yourselves at home, does anyone want tea or coffee? Bowls of ice cream? Or are we all wanting to forgo bowls and just eat directly from the tubs and enter sugar highs side-by-side?”

            He walks towards the kitchen and Phoenix and Bob follow him and he lets Javy tug him to the side a little.

            “He is not what I imagined.”

            “Nope. Pretty fucking hot right?”

            “I mean… I guess? I’m more impressed with the way he looks at you like he’d give you the world if you asked for it. I was worried that you were gone on this guy, but he seems pretty gone on you too, so… that’s good. You deserve a guy that wants to do everything for you.”

            Jake nods sharply, because he gets that. In theory. It’s nice to hear, even if hearing and feeling it so much in the last day has felt overwhelming, even if it has been positive. He glances up and Javy is looking at him like he understands, gives Jake a quick hug before heading to the kitchen to join the other two in getting ice cream. He glances around the living room and sees two new photo frames, Bradley’s graduation photo with Maverick set at about eye-level, and another frame set at about knee height, where the Admiral is in uniform with Bradley standing beside him, so there’s definitely no mistaking him and he grins.

            “Are you sure we haven’t met, you just look really familiar,” Phoenix is saying, like she’s trying to place him and Jake hides his grin. Wonders if Bradley knows Mav has a photo of him on his desk. An old photo, but still a photo.

            “Maybe I just have one of those faces?” Bradley suggests, catching Jake’s eye.

            They’ve clearly decided to start in on the ice cream, digging in and serving themselves up and using bowls; the kitchen isn’t big enough for five people, so he reaches to give Bradley a kiss across the counter and Bradley obliges by meeting him halfway. It feels so easy and the rollercoaster ride does a loop-de-loop again.

            “Jesus Bagman, did you become a vampire while you were deployed?”

            Jake looks to see what she’s talking about and Bradley’s Henley has pulled slightly, caught between the counter and his body as he stretched across to kiss him; revealing the highest of the marks Jake left and another a little lower. Bradley pulls back, tugging the Henley back into place and shrugs, clearly not embarrassed at all so Jake decides to follow his lead and just smirks at her eyeroll. Bob has headed out to inspect the bookshelves and Jake can feel the anticipation growing.

            “So, what do you do Bradley?”

            “I’m an engineer. A problem solver.”

            “Well, good thing you’re with the biggest problem we have then.”

            “Hey!” Jake objects, but they’re all laughing at him and he rolls his eyes, flicks them the middle finger, but Bradley is wrapping his arms around Jake’s waist and kissing his shoulder.

            “If you’re a problem then it’s the kind of problem I like to have…”

            The look Javy gives him is flat, like he thinks Jake is maybe an idiot for thinking that Bradley is somehow not into him. Or maybe Javy is the idiot, because there is no way that Jake is letting this go.

            “Hey Phoenix, do you mind putting the ice-cream back in the chiller?”

            She lets out a put-upon sigh but does it with a mouthful of ice cream, spoon hanging out of her mouth and Jake waits, watches as she opens and then closes the door, her eyes catching the photo. She’s generally more observant than Javy so he’s hoping she’ll get the ball rolling, or Bob will see the photos on the bookshelves first.

            “Is this… Who are these people in this photo?”

            “My parents and godfather…” Bradley says. “And me as a kid obviously. My dad died not long after that photo was taken actually.”

            “Oh… I’m sorry,” Phoenix says, looking uncomfortable and Jake wonders if that’s going to derail everything, but Javy is now looking as well, then glancing at Bradley.

            “Thanks. It’s fine. Was a long time ago now obviously. My godfather really stepped up and helped my mom raise me. She passed over twenty years ago though, so that’s one of my few family photos.” Jake hadn’t really put all that together and he wonders where Bradey usually keeps it.

            “I’m sorry, I just have to ask, what’s your godfathers name?”

            “Pete.”

            “Peter Mitchell. Maverick,” Javy states, looks to Bradley for confirmation and he gives a nod. Jake grins, pretty impressed Javy put I together the fastest. “Plus you have a moustache that belongs in a porno from the 80s…” Javy adds and Bradley’s eyebrows shoot up, he looks to Jake and Jake coughs, his ice cream catching in his throat with an aborted laugh. He’d forgotten he’d said that.

            “Holy shit, you’re Mav’s son. He has your photo on his desk,” Phoenix says. “That’s why you looked familiar!”

            “Guilty as charged. Don’t hold it against me. Jake wanted to have a little fun…”

            “Hey! Don’t blame this on me!”

            “It was you going on about a triple blind…”

            “What are you guys talking about?” Bob asks, coming back to stand in the kitchen and he’s looking between them all and he wonders if he heard the conversation.

            “Bradley here is Mav’s son.”

            “Oh. Huh. That explains the photo of him on the bookcase. I was going to ask how you knew him.”

            “You must know Mav’s partner. Oh my god! You almost slipped up and told us he was coming to dinner tomorrow, because of course he’s coming to dinner tomorrow. At least you don’t have to worry about introducing the boyfriend to Mav!” Phoenix says, laughing and Jake shrugs, because she has a point. Not that he’d ever really thought about seeking Mav’s approval for that part of his life.

            “Wait, so you’ve already met Mav’s partner? It’s a guy right? That’s the big secret right? What with DADT and everything…”

            “That was definitely part of it… but uh…” He stops, feels unsure suddenly, because even though Admiral Kazansky gave him explicit permission, and Jake clarified, that he’s expecting Jake to tell them, so Mav can’t ambush them with the same information tomorrow he realizes the amount of trust he’s been given.

            “His partner’s also in the Navy. I met him this morning.”

            “Is it Cyclone?”

            “Idiot! He’s met Cyclone. Will we know them?”

            “Yes. And its going to fuck you all up so much…”

            “You’re enjoying this way too much,” Javy mutters.

            “He told me to call him Tom and made me waffles this morning, and I’m still processing it okay? I just want to make you all freak out like I did…”

            “Can’t you just tell us?” Phoenix asks, looks at Bradley and he shakes his head. Jake blinks. He just said his first name. What the fuck?

            “Nope. Jake made me put clues out and everything. Pretty sure you can figure it out. And you’re right, it’s not Beau.”

            “Did you just call Admiral Simpson by his first name?”

            Jake snorts, lets out a little laugh and catches Bradley’s eye, clearly amused.

            “I call most of them by their first names. Some of them I’ll call uncle… And I’m just a civilian remember.”

            “Holy shit,” Bob says, voice quiet and Jake looks to see what he’s looking at.

            Sure enough he’s finally noticed the picture of Bradley and Admiral Kazansky, sitting the perfect height to be noticed if you’re sitting down, but not if you’re standing.

            “Admiral Tom Kasansky.”

            “Bullshit,” Javy says, emphatic and Jake just smirks, knows he’s got a couple more bullshits to get through before he starts to accept it.

            “Are you… you’re… holy shit. You’re serious.,” Bob says, looking between Jake and Bradley and then back to the photo.

            “Yep,” Jake says, popping another spoon of ice cream in his mouth.

            “Is he telling the truth? I mean, anyone can doctor photos now…” Phoenix says, and again she’s skipping over him to talk directly with Bradley.

            “All true. I mean, I call him Ice because I grew up calling him that.”

            Javy makes a high pitched sound that Jake will take as something equal to a second bullshit.

            “Anyway, he wanted to meet Jake without the whole formal dinner thing. So he came around and made waffles.”

            “Bullshit. No fucking way did the COMPACFLT make fucking waffles!”

            “He did, and he is telling the truth,” Bradley says, starting to look a little worried that Javy seems to be freaking out. Jake moves an arm to wrap around his waist, gives him a quick wink to try and convey that everything is okay and it seems to relax him.

            “Wait… you seriously met Admiral Kazansky this morning?”

            “Tom,” Jake provides, ignoring the immediate sense of wrongness at the name, but he’s going for shock value.

            “Bullshit…” Javy says again, but it’s quieter now, and Jake can tell he's processed the worst of it.

            “Nope. He told me to call him Tom.”

            “I need a fucking drink.”

            “I can help with that,” Bradley says.

PART TEN

[imthejudge]

make sense of me

Warren Graham x Nathan Prescott

Chapter Seven Word Count: 8,257

Chapter Six

Tags: fluff, hurt/comfort

Read on Archive

https://archiveofourown.org/works/41111322/chapters/120710245

-

Chapter Seven: improve

The following morning comes all too soon, the night having gone by in a blur. Such as it goes. Warren wakes up feeling… strange. Knowing it’s his last day stuck in the 80s before attempting to travel back home. This uneasiness knotted in his stomach doesn’t come from the anticipation or worry over the feat. Not entirely. It comes from the fact that he can’t convince Nathan to come back with him. And having run out of time to do so.

If only he’d known earlier. Or if there was some way of discovering this before they’d travelled. Before the storm, before the fight in the parking lot, before everything. What he would give to go back, all the way back. Before Jefferson ever got anywhere close to Nathan and the others.

Warren certainly considered it. The temptation to turn the dial to a date before anything happened. But he knows it’s too big of a risk, not being able to voice the idea to Nathan, who he’s sure probably thought of it himself. Both refusing to bring it up, like an unspoken agreement that it wasn’t a possibility, as much as it hurt to admit.

Messing with time, well. It's dangerous. Warren doesn’t even want to dive too deeply into their current circumstance. His mind likely to explode from trying to wrap his head around what being in 1983 might’ve contributed to the future already. To try to ‘fix’ what transpired before the events of he and Nathan’s present in 2013? Warren doesn’t need to go through loop after loop trying to change the future. It’s chaos theory, you know, the butterfly effect and all. Living through the attempt would likely cause them more pain than actual help. And as selfish as it sounds, Warren doesn’t want to put him or Nathan through that. The choices they might have to make… the consequences with them.

So it’s with a dreadful acceptance that Warren starts his day, wanting to push it all far from his mind. But, despite it all, there’s that little, tiny, bit of hope that still lingers. That perhaps it’s not too late yet. That Nathan can be swayed, and that’s what keeps him going. It’s enough motivation to plaster a somewhat acceptable–and at the very least neutral–expression on his face when he and Nathan meet up with Lou at the Two Whales for an early start on their last day.

But even Joyce’s prized smile and his favourite order of Belgium waffles can’t raise his spirits, only managing a couple mouthfuls before he begins aimlessly poking at it with his fork, gaze downcast.

“Uhh, I don’t think so. Warren’ll be the deciding factor.” Warren drifts back to the conversation at the mention of his name, focusing on Lou and Nathan as they eye each other competitively. “You don’t think he’ll agree with me?” Lou feigns a look of despair, shaking her head solemnly. “Sweet, unaware Nathan.” She takes a long sip of the chocolate milkshake she has in front of her.

“What’re we talking about?” Warren looks between the two of them, completely lost.

“Your friend over here thinks strawberry is the superior milkshake flavour,” Lou throws a thumb Nathan’s way with an expression like he’d just tried to convince her that the sun revolves around the earth.

“Yeah, cause it is.” Nathan crosses his arms and narrows his eyes, the expression so strikingly reminiscent of the version of Nathan Warren recalls before everything that it sends a chill along his spine.

The feeling only deepens when he clues into the fact that he’s going to have to agree with Lou, and therefore disagree with Nathan. “Err, chocolate all the way, man… sorry.”

Nathan tears his eyes away from Lou to squint them further, disgust curling his lip. Arms still crossed, he gives Warren a quick once over. “This explains so much.”

Warren has to stop himself from bursting out laughing and he can see Nathan’s expression has lessened somewhat, too, allowing himself the slightest quirk of his lips. Lou looks between them, shaking her head disapprovingly before she turns away from them and absentmindedly stirs her shake with her straw, “I don’t know what you guys think is so funny, this is a serious matter.” But amusement flashes in her eyes when she flickers them back to the boys’ direction. “But onto actual serious matters, we’ve yet to figure out a way to divert the energy from the lightning strike to Warren’s car. Which, if we don’t do, then all our work will practically be for nothing.”

Warren considers this. He had the idea of potentially finding a metal wire that they could lead from the source of impact–right on the bald head from the statue centering main campus–to where they’d situate his car.

When he shares his idea, Lou nods thoughtfully. “It’s risky, but probably the best option we have as the point of impact is so awkward. We’re lucky it’ll be late in the day, but I’m afraid that as much as that means there won't be any students around to witness us doing this, there is going to be campus security lingering about. And I have a feeling that messing around with the statue of Jeremiah Blackwell in the very middle of campus is going to be like lighting a beacon for them.”

“We’ll just have to be extra careful, then.” Warren states, not wanting to dwell on all the things that could potentially go wrong with their plan.

“I agree,” Lou blinks, fixing her gaze somewhere past Warren, no doubt already going over details in her head. A silence grows, the two of them determinedly lost in thought.

“I need to piss.” Nathan announces spontaneously and tonelessly, straightening up from his seat so fast Warren almost jumps.

As he walks off to the direction of the bathroom Lou shakes her head, an air of amusement still about her. “He’s a strange one.”

“Yeah,” Warren agrees lowly, though not being able to help the little bit of endearment that seeps into the response.

“Are you excited to go back?”

Warren looks up at her from his slumped position, having held his head in both his hands as his elbows rested against the booth table. She’s gazing at him expectedly, her smile replaced by genuine inquiry and a hint of something that Warren can’t quite pin. Though, it reminds him of how his mom would sometimes prod him back home when she was worried over him.

To the future, she means. He hesitates. “Yeah.” No. The instant contradiction of the voice in his head comes as a surprise, almost like he’d been avoiding actually asking that question internally so he’d never fully admit it to himself.

She’s unconvinced, Warren can tell by the way her brows knit together. But she doesn’t say anything more since Nathan’s walking back towards their booth and throwing himself across from Warren once more. They get the bill, which Lou pays without discussion, then they’re leaving the comfortable coziness of the diner to brace for the contrast of the brisk fall air outside.

“Shotgun.” Nathan bumps Warren’s shoulder as they head back to Lou’s car. Warren rolls his eyes, letting Nathan beeline it to the passengers seat while he bends down to tie his shoelace that’s come undone. But instead of witnessing Nathan launching himself in the front seat like he expects once he’s finished, Nathan’s still waiting beside the car door. “Hey nerd, you good?” Nathan asks once Warren catches up.

“Huh? Oh. Yeah.” Warren drops his gaze, hand reaching out for the backseat door handle. Pausing, he lets go of it to set his gaze back on Nathan. “Actually, no. Not really. I can’t stand the idea of going back to the future without you.”

Shock registers on Nathan’s face momentarily as he stares back. A beat passes between them, where that shock morphs into something else, something Warren can’t decipher and just as Nathan opens his mouth to speak Lou pops her head out of the driver's side window to peer over at them inquisitively, “everything okay? You guys coming?”

They don’t say anything. Then Nathan drops his eyes as he turns away, opening the passenger side door to duck inside. “Yeah…” Warren eventually answers once he’s inside the car, too. “Let’s go.”

-

They end up splitting off from Nathan, who goes back to the dormitories to shower, while Warren and Lou continue back to the school labs for what is likely their last time. Warren finds himself hung up over all these ‘last times’. The last time he’d see the Two Whales in its prime. The last time he’d sleep in Lou’s dorm room. The last time he’ll routinely work on the reactor with the best lab partner he could ever ask for.

The last time he’ll see Nathan.

The hardest one to accept of all.

Nathan. Who has, against all odds, become his friend in the end. There is a twinge of something in his chest. Somehow the term ‘friend’ just didn’t feel adequate enough. It’s a gut-wrenching feeling, really, since it’s accompanied by the realization that if he would try to define it further, it would only hurt more. Because whatever it is that developed between them will be staying right here. Stuck in 1983. Forever.

So Warren doesn’t want to dwell on the thought, no–he outright refuses to think about it further.

But as much as he tries to push it all away Warren has a difficult time concentrating when Lou and him tackle what’s left with fixing the reactor. He finds himself struggling to focus his full attention throughout that morning. Even going as far as zoning out while working on it, sometimes–much to his embarrassment–during crucial conversations with Lou.

The saint that she is, Lou didn’t lose her patience when he’d ask her to repeat something, or when he–not once, but twice–dropped the pair of pliers he brandished when aiding her in lining the interior walls with the last of the new material.

Continuing to fumble into the afternoon, Warren adds it all up to his concern. His mind wholly and inexplicably taken up by a single thing. Nathan . But it isn’t just about his consistent worry over the fact that Nathan said he wouldn’t go back with him, leaving him behind. No, it was just simply…Nathan.

His presence, his attention. That smirk he’d point at Warren when he’d try to provoke him. His eyes, his hands, his hair. The jacket he gave to Warren so that he can breathe him in at all times. Notes of all the different scents that could vaguely be described as who Nathan is, but aren’t close enough to commit to. So Warren doesn’t bother discerning them. He just knows he can’t live without it anymore.

How–as much as Warren has been avoiding thinking about last night–something shifted between them. Something that could be traced right back to the very moment that Warren entrusted letting Nathan carry the reactor in his hands. The trust Warren hadn’t realized he had put in him then, somehow further solidified after last night. Because that was the exact moment Nathan decided to return that trust.

And it’s cruel, really, to have shared such a vulnerable moment together only for the repercussions to become as fragile as paper that he will have to shred to pieces in order to go back home. Repercussions that are, simply put, how Warren has never become so enthralled with another human being before. Completely and utterly invested in Nathan.

And just when Warren starts to wonder when Nathan will show up, the door to the lab opens as the very person saunters in, immediately sweeping his half lidded and dark-circled eyes to meet with Warren’s. And for the third time that day Warren lets the pliers fall from his grasp, the disruptive sound of metal hitting the floor ringing around the space of the lab.

Warren instantly darts to pick them back up, embarrassed, his lab coat crinkling noisily as he does so and further cementing his humiliation.

“Hey,” Nathan nods his head to Warren.

“H-hi,” Warren stutters out in response. What the fuck was that?! A judgy voice that sounds way too similar to Nathan berates internally. Warren can sense himself turning red–from embarrassment, definitely from embarrassment–and swivels on the spot he’s standing to focus his attention back to the reactor Lou’s still busy with.

“Hey, Nate,” she calls to him with a small wave of her hand. And then he’s rounding the lab bench to walk into Warren’s direct line of sight again, precisely the opposite of Warren’s intentions when originally turning away.

But he’s there. And Warren has no choice but to witness in silent horror as he crosses his arms and begins pulling his sweater–Warren’s sweater–up and over his head, exposing the skin of his back as the shirt he wears underneath rides up with the motion. Warren’s drawn to the spot, until his shirt falls back in place, almost hanging off of him, really, and Warren tunes in that it’s the Grease shirt he himself had been using as a pyjama shirt.

Warren’s eyes widen. He doesn’t know why he’s so taken aback by the image. It’s not his shirt. It’s Lou’s. And yet he continues aiming his dumbfound reaction with increasing obviousness at Nathan as if this second layer of clothing that Warren has worn himself is somehow scandalous.  

Quickly fixing his face, Warren sends what he hopes isn’t a super noticeable side-eye at Lou who’s stationed across from him on the other side of the bench. She’s still transfixed by her work, to which Warren wastes no time shifting his attention back to Nathan. His hair is still a little wet from his shower, reminding Warren of how it had looked the day they’d first travelled here. The natural texture of his dirty blonde hair starting to come through as it dries. Some droplets that cling to the ends threatening to let go, and when they do they prove to be just as distracting as how they’d been on that first day after stepping out of the storm.

Nathan looks really good.

Warren tears his gaze away, pretending to be busy with a couple of tools that are laid out on the lab bench in front of him.

Nathan’s always looked good, though. He’s always been attractive, objectively so. Warren’s always known that. He supposes that’s what makes a popular guy like Nathan so popular… right? Is Nathan even popular? Warren assumes. Because he’s part of the football team and knows sooo many people. Not to mention his involvement with the Vortex Club, and whatever exclusive club within that club he’s a part of. So it’s easy to conclude how that, along with his obvious looks, makes him desired.

Okay, cool. So why is Warren so hung up on it? Yup. That’s Nathan Prescott. He’s also kind’ve an asshole. But not as much of an asshole as originally presumed. They’ve moved past that, and with all the acquired context, Nathan has turned out to be a completely different person from what Warren initially assumed. Therefore all of this factors as a reasonable enough consequence to Warren being internally occupied over the subject matter that is Nathan Prescott.

But, like, he looks sooooo gooood.

Warren lifts his gaze again, settling on Nathan across from him, now loitering on the lab bench adjacent to the one Warren and Lou work at. He’s always had those pronounced cheekbones, sure, but since when did Warren start paying so much attention to his neck–

“...did you want to take a break?” Lou leans into Warren’s frame of view.

“Huh?” He blinks, focusing on Lou’s tilted head across from him.

She quirks an eyebrow, looking over her shoulder at Nathan, then back at Warren with a slightly amused expression. “We’ve been going nonstop, it’s okay if you want to take a break and hang out with your friend for a bit. I can take over.”

“Oh, n–no, it's fine. Today’s the last day, we should take advantage of every minute.”

“There won’t be any point if your brain is too fried, Warren.” Warren gawks at her, feeling the heat rise to his cheeks. Is it that obvious? “You’ve been working too hard, taking breaks is important, too. We’re basically done, anyways. All that’s left is reattaching the door,” Lou clarifies.

“Ah, right,” Warren only reddens further. “I mean–are you sure? Because I can focus, I swear.”

She rolls her eyes, motioning Nathan’s way with her head. “Go on.”

-

“So where are we going?”

Warren pushes open the door of the main school entrance, holding it for Nathan and craning his neck to look over his shoulder at him. After triple checking it was okay with Lou to take a break–who insisted–and quickly shedding his lab coat, the two of them were on their way out. “I told you, I just wanted to take a break. And I’m hungry. We’ve been at it since this morning.”

“We driving?”

“Yeah,” Warren steers them in the direction of the parking lot, hyper aware of the fact that this is the first time it’s only the two of them since last night, if he’s not counting the very brief morning they shared before meeting up with Lou. Which he isn’t.

Silently, they walk across campus until descending the few steps into the parking lot. “Can I drive?”

Warren comes to a halt in front of his car, his eyebrows raised in surprise when he looks at Nathan, “Uh, sure, yeah.” He lightly tosses the keys he already brandishes in his hands, Nathan catching them effortlessly.

“Where to?” Nathan looks at him expectantly once they’re sat inside.

“Well, I felt bad extorting Lou of any more money sooooo...” Warren twists himself in an awkward position so he can get to the wallet in his jeans pocket, fighting against the seat belt he’s already fastened. “I still have, like, twelve bucks left and was thinking we’d pick up some sandwiches from the gas station?” Nathan’s gaze drops to the few crinked bills in Warren’s hand. “Um, I mean, if that’s okay with you,” he adds.

“E-Z Gas it is,” Nathan confirms as he starts the car and begins shuffling around to rearrange it to his liking. Then he’s pressing random buttons that even Warren isn’t familiar with, the irrational fear that his Chevy might explode causing him to latch onto Nathan’s arm to stop him.

Nathan doesn’t react, but Warren jolts and releases his hold a second later, the motion having been instinctive. “What are you trying to do?”

“This thing have any music?”

Warren flips it over to the CD that he has in. It’s a mixtape he’d made himself featuring a bunch of his favourite artists–ironically from the 80s–that he had the intention of lending to Max. He never ended up mustering up enough courage to do so, with how intimidating her music taste is. Giving her a thumbdrive full of cult classic films seemed an easier bet, especially since she’d expressed an interest after that one time they’d nerded out over just about everything they’d ever watched for 4 hours straight.

Nathan rifles through the mixtape, one hand on the steering wheel as he maneuvers onto the street, the windows already down due to a brightly shining sun that’s had the afternoon to turn the interior of the car into a sauna. Warren welcomes the cool breeze that flows in, enjoying the sensation of the sun against his face that he knows is fleeting with the storm bound to roll in later that day.

The sporadic sound of the first few seconds of a variety of songs abruptly stops when Nathan backtracks to one he likes. The familiar upbeat synth tempo of Take on Me by a-ha blasts through the dinky speakers of Warren’s Chevy and flows out of the windows when Nathan dials up the volume.

Talking away I don’t know what I’m to say I’ll say it anyway Today’s another day to find you Shying away I’ll be coming for your love, okay

Warren almost thinks it’s a joke, trying to read Nathan for any indication that he’s mocking Warren’s choice in music. But he can’t find anything to suggest he is, instead all he sees is how he leans back, one arm draped over the steering wheel. His hair all over the place from the wind in a way that Warren could never replicate himself because it just looks so cool. Almost reminiscent of a frontman to a band of the current century they’re stuck in.

But most surprising of all is his expression. No ounce of fear nor furrow to mark his usual scrutiny. And even with the consistency having faded in the last couple of days, Warren doesn’t think he’s ever seen Nathan this at ease.

So, needless to say I’m odds and ends But I’ll be stumbling away Slowly learning that life is okay Say after me ‘It’s no better to be safe than sorry’

He doesn’t know what to make of it, doesn’t want to think too deeply that this is the manifestation of his acceptance to stay. And Warren doesn’t know if he’s hurt more by the fact that Nathan is likely experiencing this sense of freedom for the first time in a long time or that he’s already so readily accepted a life where he’ll never see Warren again.

Or, perhaps, Nathan is simply enjoying a single moment of uninterrupted bliss. Something that Warren is quick to want to join in on. The comfort of listening to a favourite song while driving with the windows down. The laziness of the sun hitting the skin of his arm as he props it up on the window. The current company they share. As if for a second they can hold onto a life that sounds so much more promising than the one offered. Like there is a better end to the story they’re getting.

“Oh, things that you say Is it a life or just to play my worries away You’re all the things I’ve got to remember You’re shying away I’ll be coming for you anyway”

Warren didn’t realize how he’d started to sing along, lowly, but he’s not alone. He sees Nathan’s lips move along with the words. And before they know it, Nathan’s turned it up even louder and the two of them are shouting alongside each other. Hitting the high notes as a duet, both out of tune but neither of them bothered enough to care because their chests hurt too much from belting it out.

“Takeeeeeee on meeeeeee,

Take. On. Me.

Takeeeeee meeee onnnnn!

TAKE ON ME.

I’LLLLL BEEEEE GONEEEEEE

IN A DAY OR,

TWOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

They’re both breathing heavily when the song finishes, the silence filled by the rapid intake of air for only a second before they exchange a look of understanding and Nathan presses the back button on the radio console to start the song over again.

Warren almost urges Nathan to forget the gas station and tell him to just keep driving. For another couple of replays of the song? For the rest of the evening? Forever? He doesn’t know, but he doesn’t want it to end. The hunger in his stomach protests to the idea, so when the same E-Z Gas station they’d visited to get the frozen peas comes into view, it’s with much reluctance that Warren brings up a hand to turn the volume dial down.

They park and go in to grab their sandwiches and some bottles of Coca-Cola, this time passing on the peas. When they return to the car with their stuff, they unsheath their sandwiches from the red and white checkered paper they’re wrapped in and scarf them down sitting on the hood of the car in silence. Leisurely, they sip on their drinks until there’s nothing left to preoccupy themselves with.

After a minute or so passes without breaking the silence, Nathan slips off the hood of the car. Warren has to suppress the panic that rises from within him when he does this, brought back to the last time he’d done the same maneuver. But Nathan’s not running off, no hint of frustration surrounding him like last time.

Warren watches as he, instead, makes his way to the backseat to pull his sweater back on then come back around to where Warren still sits on the hood. Nathan shoves his hands in his pockets, fixing Warren with his stare, “let's walk to the beach.”

Before Warren can respond, his body answers for him and he’s jumped off. “Okay.”

-

The steady sound of the waves crashing on the beach can be heard before the trees open up from where they walk to reveal the expanse of sand. There’s an ethereal look of sunlight behind dark clouds that threaten to rain, casting everything in a weird lighting that almost looks artificially improved. Warren’s acutely aware of the beginnings of the storm that is bound to hit Arcadia Bay soon enough and bring them the lightning bolt to take them home. Him home.

They take their time walking toward the water, their steps awkward from the uneven sand. Warren had been hoping for a chance when it would just be the two of them again, trying to gather the courage to say something that’s been on his mind ever since Nathan told him about everything that happened.

He suddenly stops, looking up from his feet and telling himself now is as good a time as any. “Hey, um. I’m gunna try and stop him, you know.”

Nathan stops, too, only a couple of feet from where the tide reaches. He wears a confused expression when he looks back at Warren.

“Jefferson, I mean. I know you’re going to tell me not to because it will be dangerous but I can’t let him get away with everything he’s done to those people–and to you–it’s not… it’s not right. I’m going to expose him, he’ll be caught for what he did.” It was true, it had been a consistent thought throughout Warren’s mind. Jefferson can’t get away with it. And Warren will do everything in his power to stop him. “My friend’s mom is a lawyer, so that will probably help. And I’ll obviously be super careful, I won’t get involved but I’ll talk to the right people who can investigate it. We’ll find that Darkroom you mentioned and–and he won’t be able to hurt anyone ever again.”

Warren’s wringing his hands together nervously. Nathan isn’t facing him anymore, not saying anything as the silence begins to stretch out. Warren’s worried he’s breached the already delicate subject. Almost wonders if Nathan might turn to him in anger or pretend he has no idea what Warren is talking about. To discredit everything from last night due to regret in his state of vulnerability, as if to say it were a mere fever dream Warren conjured up.

Without facing Warren, but instead with his body angled away to face the beach, his gaze distant, he says something in such a low voice that Warren almost misses it, so close to being lost to the waves that crash on the shore. “I never thought there would be anyone who believed me.”

It takes a second for the words to reach Warren, for him to fully understand the weight behind them. Said so quietly, so calmly as if it lessened their severity. But it’s devastating to hear, remembering how distressed Nathan had been when he found him the previous night. Wild eyed and frantic and so scared in his confession to Warren.

Nathan finally turns himself to Warren, his expression taut as though he’s calculating everything Warren just said. “I don’t even need to ask you if you mean it. ‘Cause I think I already know you do.”

“I do. I mean every word of it.” Warren has to try to keep his voice from wavering from the sudden sense of overwhelming emotion that overtakes him. Of course he’d meant every word. Nathan deserves that. And Warren tries not to think how it will sort of feel like avenging him. Because even if Jefferson goes down, he will have succeeded in bringing Nathan down with him, as far as he knows.

“I know.” Nathan repeats, offering a small smile that’s quick to slip away again.

They watch the waves for a little while, Warren finding a strange comfort in the way it steadily lulls and crashes onto the bank. The water darkening the sand as it soaks in, before fading away.

“I’ve… actually been thinking…” Nathan casually holds his hands deep in his sweater pockets, kicking some of the sand they stand on with the tip of his shoe.

His eyes dart to Warren, who can’t help but stare back widely with increasing anticipation and a failed attempt not to make himself sound too hopeful when he lets out a breathy, “yeah?”

Nathan’s eyes skirt away again, and Warren almost thinks he’ll drop whatever it is that he was going to say. Warren wants to curse himself for his inability to act–for lack of a better word–chill.

“I…um… fuck.” Nathan tries. And Warren frowns. It’s not unlike Nathan to act frustrated, but if Warren didn’t know any better he swears Nathan almost seems… apprehensive?

“I–” Nathan tries again, articulating with his hand out in front of him now. Trying, but met with more frustration at his attempt to get the words out. He sighs, dropping his hand and making a strangled, choking type of noise. “And I–”

Warren is having difficulty hiding an expression of increasing amusement, his mouth turning into a smothered frown. It’s definitely a sight to behold Nathan like this. He’s got both his hands in front of him–a development–like he’s invisibly force choking someone. It’s very reminiscent of Anakin Skywalker in Revenge of the Sith, the episode of which he’s at the height of his tormented attractiveness, in Warren’s opinion. The comparison makes Warren internally reel back, always having fixated on Episode III Anakin.

Huh. Warren is fully frowning now, not having anticipated the rabbit hole his thoughts are sent down as some things seem to click into place for him–and at such an inappropriate moment.

He pushes the mental Venn-diagram comparing Nathan Prescott and Anakin Skywalker–and what it might mean to him–far from his mind, very far–however difficult it may be–to focus back on Nathan and his continued struggle, apparently not having noticed Warren’s own mental freakout. Thankfully.

“Look. Okay.” Nathan runs a hand through his hair, seemingly collecting himself somewhat. “I was pretty dead-set on staying here, to not go back, but… but things… everything has changed. And honestly–I couldn’t give a fuck about going back, at all–but now, now… you won’t be here for much longer. And when you’re gone I–And for so long I’ve been alone and I’ve been fine with that cause–cause it’s all I’ve ever known! And I don’t know if that’s what I–I… fuck!”

He’s pushed his fingers in his hair again, this time the action is frantic, forcing his head back to look at the sky. Warren blinks, taking in Nathan’s freakout which seems so oddly familiar because–

Nathan’s eyes grow wide, his expression slightly lax as if something’s suddenly dawned on him, “This is your fault! You’ve rubbed off on me, oh my God. I’m fuckin’ doomed. I’ve turned into you–”

Something escapes Warren–he can’t help it–too late to catch it before he realizes it’s a laugh that he’s let out. And in that instant Nathan reels on him, latching onto the gesture. His eyes are dangerously narrowed as his face screws up again “are you–are you kidding me right now?”

The way Nathan looks at Warren, like he could ignite him just from how his gaze burns into him somehow makes Warren crack up even more, he’s clapping a hand over his own mouth and trying hard not to double over. “Nonono, I’m not I’m–” but any attempt of lying is squandered by Nathan getting right up into his personal space and taking hold of his arm to try and pry it away.

“Are you seriously laughing at me when I’m trying to admit I have feelings for you?”

“I’m sorry! I swear I’m–wait, you what?” Warren’s dumbstruck, eyes wide and mind completely and utterly blank. It’s Nathan’s turn to smirk now and before Warren can blink or react in any way or absorb anything that Nathan said, the space between them–that he didn’t realize had grown so close in proximity–is closing, until–

Nathan’s lips crush against Warren’s in a flurry. Chapped and warm, the sensation so foreign Warren doesn’t know how to react. It’s only for a moment, but Warren instantaneously feels everything. Tasting him, it’s bitter, the desperation, the hope, his breath against Warren’s skin. And just as fast as it happened it’s over, breaking apart from each other with a jolt.

They both stand and stare at the other, breathing heavily, before Warren’s reaching out to grab Nathan’s face and force their mouths back together. He has no idea what he’s doing, or if it even remotely qualifies as anything real, his mind briefly thinking of how Nathan is probably way more experienced in this department, but shoving the thought away just as fast because he doesn’t care in that moment, he just knows he wants more, needs more. He’s greedy for it and Nathan seems to be just as eager. Impatient, yet so engrossed that there is no need to be. No need to rush but not being able to help the desperation that so completely consumes them.

Warren has no idea how much time has passed when they separate from each other again, but it comes with a need for air and a sudden question that jumps from his tongue–

“Does this mean you’ll–?”

“Yeah, nerd, I’m with you. We’ll go back together.” Nathan says, sort of exasperatedly, his hair array and what Warren notices is a growing smile that braces his lips. Real and whole and directed at Warren. It reaches his eyes in a way that makes them squint. So foreign to Warren but so full of life, bringing colour to cheeks that aren’t as gaunt or sallow as they once were.

The already heightened elation interpreted from the warmth in Warren’s own cheeks and chest spreads further as a grin widens across his face to the point where it’s almost painful. He compares it to the dance and how he’d felt when he saw Nathan standing in the middle of the dancefloor after showing up. All dressed up, camera pointed, face full of trepidation, and showing up for Warren. 

It makes his heart do a little flip, the realization of what this feeling he’s feeling is. And unspoken, he knows it’s exactly the same way that Nathan feels about him. All hesitation and doubt gone. That if there’s anyone in the entire universe that he’d wanted to see in that moment at the dance it would be him. That if there is anyone in the whole world he’d end up stuck with travelling through time it would be him. That if there is anyone to be trapped in an impossible situation, Warren’s glad it ended up being him.

Words can never describe how Warren feels about the circumstances that led them to this exact moment, however fragile and carefully constructed this moment may be. And he knows he wouldn’t change it for the world.

The feeling Warren’s experiencing must transfer physically–perhaps directly beaming off of him and directed straight at Nathan–because next thing, Nathan’s pushing a hand against Warren’s shoulder to knock him backwards, though with no real force. “Alright, ease up.”

But they’re both still smiling like idiots and Warren can’t tear his eyes away from Nathan, the wavy hair that dances across his forehead from a wind that’s picked up around them. How the strong sunlight that threatens to lower beneath the layer of storm clouds casts him in such perfect lighting Warren wonders if his mind might be playing tricks on him by dosing this particular moment through rose-coloured glasses, as if he’s growing nostalgic over it already.

Warren could bask in the happiness that emits from Nathan forever, rooted right to this spot. But he doesn’t have to. He won’t have to mourn this moment because Nathan is coming back with him and they’ll make many more moments like these.

“Come on, I’m ready to leave this fuckass place.” Nathan states eloquently and swivels where he stands, shoes digging into the sand further, before he begins trudging his way back up the beach.

“Yeah, me too.” And this time Warren means it.

-

Warren’s never been so aware of the way the sun slowly begins to set. Maybe not since he was still a young kid mourning the last few weeks of summer break before having to go back to school. The feeling wasn’t completely different from this, but at the same time it felt like nothing before.

It’s bittersweet, to say the least. The way the water in the bay pulls the sun down until swallowing it whole and dosing the small town into another star-filled night, putting an end to their last day.

“Hey nerd, you gunna help us or are you having a moment?”

Warren’s stood planted on the grass in the middle of the main campus, having zoned out from the view that cascades down to the horizon on the water. He spins around when Nathan calls him out, sending an apologetic and lopsided smile at him and Lou situated a couple feet behind Warren. “Sorry!” Just can’t believe we’re here already…”

Here meaning a mere hour away from when they’re supposed to travel back to the future. No big deal.

It’s started to rain, only sparsely, but enough to confirm the storm that is headed their way. Nathan has his hood on, pulled far over his hair so Warren can only make out the deep scowl he wears on his face. He holds up an umbrella to cover Lou, walking backwards together as she uncoils a thick copper wire from the spool in her hands leading from where they’d secured the end of it to the campus statue’s head.

“Here,” Nathan’s shoving the umbrella he wields into Warren’s hands after he lightly jogs to catch up to them. “Stay with Lou, I’m going to go grab the car and move it to the right spot on the main road.”

Their fingers brush, Warren hesitating with a response. He can’t explain the uneasiness that settles in his stomach at the idea of letting Nathan out of his sight, like something awful will happen in the few minutes they’re apart so close to going back.

“It’s okay,” Nathan says, low so only Warren can hear him. “I’ll be right back. I promise.”

Warren can only nod and watch as Nathan turns his back, “Wait!” Warren calls out, prompting Nathan to face him again. “I want to say a proper goodbye. To Lou. With the three of us.”

Nathan and Lou only stare at him for a second. Then Warren’s outstretching his arms, holding them wide, “Come on, bring it in.” Lou complies and so does Nathan, though not as willingly. But their enthusiasm is quick to change once they’re all in each other's embrace, the grip they hold tightening as the realization that this is it dawns on them.

I’m going to miss this. Warren doesn’t have to say it, and neither do Nathan or Lou. He can sense it the same way as if they did. They’d somehow managed to grow so close after such a short amount of time. The same could be said about Nathan and Warren, but it won’t be the same without Lou. And after everything, all of their work to get to this exact moment… a part of him doesn’t want to leave this behind.

They break apart and Warren clears his throat. “Well,” he focuses on Lou before sending a fist toward the sky. “Don’t you, dun dun dundundun, forget about me…” he sings off-key.

Lou, in return, looks between Warren and Nathan with vague concern and total lack of understanding of what she is witnessing. “Uh…”

“You know, Breakfast Club? Wait, is that not out yet?” He points the question at Nathan.

“Oh my God.” Nathan rubs a hand across his face, not even able to look at Warren as he angles himself away.

“Oh. Nevermind.” He cringes internally. And probably externally, his face scrunching up with embarrassment. “It’s a really good movie, though.”

“Okay, I’m going now,” Nathan begins to trek across campus in the direction of where they’d parked Warren’s car in the school lot. He may not have been able to handle the overbearing sentimentality, but Warren could swear he heard a sniffle escape him before he disappeared.

Lou, on the other hand, struggled to get back to unspooling the wire, her eyes glassy. “You can’t just make me cry and then leave…” she mumbled out, busying herself again.

By the time they spooled all the way to the campus’ edge and down to where the sidewalk meets the road, Nathan pulled up alongside them. The rain had picked up significantly, causing Lou to almost slip down some of the grass that’s grown muddy, Warren shooting out a hand to help stabilize her.

“We gotta get going!” Nathan calls over to them above the steady shower as he exits the car and slams the door, “a security guy was eyeing me when I left the parking lot and I think he’s headed this way!”

“Shit,” Lou curses, squinting from how the rain beats against the umbrella. “This isn’t as inconspicuous as I’d hoped and It’s going to be hard to explain exactly what we’re doing. I have a feeling ‘a science project for Mr. Wells’ class ’ isn't going to fly. I have an idea, but I’ll have to make a move right away–”

“–Wait, Wells as in Principal Wells?”

Lou falters, “Mr. Wells becomes principal?”

“Guys–”

“Right, not the point.” Warren rushes the words out. “What do you have in mind?”

“I’m going to cause a distraction in the dormitories, it should buy you two enough time!” She pushes aside the sleeve covering up her watch, “you have less than 15 minutes, it’ll be fine.” As reassuring as her tone is, she can’t hide the worry that flashes across her eyes when she meets them with Warrens.

And Warren recognizes that this is it. “But you won’t make it back again.”

Lou shakes her head solemnly. “No.”

“So this is goodbye, then.”

“For now,” her voice is soft, as is the smile she gives him. “I’m sure you’ll be seeing me very soon.”

Warren mirrors the expression. She’s right of course, it will be as if no time has passed. The same can not be said for her, though. Lou will have to wait 30 years before they’ll meet like this again.

“Thanks for–for everything,” Warren stutters out. “I don’t think we could have done this without you. You’re, uh, the coolest mom in the world. But you’re also a great friend. The best, really.”

Lou’s mouth, which is now pressed into a thin line, is set into a frown like she’s suppressing the urge to cry. She wrings her hands around the umbrella handle, fingers turning white with strain. “I’m… I’m really proud of the kind of person my future son has turned out to be.”

They hug again, this time properly and not as awkward as before. When they’re finished she hugs Nathan, too. “I’m glad you two have each other,” she says to him, causing him to look away. “Now I’m really going to go, before this somehow gets weirder.”

She waves over her shoulder at them as she darts away in the direction of the dormitories, angling the umbrella against the harsh wind and rain. The boys waste no time turning their attention to the car where Warren begins wrapping the wire around the antenna at the back while Nathan holds his varsity jacket above them to help shelter against the aggressively growing downfall of rain.

When Warren’s finished he wipes aside the hair that sticks to his brow, checking the watch that Lou lent him. “Okay we have 9 more minutes until impact, let’s get in the car!”

But as Warren straightens back up, the wire that had been pulled taut suddenly goes lax. The copper material seems to flicker, the reflection of the streetlight above catching the droplets that fall from it. Their attention snaps to one another as an understanding passes between them that the wire has come loose on the other end.

Before Warren can say anything, Nathan beats him to it, “I’ll go, you stay!” He yells as he’s already whipping the jacket around himself to pull his arms through.

“But–”

“There’s no time! Get in the car and start it,” Nathan flings the car keys Warren’s way, who instinctively encloses a fist around them in the air.

“I–I caught them!” Warren stares at the palm of his hand in disbelief.

“Proud of you, bud,” and then Nathan’s gone, swallowed by the sheet of rain as he sprints headfirst into it.

Warren has no choice but to dart around to the front of his Chevy and fling himself into the driver's side, forcing the keys into the ignition and starting the engine.

The precious few minutes they have left that creep by in Nathan’s absence are torturous. Warren waits apprehensively, fingers wrapped around the steering wheel in a vice and his free foot tapping with impatience. Come on, Nathan, come on. His eyes are glued to the passenger’s side window, barely able to make out anything from the rain that distorts the glass.

Warren chances a glance at his watch. 9:58. 6 minutes.  

With nothing else to occupy him, he tries to look through the sheets of torrential rain that aggressively roll over the car and make it almost impossible to hear anything else. He squints, his heart giving a jolt when he sees a flash of red before it’s gone again. A quick glance at the car's digital clock tells him 3 more minutes. The anticipation is killing Warren, making him instinctively reach across the passenger seat to yank open the side door. He doesn’t care when the inside of the car is instantly drenched, all he cares about is if Nathan will be back in time.

The downpour is deafening now, and visibility has barely improved after opening the door. “Nathan?” he tentatively calls out. There’s no response, until he hears a muffled sort of grunt somewhere in the distance. Before he can call out again, there’s a flash of lightning far off–not the one they’d been waiting for, but close enough to momentarily light up the setting Warren looks out to. And to Warren’s utter horror, the still image of Nathan grappling with someone on the ground instills itself into his vision. It’s as if he caught a momentary glimpse of a picture taken with flash to paint the scene in front of him.

Someone’s yelling, and though it’s hard to make out, Warren knows it’s not Nathan. “Did you really think I’d let you get away after what you fucking freaks did to me?! You’re dead! And your friend is next!”

The tips of Warren’s fingers go numb as he feels the blood drain from his face and hands, realizing who it is that has stopped Nathan from getting back, tackling him to the ground mere steps away. “Nathan!” Warren cries out, automatically beginning to crawl across the passenger seat.

“No!” He hears Nathan shout, “don’t! Don’t leave the car!”

Warren freezes, looking back out to where he can see the blurred mass that is Nathan and his father rolling across the soppy grass. A quick glance at the car's interface reads 10:03. One minute. “But I–I’m not leaving you–!”

“It’s fixed! It’s fixed, Warren–you can–ugh–” Nathan lets out another grunt and Warren knows he’s been hit again. There’s a scrambling that can be heard mixed with the downpour and for a brief moment Warren can make out Nathan’s form back on his feet again, booking it toward the car. Warren stares wide eyed, holding his breath when Nathan gets closer and–

He’s back on the ground, his father’s arms wrapped around his legs to take him down again, landing face first. But he’s so close that when he whips back his head Warren can see his face. His pupils are blown out and he looks terrified.

“Give me your hand!” Warren calls out, thrusting his own toward Nathan. Nathan doesn’t hesitate when he complies and reaches up. They’re so close, and Warren stretches as far as he can, until it hurts, until his ribs feel like they might expand and break from the pressure, until the strain is almost unbearable. Their fingertips brush and Warren begins to wrap his hand around what he knows is Nathan’s own.

Please please please please…

But all sensation is lost when a blinding flash and boom takes up all of him. Squeezing his eyes shut, Warren clenches his jaw hard as he braces himself, the air on fire around him. And just as fast as it happens, it’s all over.

[gerec]

AU-gust 2023

7. Boarding School Pairing(s): Cherik, Charles/Shaw Warnings: Explicit, Blackmail, Dubious Consent, Age Difference

Sebastian can hear them through the wooden door, an occasional whine and the rhythmic thump thump as Lehnsherr fucks the pretty Xavier boy over his office desk. It’s the third time this week that Xavier has gone to see the man after hours, offering his mouth or his ass to his professor, too young and stupid to let caution temper his libido. Then again, the boy is brilliant and his family filthy rich; he’s probably never had to worry about consequences, used to living a charmed life.

Well, Sebastian’s determined to teach him what it’s like in the real world, as befitting his role as Headmaster.

He steps around the corner and waits, imagining Lehnsherr grunting as he finishes inside Xavier’s ass, then tucking himself in as the boy lays panting and fucked out, come smeared between the desk and his belly. He wonders if Lehnsherr kisses him after, as though there’s more to their trysts than just sex, or if he merely sends him on his way, knowing his indifference will draw Xavier again and again like a moth to a flame?

More than that, he wants to know what the boy looks like when he’s getting fucked, spread wide around a thick cock spreading him open.

He licks his lips, and watches as Xavier opens the door, stepping out with his bag slung over his shoulder and his tie sticking out of his pocket. Sebastian lets him walk past before he calls out to him, supressing the urge to grin when Xavier stops dead in the middle of the hallway and turns, eyes wide and face pale.

“Mr. Xavier. Come with me please.”

To his credit, the boy follows him into his office without a word, not bothering to feign ignorance over the Headmaster’s request. Sebastian lets him squirm in silence for a few long moments, ass sore and maybe clenching tight to hold in Lehnsherr’s spunk.

“Do you know why you’re here, Charles?”

Xavier doesn’t answer, only looking up at him with those big, soulful blue eyes. He’s too smart to incriminate himself before anything’s been said about Lehnsherr, and also too smart not to know he’s been caught in the act. Sebastian decides to let his rudeness go just this one time, knowing that Xavier will become the very model of obedience in the near future.

“This isn’t the first time you’ve broken the Academy’s rules, is it? And I think I’ve been very lenient with you in the past, on account of your good grades and model behaviour.”

The boys swallows, and ducks his head. “Yes, Mr. Shaw.”

“I’ve turned my head at your…fraternizing with the other students, Charles, because I understand that boys will be boys. But I simply can’t ignore a situation like this between a student and a teacher; it’s my job as Headmaster to ensure the wellbeing of every young man under my care.”

As expected, Xavier’s face goes white as a sheet, and he sucks in a deep breath before he asks, dejectedly, “What’s going to happen to me?”

“To you? Nothing.” He sits on the desk right in front of Xavier, so the boy has to crane his neck up to meet Sebastian’s gaze. “You and I both know that your family donates too much money to this school. Anything I do, your stepfather will throw money at to make it go away.”

Xavier sighs, only to realize that his relief has come a little too soon. “What about Mr. Lehnsherr?”

Sebastian pinches his lips together in disapproval and shakes his head. “I’m afraid I’ll have to let him go with an official reprimand. I doubt he’ll be able to teach again, since it’ll go on his permanent record.”

“No, no, no please, Headmaster, you can’t fire him! It’s not his fault! It’s my fault; I seduced him!”

“He’s an adult, and in a position of authority at the school, Charles. Sadly, your confession, true or not, doesn’t excuse his behaviour.”

“No.” Tears start welling in those pretty, pretty eyes, and Sebastian almost feels bad for what must seems to be his genuine concern over Lehnsherr’s future. “Please there has to be something I can do.”

He makes a show of sympathy over the boy’s distress, handing him a tissue and giving him a reassuring pat on the shoulder. “Are you really so determined to help him?”

Xavier jumps to his feet. “Yes! I’ll do anything! Please don’t fire Mr. Lehnsherr, please!”

It’s nearly impossible to hold back his grin, given how easily things are falling into place, though Sebastian does manage to make his expression come across as fond and sympathetic. “Hmm….” He pretends to think about it for long moments, before he tips the boy’s head up with this fingertips. “Tell me again, how you were the one to seduce him.”

“I did. I made it impossible for him to resist me.”

He moves his fingers from Xavier’s chin to the back of his neck, feeling the boy’s whole body stiffen as he cards his hand through his unruly hair. “I find that very hard to believe, Charles, though, perhaps if you showed me what you did, I might be inclined to give Mr. Lehnsherr the benefit of the doubt.”

Understanding dawns almost instantly on Xavier, followed closely by resignation. He goes down on his knees without a word, and reaches for Sebastian’s belt with trembling fingers.

“No, no,” he says, delighting in the relief on the boy’s face, only to have his hopes crushed by his next words. “Bend over for me please, Mr. Xavier. If you’re determined to convince me, you’ll have to show me exactly what you did with Professor Lehnsherr.”

The boy shivers but does as he’s told, pulling his pants down and bending over Sebastian’s desk.   

------

The knock comes a few minutes after the boy leaves, shuffling down the hall with slow and stilted steps.

He pours a second glass of Scotch from the bottle he keeps in his office, and hands it to Lehnsherr as he enters and closes the door.

“How’d it go? Did you get what you wanted?”

He thinks about the noises Xavier made on his cock and smiles.

“He was delightful. I can see why you like fucking him so much.”

Lehnsherr takes a sip of his drink and scoffs. “He’s got a pretty mouth and a tight ass. Would be a pity not to use him when he’s so very willing to put out.”

Sebastian laughs. “Well, he’s quite protective of you. I think he’s convinced himself that he has real feelings for you.”

“He’ll get over it.”

“You don’t feel even a little bad that he’s prostituting himself to keep your reputation intact?”

“Should I?” He smirks and adds, “He’s going to graduate in a few months and then head off to Oxford, after which he’ll inherit his father’s company and a massive fortune. We’ll be nothing more to him than a youthful indiscretion, Sebastian. Or at least a lesson in not trusting people so blindly…a lesson you taught me very well.”

“Touché,” he says, smiling as his protégé and former student downs his drink and walks out the door.   

[whentommymetalfie]

Home to you chapter 31

-For better or worse-

Prologue//1//2//3/4/5/6/7/8/9/10/11/12/13/14/15/16/17/18/19/20/21/22/23/24/25/26/27/28/29/30

Pairing: Tommy/Alfie

Summary: Alfie faces the consequences of his actions and tries to make the right choices to keep Tommy safe. But it might to more harm than good. 

Warnings: hallucinations, self harm, ptsd, aftermath of forced hospitalization and medical malpractice, disordered eating, dependency 

Wordcount: 5K 

Alfie storms off. Leaves Tommy and the destruction he’s caused behind. Maids scatter as he stomps through the hallways of Arrow house, steps uneven due to the pain radiating down his back into his right leg. ‘

In the kitchen, he at least has the decency to grunt a ‘thanks’ to the terrified cook telling him there’s food left out for him, but declines being served said food anywhere else. The darkened, windowless kitchen suits him fine. And he’s not decent enough to feel sorry when the cook excuses herself and promptly leaves the room to avoid the anger that must be permeating the air around him.

He turns off the few lamps in the room because this day has given him a splitting headache on top of the pain in his back, sits down on a chair and glares at the food on the plate. Fuck Tommy. Fuck him and his broken head and his beautiful eyes and his blind trust that Alfie will do the right thing rather than the thing that feels good in the moment. Fuck him for the way his lashes fan low over his eyes when he’s tired, the way he’ll curl up against Alfie’s chest as if it’s the one safe place in the entire world and fuck him for screwing his head up so badly that just one day of bad news and worry has turned him into this.

And most of all fuck him for making Alfie feel that he would burn entire cities to the ground if it meant keeping him safe, making him happy, making him smile again.

He picks up the plate and is just about to toss it against the wall when a morsel of sanity takes over and he puts it back down. Settles for skewering a potato with enough force to nearly crack the porcelain.

Lizzie finds him there in the kitchen an hour later, though this time staring at an empty plate and with a cooling pot of tea on the table.

“Should I ask one of the maids to make up a spare bed?”  

Alfie looks up to possibly throw something at her, but the unexpected look of sympathy on her face stops him. He grunts and picks up the fork to push his thumb against the handle until it bends.

“Picked up on the tension, eh?”

“The maids gossip,” Lizzie says and goes to stand before him, leaning against the counter and crossing her arms over her chest. “But I think the whole house noticed the debacle.”

Alfie rubs a hand over his face. Tries to scrub away the image of Tommy looking up at him with big, scared eyes. Forget how he fucking dragged him through the hallway. He’s like that, isn’t he? Boiling over and burning everything in his way. Even if he tries to tell himself it was justified, he can’t fucking lie to himself: nothing justifies making Tommy look at him that way. He thought he’d gotten rather good at reeling himself back in, but apparently he’s not quite as in control of his faculties as he thought. And fuck Tommy for that, too.

“If you’re going to get on some high bloody horse and tell me that it was an awful thing of me to do, fucking yell at him, then I’m not interested in hearing it,” he tells Lizzie, who quirks an eyebrow.  

“I’m not going to tell you that, because I think you already know.”

Alfie looks down at the table. Finds a particularly interesting knot in the wood. Considers leaving, but that would mean going back to the bedroom and he’s not ready to face the consequences of his actions. There’s of course the option of going sleep somewhere else, but that feels like admitting fully that he’s fucked up at an entirely new level.

While he ponders this, Lizzie goes to a cupboard and procures one of the bottles of whiskey which are apparently stocked in every room in this bloody house. The sight is dangerously tempting. Thankfully she only pours a glass for herself and puts it away before seating herself by the table.

“So, what news from Birmingham, then?” she asks.

The mere thought of this giant waste turned fuck up of a day sends a bolt of pain through Alfie’s skull and he pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Less than I would’ve liked. Like finding a needle in a haystack, this. Or a rat in a fucking nest of other rats,” he says. “That wife of his has a powerful family at her beck and call. Apparently not above getting blood on their hands. Or rather, paying someone else to get blood on theirs. At least seven Americans showed up with the steamer Monday morning. They’ve brought the heavy fucking stuff, from what little Jakob could tell.” They had machine guns. So did you. They must’ve had more than us, then. “We can be fairly sure they’re the ones responsible for Michael’s escape. If he’s smart he’s left the fucking country, but I’m afraid evidence points to the opposite. Dumb as a box of rocks, that man. And fucking arrogant. Think it’s far more likely that he’s lying low.”

“That does unfortunately seem likely.” Lizzie lights a cigarette and when he waves a hand at her in a beckoning gesture, she hands him one along with the lighter. He lights it up. It’s not his pipe but it’s fucking something.

“Had hoped Jakob would have more answers,” he says as he takes the first blessed drag of smoke. “But all we really know is Michael’s gone. He’s presumably hiding. Biding his time and planning whatever the fuck his next move is, and until he makes that move it’ll be hard to catch him.”

“Any idea what that next move might be?” Lizzie asks and he resists the urge to drop his head into his hands. It’s hard to play a game when your opponent plays after entirely different rules, especially when one’s own head has stopped working right. Even in the dirty business he’s used to, it’s fucking frowned upon to hurt the helpless and innocent. Calling Tommy innocent in any other situation is a stretch, but in this, he was. Simply trying to put the pieces of himself back together, bothering fucking no one. And Michael, in the most cowardly way possible, uprooted everything. There’s no telling what he’ll will do considering the limits he’s already crossed.  That’s what today’s been about: Frustratingly little progress and a mounting fear that Michael will do something irrational and cowardly that’ll put Tommy in danger and Alfie will be as helpless to stop it as last time.

“I have a few ideas,” he mutters vaguely once too much time has passed between Lizzie’s question and his answer.

Lizzie takes a quiet inhale of smoke, and then, as if she could read his mind, “He wouldn’t be stupid enough to go after Tommy again.”

“I think we can be fairly certain that he would,” he says and taps ash from his cigarette onto the empty plate before him. Pours tea into the far too dainty cup he’s found in one of the cupboards. “Ada and Arthur are at least working to weed out Michael’s loyal people in your organization. Turns out that may be easier than expected. People who’ve been bought can also be bought back. Surprising to absolutely no-one, he’s not very good at building loyalties. So that’s something, innit.”

Lizzie nods. “I got a call from Ada. Told me they’ll stay the night in Birmingham and check in tomorrow. So you might want to get it together by then, because if either of them see you acting that way around Tommy-“

“Yeah, yeah I fucking get it,” Alfie says. “They’ll chop off my balls or something. That sister of his made that very clear.” He leans back in his seat and clasps his hands on his stomach. Watches Lizzie through narrowed eyes. “Though I have to admit, Mrs. Shelby, that you’ve been admirably level headed about the situation.”  

Lizzie snorts at that, but her voice is soft when she speaks, “Well, I know what it’s like, trying to take care of him. You’re worried. That’s why you lashed out at him.”

“Got a foul temper, too. Can’t blame only the circumstances.”

Though the worry sits like a tight band around his chest, making it difficult to breathe.

It’s exhausting. Never being able to let go for even a second. . He lost it at the sight of Tommy shivering on the cold stone steps. Waiting like a loyal dog for its owner.

“I hate that he’s here,” he admits. “I can’t- fuck, I can’t function if I don’t know he’s safe.”

“He just sat outside for a few hours. Things could’ve gone worse.”  

“Of course it could’ve gone worse, that’s the whole fucking point-“ he swallows the rest of the sentence along with a gulp of tea.

Lizzie runs her thumb across the edge of the whiskey glass and quietly says, “He’s not easy to love.”

The tea goes down his windpipe and Alfie breaks into a cough, just barely keeping it from spraying over the entire table. The weight of Lizzie’s words lands heavily on his shoulders. As if Arrow house itself has just collapsed.

When the worst of the coughing has subsided, he stands up.

“Well, I better go upstairs,” he says and forces himself to look at Lizzie, even if it’s too late to save face. “See if- yeah. I’m going upstairs.”

Lizzie calmly meets his gaze.

“There’s a spare bedroom right next to yours,” she says, as if nothing happened. “Just in case.”

Alfie leaves the kitchen. Hopefully Lizzie will think he just has abhorrent hearing. He pushes her words far down to the back of his head in some corner where he won’t be confronted by them. Wanders back through the house, where everyone is turning in for the night. Maids walking about, turning lights off, collecting laundry, carrying fresh towels. Ishmael is stood outside the bedroom door, loyal as ever. He needs to bring someone here to work in shifts. Can’t have him falling asleep on the spot. For now, he dismisses Ishmael, telling him to get a few hours of sleep. They’ll have to make do.

Alfie walks into the bedroom without knocking. Esther is on the chair next to the bed, reading glasses low on her nose and with a book in her lap. All he can see in the bed is a bundle of blankets, but soon he catches a glimpse of dark hair. Esther stops reading when he enters. Puts a finger before her lips and closes the book. She gives Tommy’s sleeping form a look, puts the book on the nightstand and comes to meet him, ushering Alfie out of the room.

“He just fell asleep,” she whispers as she closes the door. “I didn’t think he would. But it wore him out, the…” Episode, attack, bi-fucking-hourly breakdown? “He was very upset after you left,” she settles for.

“You asked me to leave,” he grumbles like a petulant child. And receives an ice cold look in return.

“Because, with all due respect Sir, you were behaving like an idiot,” Esther says. “And that doesn’t seem to have improved.”

Alfie can feel his shoulders visibly slump. He scratches his beard and clears his throat.

“I might’ve overreacted,” he admits. The sharpest creases between Esther’s brows smooth out.

“I know it comes from a place of concern for his well being,” she says. “But that’s no excuse. You can’t yell at him that way. Or forcibly drag him around.”

“I know, I fucking know,” Alfie says. “I know I can’t fucking control his every move. Been enough of that. And I want him to know that it matters what he thinks. What he wants or doesn’t want. That’s the whole issue, innit. Because I don’t want him… wanting things that are dangerous. You see my problem, here?”

“You can’t decide what things he wants. And if you’re going to let him make his own decisions, you have to live with them not always being the decisions you want.”

“So I’m just supposed to let him starve? Or wander around talking to crows all night? Because that’s what he’ll fucking do if I let him.”

Esther hushes him, eyeing the door.  

“There’s always a middle ground,” she then says. “We don’t let him starve. We give him smaller meals. And you don’t let him wander around alone, you stay awake with him to read. Reminds him the crow isn’t real.”

And what if that’s not enough? he thinks.

“Yeah. Sure.” he says.  

The frown has melted from Esther’s face, turning into that encouraging smile she so often wears when they discuss this.

He sighs. Rubs his hands over his eyes.

“Would you mind keeping an eye on him tonight?”

“Of course not, but-“

“I’ll sleep in the other room. Have to get some rest or I won’t be any use tomorrow. And I don’t want to wake him up if he’s finally asleep-“ He doesn’t want Tommy waking up and being afraid. Of him. He gestures for Esther to go back into the room, ignoring her frown returning. “There’s still a spare bed in there. But you can fetch me if he does wake up and- yeah. Just wake me up, if he really needs it, alright?”

Her frown remains, but Esther nods. Alfie escapes through the nearest door, thankfully discovering it’s indeed another bedroom. He regrets his decision the second the door closes behind him. Even more when he’s discarded his clothes in a heap on a chair and laid down in the cold bed, where Tommy’s absence quickly becomes painful. He can count the nights they’ve slept apart these past few months on one hand, and all of them were very much involuntary and forced by circumstance. Such as Tommy being laid up in a hospital bed. Or those dreadful few days in the asylum.

He could give up. Stop this charade, go back to Tommy and hope for the best.

He doesn’t.

Instead he lies awake, staring at the ceiling. He’s exhausted, truly fucking exhausted. Tommy has spent most nights wide awake, or waking both Alfie and himself with his nightmares. He still wanders out of bed at odd hours, and though Ishmael guards the door even at night and can remedy the situation, Alfie still has to wake up to calm him back down. Point is, Alfie isn’t sleeping much. But despite his eyelids feeling heavy, his body can’t seem to relax enough to let him slip into sleep. His mind is whirring with thought. He knows he’s fucked up. It’s what he does, isn’t it? Been a while, granted, so it’s long overdue that he does something colossally stupid with disastrous consequences. Tommy is so fragile, and he knows that, it’s not him that’s the victim here, but that doesn’t make it any easier, constantly walking that line, no room for the slightest mistake. Not now. Not after what happened. He can never tell Tommy, but it’s hard to see any light at the end of this new tunnel. To think that Tommy just a few weeks ago could go out by himself, eat if not entire meals then at least small portions each day, that they spent their mornings entangled in each other’s arms in sundrenched sheets, that Tommy would fucking smile, sometimes several times in one day. His throat grows tight at that thought.

He's not easy to love.

Oh, but he is. It’s so fucking easy. Just difficult knowing how to navigate it. What to do with all of this. To not suffocate, hold on hard enough but not too hard. He pushes that thought away. Because love… the mere word is terrifying.

But he knows, doesn’t he, that if Tommy never gets better, if he can never heal from this, he’ll spend the rest of his days just trying to make it feel bearable.

And what is that, if not love?

He wants to climb out of bed, storm into the bedroom and take Tommy in his arms. Never let him go again.

But he doesn’t. Instead he closes his eyes, thinks of all the things he must do to keep him safe, for which he needs to be fucking awake tomorrow (imagines caving in and returning to the bedroom, waking Tommy up and Tommy looking at him with fear) and eventually drifts into an uneasy sleep.

…

When the sunlight wakes him, he’s hardly more rested than when he went to sleep, and reaching across the mattress for Tommy only to find the bed empty only further sours his mood. He climbs out of bed, gets dressed, stows the guilt away in one of those dusty corners of his mind where it won’t bother him, and leaves the room. As he sets off down the corridor, planning on heading to the car without bothering with breakfast or any other nonsense that stands between him and getting to work, he still finds himself pausing. And as if by their own volition his feet take him back.

He cracks the door to Tommy’s room open. It’s quiet. He opens the door a further to catch a glimpse of the bed. Sees Esther first, sat by the bed with her knitting needles in hand, and then a small heap of blankets on the mattress that makes no sound and only rises and falls slightly at regular intervals.

The dust stirs as the guilt rears up. He beats it back down.

“Esther,” he hisses, just loud enough to make her look up from her striped sock and come towards him. He backs into the corridor and Esther follows.

“I’m going to Birmingham,” he says. “You let Tommy know, yeah? I’ll be back this afternoon.”

“I think it’s better if you tell him yourself,” Esther says in a tone that leaves no room for bartering. Or perhaps he’s just too fucking exhausted to go with any road but the one of least resistance. So when she steps aside and very pointedly looks towards the bed, he goes inside.

Tommy is asleep, holding the blanket close to his face, long lashes resting against pale skin sprinkled with freckles. Alfie’s heart clenches at the sight and he has to once again steel himself for what he’s about to do. Leave, even though he knows Tommy needs him here.

But Tommy also needs to be kept safe from his lunatic fucking cousin and right now Alfie needs to focus on that.

He reaches out to shake him, hand falling back to his side the moment the impulse lands. Instead he leans down and kisses his forehead, smoothing his hair back. Tommy’s eyes bat open and he blinks sleepily at him for just a moment, lashes fluttering over the impossibly blue. Then he bolts upright, throwing his arms around Alfie’s waist and burying his face in his stomach

“I’m sorry,” Tommy says into his belly. Holds on tightly. Alfie cradles the back of his head. Strokes his back with the other. Fuck, fuck, fuck, he wants to cave, open his mouth and apologize for everything, for yesterday, for leaving him alone all night, tell him he’s an idiot who only wants him to be safe and his baser instincts got the better of him leaving violence in their wake as always.

“I’ll have to go into Birmingham.”

Tommy pulls out of the hug and looks up at him, eyes big and sad. Then he lowers his gaze and nods. Alfie looks out the window to keep the ache in his chest at bay.

“But I’ll be back tonight. And- yeah. You just do whatever.” He pats Tommy’s head and the arms around his waist fall. “If you want to sit outside that’s perfectly fine. Just be safe. Don’t go anywhere alone.”  

When he’s gathered himself enough to stop being a goddamn coward and looks at Tommy, Tommy is staring down at his lap, picking at his blanket. He strokes his hair.

“You’ll be okay. Yeah?”

“I’ll be good,” Tommy whispers. Alfie leans down and kisses the top of his head, and makes for the door. He hands Esther a note as he passes her in the doorway, leaning in to quietly tell her, “If there’s an emergency, you can reach me on this number. You call me, yeah? If he really needs it.”

Esther accepts the note but follows him out in the corridor, leaving the door cracked open behind them.

“Sir, do you remember the incident with mister Fairfax?”

And Alfie knows exactly what she’s referring to, doesn’t he? He pushes the memory far from his mind and says, “This isn’t like that.”

“Are you sure?” Esther’s gaze is unrelenting and he stares back.

“Yes, I’m fucking sure. Because until Michael Gray is caught, Tommy won’t ever feel safe. Won’t ever be safe. That’s all that matters. Making sure he knows that piece of shit can never hurt him again.”

Making sure Michael pays dearly for what he’s done.

He leaves before Esther can protest. And before the memory of the sadness in Tommy’s eyes pulls him back into the room and urges him to stay.

…

Alfie’s foul mood doesn’t improve throughout the day. The lead to a townhouse presumably owned by Michael proves fruitless, and so does the trips to the many abandoned warehouses. Needle in a fucking haystack. Come afternoon, he’s sat in the townhouse he’s purchased where they’ve set up a temporary office, waiting for a message from one of the many outposts his men are guarding. The stillness reawakens the worry for Tommy. On the desk, the phone virtually screams at him to pick it up. Call Arrow house and check in on him. Make sure he’s okay. But he swallows that urge. He’s doing what he can for Tommy, and he needs to stay focused on his current mission. This is good. He’s doing something real. Concrete, with a clear goal in mind. Even if that real, concrete, goal oriented thing only consists of waiting right now. But it helps his sanity, thinking of it that way. He can’t erase what happened to Tommy. He can’t make the awful memories from the asylum go away. Maybe he can’t even pick up all the broken pieces. And he knows it’ll haunt him for the rest of his life: Tommy’s panicked screams as the men dragged him away. The fear in his eyes. The dirt and squalor of the cell. The fact that Alfie was fucking there, but couldn’t keep it from happening. He can’t change any of it. But he sure as fuck can see to it that Michael pays the full price for what he’s done. Sooner or later he’ll find him-

A sharp signal has him jerking forward in his chair and reaching for the phone.

When he hears Ishmael’s voice on the other end, his chest fills with icy dread.

“Sir, Mrs. Shelby asked me to call-“

“What happened? Is Tommy alright?” He gets out of the chair and nearly pulls the phone from the desk, catching it at the last moment.

“Nothing happened, but he’s- we can’t handle him when he’s like this. It’s been bad all day but it keeps getting worse-“  

“Is he hurt?” Has he hurt himself, is he in immediate danger, why are you still on the fucking phone and not taking care of him-

“No, Sir.”

“Keep him safe until I get there. I’m on my way.”

Alfie drops everything, gets in a car and drives back to Warwickshire at a speed that very nearly leaves the vehicle wrapped around a tree in a particularly sharp turn. But he makes it back in one piece, gravel spraying behind the tires as the car swerves to a halt on the driveway. He prepares himself to find Tommy on the front steps again. Perhaps wandering down the road following the imaginary crow. And that’s if they’re lucky. He doesn’t want to consider the other options. But the steps are empty and the grounds surrounding Arrow house eerily peaceful, bathed in afternoon sun. His men guarding the front door have no news so he marches straight past them and into the house, almost knocking Ishmael over as he bursts through the door. He grabs his shirtfront and hauls him upright.

“Where is he?”

“The bedroom, Sir,” Ishmael says and follows as Alfie sets off up the stairs. “Mrs. Shelby and miss… your housekeeper-“

“Esther.”

“Esther, is with him. I’m not sure what’s happened, but-“

“Then I don’t need to fucking hear it,” Alfie snaps and picks up the pace down the hallway. He’s panting by the time they reach the bedroom and he can finally tear the door open.

He expects some form of destruction. Instead he finds eerie stillness.  

Tommy is curled up on the sofa, knees pulled to his chest and arms clutched tightly against his body while Esther sits by his head, stroking his faintly tremoring arm. He’s unharmed as far as Alfie can see, but his eyes are foggy. Staring straight ahead, through Lizzie who sits only inches away on a chair but might as well have been oceans away.

Esther stands and comes to meet him while Lizzie scoots her chair closer to lay a hand on Tommy’s shoulder. Tommy doesn’t react.

“What happened?” Alfie asks as Esther comes up to him.

“It wasn’t so bad at first,” she says quietly. “He even ate breakfast. But he’s been slipping further and further away all day. Finally he wouldn’t respond to anything. Began talking to himself or- well. To things and people who weren’t here. Tried to get at his scar again.” Her voice wavers and she pauses to get it under control. “I couldn’t get through to him. Mrs. Shelby had to help me keep him from hurting himself. But eventually he just exhausted himself.” She looks towards Tommy, blinking away tears. Whispers, “I couldn’t help him.”

Alfie’s throat is too tight to give an answer so all he manages is a nod. He walks up to Tommy and kneels before him, laying a hand on his arm.

“Tommy?”

Lizzie quietly slips away from his peripheral, saying something to Esther so softly he can’t quite hear it before shutting the door behind her with a click.

Tommy still hasn’t responded to the light touch on his arm. Alfie begins stroking his hair, fingertips raking softly over his scalp, and finally the fog clears from his eyes. He sits up, eyes growing wide as he takes sharp breaths through his nose. The faint tremor in his limbs grow worse.

Fuck, he shouldn’t have left.  

“I didn’t know what to- I didn’t- I’m sorry,” Tommy stutters, fingers twisting into the blankets. Alfie takes his hands, cold under his, and squeezes them gently.

“There’s nothing to be sorry for. Been a hard day, eh?”

Tommy shakes his head and looks to Esther for help. Alfie cradles his face, caressing sharp cheekbones with his thumbs.  “I know it was. That’s okay. You don’t have to hide something like that.”  

Tommy squeezes his eyes shut, wraps bony fingers around his upper arms and clenches until his knuckles go white.

“I wasn’t going to be any trouble. I tried. I’m sorry.”

Alfie bites back the ‘stop fucking apologizing’ already fully formed and ready to slip out his mouth.

Tommy lets pit a trembling breath.  “I tried to be good. But I- everything I do is wrong.”

And that, that just about breaks his fucking heart, doesn’t it? No wonder he’d think that, after the display Alfie put on yesterday. No wonder he’s been slipping all day. Probably too paralyzed by fear of doing something wrong to make any decisions at all.

Alfie pulls Tommy down from the sofa and into his lap. Tommy goes easily, melting into his embrace, burying himself in his shirt.

He hears the door shutting as Esther leaves.

“Oh, no, petal,” he tells him, kissing his temple and holding him tightly. “No, you haven’t done anything wrong. And even if you had, you’re entitled to make every bloody mistake in the book.” Tommy’s hands twist into his shirt. Alfie rubs his back. “I’m sorry, love, about what happened yesterday. I’m a fucking idiot. Even more of a fucking idiot when I’m worried. I shouldn’t have yelled at you like that.”

Tommy shakes his head. “It was my fault”  

“It’s not your fault that I fucking lost it. Uncalled for, that. I can’t ask you to make your own decisions and yell at you when you do. Doesn’t matter if I agreed with it or not.”

Tommy just keeps shaking his head.

Alfie can’t deny it, it dawns on him that there’s part of him -a bigger part than he’d like to admit- that wants Tommy to depend on him. Look at him with those trusting eyes, full of adoration, let him make all the decisions and eagerly obey. Wear his clothes not because it’s the only clothes he’s got but because he feels safe in them. And he fucking wants Tommy reach for and cling to him rather than doing things on his own. Maybe even sit like an obedient pet and wait for you the second you’re out of sight? He shakes his head to clear it from the disturbing thought. Fuck. no, even he has his limits. This all belongs to some dark, primal part of him that he needs to keep under control, not feed into.

He cradles the back of Tommy’s head, one of his thumbs rubbing small circles on the side of his neck.

“Maybe you don’t think so now, but you’ll want to decide things eventually. There’ll be a day when suddenly you’ll want all sorts of things again, even if that might seem far away right now.”

He doesn’t really expect a reply, and doesn’t get one either. His right leg has begun to ache and he shifts slightly.

Tommy wraps his arms around his neck and hugs him tightly.

“Don’t go.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Alfie promises. And decides that the situation in Birmingham and has to be left for his more or less competent men for the rest of the day. Might not be the right decision but fuck it’s the only decision he can make.  

[stervrucht]

Proximity - Part 7

● Part 1 ● Previous ● Next ● AO3 ●

cw: Brief depiction of child abuse, homophobic language, explicit sexual content

Eddie is seven when he learns to keep his feelings to himself.

He’s playing with Nico, the kid from the trailer across and they’re fucking around with sticks and rocks at the forest’s edge just outside the trailer park. Eddie remembers it being a hot day, but only because his dad was working on his car with his exposed back burnt red from the sun. 

It was on the porch he thinks — although he can’t be sure — the memories have gotten hazy over the years. He and Nico were sitting there, and Eddie thinks that maybe they were sitting too close, or maybe Nico grabbed for his hand. The next thing he remembers his dad’s furious face as he’s dragged to his feet by the neck of his shirt. It was tight and cut off his breathing for a second. Dad was yelling, but Eddie was too confused to make out the words. 

He doesn’t know what he did wrong. 

He remembers how it hurt when Dad threw him inside the humid trailer. Eddie lost his balance and he fell hard, skin dragging over carpet like sandpaper. He can still see the scars, but only because he knows where to look.

Dad kept yelling and Eddie turned to him, kept his eyes down as much as possible. He winced at the sound. He fucking hates the yelling, the loudness of it, the way it rings in his ears.

“You say away from that fucking queer,“ Dad yelled. It's one of the few things he remembers word for word. 

It seared itself into his brain.

The next time he sees Nico, he won’t look at him. He avoids his gaze like Eddie is poison. And maybe he is because Nico’s pale arm is covered in blue and purple patches. Surely that’s Eddie’s fault, because why else would Dad have been so mad?

At least he doesn’t hit him.

He doesn’t hit him, but from then on Eddie can’t look too long at other boys without it having consequences, and whenever Eddie speaks, his dad dissects his words, letter for letter in search of weakness.

Thoughts are best unspoken.  

Eddie has repeated that mantra so many times it feels like it has become part of his DNA. 

He lost his sincerity that day.

“I didn’t raise no fucking faggot.” 

Eddie remembers those words too. And maybe Dad was right because that man didn’t raise him at all.

Monday comes and goes, but Eddie’s bed remains empty.

The whole day at work his mind wouldn’t stop from drifting off to that moment in the car when Steve kissed him and it nearly cost Eddie his fingers while using the bench saw. His superior, Frank, a tall man with a deceivingly friendly face yelled at him after that — cursed and called him an idiot.  

The shrillness of Frank’s voice hurt more than his words. 

Dad had dulled the power of words long before Eddie entered middle school and then, when the bullies took over, Eddie was desensitized to the point he almost took pride in the words they threw at him.

When they called him a freak, he gave them a freak. When they called him a faggot, well, he could give them that too. It scared the kids. Made them exchange their words for fists, until Eddie took that from them too. He’d tell them: Hit me again, you know I like it. And then he’d bear a bloody smile.

Those kids never touched him again.

Eddie wishes it worked like that with Frank too. Yes, I’m an idiot, just give me the easiest job and hand me my paycheck.

He needs to remind himself why he’s working this stupid fucking job. He needs to think of Steve and that he’ll be there every night right beside him once they live together. It would be good for Steve to leave. Maybe not just away from his parents, but away from Hawkins too. Get out of this backward little town and move to the city where Eddie will earn his money playing the guitar.

That helps. It gets Eddie through the day without further incident, but it doesn’t dull the sting when Steve calls him later that night.

“Dad’s a real jerk. Wants to keep an eye on me all of the sudden.” Steve sounds frustrated. “I mean, it’s ridiculous right? They leave me alone for weeks at a time to attend their stupid conferences and when they’re back, suddenly it’s time to get Steve back on the rails. God forbid I have my own life.”

Eddie can only agree, yes it sucks, fuck them. 

Wish you were here.

He doesn’t say that last part. 

Dad may have dulled the power of words, but for the first time in a long time, Eddie is scared of them. He is scared of what words may do to Steve because Steve is flightly when overwhelmed — he learned that the hard way — and his boundaries are like a maze that he can’t backtrack. 

The first time Steve kisses him is Tuesday night.

Eddie is sweaty from work; from lifting timber and laying bricks in the punishing heat of late summer. His shoulders are burned and painted with small freckles. His coworkers warned him to wear a t-shirt, but Eddie is a stubborn little shit and he wore a tank top instead. It hurts where the strap of his bag digs into his flesh. It will hurt like a bitch once he showers too.

The trailer is hot when he gets home. It always is in summer and Eddie wishes they had AC. He slips the bag from his shoulder and drops it near the door. It isn't until he closes the door behind him that he realizes he's not alone.

Steve is here.

He’s cooking dinner and making conversation with Wayne who is getting ready for work. The domesticity of the scene catches him off guard. 

When did things get like this? 

It feels like Steve has become part of their little patchwork family and Eddie never noticed the switch. Wayne doesn’t seem to mind — seems completely at ease with Steve just showing up while Eddie is away. 

It leaves Eddie speechless. 

It has been two days since their camping trip. Two days since Steve kissed him, and Eddie feels something catch in his throat, because — despite Steve’s insistence — a part of him was scared Steve changed his mind. That time made him realize it was all a mistake. When Steve turns around and his eyes find Eddie he looks like sunshine after rain. Radiant and shy and it makes Eddie’s worries melt away.

Wayne leaves for work after dinner.

Heat hangs trapped in the trailer and the smell of food lingers. Eddie and Steve are doing the dishes and Eddie is on drying duty — the arrangement he prefers because he hates the feeling of wet food on his fingers. Eddie is in the middle of drying a glass when Steve traps him against the kitchen counter. 

“I’ve missed you,” Steve breathes as he holds him with hands drenched in soapy water. Eddie gawkes a little, hands trapped between their bodies as Steve closes the distance. It surprises him, the directness of Steve's words, the ease with which he says them.

And then Steve kisses him and Eddie’s train of thought slips away from him.

It’s not the the hurried heat of their kiss in the tent, nor the careful tentative one they shared in the car. It feels intentional, the way Steve slots them together. How he moves the towel and glass from Eddie’s hands, placing them on the counter behind him without breaking contact. It’s the way Steve’s hand finds Eddie’s jaw and slips to the back of his head, tilting it back just a little to allow him better access as he runs his tongue across Eddie’s bottom lip. It leaves him breathless, makes his body tingle all over and he can’t get enough of it. It makes him greedy for it.

Only this time he can actually have it. 

When Steve breaks the kiss, he cradles Eddie’s jaw, moving a wet thumb over the bone of it. “I’ve been thinking about this ever since.” and then he laughs, a little sheepishly as he picks at Eddie’s hair. “I got suds all over you.”

Eddie pats at his own hair and he can’t help but smile at Steve, can’t help it when he leans in again, captures Steve’s lips for the second time, and feels Steve melt into it. 

“I should hit the shower,” Eddie says as he pulls away. 

The heat of the water hurts the skin of his burnt shoulders and Eddie winces. He lets it run down over his head and soak his hair as he touches his lips. This is real. Steve kissed him and that makes it three. Surely the burning pain of his shoulders must mean this is real. 

And maybe he worries too much. Worrying about Steve must have cost him some years of his life by now. But that’s all in the past because Steve missed him. Thinks of him when he’s away. 

That must mean something.  

When he returns from his shower with hair dripping wet Steve lays sprawled on his bed. He’s flipping through Dracula again, looking at the pages that Eddie carelessly dogeared and scanning them with mild interest. When he notices Eddie he folds the book closed and turns on his back. He looks at Eddie upside down, eyes fixed on his dripping hair.

“I kinda miss the pool. Wish we could have the kids over again,” Steve says wistfully, putting his hands beneath his head.

Eddie lays down beside him, and his hair is making the covers damp. Steve hates it but he doesn’t say it, moves a little closer to Eddie instead until their bodies are touching in several spots. 

“We could,” Eddie offers, “Invite the kids now they still have summer break. Fuck, invite Robin before she’s off to college — it’s nearly September. Just plan it while your parents are off to do their own shit.” 

“I just wish they would leave. Which is kinda fucked up right? It’s their house and I’m just lucky mom won’t allow dad to kick me out.”

They lie in silence for a moment and Eddie stares at the ceiling in all its familiarity. It has a few spots, some old leaks that Wayne fixed, and Eddie kinda wishes Wayne would be here. It’s a little funny, in a sad way, how their lives contrast. It’s like Eddie was put on this earth just to show the world how perfect Steve is. Except it’s all surface because Steve would rather lay under a patchy leaky roof and threadbare linen than live the life his parents want him to.

Eddie wonders what they would say if they knew their son is kissing the resident retired drug dealer.

It would probably be glorious. And maybe they should do it. Fuck Steve’s parents and screw the apartment. Get out of Hawkins and live their own life. Go out with a bang.

He doesn’t say that either.

“When will they?” Eddie asks. “Leave I mean.”

“Next trip is like a month away.”

Fuck,” Eddie breathes and then he turns to his side facing Steve.

Steve is frustrated — Eddie can tell by the way he sets his jaw. He wants to kiss it better. And he can do that, right? Maybe. He doesn’t dare to. Up until now, Steve has initiated everything. The one time Eddie took any control Steve freaked out. The thought makes his heart pound nervously and he licks his lips as he tries to come to a decision — to gather his nerves. Maybe he will do it this time.

Maybe, maybe—

Steve turns to his side and Eddie’s heart won’t let up. He thinks it may actually be worse now. Yes, he wants to kiss Steve, but he has always been a coward. A self-saboteur. So instead he does what he always does when he's nervous. 

He talks.

“We have our final rehearsal this Thursday. If you still want to hear me sing—” Eddie trails off.

Suddenly, Steve’s earlier frustration seems forgotten and a smile creeps on his face. It’s an honest to god smile and Eddie thinks he needs to correct himself because this Steve is like a summer sun on a cloudless day and it seems there isn’t a place his light can’t reach.

“I’d like that.” He says before getting up out of bed. “C’mon let’s brush our teeth. I’m getting sleepy.”

Eddie watches Steve stand up. The way muscles move underneath his skin. Steve is pretty fit and it must be the swimming that created shoulders like that. His eyes drift downwards to the small of Steve’s back, and he has a few moles there. Down, down, until his eyes reach Steve’s boxer-clad ass. Eddie stares — allows himself to and it awakens a heat inside him.

“You coming?” Steve turns around, probably stirred by Eddie’s lack of movement and Eddie feels a little caught. He isn’t sure if Steve noticed though. Eddie jumps to his feet and readjusts himself in his boxers when Steve is turned away again.

The crickets are loud and the room is dark. As dark as it gets with Eddie’s shitty curtains and the eternally bright streetlight right outside his window. Eddie lays an arm over Steve’s waist and pulls him into his chest. The bed dips under their combined weight and Eddie can feel the springs dig into his side. Steve is warm and Eddie can sense his heartbeat where their torso’s align. Sleep comes easy to Steve. It comes easier to Eddie too, now that Steve is here. He buries his nose into Steve’s nape and feels his hair tickle his nose. 

Steve smells like hairspray and warmth and home.

Two days later Eddie makes good on his promise.

When they walk up to Gareth’s garage the door is already open. Jeff is tuning his guitar and Freak is picking at his bass guitar, playing a familiar riff. Gareth sits at the back of one of the amplifiers, fiddling with the cords.

When Eddie comes into view, Gareth stands up and smiles. “Sup, loser. Took you long enough.” His eyes move up, over Eddie’s shoulder and his smile falters. “What the fuck are you doing here,” he says motioning to Steve.

The commotion causes Freak and Jeff to stop what they’re doing and suddenly everything is quiet. Eddie looks over his shoulder to Steve. He looks uncomfortable and a little guilty.

“It’s cool. He’s with me.” Eddie stares Gareth in the face, stern and insistent.

“Fucking Harrington?” Freak blurts out. Eddie has to fight a smile and stop himself from blurting out ‘not yet’. Yeah, that wouldn’t make it better.

“Yes, fucking Harrington.” He motions for Steve to enter the garage and Steve does so reluctantly.

“Get him on the groupie couch.” Gareth carelessly gestures to a leather couch that lines the wall before making his way over to Eddie. With one hand on the back of his neck, Gareth guides Eddie away from the garage, just far enough to talk somewhat privately.

“What the fuck is this, Eddie?”

Eddie shrugs and looks away from Gareth’s piercing eyes. He stares into the garage where Steve sits on the couch, making tentative conversation with Jeff.

“We’re friends now. Deal with it.”

“Deal with it? What’s next, the entire basketball team? Swapping jock straps while we play kumbaya?”

Eddie snorts and Gareth glares at him.

“Well?”

“Steve’s cool, okay. He was interested in the band. Give him a chance.”

Gareth groans, pinching his nosebridge. He looks back at the garage, observing Steve for a moment before turning back to Eddie.

“Fine— Fine! But he stays on the couch. No touching my shit.” Gareth pokes his finger in Eddie’s chest as if to reiterate his point and turns around, marching back to the garage.

Steve is looking at him from the fucking groupie couch and Eddie laughs to himself, but only because the guys don’t know it's kinda true. It’s a little ironic too, because this is the first time someone other than they have sat on it. Calling it a groupie couch was a little wistful, but fine. May Steve be the one to break it in, Eddie thinks to himself as he makes his way over the the guys. 

Once the music starts it doesn’t take him long to get in the zone. His guitar lies in his hands like it's part of him and the instruments blend into a perfectly aggressive harmony. 

Steve stares. 

Eddie catches him looking at his hands as they move over the snares. Sees the interest in Steve’s face as his eyes move with it. 

More than that, it’s the singing.

The moment he starts singing he sees Steve’s interest peak. Eyes latched on one another Eddie knows he’s got him hooked.

Eddie has to consciously look away at times if he doesn’t want the guys to figure it out in just one day — that Steve and him aren’t just friends. Gareth may actually kill him if he finds out. And that’s of course ignoring the fact that Steve’s a dude. He actually has no idea how his bandmates feel about that as it never really came up before. It never needed to.

After the fifth song, Eddie drops himself on the couch next to Steve. Gareth and Freak are fussing in front of the mini fridge, gathering some sodas. 

“I think it went well. Think we’re ready for the show?” Jeff asks as he sets his guitar down.

“Show?” Steve joins in.

“Fuck, that’s right. I never told you. We’re playing at the Hideout this Saturday. Wanna come?”

“He’ll hate it,” Gareth says as he shoves cold cokes into Steve and Eddie’s chests. Eddie was half convinced Gareth might let Steve dehydrate, but the drink feels like a peace offering, reluctant as it is.

“What’ya think of it?” Gareth follows up, his attention now fully on Steve.

Steve pulls at the lip of his can. “It was good— great, I mean! You guys looked cool.”

Gareth scratches at his head, a little embarrassed but still defiant. Eddie can see the ghost of a smile. Pleased, he thinks, and that’s something. Of all the guys, Gareth has always been the most vocally opposed to outsiders. Jeff and Freak just kinda went along with whatever dumb ideas he and Gareth came up with.

Gareth raises his can and takes a big gulp. “Let’s do this boys!” 

Freak and Jeff join him in his cheer, downing the rest of their drinks in one go and Eddie looks at Steve once he has gulped down the better part of his coke. 

Steve’s eyes are glued to him and Eddie feels a pleasant swirl in his stomach.

It doesn’t matter how often he does it.

Eddie’s heart is pounding and his throat feels too tight. He plays with the pick in his hand and looks back at the guys. Gareth flips his drumsticks, twirls them around between his fingers while Jeff kicks his feet at the floor in front of him. Only Freak stands still as he looks ahead with vacant eyes. 

The soundcheck is done. A few eager people are already crowding towards the stage although most are still lingering near the bar. The band is bathed in blue and pink light that draws lines across the smokey air.

Eddie is always a little nervous before a show, but Steve Harrington, who is standing in the crowd, standing out like a sore thumb, is by far the biggest cause today. Robin and Vickie are there too, looking far less out of place and Eddie thinks it’s sweet of them to attend, even if it’s far from their scene.

The band worked hard on the new setlist and it’s great. Honestly, their best so far. But Eddie is a little mortified — no, scrap that, absolutely terrified by to what degree the whole Steve-situation has crept its way into his songwriting. And of course, he packaged it up nicely in references and fantasy, but it’s there, and now the world will hear it.

Once the sound guy says they’re good to go, Eddie reaches for the microphone. He takes a deep breath, switches off all visual signs of nervousness, and yells into the crowd.

The people at the bar turn their heads and in the front some howl in return. That’s the cue. Drums explode, the bass picks up its rhythm and Jeff’s guitar slices through the crowd. It takes a few songs to really pick up, but it's a far cry from the near-empty rooms they’ve played for before. 

People are enjoying themselves. They trash about wildly in the crowd while Eddie sings of shared cigarettes. Robin and Vickie are one with the crowd, and Vickie is truly wild, absolutely without shame. She pulls at Robin, swings her around, and wraps her arms around her. She bangs her head, whips her hair and, actually gets Steve to do it a few times too before he gives up with his hair a mess. And fuck it, he looks gorgeous all sweaty and messed up. Eddie has to focus — redirect himself to the microphone and clutches it like a lifeline as he sings of snakes and lovers.

After the last song, the crowd cheers like it never has before and Eddie feels high as he saunters off the stage. Behind him people are moving instruments, preparing for the next act, but Eddie hardly notices. Gareth presses a cold beer against his neck and Eddie jumps a little before gratefully taking it in his hand. His bangs cling to his forehead, slick with sweat, and his leather vest sticks to him like a second skin. He unzips it, letting the hot air hit his bare chest.

“Fuck,” Jeff sighs, and they are all looking at one another when Eddie echoes it.

“Fuck.”

And then they’re grinning like they are all in on some hidden joke until they’re jumping and beer is sloshing around them and on them. Eddie is pretty sure it soaked into his boots and is wetting his sock, but he doesn't care. He doesn’t fucking care.

They pulled a fucking crowd.

“Guess hell truly froze over, huh? Get Harrington in the crowd and suddenly we’re fucking stars.” Gareth slaps Eddie on his back and the sound of skin hitting leather is loud, even with the next soundcheck in the back. 

“Or maybe we’re just fucking good,” Freak joins in. 

Eddie takes a big gulp of his beer before shoving the bottle back in Gareth’s hand. “Speaking of, I’m gonna find the little Luckstone.”

Behind him, the guys burst out in laughter and cheers and Eddie smiles to himself as he makes his way through the crowd. It’s not as easy as it used to be. From all sides, people stop him, touch him, tell him they were great, and offer to buy him a beer. At last, Eddie sees Steve’s head peak above the crowd.

Eddie feels like he’s in a tunnel. Like he’s Moses and people are parting for him like the Red Sea. Steve is staring. Eddie can see his eyes move over his body, resting on his chest somewhere near his tattoo, and then his eyes find Eddie’s.

Steve is moving. Walking towards him with an urgency in his step. And then Steve’s arms are around his neck, squeezing him tight, chest to chest, before pulling away again and holding him at arm's length. 

“You,” Steve starts, his eyes scanning Eddie’s face and he licks his lips, pushing his sweaty hair back before finding the words again, “you guys were great.”

“Holy shit! I didn’t know you were a rockstar!” Vickie jumps in after having caught up with Steve. Steve pulls away a little more, moving one hand to Eddie’s back, fingers tracing over the skin where his vest ends. It leaves him with a pleasant tingle.

“It usually isn’t like this.” Eddie looks around the room. Some people are staring. It definitely isn’t what it used to be and it’s fucking crazy. 

The music starts again. Some small-time band and Eddie figures the time for conversation has passed — at least within the crowd. 

“Let’s get another drink and I’ll introduce you guys to the rest of the band,” he yells over the music.

It takes some time to find his bandmates again. They are not where he left them near the stage. Instead, they moved near the back exit, where they stand near the open door as they smoke. It’s a good idea because it’s hot inside and Eddie is still sweaty from his performance. Once he nears the door, Steve, Robin, and Vickie in tow, he can feel the cold air seep in and it clings pleasantly to his skin. He takes another sip from his beer.

“Eddie!” Gareth makes his way over to him, putting an arm around his shoulders as he guides him to the rest of the group. There are a few people there he doesn’t recognize, most notably a tall older man with blonde hair in a style not unlike Steve's, only pushed back more, and he wears a colorful button-down shirt. He’s in the process of lighting a cigarette when Gareth drags him over. 

“Eddie, this is Tom — Tom, Eddie.” Gareth gestures and the man holds out his hand, urging Eddie to shake it. He does so, reluctantly, because shaking hands at a place like the Hideout is fucking weird. The man’s blue eyes look at him curiously and his smile reveals two rows of perfectly white teeth. Eddie isn’t sure what to make of him. He tries to shoot Gareth some subtle looks for help, for some clue what the fuck all of this is, but Gareth has his eyes glued to Tom.

“Nice to meet you Eddie.” — Tom’s speech is a little muffled by the cigarette and he removes it from his mouth —”I was just telling your friends that I’m organizing this festival near Indianapolis. We’re looking for some fresh faces and you guys caught my attention.” He takes a slow drag from his cigarette and taps the ashes in the open doorway. Gareth is practically shaking with excitement and Jeff and Freak are talking in hushed voices a little further away. Eddie doesn’t know what to say, left a little speechless by the information.

“I say we do it,” Gareth jumps in next to Eddie, “we have enough time to prepare—”

“No need to decide now.” Tom interrupts him, then digs through the pocket of his pants and digs out a little metal case. He flips it open effortlessly and with a small push reveals a dark business card. “Call me once you have given it some thought.”

Eddie takes the business card and Gareth leans in close to read it with him. 

‘Thomas Davis, Talent Scout at Hellbound Records’

“You’re a talent scout?” Eddie asks while Gareth peels the card from his hands to show it to Jeff and Freak. 

“I am,” Tom says and blows some smoke from the corner of his mouth, “We organize this festival yearly. Give some newer bands a chance, see how well they do on stage. It’s all good fun. Of course, it doesn’t pay, but it’s the exposure that counts, right? And if you’re lucky, you may even get a record deal out of it.”

“Right,” Eddie echoes. 

Tom stubs his cigarette on the brick wall. “Well, it was nice meeting you. I’m afraid duty calls.” And by duty, Tom probably means the other band that is currently playing. Eddie gives him a curt nod and Tom disappears into the crowd.

“What was that all about?” Steve asks from behind him. Eddie had all but forgotten they were looking for the guys in the first place. 

“Eh, I guess we just got invited to a festival?” Eddie can’t keep the disbelief out of his voice. Maybe it hasn’t really sunk in yet, because this is incredible. It’s objectively fucking amazing and it overwhelms him. 

“Eddie, that’s amazing!” Robin yells over the music and then she throws her arms around him in a tight hug. “You’re all gross and sweaty though.” she pulls a face as she releases him again. Eddie smiles apologetically at her before Vickie makes her way into his field of view. 

“Congrats!” she yells.

Steve says nothing, but he’s smiling all nice and gentle, staring at Eddie in awe for a moment. Just as he opens his mouth, Gareth walks up again, followed by the guys. 

“This is like, the best day ever,” he says and he grins at the business card once more, “let’s discuss this next rehearsal. I’m gonna get some drinks. You want something?”

Eddie shakes his head. He’s had quite enough to drink and he still needs to drive because his van is the only car that fits their instruments. Gareth shrugs and walks off towards the direction of the bar. 

“We’re gonna head back to the stage,” Robin tells him, motioning towards Vickie. Eddie realizes he forgot to introduce them to the band and now Gareth is lost somewhere in the crowd. Robin seems to catch on to Eddie’s hesitation. “No worries, you can introduce us some other time. Go have fun, you crazy kids.” She gives them both a look before she’s dragged away by Vickie.

“Those girls,” Steve laughs shaking his head. “When do you think they’ll figure it out?”

Eddie looks towards the crowd until he loses sight of their heads. “Eh, knowing Robin, probably never. I have put all my faith in Vickie,” Eddie replies. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a pack of cigarettes. There’s still some left when he puts one between his lips and shields it from the wind as he lights it. Steve settles against the wall next to the door and Eddie follows his lead.

“What a night, huh?” his voice is a little hoarse from singing and he feels the smoke burn his throat as he takes a deep breath. Once the end turns dark again, Steve reaches for the cigarette, pulling it from his mouth and putting it between his own lips. He takes a pull, not quite as deep as Eddie did, holds it for a second before blowing out again. 

“What’s it like?” Steve takes another drag before placing the cigarette back between Eddie’s lips, “Being on stage, I mean?”

“A fucking thrill,” Eddie says after a moment. 

“I bet.” Steve stares at the ceiling and he taps his foot, not quite along with the beat of the band. “I always got so nervous before we had a game. I think I puked a few times.” Steve laughs to himself and Eddie smiles. He moves a little closer to Steve, not quite touching, but close. 

Steve leans over again, pulls the cigarette from Eddie’s mouth for another drag. Something about the gesture feels so intimate. Especially the way Steve gently places it back between Eddie’s lips after he’s done and fingers lightly grace over his lips in a way that doesn’t feel accidental. Excitement swirls in his belly and he wishes he could kiss Steve right here but not even the Hideout is that accepting — regardless of how weird its visitors are. 

Once the cigarette is reduced to its filter, Eddie pushes himself from the wall. “Guess it’s about time we load the van,” he tells Steve. 

Eddie drives it up near the exit and when he walks back inside his bandmates have returned. Steve has a new beer in his hand and he’s in conversation with Freak who’s bent over laughing while Steve grins at him. 

With the five of them, it doesn’t take long to have everything packed again and Eddie feels like he might be done for the day. He doesn’t have to tell Steve though. Sometimes it feels like he can read his mind, and maybe that’s good because otherwise, they may have stayed another couple of hours. 

“Vickie was driving them right?” Eddie asks as he fastens his seatbelt. 

Steve nods. “Hard to believe she found a new taxi driver, even after finally getting her license.”

“The way I heard it, she only got it because they felt sorry for her,” Eddie says as he turns on the ignition.

“Don’t be mean, ” Steve says, but when Eddie shoots him a look, he relents, defensively throwing his hands up, “Okay, fine, mercy license. You’re right. Still, good thing she has Vickie.”

Eddie hums in response. His eyes feel heavy and he can’t wait to dive into bed with Steve. Luckily it isn’t a long drive.

Once they arrive at the trailer, Eddie gets his guitar from the back and they head inside. 

He hangs his guitar back in its rightful place on his bedroom wall and runs his fingers along its surface lovingly. He wonders what they did to get so lucky tonight. Maybe it was his guitar, or maybe it was Steve. The unlikelihood of Steve Harrington attending a Corroded Coffin concert at the Hideout may have given the universe a good shake. That, or the fact that Eddie is maybe-kinda- dating him. Surely that must have broken some natural laws as well.

“I’m hitting the showers,” he yells without looking back. Steve is somewhere in the trailer, but he has no idea where he wandered while was in his bedroom. Eddie shoots his guitar one last look before moving to the bathroom and switching the water on to warm up. He strips his leather vest away and it sticks to his skin. His hair looks a mess too — much like the eyeliner that has left dark smudges under his eyes. The mirror is fogging over as he rubs at it.

“Need some help there, Munson?”

“Back to last names?” Eddie quips as he turns to face Steve at the door opening. “Harrington.” He draws Steve’s name, just for the heck of it.

“Only for Rockstars.” Steve smiles and leans closer, running a thumb underneath Eddie’s eye and rubbing gently. It’s probably not helping, but Eddie doesn’t care. He likes the way Steve’s hands feel on his face and the way his thumb slips lower and lower until Steve runs it over his bottom lip and to his jaw.

Eddie feels his heart rabbit in his chest.

Maybe. Maybe.

He will do it. He’s nearly vibrating with nerves, but he’ll do it. He bites his lips where Steve just touched them

Brain to zero and go.

Eddie leans in, capturing Steve’s lips before he can change his mind. For one breathless moment, Eddie thinks Steve will pull away — run away. But then he moves, Steve’s thumb dragging down to his neck and Eddie feels like he can breathe again. He steadies himself, one hand on the sink, another on Steve’s shoulder.

Lips move over lips lazily, and there is no hurry because they’re alone and they have the rest of their lives for kissing. Steve kisses him deep, urging his lips to part and licking inside. It stirs something in Eddie; awakings a pleasant heat in his gut. 

Steam is filling the bathroom, moisture clinging to their hair and the sound of water hitting the shower floor echoes through the small room. If Eddie doesn’t get under soon the water will run cold before he’s finished.

Maybe he’ll need a cold shower. He has little to hide his arousal and Steve is fully dressed and that just doesn’t seem fair.

Maybe. Maybe.

Eddie is done thinking. Overthinking. His brain isn’t getting much blood anyway, so he acts — just does something impulsively stupid — and drags Steve, clothes and all, under the shower with him. 

Steve yelps against his lips, blinking rapidly to get the water out of his eyes. Eddie leaves him no room to retreat. He recaptures Steve’s lips, pushes him back against the tiled wall. Water is soaking his hair and boxers. It’s soaking Steve’s shirt, the shoulders already darkening into a burgundy instead of bright red. Steve’s hair is dripping, droplets running down the locks that cling to their former glory. He looks beautiful, Eddie thinks, with kiss-plumped lips and red-stained cheeks.

Eddie tugs at the shirt. Peels it off Steve’s chest and only loses his lips when they awkwardly pull the sticking fabric over Steve’s head.

“If you’d asked,” Steve pants slightly, “I’d have lost the clothes first.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” Eddie purses his lips challengingly and runs his hands down Steve’s torso appreciatively. Moving from his pectorals towards the hair that dips beneath his waistband and runs a finger along the fabric experimentally. 

When Eddie looks up and his eyes meet Steve’s again, he sees how blown they are, brown nearing black, and it makes him stop for a moment. 

Steve sees an opportunity, seizes it like the jock he is, and spins them around. Eddie winces at the coolness of the tiles against his back, but that’s quickly forgotten when Steve shoves his leg between his thighs and pulls them flush. Eddie can’t help it, the sound that escapes him when Steve rolls his hips. He can feel the hardness there, the outline of Steve’s cock.

It’s so different now that he can actually see Steve. The bright TL bulb hardly makes for a romantic mood, but Eddie doesn’t need warm light to feel this good. 

He feels desperate for Steve’s touch.

Steve rolls his hips again, establishing a rhythm while he mouths at Eddie’s neck. And fuck, Steve is good at this and it nearly overwhelms him as he tries to move with Steve, tries to silence the whimpers that escape his lips with every thrust.

Eddie’s hands move lower, finding the belt hoops of Steve’s jean shorts, and guides his movements with one hand while his other searches for the buttons — to get Steve out of his pants.

Unforgiving fabric. Fucking denim.

Eddie pulls at it as Steve recaptures his lips, moves his tongue over Eddie’s, and Eddie can’t help it. He lets out a whimper and Steve swallows it, only to break apart and help Eddie get him out of his shorts.

It lands with a wet slosh on the shower floor and now that Steve is just wet socks and boxers. Eddie can see the evidence of Steve’s arousal. The wet fabric clings to his dick, leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination. 

He wants to touch Steve; taste him. To watch him while he works him, and see his face as he falls apart. Steve has him trapped against the wall, leaning back in, and Eddie licks his lips.

Maybe. Maybe.

He gasps when he feels Steve’s fingers slip underneath the elastic waistband of his boxers. Steve’s fingers are a little hesitant, a little jittery, but when they find his cock Eddie lets out a strangled moan all the same.

“Holy shit.” He buries his face into Steve’s neck, mouth gaping uselessly and fingers digging into Steve’s hips as his hand starts to move.

It’s slow. Painfully slow the way Steve moves his hand and it leaves Eddie shuddering with arousal. 

“Steve,” he breathes helplessly, sinking his teeth in the soft flesh of his shoulder as he tries to steady himself. Eddie wills his hand to move, to trace the band of Steve's boxers as well and he feels Steve’s muscles jump once he finally slips a finger underneath the fabric. He pulls it down, releasing Steve’s cock, and Eddie kinda wants to see it but can’t because Steve has him trapped. 

When he wraps his hand around Steve, he is rewarded with a shuddery breath near his ear. Eddie strokes him, matching his tempo to Steve’s and its wave after wave of pleasure and pressure. They’re moving as one. Something akin to what Eddie imagines the ocean to be; drifting with the current. And that’s something they could do too, Eddie thinks, visit the ocean. He’s never seen it. 

He wants every first with Steve.

Pressure is building within him. A heat bubbling and he knows he’s close, he feels Steve might be as well as he ups his rhythm, slides halfway down before moving up again, a thumb over the head which earns him another sound from Steve. And Eddie loves it, all the sounds and gasps Steve produces, the way Eddie pulls them out of him.

Steve’s movements are getting sloppier, and he pulls his head back a little, just to crash their mouth together again. It’s the slide of Steve’s tongue that tips him over, all messy and wet. It ripples through him and he moans into Steve’s mouth and twitches against his chest. 

He’s pretty sure he just came all over Steve’s leg. 

He gives Steve a few slow pumps and then he feels Steve gasp against his lips as well as he works him through it. He swallows every sound, every whimper — eat it up like a starved man until Steve goes slack.

They stand slumped against the shower wall and Steve leans heavily against him, chin resting on each other's shoulder as they catch their breath. The water has long since gone cold, but Eddie didn’t even notice. He doesn’t think Steve did either.

Steve pushes himself away a little so he can look at Eddie. And fuck, will this be the moment it all comes crashing down? That Steve runs off again? It’s only a split second he allows the thoughts to take hold.

Steve’s face comes into view and he smiles. It's a little shy, but a far cry from panic. 

“Guess we kinda missed our shot when it comes to hot showers, huh?” Steve laughs and Eddie wants to slap him because, in a world of lame post-coitus talk, this was definitely up there. 

He also wants to kiss him again, and this time there is no doubt when he pulls Steve close and places a gentle kiss on his lips. 

There is no doubt at all.

“You definitely didn’t miss my leg though. Great accuracy,” Eddie jokes. He bears Steve a toothy smile as he playfully slaps his cheek. Steve goes a little red, but only briefly.

“Let’s get washed up, superstar.” Steve rolls his eyes and pulls his boxers all the way off, throwing them on the wet heap of clothes on the floor. 

Eddie stalls for a moment but then does the same. Guess they’re showering together, huh?

The shower cabin is a lot more cramped when you aren’t trying to crawl into each other’s skin it seems, and it’s an awkward tangle of limbs as they wash their hair and Eddie tries to mohawk Steve’s soapy locks while the latter objects. In the end, they keep it brief because the water is cold and Eddie's teeth are clattering.

It’s late anyway, way past midnight.

Once they lie in bed, Eddie feels exhaustion befall him. This may have been the most eventful day of his life.

He looks at Steve in curtain-filtered streetlight and Steve smiles back, his hand finding Eddie’s as he plays with his fingers. Eddie’s heart feels so full it’s ready to burst — to combust in heart-shaped confetti probably because that’s what Steve does to him. It makes him all sappy and gooey and starry-eyed.

He wants to tell Steve just that, but his mouth runs dry. His brain blanks just as he finds the words and it’s like he just can’t — not with words. He intertwines their fingers instead, and gives Steve’s hand a little squeeze as he closes his eyes.

He dreams of music that night. 

Of touring with the band and playing at shows with audiences the size of basketball games. And Steve is there, always at the front, looking on from the crowd. It’s a pulse of tour and show, tour and show, but Steve is there every time. 

Eddie thinks it could happen for real. That maybe—

Maybe Steve will always be there.

---

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[angstandhappiness]

@bi-scottsummers: #op this is such a wonderful little essay thank you#also. this could be completely out of left field. but it seems to me that SWK is still grieving & that a lot of his reactions to certain Uhh#situations which arise in the show can be directly traced back to the events of his past#the whole ordeal with LBD is kinda Yikes. bc it reads to me as him impulsively reacting to this untreated …. I don’t wanna say trauma but.#yeah. trauma kind of (the LBD chapter in the og series featured a VERY dramatic breakup between SWK & tang sanzang bc LBD manipulated her#way into the group and Buddha’s Specialest Boy refused to listen to SWK when he was like ‘that’s a demon man. maybe stop engaging with it’#to be fair he did also kill her on sight the first time they met her which as you can imagine would be a big No No for a monk but I digress)#idk how much of the og series theyre keeping as canon in the show BUT if we assume almost all then I think SWK’s flaws make a lot of sense#LBD pops up again; he remembers That Time he tried to protect his buddies from her & they all ignored him & almost died;#he goes Not This Fucking Time!! and leaves his current buddies behind & tries to take her on all by himself#quite stupid! some might even say astronomically stupid. but MMMM I love it when characters are stupid for reasons#not to say part of it isn’t just his reckless personality but SWK has lived a long life & I feel it’s possible that some of the shitty#habits he’s picked up along the way carry over. ALSO this is purely just me but he feels like such a lonely character in the show#I mentioned grief earlier bc of all the murals of the og JTTW gang you see on flower fruit mountain#and the fireworks scene. when he brings out a feast fit for like 6 people#the fact that at the beginning of the show nobody has rlly heard or seen from him in like. centuries ??? like he just isolated himself#completely after his friends died??? it’s like he’s haunted by them bro not one episode goes by where they let u forgot that he used to be#part of something bigger than himself#I forgot where I was going with this. ok wait yes I remember. I’m SO curious to see whether or not his past will ever be DIRECTLY addressed#because while I think he is just an inherently flawed being (as everyone is) I also think a lot of his communication issues and#self-sacrificial issues could be hmmm mitigated I guess if he ever decides to work through (what I perceive to be) one of the factors#contributing to them. just to be clear I don’t want him to be suddenly perfect I just think he’s got some shit to work through#he was canonically kind of an asshole to macaque before the show’s canonical start to JTTW & im sure he’ll continue to be an asshole after#all of this. but hopefully he will be an asshole who is a little bit better at processing & dealing with his emotions accordingly#I’m probably reading too much into this bc a lot of his shit can also just be attributed to arrogance#in which case YUM. love it when characters have to face the consequences of their actions😚love watching silly monke get his ass beat#like to be xtra clear: macaque & SWK both are letting trauma from their pasts ruin their chance at a future. but MK sees them as#villain/hero respectively. I just like this perspective bc then we have to consider where the line’s drawn or if theres even a line at all

@imminent-danger-came; #prev woag#''this is kinda outta left field'' *proceeds to give a lovely little analysis of SWK and his flaws/past*#But YEAH. Wukong? SUCH a lonely character.#I think pretty much everything he does in the show is motivated by whatever happened to the og JTTW crew#Like lol. All of his friends died. After DBK is sealed he's pretty much effectively cut his last tie to anyone.#And so I can imagine after watching everyone he cares about leave him (in one way or another) it's like next time#Next time he won't let that happen. He'll put himself on the line first#He'll protect MK (at this point the only person he has in the world)! He'll do it this time!#He's immortal 7 times over! He can't die! He's going to do this!#And then. Oh no. Oh geez he does NOT do that at all#Tragedy at it's finest fr fr#Prev I don't think you're reading too much into anything I think that's just his character#LMK expects you to draw a line between a lot of dots and by GOD have you drawn them#That scene in 2x00 when MK's like ''I gotta go watch the fireworks with my friends...'' and the way like#Wukong just turns and stares into the sunset#LIKE BRO???#I also always think too hard about Wukong calling the gang his friends in 4x07#''I'm not going to let some curse bully me or my friends a second longer!'' Your friends???#You consider them your friends?? You were confused that Tang was hugging you in 3x05.#And this is after showing how the og JTTW crew presents themselves in the gang like. SIR??? WHAT HAPPENED TO YOUR FRIENDS.#Would love for Wukong to work through his problems. Would love for ANYONE in this show to work through their problems actually#I'm really hoping for a SWK V MK fight at some point.#For both SWK's and MK's arcs respectively MK needs to be the one to chew SWK out. LIKE I'M WAITING.#Anyways whatever a hero and a villain was at the start of the series that has really degraded by this point#it's just soup#I don't even know whats happening here anymore#I will say the first episode of the special is titled ''A Lifetime of Mistakes'' and they HAVE to go into Wukong's scroll piece. So.#These writers are fucking baller they're not going to pass up an opportunity to see SWK's past directly like this#Or pass on opportunity for MK specifically to see SWK's past#Like oh god it's all coming together

@bi-scottsummers: #PREV too true let MK lose his shit at SWK. as a treat<3#poor boy has taken after his mentor with regards to how well he processes + deals with unpleasant emotions#monkie kid#ok I’m done with the reblogs now I promise. no more essays in the tag god bles 🙏

@sterling-starlight: #I know I've joked about how I keep on making the sad old men in my shows my favorites#But for real?#My adoration and love for this stupid monkey is almost overwhelming#He's so so flawed but and he's shouldering several lifetimes worth of pain and guilt and lonliness#but he chooses to do his best when some weirdo kid stumbles into his life#he chooses to be KIND#It would be so easy to write him as embittered and jaded and a complete asshole#but they don't#I just-#he's going to ruin my life if he dies

@cloud-somersault: #ah what great analysis#we love it when people point out and understand that flawed characters are what make a story#expecting wukong to be perfect and not make mistakes even POST journey is not realistic#he was makign mistakes up till the end friends#he is by no means perfect#and that's perfectly fine#he's doing his best#he cares too much#and we love him for it#he goes the extra mile in trying to protect people#by lying and hidng information#making them think everything's fine while he's putting out fires behind the scenes#he wants to handle things and he puts that burden perpetually on himself#wukong still has development to go through and isn't that beautiful#aren't you excited??#characters without flaws...aren't really characters at all y'know?

@chipper-smol :   #good good good analysis

@ec-arts: #this is a really good analysis

@mariposiel :  #screaming crying throwing up

@rorylow :  #WOAWW I LOVE THIS#IN-DEPTH SWK ANALYSIS FOR THE WIN !!

@chaotic-bumblebee-agenda :  #THIS. ALL OF THIS

@confused-dreamer-wolf:  #all of this#he is such a complicated character

@niyana-the-ambiguous-mobian :  #OP this is a really good essay right here#but yeah what was he doing all that time after sealing DBK??? chilling in a eternal hot spring?  #oh i am FUCKING LOSING IT#AHHHHHH

@cosmoshard​ :  #Augh yesss#rly good points here

SWK being so flawed is like one of LMK's strongest bits. I feel like a different show would just have him be infallible or have him be like a twist villain or irredeemable or something. But he's neither of those, he's just incredibly flawed. It's also interesting that even though Mei and Pigsy are critical of him, they're still shown to care about him.

All in all, hes a more complicated character than people give him credit for :/

I 100% agree!

Honestly, if Sun Wukong wasn't flawed I'd find him a bit boring. You remove his flaws and you remove the meat of his character. Even all the way back in season 1 you get the feeling he's withholding information and concealing his past ("Show me the real Sun Wukong! The old you would have leveled this whole mountain range to stop me!"), and that only becomes more and more prevalent as the show goes on.

Wukong is first introduced as a hero, as the King who defended the world from DBK. Next he's introduced as a mentor, planning to make MK his successor (which I think is pretty debatable at this point, as I've said I personally think he just needed an excuse to train MK).

Slowly we learn SWK is pretty terrible at both of those things. He's not the hero or mentor anyone thought he would be—he's not even the mentor he thought he would be:

Macaque: “Haha, you saw a story about a hero who got handed everything, who didn’t have to work for anything, and you thought you were the other guy? The second the hero got real power, he couldn’t care less about his friends.” [ - ] "You know, I meant what I said—you really are a good kid. A good kid, with a really terrible teacher." (2x07 Shadow Play)

-

Pigsy: "Back from what? Your vacation? No- what could have been SO important you'd leave MK alone to face that- that thing! You're supposed to be his mentor!" (2x10 This is the End!)

-

Sun Wukong: "I know I can never make it up to you. Honestly I- I never thought I'd live as long as I have let alone be someone's mentor—turns out I'm not very good at it. I guess what I'm trying to say is, I'm sorry MK, for all of it." (3x14 Destiny Fulfilled)

-

(he's staring sadly at a bowl of soup, never a good sign.)

s1 of Monkie Kid, as well as the Revenge of the Spider Queen special, establish a baseline. We meet Wukong as we're meant to know him—the legendary yet cheeky hero. Now that he's retired, Monkey King is training the next generation to protect the world and be the heroes in his place.

Right?

Well, just like our perception of Wukong, our perception of the role of the hero slowly degrades as well:

Lady Bone Demon: “Heroes? Please, you’re mere agents of chaos, the very thing I aspire to eradicate in this new world. No more destruction, no more disorder, I WILL HAVE PERFECTION.” (3x12 The Corrupted King)

-

Curse MK: "We’re just like Wukong. A fraud! A trickster! Destructive! Why would our legacy be any different? Actually, no no- the chaos and destruction we’ll bring upon the world will make Wukong’s past look like nothing." (4x07 Pitiful Creatures)

-

MK: "That can't be true! Monkey King's a hero he wouldn't just—" Azure Lion: "You saw it with your own eyes! His betrayal, his brutality—he took the only friends I had from me." (4x08 The Brotherhood)

-

Heroes aren't people fighting for the side of good, or even for what they think is right—they're agents of chaos. Destructive. "All doomed to play a role in tearing this world apart." Heroes are introduced as one thing, and then slowly revealed to be another.

Heroes, just like Wukong and anyone else, are flawed. They still make wrong choices. They still hurt people. Of course Wukong isn't a twist villain or irredeemable, because ultimately he IS a hero with plenty of the positive traits that come with that. But heroes are also flawed, and this is something I think is at the core of Lego Monkie Kid.

You can love someone, and that someone can do plenty of good, but that doesn't mean they're not broken, or that they aren't capable of causing suffering. This isn't something that only applies to Wukong either—pick any character and I'm sure you could apply this to them.

Now, all this to say that Wukong's two fatal flaws are his lack of communication and his self-sacrificial tendencies. Like Azure Lion says—he has a habit of keeping people at arms length, and more often than not doing that to protect them. These tendencies more often than not lead to his downfall.

So! Let's make some lists of where we see these flaws in the show.

Wukong's lack of Communication:

"Look, I'm going to come clean—um, I've been kind of watching you."

Leaving MK and lying to him during s2 (this includes lying about both going on vacation AND that LBD had returned)

Keeping his plan to stop LBD a secret during s3

"Where I got my staff!" "Got or took, right? You took it?"

Not telling the gang about the 4th ring

Other lies I'm sure have yet to be revealed (such as MK the truth about MK's origins, if that's the direction the plot's going)

Wukong's Self-sacrificial tendencies:

Leaving during s2 to find a way to stop LBD on his own

"What!? You're not going I'm going!" "Yeah so, here's the problem, you guys have this thing called mortality, so-"

Gravely injuring himself to get the samadhi fire Map

Blocking the brunt of the samadhi fire to protect MK in 3x10

Going off to fight the Lady Bone Demon alone

Protecting MK from the curse in 4x01

(and this post here that travels into theory territory)

Now, most if not all of these decisions lead to something bad happening. It's very in line with MK's words in 4x08:

MK: It doesn’t matter if I want to help people or not! Everything I do just- it just makes things worse!”

Wukong, even if he has a very questionable way of going about it, is truly motivated by protecting the people he cares about. However, these choices also hurt those same people. Not to reference samadhi fire Mei another time, but this is EXACTLY what she points out:

Mei: "We trusted you! All of us! How could you lead us into the fight without a real plan? Time and time again I've watched you put MK in danger leaving him to figure out EVERYTHING on his own. Don't you realize you're hurting the people who care about you the most?" (3x10 The Samadhi Fire)

But that's the point, isn't it? Even with all these flaws and after all these mistakes, Wukong still tries (he's very much like Mei in that regard):

Sun Wukong: “Point is, mistakes happen, but so long as you leave the world in better shape than you found it, then it’s all good. Right?” (4x01 Familiar Tales)

-

Sun Wukong: “We can’t change who we were yesterday or in a past life, or a hundred life times ago! We live with the choices we’ve made, for what matter is the choices we make RIGHT NOW! Only we decide who we are and what we do with the power we have.” (4x07 Pitiful Creatures)

-

This is who Wukong is. He's not a hero or a mentor, but he's someone who cares. That's the tragedy of his character, really. That's the tragedy of both him and MK. They're people doing the best with what they have, but still failing anyways.

"Nice hero speech bud, but I know better—deep in your hearts, you don't believe a word of that."

And people still love you anyways.

[prettyboykatsuki]

please PLEASE write more abt bully bkg!!! what happened next?? what did kiri do omg

tw ;; mild toxicity, bully!bkg, kirishima being a shit, fem!reader 18+, spanking, oral (f!recieving), bkg accidentally worships your pussy instead of punishing you :/, unprotected sex, praise kink 

PT. 1

a/n ;; have i mentioned he makes me absolutely out of my mind yet? have i said that?!??#?$# 

i think we’ve established about the two of them enough by now so here’s how i picture it. 

like i said before - bkg is a campus athlete, popular and well-rounded and all around has that like image to him and so when he essentially confesses to you after fucking you stupid in the library, that’s basically him making you his girlfriend. you don’t know that for a long time but we’ll get there later. 

anwyays.. right after he fucks you nice n full of his cum, he slides your panties and shorts right back on and snickers as he watches you struggle to get to your feet before eventually helping you. he keeps your bra as a punishment and makes you keep his hoodie, almost biting you when you try and take kirishimas to return it to him. he’ll do it himself, don’t test him. 

when you’re all dressed - he makes you pack up and ends up walking you to your dorm room in the middle of the night (which you beg him to not do) but he’ll be fucking damned if anything bad happens to you. it’s his version of affectionate but you don’t know that yet so you’re mostly awkwardly trying to dodge him on the way back BUT he’s still bkg so when he notices that he yanks you. 

he makes you hold his arm and licks your cheek cause he’s such a fucking dick. hits you with a “get used to it, princess” with the most condescending tone. but he’s being so serious. you just think he’s teasing you but he’s not.. he means it. get used to him, basically because now he’s a constant presence in your life. 

he drops you off in front of your dorm and you’re about to wave him off but before you can go he grabs your waist and basically dips you for a kiss. and it’s so good - fuck, you wish you could say you hated it. but bakugou is experienced as much as he’s mean so he kisses you like his life depends on it, his fingers digging into your sides and his tongue in your mouth. you almost forget your in public until he pulls you back up 

he gives you a little breathless grin, patting your cheek with his hand and telling you “get cleaned up, dumbass” which is his way of telling you to get home safe. 

and you do get to your empty dorm. you take a shower and just kinda reflect on the actualy fuck transpired cause you were pretty positive he wanted you in a casket but?!?!?! you fucked him and he kissed you? so ???? 

youre in the middle of your exams and you’re honestly tired since you got fucked within in an inch of your life so you shower and just.. go to sleep. in his hoodie cause it smells good and it’s big and comfy and you’re like... thinking about it really hard but it just makes your headache. 

you conclude after a lot of tossing and turning that he’s probably still just trying to fuck around with you and maybe thinks you’re an easy lay.  you can’t say you aren’t since you were willing and ready for him (the thought of how easily you gave in has you flustered) 

you sleep, eventually. and you wake up the next morning not really expecting much. you don’t have bkgs number or anything so you just.. continue with your day as is. unlucky for you - you have classes with bakugou and kirishima 

but you don’t think it’ll be all that different. still so non-chalant. and you go to class that day dressed normally - with bakugous hoodie in hand. 

you sit in your regular seat that day and this is your first mistake. 

kirishima is in class before bakugou is. and he is.. as always, a little shit. so he pulls up right beside you because even though bkg is pissed at kiri - they are besties so he tells him everything. kirishima wont tease you abt it and u still think kirishima is quite nice and handsome so you’re pleased to greet him. 

ah.. another mistake on your behalf. this action WILL have consequences. 

kirishima gets so cozy with you btw. he loves that you’re so comfy w him - strokes his ego so good. and he chats you up for a better part of the hour before your morning class. 

he makes jokes and smiles and laughs and thinks about how easy it would be snatch you from bakugou and keep you to himself. he’s not good enough of a person to leave you alone. 

aaah kirishima is a sweetheart and he treats you well. so when you feel his hand on your thigh underneath the table - rubbing little circles into your knee, you don’t even notice. and when he gets super close to you to hear you talk - telling you your voice is too soft even tho a class is empty, you let him. 

and when you point out that ppl keep staring and whispering you, he tells you to ignore them and you do. you ignore the whispers and even the click of camera. 

it’s only when you hear bakugou that you get a strange feeling in your gut. he stomps into the classroom - vicious. his schedule is so busy he normally doesn’t get to lounge around before class making sure to keep everything tight 

but he got..  many messages about how you and kirishima were seating today. mostly from kami who likes to cause problems - he decided he should get there a lil early 

well.. lo and behold he does - and he finds you and kirishima looking incredibly cozy with each other. and kirishima being.. kirishima - is the first to see him and he shoots his beloved friend the most smug fuckin smile. 

bkg is pissed, naturally and stomps his way over to the two of you. he’s doing the thing again where he’s icy mad. he doesn’t even bother w kirishima and there’s a whole crowd around the three of you. 

“get your shit,” he demands, clearly seething. you give him a wild look, noticing the now obvious tension before being completely confused.  you’re about to protest w him but he sends you a spine-chillingly glare. 

your whole class watches as he yanks you by the wrist out of the classroom as kirishima sits back and gives u a little wave. ur lost. obviously. and once you leave the classroom ur like “where are we going?” 

the answer is to bakugous very nice car - a custom c3 corvette. he opens the door and stares you, grabbing your bags and taking them to the trunk. but u stand ur ground, cross your arms over your chest like 

“what are we doing out here?” 

bkg doesn’t hesitate in pushing you up against his car, his hands on your waist and his teeth nipping at your neck - sore from old bruises. and you gasp when you feel his fingers dig into your hips, all tongue and teeth. 

“the fuck did i say about you cozyin’ up t’ that shitty haired bastard yesterday,” 

this makes you swallow because bakugous mouth is travelling further and further and his hands are getting more bold. and you shiver, something hot and heavy in your core cause fuck he’s so possesive over you. it makes you dizzy, something sticky and warm in you. 

“i.. i d-didn’t think you were being s..serious yesteryday” 

he growls a little against your throat. 

“guess i’ll have to teach you another lesson. im gonna get in the car and then you are. easy enough, nerd?” 

you can’t do anything but nod and watch him open the car doors. when he gets in you follow and within the blink of an he manuevers you till your over his lap. you let out a loud yelp as his strong hands come down on your ass. still clothed. 

you let out a soft yelp - a noise of surprise at the sudden sensation and you feel bkg bend down to speak in your ear. 

“wanna act like a fuckin’ brat and flirt with your boyfriends friends? fine. i’ll fuck that shitty ass attitude right out of you,” 

the firs thing you think is “boyfriend?!” but your voice gets muffled when you feel bakugou pull down your bottoms along with your panties. his hands are so strong and so big - long thick fingers covered in callouses from playing so many games. you can’t help but squirm under his touch, a growing wetness making your stomach clench. 

he’s so so mean about it yk? a big strong hand smacking against your ass hard enough to leave a handprint. he chuckles when you whine, when your body shivers - bare cunt expose to him and nothing else. a wave of humilation floods through you. 

“‘s not my fault you’re like this y’know? all you gotta do is follow instructions - i know you now how to fucking do that, right? always bein’ so prissy,” ― bakugou tsks, smacking your ass hard before spreading your cheeks out. he admires the way your cunt trembles with mean laugh ― “but you wanna go flirt with shitty hair that much, huh?” 

you’re gonna protest and tell him it’s not even like that.. which makes you question why’re so eager to go with his demands. but the words get lost as the sound of spanks slowly drift and it’s just bakugou admiring your ass. he didn’t really get a good chance too when he was fucking you yesterday but now he’s got eagles on you n your pretty little cunt. 

“never gonna let anyone touch your pretty little pussy but fuckin’ me,” ― and he groans, sliding his fingers through your folds ― “fuck.. fuck” 

you’re not expecting much but within another few seconds you’ve got your cheek pressed to the glass window, ass up and body folded with your cunt directly in bkgs face. you’re not rlly sure why this was happening because you were sure you were getting punished. and maybe the humilation of having your face pressed to glass is enough 

but it doesn’t negate the fact bkg is tongue deep in your cunt. both hands massaging your ass - spreading your lips apart so he can get into fucking deeper. sliding his tongue against your folds and slurping on your clit until you’re jolting with pleasure like you’ve never known before in your life. you’re moaning so loud the whole campus could probably fucking hear but bkg doesn’t care and doesn’t stop 

and your thighs give out, he goes from eat it from the back to getting underneath you and has you sitting on his face. you just keep cumming and bakugou is rock fucking hard - but he doesn’t even bother jerking himself off. he spends all of his time n effort worshipping your sweet cunt  

you cum on his face so many times you’re completely limp by the time he sticks his dick in you. but it feels so good when he does that too - oversenstive walls stretched out his big cock, a hand on your sides as he shifts you into missionary. 

he doesn’t even intend to make you cum again but the position has him so deep in your cervix that you do and he’s so close. and when bkgs close, he’s fucking obscene. 

but it’s not all that vulgar like you’re expecting and that makes you fucking whine. hearing bakugou praise you and your pussy does something terrible to your brain and in your fucked out haze - arms around his shoulders, you’re fucking whimpering. 

and bkgs just in your ear like 

“such a sweet fuckin’ girl for me, taking my dick so damn good, haah fuck. all mind. know how to behave when i fuck you like this don’t you? be a good girl and take it all.. there you go, just like that,” 

when he cums inside of you he stays there for a while and stares at your completely gone expression. it’s unusually soft and you wont see it often but he grabs your face and kisses you hard 

“you’re my girlfriend now you fuckin’ dweeb so start fuckin’ acting like it yeah?” 

you whine and nod, unable to refuse even if u want too 

“yeah..yeah”