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3igbootyl0ver · 2 days ago

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who hurt you? [ii]

pairing: tara carpenter x reader

summary: Tara mistakenly puts herself in a relationship she thought would be full of love.

word count: 1822

warnings: (Tara's POV), mentions of abuse, violence, angst, swearing

a/n: ok hi guys this is mostly Tara's POV and won't really be focusing btwn her and r's relationship. the next part would probably be the last one too but im always up on doing head canons for this pic. anyways apologies for any inaccuracy for this part, if ya'll have any feedback or suggestions feel free to dm me or send anonymously.

part [i] |

Tara never meant for any of this to happen.

She first met Amber a year ago, at a party that invited everyone from both Blackmore and Woodsboro High. Tara went with you at first, but you quickly got caught up in the chaos of the event, drinking with friends to drown your frustrations over the rivalry, leaving Tara to wander through the crowd alone.

Tara glanced around the room, feeling a bit out of place without you. It was her first real taste of a high school party, but somehow, she couldn’t shake the feeling that something was missing. You were missing. Some were celebrating—laughing, dancing, and basking in the glory of their win over Blackmore—while others attended this party just for an excuse to get drunk, but Tara wasn’t feeling the same rush. That was when she noticed Amber standing off to the side, holding a drink and watching the crowd with a knowing smile.

Amber had been a wild card that night. No one expected her to show up, least of all Tara. But Amber’s reputation preceded her—everyone knew she was sharp, calculated, and, most importantly, she knew how to play the game. She wasn’t just there to celebrate; she was there to get ahead.

Tara’s initial impression of Amber was a mix of admiration and curiosity. Amber seemed to hold herself in a way that suggested she knew something no one else did. And that intrigued Tara, even if she couldn’t quite explain why.

As Tara wandered away from the chaotic center of the party, she ended up near Amber. The two of them started talking, mostly small talk at first—what they were doing after high school, the thrill of their victory, and the peculiar tension between Woodsboro and Blackmore. Tara found herself drawn to Amber’s cool confidence, the way she seemed to have everything under control.

But what started as a simple conversation slowly shifted into something deeper. Amber had a way of making Tara feel like she was the only one in the room, even when there were dozens of people around. Tara’s mind kept drifting back to the feeling Amber gave her: like maybe she could be something more, something beyond the quiet girl who never quite fit in.

And so, things began to unravel.

Tara never meant for it to go this far. It wasn’t supposed to be anything serious, just a casual connection. But somewhere along the way, Amber made it clear that she wasn’t just interested in Tara’s company—she had a plan, and Tara was a part of it. Tara hadn’t realized how deep Amber’s intentions went until it was already too late. Now, Tara was left to figure out how she’d let herself be pulled into something so complicated—something that, in hindsight, was far more than just a meeting between two people at a party.

Everything was bliss when Tara and Amber started dating. She was kind, gentle, and attentive—the kind of person who made Tara feel understood and like the most important person in the world. It felt like a dream. Amber would send her thoughtful texts, surprise her with little gifts, and always knew how to make her laugh. Tara felt safe, seen, and loved in a way she hadn’t before.

But as time went on, Amber’s true colors started to surface—slowly, almost imperceptibly at first.

It started with small criticisms. At first, they were disguised as concern, little comments about Tara’s appearance or habits that Amber claimed were meant to help her. "You know, if you ate healthier, maybe you wouldn't feel so tired all the time." Or, "I don’t think that outfit is really doing you any favors." Tara tried to brush it off, telling herself it was just Amber wanting her to be her best. But the comments grew sharper, more frequent.

"You always mess things up," Amber would say when Tara made a mistake, like forgetting to pick up groceries or missing a text. "Why can’t you ever get anything right?" Her tone wasn’t playful anymore. It was condescending, even cruel. Tara began to feel like she couldn’t do anything without Amber pointing out what she’d done wrong.

The verbal jabs escalated when Amber started to get possessive. At first, Tara thought it was just a sign of how much Amber cared. But Amber's jealousy started to feel suffocating. She'd ask Tara where she was going, who she was with, and why she didn’t tell her first. "You don't really need to hang out with them, do you?" Amber would ask, her voice dripping with insinuation. It would have been even worse if she had hung out with you. It was as if you were Amber's breaking point. "They don’t even care about you like I do." "I’m better than them; why are you still hanging out with them?"

Tara found herself apologizing constantly—for things she didn’t even understand; she would say sorry just to voice the tension.

It was always the same cycle: Amber would get irritated for no reason, her voice would grow cold and sharp just to insult Tara. "You always do this; you always make everything more difficult than it has to be. Why can’t you just do things right?". The next day, Amber would be apologetic, trying to console Tara, making her forget everything that happened the day before. She said all the right things, but Tara couldn’t ignore the knot of anxiety that lingered in her chest. She had a way of twisting everything, making Tara feel like she was always in the wrong, walking on eggshells.

And soon, the emotional abuse turned into physical fights. One day, Tara had dinner plans with Mindy when Amber confronted her again, "You always do this," she snapped. "You always choose them over me." Her voice was cold, venomous.

Tara tried to explain, but Amber wasn’t hearing it. "You think you can just leave whenever you want? No, you’re not going anywhere." Before Tara could react, Amber grabbed her by the arm—tightly, her fingers digging into Tara’s skin. "You’re hurting me, Amber; let me go!" Tara shouted, trying to pull away, but her grip tightened. She twisted Tara’s arm painfully, forcing her to sit down.

Tara’s heart was racing. She didn’t recognize this version of Amber—this wasn’t the woman she had fallen in love with. The love they once shared felt like a distant memory, replaced with anger, control, and fear. Tara was terrified, but she didn’t know how to escape. Before the day ended, Tara made up an excuse to Mindy that she couldn’t make it. She thought about her friends. Chad, Mindy, You. How will she be able to explain herself? She’s embarrassed and ashamed of herself if she were to ever face either of you.

There was once when Amber picked up Tara from school when she saw her talking to you, both of you giggling like lovestruck teenagers, like you were in love with each other. And Amber simply couldn’t have that. Once both of them got back to Amber’s house, she gripped Tara’s arm, demanding an explanation. "So you’re just whoring around your school with someone else? Especially them? You’re just a slut, aren’t you?" Amber seethed, her nails digging into Tara’s skin, leaving another mark on her skin. Tara stood there, tears streaming down her face, knowing no matter what she said, it would be dismissed, twisted, or ignored. "You’re mine, Tara. I’m not letting you go anywhere," were the last words she heard before being shoved down the stairs, undoubtedly leaving bruises all over her body. She knew the next day Amber would whisper apologies, giving her kisses and hugging her in an attempt to make her forget.

Tara began pulling away, distancing herself from you, from Chad, from Mindy, from Anika—everyone. It wasn’t that she didn’t care anymore, but she couldn’t bear the thought of Amber’s wrath falling on them, especially you. She couldn’t risk you getting hurt because of her, couldn’t risk Amber turning her anger on the people she loved. The more Tara tried to protect her friends, the more she isolated herself.

Every moment felt like a calculation; every text, every phone call, every plan made without Amber’s approval felt like a risk. Tara started to feel like a prisoner in her own life, like Amber was always there—watching, waiting for her to slip up, to make a mistake.

Amber had a way of making her feel like she was constantly under surveillance, always one misstep away from an explosion. Tara couldn’t shake the feeling that Amber was breathing down her neck, that every time she laughed too loudly with a friend or spent too much time away from her, Amber would find out. And when Amber found out, the consequences would be brutal. Tara had learned that the hard way.

It was like living in a constant state of fear. Tara’s heart would race whenever she saw a message from you or heard from one of her friends. She hated that it had come to this—that Amber’s control over her had stretched so far that she couldn’t even speak freely without worrying about the fallout.

But more than anything, she hated that the woman she loved, the woman she had trusted, had become someone she feared. Every day, she woke up wondering how much longer she could live like this. How much longer until Amber's control over her—and over everyone she cared about—was too much to bear?

Amber’s behavior spiraled even further. The emotional abuse had crossed into physical violence, and Tara was left unsure of where it would go next. Amber would apologize, beg for forgiveness, and then turn around and hurt her again. Tara began to feel like she was losing herself. She was afraid of what might happen if she tried to leave, afraid of what Amber might do.

Though she would still post pictures of them together, of them being in a happy relationship for people to see online, the reality was far different. Behind the carefully staged photos, the smiles seemed forced, the laughter hollow. She knew the posts didn’t reflect the late-night arguments or the hidden marks on Tara’s body. Yet, there was comfort in the illusion, in maintaining a facade that everyone else admired. It was easier to keep up the pretense than to confront the discomfort of what was really happening—of the slow unraveling that no one could see. The attention, the validation from likes and comments, provided a temporary sense of relief, a distraction from the gnawing uncertainty she felt every time she looked at Amber when the camera was off. It became a blurred line for Tara to interpret what was the reality and the sick image she created of her and Amber online.

But one thing was clear: this wasn’t love anymore. And Tara didn’t know how much longer she could stay in a relationship that was slowly suffocating her.

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a/n: next update might be awhile bc exam season is coming up and im a chill girl that needs to rest so you'll probably hear from me in like 2-3 weeks :p

#jenna ortega #jenna ortega x reader #tara carpenter x reader #tara carpenter #jenna ortega x y #scream #tara carpenter fanfic

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emo-toaster · 2 days ago

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Okay, since chapter 6 of my beauty and the Beast fic isn't out yet, I wanna make it up to you!

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No warnings. Just fluff Headcanons

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Gyutaro - Dating Headcanons ๋࣭ ⭑⚝

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╰┈➤ It takes him quite a while to get used to the new relationship dynamics you have. He's overthinking a lot and doesn't know what to do at first. Trust me tho, when he gets the hang of it, finally, he'll be the sweetest boyfriend he can be. He'll sure try!

╰┈➤ Gyutaro will take anyone who shows him genuine affection and care. Male, Female, Non-binary, it doesn't matter. He's simply happy to have you.

╰┈➤ Gyutaro is usually the big spoon, occasionally he'll be the little spoon, it makes him feel better. Like he doesn't have to be the one to deal with every problem all the time, finally rest and be vulnerable.

╰┈➤ If you have long hair, he'll brush it and braid it. He used to do the same thing for Daki back when they were human, and it brings him comfort. He'll be over the moon if you do the same for him. Gyutaro is pretty touch-starved, so when your fingers go through his hair, brushing it, braiding... he'll melt.

╰┈➤ He isn't fond of mirrors. Even though he learned to be proud of his ugliness at some point, he's like that only with other people around. When he's alone, he truly hates his appearance. He'll often doubt himself, wondering if he even deserves you and all the good things that happened to him so far. Gyutaro will then claw at himself, muttering insults and curses directed at himself, well, at least until you find him and get him busy with cuddling with you instead. He'll need a lot of comfort and reassurance from you, but eventually he'll feel better.

╰┈➤ Expect a lot of random gifts from him. Pretty rocks, flowers, hairpins, sweets or anything he'll find good enough will go straight into your hands. Gyutaro will make sure that everything he brings makes you happy, so overtime he's gonna bring more and more stuff that you may like and find useful. Favourite sweets, accessories that go well with your favourite pieces of clothing, random trinkets in your favourite colour. Gyutaro will make sure to pay attention to your preferences.

╰┈➤ There will be a lot of learning, that's for sure. Gyutaro grew up poor and unlike his sister he didn't get great education afterwards. He can read and write alright, but his handwriting is pretty wonky and looks like chicken scratch, he makes hiragana and katakana characters look complicated or unrecognisable— he'll need help with reading too, he can read kanji of course, but it takes him a good minute or two to remember it's meaning.

╰┈➤ Since Gyutaro and his sister reside in the entertainment district of Yoshiwara, your dear demon boyfriend will make sure that no-one bothers you, and if they do...well, he'll take care of them alright. He's very protective of you and his sister, so anyone who messes with you or her will get the same treatment.

╰┈➤ It took a while for Daki to finally accept you. She wasn't very fond of you at the begging, but she grew to tolerate you. She doesn't see you as an equal tho, but she doesn't see any human as such, so it's nothing to worry about. Daki is acting pretty nice around you actually, putting on the sweet facade she also uses in the presence of Kyogoku House's owner. She'll keep all the nasty things she has to say to herself. At the bottom of her heart she is happy that her brother found someone for himself, and she doesn't necessarily want to ruin it.

╰┈➤ Gyutaro will ask you to become a demon. Once in a while he'll bring it up in a conversation, asking if you'd want that. If you refuse, he'll just ask you another time, but if you agree, he'll be more happy to give you his blood so you can join him and his sister.

╰┈➤ He probably doesn't have fleas anymore! Probably.

╰┈➤ It's very surprising, but from time to time Gyutaro tries to show off, prove that's he's good enough for you. He knows he isn't handsome, so if he's not gonna be the good-looking boyfriend, he'll be the strong one. Gyutaro will show off his strength a lot, at some point he'll also want to teach you about fighting with his sickles if you're willing to try. Gyutaro enjoys fighting, it's the first thing he was actually good at, so doing something related to it with you will bring him a lot of joy.

╰┈➤ He's pretty shy if it comes to kissing, but he'll try to be more confident for you. Just be patient with him, he still has so much to learn.

╰┈➤ It's not a surprise, but you're actually his first partner. Back when he was human people wouldn't go near him if possible, after he became a Demon people were even more terrified of him, so it's truly a miracle that he has you with him now.

╰┈➤ If you have a bit of a tummy, then there's nothing to worry about! Gyutaro will be very happy about that, after all it means that you're eating well and you don't go to sleep with an empty stomach. It makes him glad, knowing that you don't have to worry about the same hunger he felt so many times as a human. Besides, he'll love to lay his head on your stomach during your cuddling sessions.

╰┈➤ If you like painting your nails, he'll do it with you. Gyutaro has naturally dark nails ever since he became a demon, so if you like having black nail polish on, it will make him feel great. After all, you two now match! Any other colour will be fine too, but he's still more comfortable with darker shades.

╰┈➤ Well, Gyutaro never had the greatest hygiene, but for you'll he'll try his best. He likes when you take care of it tho, he can then do the same for you afterwards and it brings him comfort.

╰┈➤ he likes listening to your talking. You can yap about anything to him for hours and he'll just sit there with a dumb grin on his face, happy to learn more about your interest or the topics you like.

╰┈➤ Gyutaro doesn't have to sleep since he's a Demon, but from time to time he'll happily take a nap with you, and he'll definitely enjoy it.

╰┈➤ Once, when there was a spider in the room and you asked him to take care of it... he ate the damn spider. After that you begged him to never do that again, and now he just throws them out or kills with one of his sickles.

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#silly stuff #demon slayer #kny #gyutaro #gyutaro shabana #headcanon #gyutaro x reader #gyutaro x y/n #gyutaro headcanons

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thisapplepielife · 1 day ago

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Written for the @corrodedcoffinfest Black Friday pop-up event.

Men Are All Lining Up, to Put Me on a Pedestal

Prompt: "I'm not standing in line for that." | Word Count: 8160 | Rating: E | CW: Explicit Sexual Content | POV: Eddie | Relationship(s): Established Steddie, Eddie/Corroded Coffin | Tags: Famous Corroded Coffin, Future Fic, The Struggle of Fame, Steve Takes Care of Eddie, Kink Exploration, Multiple Partners, Barebacking, Running a Train, Safe Sane and Consensual, Eddie Wants to Be Railed By Multiple Men, And He Gets Exactly That

Also available right here on ao3.

He's suddenly nervous, and Eddie's never nervous about anything. Not anymore. He's spent too long in front of the watchful eye of the public, the media, society, until he's felt like he's not even himself anymore. Like he had to turn over the keys to his whole personhood, a fiddle of gold against his soul, for this life they live. He's somehow become a character being watched from the outside in, until he couldn't feel anything at all anymore. Like nothing about himself was even his own, just for his own wants, needs, and desires.

Instead, he's public property.

A brand.

Everything is a business decision. A group discussion, involving far more people than he feels comfortable with.

He wants to be Eddie again. Just Eddie. Not Eddie Munson, the face of Corroded Coffin. And more than that, he wants to feel something. Something that brings him pleasure just for the sake of existing. Something real.

Something they can't take away from him like they've carved away nearly everything else, bit by bit, a sliver at a time.

Something that the outside world can't touch.

And to do that tonight, he wants to feel this.

All of this, with all of them.

So, he kneels, his knees sunk into the mattress of the hotel bed. He meets Steve's eyes, as Steve sits in the chair across the room, his leg crossed, dangling. Watching, waiting, loose and comfortable. Shirtless, jeans slid back on, but unbuttoned and hanging open.

He looks effortlessly comfortable in his own skin, but he always does. Eddie may be the one that performs in arenas, commanding attention under the hot stage lights, but it's Steve that's truly confident. That unwavering surety of knowing who he is drew Eddie in, and it's probably unfair to the rest of the world that Eddie is somehow the lucky one that charmed the pants off of him, locking him down, years ago.

Tough shit.

He's Eddie's. And Eddie is his.

Seeing Steve sitting there, relaxed, strong and calm, is the last confirmation Eddie needed, the last permission or reassurance. Eddie bows his head, leaning all the way forward, cheek against the soft cotton sheets.

Steve had gone first, marking him, inside and out, but now the palm that runs over his bare ass is warm, calloused and very much not Steve's. It's funny that he can tell the difference, but he can. It's been so long since anyone else has touched him in this way other than Steve.

Steve's hands are assured, firm, never a hint of hesitation. These hands now are full of wavering nervousness.

"Eddie?" Jeff asks, a fucking full sentence of a question being asked in his name alone, and Eddie nods, silently telling him: Yes. Nothing's changed. Do it.

And he does.

The blunt head of his cock presses into Eddie's already loosened hole and Eddie fists the sheets under his hand. Oh shit, they're really doing this. It feels different, maybe more so than he'd expected. He hasn't been fucked by all that many people, he was usually the one doing the fucking, back when casual sex was still on the menu. Before Steve. But now it's just Steve, and sure, Steve's fucked him, because they've fucked each other in every way anyone could ever imagine. But more often than not, Steve wants to be fucked, and Eddie has always been more than happy to fulfill any desire Steve may have.

Tonight, Steve's fulfilling one of Eddie's.

Eddie feels incredibly lucky that he's met his match, met someone with maybe an even filthier mind than his own.

But this isn't Steve, not this time. Eddie knows what Steve feels like. He's memorized him. His dick, his body, his hands.

And this is different.

The hands holding his hips are firm, but it's an unfamiliar dick starting to slowly fuck into him. It's nice. It's not Steve, but it's good. Grounding. Different. He asked for this, so he closes his eyes and just enjoys the new sensations. The stretch. The fullness. The slightly different curve that touches different spots inside him, in different ways. He focuses on how good it feels, on how it was the right decision to trust enough to let someone else inside him, even if it's just Jeff. Someone else he loves and trusts, wholly. Fully.

Not in love, but love. And he wants to be loved, wants to be filled with it. Wants to feel. Wants to be taken care of, and treated as who he is, down deep. Just Eddie. Not some famous guy in a band.

So, he enjoys the slide, the drag, breathing through it, zoning out, taking pleasure from the white noise until he feels the stuttering unevenness, the fingers digging into his hips harder, as Jeff presses deep.

Two men, back-to-back. He's never. Didn't even think about it, until recently.

And then that's all he could think about. He'd get himself off on the fantasy of it, and when he finally told Steve, he'd expected him to laugh. To not take it seriously, and even if he did, to say no way, not ever, no chance in hell.

But he'd agreed to talk it out. Was willing to help give Eddie anything he needed, anything he desired. And they talked over the options. But nothing seemed right, or safe. Eddie didn't want his perversions spread to the gossip rags, didn't want strangers knowing anything more about him, especially not this.

So, strangers were a non-starter.

And Eddie didn't want to hire it out anyway, he's never paid for sex, and wasn't ready to start now, for this.

Which made it seem impossible. Steve faked it. Fucked him, then fucked him with different toys until he could go again, and it just…wasn't.

It wasn't.

This was an itch, and Eddie needed it scratched deep in his brain.

And that's when Steve came up with this idea, this plan, that at first Eddie thought seemed crazier than anything else they'd workshopped to make this happen.

But-

It's just sex.

That's what Steve had said. It's just sex, like it's that easy. And Eddie had thought no, it's not, can't be, especially when they were talking about involving these guys that he loves, knows, and has tied his whole life to, permanently.

His bandmates.

His best friends.

He worried this would ruin it. That even the mention of it would make them look at him differently, and in a worst case scenario, with disgust. That even one night of scratching an itch would be too big of an ask, too messy. Eddie was scared. So, Steve did the negotiations. Started the conversations, took care of it behind the scenes, took care of Eddie, managed them all, their wants and needs, just like he always does.

And Eddie wasn't wrong. There was hesitation, lots of questions, and discussions.

But nobody laughed at the idea once explained, Steve promised him that nobody said no right off the bat. They all listened, and asked questions, and talked it through with Steve. Eddie's sure that helped. Them all knowing that Steve was not only aware, but on board. Facilitating it, negotiating, just like it was any other part of his job.

Because when Steve talks, they listen. All of them.

He's kept them stable, on solid ground. Corroded Coffin, the brand, if not the band itself, would have died screaming decades ago without Steve Harrington there to guide the whole operation.

Steve is right here, within arm's reach, where he's been for all the years that have mattered.

Secure in his experience, his body, and in their love. He's had to be, with the world trying to claw parts of Eddie away, at any given opportunity. If he was jealous, he would have flown the coop years and years ago.

He's not. They love each other. They trust each other.

Even today.

It's just sex.

And the guys must have agreed it was just sex too, because an agreement was reached. A decision. A date set, and a plan laid out. Testing, and results, and then required abstinence after, so yeah, it's not spontaneous, not a bit of it, but that's okay. Eddie'd rather they cover all the bases, to protect Steve, protect himself, protect all of them, as best they can if they were actually gonna do this.

And now, Jeff is fucking him. It's really happening, he's fucking Eddie right after Steve has finished inside.

It feels wrong.

It feels good.

Jeff's hands are cupping his hips, holding on lightly, as he's scrunching his fingers, balling his fists, right against Eddie's skin, a nervous habit he's always had. Showing he's anxious right now, but fuck, so is Eddie. But Eddie's trying to relax into it. To enjoy this thing he's fantasized about so goddamn much it was rotting his fucking brain.

It's different, the feeling of him.

Jeff's breathing heavy, hard, and Eddie wishes he could feel him beyond his hands, and the snap of his hips against his ass.

Then his tempo is stuttering, and he bottoms out, coming with a groan. Eddie's dick jumps at the idea, more than any actual feeling. But he pictures it in his mind, and it sends a shiver through him.

Jeff pulls away, cock sliding out wetly, and he picks up the marker to make his black tally mark on Eddie's ass cheek. Tugging off the cap, and then pulling it across his skin, Eddie feels good, like he's been taken. Claimed. Marked.

Then the bed shifts. Jeff climbs off, and Goodie climbs on, taking his place.

Goodie was the most reluctant to agree, but now he works himself inside Eddie, with no fanfare. No hesitation. No additional questions. Eddie's pretty sure that today, he's just a hole to Goodie, and that's okay. He wasn't asking for anything else, anything more, not from any of them. He has more, he has everything, right across the room. A perfectly arched foot, bouncing ever-so-slightly as Steve watches.

It's thrilling, having Steve's eyes on him. It always has been, but this way is novel, and Eddie's learned something new during all this, especially today:

Steve likes to watch.

And Eddie likes to be seen.

Goodie braces one hand against Eddie's back for leverage as he guides his cock inside, and Eddie breathes out through his nose. He's been fucked twice already, but this is a new stretch and burn, even after all that.

"Oh," Eddie breathes out.

Goodie laughs, "Told you so."

He brushes his fingers against Eddie's spine, just one reassuring graze.

But that's it. He's in, and then he's just driving into Eddie, chasing his own orgasm, using him, and that's exactly what Eddie wanted.

It's quick, fast and dirty.

Goodie's weight slamming against his ass, Eddie really feeling the stretch around his stupid girth as Goodie hammers away, unrelenting.

Steve's got a big dick, so Eddie thought he was prepared for anything, but he wasn't prepared for this. Not really.

Eddie barely has time to adjust, barely has time to slide into the rhythm of it, before Goodie shoves in once more, coming with grunt, before pulling out and scratching his tally to the growing total. He slaps Eddie on the ass afterwards, and he's gone. The bed shaking with his exit, Eddie digging in, just to keep upright on his knees.

Eddie sees Jeff grab a clean hand towel from a stack on the dresser, handing it to Goodie. They work together silently, Goodie wiping himself down, then Jeff handing him his boxers, Goodie pulling them up and on. They're in sync in that way only best friends can be, and even the first steps they both take to leave the bedroom are synchronized.

He breathes through the throbbing at his center, a reminder of what has happened so far. Three men, three totally different experiences.

And he's ready for the fourth.

But the bed is still now, and nothing's happening.

"Gare?" Eddie questions, unsure, and then Eddie finally feels the bed move.

"Right here," Gareth says crawling up behind Eddie on the bed, and there are suddenly hands, smaller, but still firm, rubbing all over his skin.

Rough calluses from a lifetime of gripping drumsticks.

He doesn't know what the pause was, hopes it wasn't hesitation, and focuses on his touch to not allow himself to spiral. He meets Steve's eyes, and Steve smiles and gives him a reassuring nod that settles him, instantly.

It's okay, because Steve says it's okay.

Then two fingers are pressed into him, and Eddie bows his head again, smiling into the bedding. He's already loose. Looser than he's been in his whole life, most definitely, but Gareth is still fingering him open with a politeness Eddie never would have imagined him possessing.

He knows this kid, inside and out, and polite wouldn't be on a top twenty-list of descriptors.

But tonight, he's being considerate. Soft.

"Look," Gareth says, and Eddie looks up, finding the mirror on the wall across from the bed. He knows Steve chose this penthouse suite, this hotel, very carefully. It's private, squirreled away, and it has this large, ornate mirror across from the bed so Eddie can see what he asked for.

In the reflection, Eddie sees when Gareth pulls his fingers out, both shiny and slick, showing them to Steve, to Eddie.

Steve shifts in the chair and palms his own crotch. He's hard. He's been hard, and that is a bolt of lightning along Eddie's spine.

Gareth's playing to the audience, doing what he does best, and Eddie loves him for it, desperately, and he feels put at ease.

Then, Gareth lays over Eddie's back, and it's different from Jeff and Goodie's approach. Gareth uses his hand, and carefully guides his dick to Eddie's used hole, rubbing the head against him, teasing him, gathering up the remnants of lube and come from everyone else, before pressing forward, sliding smoothly inside. Eddie can hear, can feel, the come being displaced inside him, making room, being forced out, leaking down as he groans, hanging his head.

He knows it's mostly wet and thin now. That's just how it works, even if he wishes he was being filled with large loads that could somehow stay thick and in place.

Gareth's touching him all over as they're pressed together in every place they can be, and it feels normal, even if they've never done this before, because they are always joined at the hip, have been for years. Gareth's his best friend. Steve and Gareth, he trusts and loves them both differently, but equally.

Eddie knows he and Gareth have their own unexplainable rhythm together, always have. It's natural, and innate. Like Eddie's musical creativity curled outward one day, got tangled up with Gareth's, and just never let go.

Today, they're exploiting that connection in a different way.

"God, Gare," Eddie whines, and Gareth chuckles, softly.

This is new, a change, and Eddie hopes it doesn't break them. He's suddenly worried that this idea of his, this perversion he begged for, will be their undoing. Especially with Gareth. He's not as worried about Jeff and Goodie for some reason, but Gareth? He can't have Gareth looking at him differently because of this.

But Gareth brushes Eddie's sweaty, wet hair off Eddie's neck, and leans his face close to Eddie's.

"I love you," Gareth says, "you're my best friend. Thanks for letting me take care of you for a change."

And Eddie hangs his head, tears prickling behind his eyes, as Gareth finally starts to fuck him using slow, but powerful, thrusts. It's hard, but still feels soft, at the same time.

Gareth's shifts, and on the next thrust, he drags the head of his cock right over Eddie's prostate and Eddie groans. That hadn't. It wasn't part of the plan. The other two hadn't tried. That hadn't really been the point. He'd wanted to be taken, used, over and over. Filled.

So, maybe it's an accident, a fluke.

Three more perfect strokes before he realizes, no, it's just steady accuracy. Controlled. Precise.

Gareth is all of those things and more behind a kit, and now he's those things behind Eddie.

Eddie claws at the bed with the realization that Gareth is keeping time, even here, doing this for him. Gareth's been trusted to keep the tempo, to stay in control, to get the job done right, night after night on stage, and Eddie feels immense comfort in that familiarity. If Eddie could concentrate, he thinks he could even work out the BPM.

The relief that Gareth knows the rhythm, that he can keep them in sync with each other, even if it's a brand new song, is palpable in Eddie.

That the beat of this is safe in his hands.

Eddie clutches at the sheets, and feels the tears running down his cheeks. He sucks in a shuddering breath, and Gareth falters, a hiccup of hesitation behind him.

"He's still good, I promise," Steve says from across the room, a step ahead as always, and Eddie nods, agreeing.

He's more than good.

He feels whole.

And Gareth hardly misses a beat, falling right back into the rhythm he's been setting.

Eddie's orgasm builds, the tightening, the pull of it, but he's pretty sure he won't come untouched, not at his age, and he jumps when Gareth's fist closes around his dick. Gareth stutters, stills, and starts to pull his hand away, like he's realized maybe that wasn't, isn't, okay. Eddie catches his wrist, holding his hand to him, helping with the next couple strokes, giving his permission, and melts back into the overwhelming sensations. It somehow still catches him by surprise as he comes all over the sheets beneath him. That hadn't been the goal here tonight. Not really. Eddie wanted to be filled, wanted to get off on this, but hadn't particularly thought about actually coming himself.

He's clenching down on Gareth's cock, and being sucked out to sea with the waves of it. He's drifting, floating away, an immense relaxation overtaking his body. He's not sure he can even stay upright.

Gareth's hand has slowed, but hasn't let go, and Eddie still feels it as he pulses on Gareth's cock, spasming with the last waves of pleasure that are rolling through him.

"That's it," Gareth says, and his fingertips press into his skin, squeezing as he stills, groaning near Eddie's ear. Eddie's slick, and open, but he can still feel Gareth harden further, tensing, and Eddie moans at how much he likes it as Gareth finally comes. Gareth keeps thrusting, just gentler now, even as he begins to soften, the joint mess slicking the way. There's no fucking way he could stay in if Eddie wasn't this open, and that's a good thing, Eddie supposes, as Gareth feels reluctant to leave, and Eddie feels reluctant to let him. So he clamps down, as much as he can, and Gareth keeps moving inside him. Not pulling out, because if he does, he'll never get back in. So, he stays deep, little rocking motions that are steady, just softer. Which is hard to do, Eddie fucking knows. You need a rock hard fucking cock for this.

They just keep moving with each other in small, controlled motions. Give and take, give and take, while Steve watches.

Eddie expects Gareth's dick to soften fully, to slip free, but he feels the rigidity returning as Gareth keeps grinding into him, the slide becoming easier again.

"Oh fuck," Eddie says, clawing at the sheets. He doesn't know if can take more of this.

Gareth pulls him upright, until he's sitting back on Gareth's thighs, fully-seated. He feels so goddamn full like this, and Eddie sags back against him. Wrapping his arm backwards, hooking it behind Gareth's neck. He's so fucking deep. It's too much. Way, way too much.

"I got you," Gareth says, "look at Steve."

And Eddie does. Opening his eyes, finding Steve's.

Eddie is full. Of cock, of come, of love, so much love. The love of his goddamn life is looking back at him with wonder, and his best friend is playing a measured, steady beat against his over-sensitive prostate, like it's a goddamn drum.

It's slow, not very active, so it lasts forever, just near tantric movement as Eddie hangs his head back, closing his eyes again. Just feeling it.

This wasn't in the script in his head. Eddie imagined five. The five of them. Five marks, branding him.

But if Gareth wants to keep going, wants to keep filling him in this way, Eddie's not about to stop him. Not when he feels this good.

"Fucking hell, Jonesy," Eddie says, and Gareth laughs. He hasn't called him that in a while. He's just Gare. Or the kid.

Even now, their teen years in the distant rearview.

"I got you, always," Gareth breathes back into his ear. "Me and Steve."

Eddie nods against Gareth's neck, and stretches out his hand. Beckoning Steve, he supposes, even he hadn't planned on it.

He hears Steve stand.

Then he puts a knee down on the mattress in front of Eddie, "I'm here."

Eddie isn't sure what he was asking for, because he doesn't really want to turn this into a threesome or an orgy. None of that was negotiated, not that he thinks either of them will do anything they don't want to do.

Gareth's breathing in his ear, hot and heavy, and then he suddenly says, "Your turn."

And he pushes Eddie forward, into Steve's chest. Steve catches him as Gareth pulls out. Eddie whines, nails digging into Steve's skin.

Then he hears Gareth's hand, moving slick and fast against his dick, and Gareth shouts as Eddie feels the first shot of come hits the small of his back, and Eddie fucking keens. Desperate. He actually got to feel that one, and it feels so fucking good.

He's been marked inside, and out.

"Look at that," Gareth says, "goddamn."

Steve helps Eddie back down onto his hands and knees, and stands back up at the edge of the bed as Gareth slides his fingers back inside Eddie, and when he brings them out, they are an offer to Steve, but Eddie isn't sure if Steve's gonna take it. Steve doesn't move, so Eddie catches Gareth's wrist, sucking them into his own mouth.

It's heady, and doesn't taste like Steve at all. It's different, but he sucks on Gareth's fingers until he's gotten it all.

Then he thinks Gareth is gonna go, but instead he feels him slide down the bed, and then his tongue pointed against Eddie's hole, pressing in.

Fuck. Goddamn.

And Eddie moans, "Oh, Jesus Christ."

Then, Gareth's face is next to his, and his tongue is curled, come shiny, waiting.

Eddie opens his mouth, accepting it. Sliding his tongue against Gareth's, kissing him. He's never. They've never. But Eddie tangles his hand in Gareth's hair, tugging him closer, needy and wanting. He rolls onto his back, and Gareth crawls on top of him.

Gareth's laid on top of him hundreds, thousands, of times. But never like this. He's never tried to eat him alive before.

Eddie hears it, the click and ejection of the instant picture, and Eddie had forgotten about the Polaroid camera. He's not sure if Steve's been taking them all night, or if this is the first.

And when they separate, Eddie's breathing hard, fast, and Gareth winks at him, pats him on the hip to get him to roll over, and then carefully makes his mark, the fourth one on Eddie's skin, and leans down and kisses Eddie's sweaty back, and then switches places with Steve. The other two left once their part was done, and Eddie is okay with that. If watching him get railed by Gareth wasn't something they'd enjoy, he wasn't about to ask more of them, but Gareth? Gareth, he's clearly staying. Seeing it through.

That feels dirtier than anything else has, all night.

Eddie's worn out, used up. But he crawls back onto his sore knees one more time, as it's Steve's hands that find his body now. They're gentle, loving and a familiar comfort. Fingertips running along his spine.

His thumb brushing against his hole, pressing the leaking mess back inside. He's wet, wetter than he's ever felt in his life.

And when Steve eases back in, Eddie feels how sore he is, now. Not sore enough to say stop, not even close, but he's finally feeling it in the way he'd hoped, imagined, when he'd screwed up the courage to ask for this. Not only from Steve, but from all the others.

"You're so wet for me," Steve says.

"I am. For you," Eddie says.

"They got you ready for me, didn't they?" Steve asks, and Eddie nods.

"So ready. Just for you."

They're talking dirty, but it's the softest fucking of the night. The first time Steve had claimed him, had marked his territory. Now, he's just loving him. Soothing him, bringing him back to reality, back to where he belongs.

A soft roll of his hips, firm lips pressing to his neck, then teeth biting down until Eddie's sure he'll be marked there, too.

This is his life, his love, loving him back, unconditionally.

Talking to him, telling him how he feels, how he's the last, always his last, always here.

Eddie wants to cry about it.

Steve loves him. As he is, as he'll be, always.

When Steve finally comes, he pulls out and picks up the discarded marker on the bed and crosses the previous four tally marks on Eddie's ass, making five. A perfect set.

Steve the first, and the last.

Then Eddie can hear him, feel him, moving around the bed and then feels his hand framing his ass, and the click, whirr of the Polaroid picture being spit out of the camera. And another. Another.

Until one is slid under Eddie's nose, and he can see it, the tally marks, framed by Steve's familiar hand. Five loads, four different men that he loves in wildly different ways. He wanted this, and wanted it from them, or not at all. Getting fucked by randoms wasn't appealing, wasn't the draw, wasn't what he needed.

But this feeling? It's what he needed.

He wanted to be used, but not discarded.

Another intrusion, and Eddie whines at the feeling of Steve's finger in him, but he hears the camera, and knows whatever it is will be worth it.

It is.

Steve's upturned hand, his ring finger slid into Eddie to the second knuckle, showing off the gold band and the come leaking down into his palm.

"Fuck," Eddie says, crumpled into the sheets.

And Steve laughs, a beautiful, familiar sound. Eddie's eyes find him in the mirror, just so he can look at him.

In the reflection, he sees Steve crook a finger at Gareth, beckoning him.

He watches, feels as Steve positions Gareth's hand with his own, both of them touching his ass cheek as Steve takes more pictures.

Eventually, Steve sets the camera aside, and helps turn Eddie around on the bed, arranging him on his side. And he slides in front of Eddie, and snags Gareth, pulling him down behind Eddie. This wasn't the plan, Eddie doesn't think. But he closes his eyes and goes with it. Enjoys the two sets of hands on his body, petting him, touching him, soothing him. Bringing him back to reality. Lulling him towards sleep.

And he hears the camera whirr to life, one last time.

In the shower, Steve washes him, but doesn't scrub at his ass cheek, the one that's been marked. No, that'll have to wear off with time.

"You still love me?" Eddie asks, hands braced against the tiles of the expensive hotel shower.

"Always," Steve answers, "did you get what you needed?"

And Eddie nods. He did. Maybe more.

"You sore?" Steve asks, and Eddie nods. He is. In a good way, but he's definitely feeling it.

His hand is framing his ass cheek, near the tallies. Eddie can feel it, can picture the marks visible in the V of Steve's large hand.

"Admiring your handiwork?" Eddie asks.

"Yeah," Steve answers, and then he's quiet for a moment, "maybe you should get this tattooed."

Eddie stills. Steve can't want that. There's no fucking way.

"You don't wanna look at that for the rest of our lives and be reminded of tonight," Eddie says.

"Maybe I do," Steve says softly.

"Really?" Eddie asks.

"Really," Steve confirms.

Eddie turns and leans down, cheek pressed to Steve's chest, the hair there tickling his face.

"You're mine," Steve says, confident, sure. "Nothing can change that. You think it's a coincidence we did this in this town?"

Eddie stills. Petey's shop is here. Steve planned this.

"You planned this," Eddie accuses, and Steve laughs, holding him tighter.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Steve answers. "Petey definitely isn't holding an after hours spot tomorrow."

"Thank you," Eddie says softly, "for that, for tonight, for our whole lives, really."

"I'd do anything for you," Steve says, chin on the top of Eddie's head.

"Did you get off on this?" Eddie asks. He needs to know for sure.

"Hell yeah," Steve says, running his hand up and down Eddie's back, "Showing you off, sharing you, giving them a little taste. Watching you enjoy it."

Eddie smiles into Steve's skin.

"Who was the best?" Steve asks, fingers pressed into the small of his back.

"You," Eddie says, and Steve laughs.

"Besides me," Steve says, rolling his eyes. Eddie can't see it, but he knows it has happened. Because he knows Steve.

Eddie has an answer, knows, but feels hesitant to say so, and that feels a little uncomfortable.

Steve does it for him, "It made a real pretty picture, him all over you."

And Eddie nods.

He's sure it did. He wants to see the pictures, the evidence. The irrefutable proof that tonight actually happened.

"He loves you," Steve says, and Eddie starts to argue, but Steve keeps talking, "Not like I love you. But he loves you, would do anything for you, and seeing that in this new way was hot, not gonna lie."

It was. It fucking was.

Eddie wraps his arms around Steve, squeezing him harder than ever before.

A beat passes.

"Goodie's dick is even thicker than yours, which, fucking ow," Eddie says and Steve laughs, his voice rumbling against Eddie's cheek. "Don't tell him that. We'll never hear the end of it."

Steve giggles, "Honey. I hate to tell you this, but he knows. We always do."

"Goddamnit. This was a mistake, then," Eddie teases and they both laugh. It wasn't, somehow.

Jeff and Goodie haven't come back in the bedroom, but Gareth is sitting on the bed, hair wet and curling around his ears. He's changed the bedding, and the dirty sheets are gone, the evidence probably in the washer down the hall.

Nothing for the maid to see.

"Hey, kid," Eddie says, dropping his towel and pulling on a pair of boxers. He doesn't want anything to have changed between them, so he's gonna act like it hasn't.

They haven't slept in a bed three-deep like this in years, not since the money started flowing, but Eddie crawls in the middle. Then curls against Steve, making himself comfortable.

Gareth seems hesitant, then he just anchors his leg over Eddie's hip, laying against his back, and Eddie feels twenty-two, and on the road for the very first time. Crammed into a double bed, instead of this roomy king.

"You okay?" Gareth asks, and Eddie picks up Gareth's hand, bringing it around to his own chest. Pressing it close. Squeezing. He's great. Really, really great.

"Yes. You?" Eddie asks, a little scared of the answer.

He shouldn't have been. Gareth is still Gareth.

Gareth laughs, "I'm never gonna live down getting sloppy seconds to Goodie."

And they all three laugh, Eddie saying, "Sorry. Them's the breaks, kid."

Gareth's face presses into his back, and it feels normal being wedged between them. He's safe, happy, and home.

"Well, Goodie was third himself," Steve says around a yawn, "so don't let him give you any unnecessary grief."

Goodie will always give Gareth grief, it's just the way their world works.

"I'm not standing in line for that," Eddie says mockingly, mimicking Goodie's dry reaction when this idea had been broached. They've all repeated it a hundred times over the past few months. A waitlist at a restaurant? A line for a bathroom? It has just become part of their lexicon.

Something that will remain, Eddie's sure of it. An inside joke.

"He did though, now didn't he?" Steve says.

He did. They all did. And only for Eddie, which fills him with an ache of love that he can hardly contain.

Gareth laughs, his chest shaking against Eddie's back, and it feels so comfortable, so normal, that Eddie closes his eyes and plans to fall asleep. Sated, and satisfied.

"Wanna see the pictures?" Steve asks, and suddenly Eddie's awake again.

Steve hands over a stack of pictures, and the three of them look together.

Jesus Christ.

They're good. Really good.

"Who took this one?" Eddie asks, because it's definitely not from the angle of Steve's chair.

"I did," Gareth answers, and there's a good handful from a second camera, a second angle, one that captures Eddie, head hung low, Jeff fucking him with Steve watching in the background.

Another of Goodie getting ready to enter Eddie.

One of Gareth's grinning face as he tries to get himself in the frame with Eddie being fucked by Steve in the beginning. It's just shadowy figures beyond his brightly lit face, but Eddie loves it.

Another of all three of them as they tried to crowd in, but nobody's arm was quite long enough, but laughing like they were having fun.

Fucking hell.

They had fun.

"You had fun," Eddie says, "all of you."

"Well, yeah, of course," Gareth says, and hands the pictures back to Eddie. "Why would you think we didn't?"

And honestly, Eddie doesn't know. But it feels good to know that they hadn't had their arms twisted into doing this for him. The proof, right in his hand.

He hopes he gets to keep them, and he squeezes them a little tighter in his grip.

"Don't worry. I have a plan, they'll be kept totally safe, out of prying eyes," Steve says as he stretches out, and kills the light on the end table, leaving them all in darkness, only a sliver of a street light peeking through the split in the heavy curtains.

Steve always has a plan, and Eddie closes his eyes, at peace.

The next day, Eddie's pretty sure he's spent actual hours actively keeping off of his ass cheek, scared he's gonna smudge it off. He doesn't want to fuck it up before he can get into see Petey tonight. Even if it's Sharpie and he knows that's unlikely. Still. No chances.

He's sitting on the other side of his ass, tilted to the side, writing as fast as his hand can go. It's like he's been set free, like his creative block has been cleared, and the inspiration that has been tamped down by the outside world, is back, in full force.

Gareth leans over his shoulder, one arm across Eddie's chest, hugging him from behind as he tries to read what Eddie's composing. He has a magazine hanging loosely in his hand, and it's brushing against Eddie's shirt.

He reads Eddie's chicken scratch, but says nothing, and Eddie appreciates it. This phase of writing is solo work. The group aspect, just as important, comes later.

Gareth lets him go.

And Eddie keeps writing.

When it's finally dark and time to go, Eddie stands up. Jeff and Goodie are bickering while playing cards at the table in the living room, Gareth is still reading a drum magazine, and Eddie swears the kid hoards them for a year, and then reads them all in a single day.

Steve is lacing up his shoes.

It's completely normal, almost like last night never even happened. Nobody has avoided him, nobody fled for their own space, nobody has been weird at all, and Eddie feels more settled than he's ever felt in his entire life.

They did it for him, and now they're still here. Their world is still turning on the same axis it always has.

"I got us a VIP table at Lux tomorrow," Jeff says, looking up at Eddie.

"I thought that place was booked out for months?" Steve questions, and Eddie knows that means Steve wasn't involved in this. Which is unusual.

"I talked to our concierge. They said they're turning over VIP rooms halfway through the night, so if we show up at about ten we'll get in," Jeff explains. "But we might have to chill while they clear out the first group."

"That's one way to try and increase profits," Steve says dryly, then adds, "but it's gonna be a shitshow, mark my words. Expect a wait, nobody is gonna wanna clear out early in the night once they've paid for a room, and settled in."

"I'm not waiting in line just to pay a grand for a fucking bottle I could buy down the street at the ABC for fifty bucks," Goodie complains.

Gareth meets Eddie's eyes, and Eddie smirks back. A broken record, he is. But Goodie's always been bristly about bottle service, and Eddie gets it. He does. And there's never been anybody with less patience about waiting than Goodie.

They've dealt with this at every nice restaurant they've ever had a reservation at over the years. If they have to wait longer than five minutes, he'd rather just go to McDonald's.

It's maddening.

Eddie puts on his own jacket, and then gets Steve his, holding it out, helping him slide into it.

"Where're you two goin'?" Gareth asks, looking up as Eddie's adjusting Steve's collar.

"Gonna go grab some food," Eddie answers. Which is also true, they will need to eat.

"Can I come?" Gareth asks, and well, okay. Sure. He has nothing to hide from Gareth. Never has, never will. Gareth knows the best of him, and the worst.

Eddie looks at Steve, but Steve already has an arm out, wheeling it around in an order for Gareth to come on, but to hurry it up. They are all more than accustomed to this familiar maneuver.

They step out of the private penthouse elevator, and their security meets them. Eddie balks. They are not coming along for this. But shaking security is always a hassle. They're hired to do a thing, and sometimes Eddie wants them to not do the thing, and that becomes a big problem.

But, while they might not listen to Eddie, Steve is in charge, and they will listen to him. So, when Steve has them stand down, they do. Even if they look fucking mad about it.

And then the three of them walk out of the hotel, all by themselves, like they are real people again.

Dressed down, comfortable, and nobody gives them a second glance. No paps, which obviously, since they didn't call them. But no crowd of fans either. Nobody knows they're here, somehow.

Eddie tilts his head back and breathes in the night air.

Maybe they can be real people again someday, and that idea fills Eddie with a hope he hasn't had in years. Maybe one day he'll be able to walk the streets of a city, alone, just Eddie, not Eddie Munson.

Once they're in the black SUV, Steve's fiddling around, because he doesn't usually drive these days. None of them do. He has to move the seat and the mirrors, and while he's doing all that, Eddie turns and looks at Gareth, "We're gonna go see Petey. I'm getting the tally marks on my ass tattooed. Can you be normal?" Eddie asks.

"I'll be so normal," Gareth reassures, and Steve laughs from the driver's seat, which makes Eddie smile.

Normal is definitely a big ask for any of them.

When they pull up in the alley behind the tattoo shop and tap on the heavy door, Petey unlocks it, and it's not unusual. He always works on Eddie after hours, when they come through town and Eddie's decided a new tattoo is the only thing that will make him feel anything at all.

It still feels funny, slinking in back doors like they're doing something illicit.

But Petey is the only person Eddie would ever trust to do this, to see it, to remotely know anything about anything. Petey won't ask, but if he makes assumptions, Eddie's okay with that. Petey won't comment on them. Eddie's trusted him for years, decades, and Petey hasn't sold him down the river yet. Eddie can't imagine he'll start today.

He's part of the inner circle, and that's priceless, Eddie has learned. The paring down of friends, year-by-year, until only the real deals remain.

Petey's the real deal.

"What are we doing today?" Petey asks, and Eddie's already pretty covered these days. Real estate is getting scarce. So, Eddie pulls down his jeans, his boxers, and shows him. Climbs on the table, to let him really see what they're working with tonight.

No reason to try to hide.

Petey's poker face is better than anyone else's on earth, and he just asks, "You want it this big?" A gloved finger pressing into his skin, "Or you want me to make a stencil and shrink it? Clean it up?"

None of them knew he was gonna keep it, hell, Eddie didn't know he was gonna keep it, so it's a little sloppy and a little bit big. But that's what he wants more than anything these days. The real thing. He doesn't want the fake shine and polish.

"Exactly as it is," Eddie says.

"Relax then. Get comfortable," Petey says, and then doesn't ask any other questions beyond what's necessary. Eddie's sure he's used to him being weird by now.

Needing an appointment to tattoo his ass after hours? Must be Tuesday in Eddieland.

Petey will make it look good, and look real at the same time. Eddie trusts that, fully.

So, Eddie lays on the table, and feels Petey gently shaving him and dabbing the alcohol wipe across the marks so as to not disturb the marker ink too much, and then the needle is buzzing along his ass cheek as they make small talk. About the tour. About the next album. About Petey's work, family, and life.

And Eddie smiles into his folded arms. He can't believe they actually did this filthy thing, and now he's getting it permanently branded onto his skin.

Steve sits on the other side of the table, staring. Still watching, eyes glued to Eddie's bare skin, one of his hands gripping Eddie's bare thigh. It's loving, and maybe a little possessive, which makes Eddie feel more exposed than he does about having his bare ass on display. If the tally marks aren't giving them away, Steve definitely is by being this goddamn interested in what's going on.

He usually doesn't even come with Eddie when Eddie makes tattoo appointments with Petey. Gareth does. Or one of the other guys. So, this is out of the ordinary, for sure. Probably suspicious. He's pretty sure Petey doesn't usually allow spectators to breathe down his neck, touching his clients as he works.

But he says nothing, just works while Steve watches every drop of black ink being deposited.

At least Gareth is sitting off to the side, acting normal, as promised. Steve? Not so much.

It doesn't take long. All black, just a few lines. Some shading of the careless strokes they all took. And then it's over before Eddie has really settled into the process. Usually his tattoos take much, much longer, and are much more elaborate.

But Petey has a gift for being good, but quick. He's not keeping you in his chair for a minute longer than he needs for it to be perfect.

Eddie stands in front of the floor length mirror, trying not to flash his junk at everyone while he looks at the finished artwork. It's really there. Looking just like it did last night, Eddie's pretty fucking sure.

He lets Petey put the protective bandage over it, and then buckles his jeans, thinking they're done, but Steve is talking to Petey. Gesturing with his hands, and Eddie listens, figuring out pretty fucking quickly that Steve is planning to get a Sharpie tattooed along his hip bone. Hidden, out of sight. A secret they can share.

And Petey knew about it. He has the design drawn up and everything. Steve's looking at it, making a few tweaks that Petey does immediately, then produces the revamped stencil. Steve nods, pleased.

Steve's not really a tattoo guy, so the fact that he planned to do this, really means something to Eddie. This is also for him. Another gift, another way for Steve to take care of him. To promise he's not going anywhere, not ever.

Eddie lays on an empty table, keeping off his ass while Steve's having his turn under the needle.

When Petey's done, Steve stands in front of the full-length mirror himself, inspecting the new ink branding his skin just as Eddie had done.

Eddie watches as Steve's eyes shift towards Gareth as he sits in a chair, flipping through a binder of flash art, just for something to do, Eddie's sure. If he's uncomfortable, he's not showing it.

"Are you next?" Steve asks, looking at Gareth through the mirror, and at first there's no response. He tries again. "Gare?"

Then, Gareth looks up, meeting Steve's eyes in the mirror, "What? Me?"

Steve nods, and Eddie loves him maybe more in this moment than he's loved him in his whole fucking life. Steve doesn't have to include Gareth in this. He could have balked when Gareth asked to come along, not knowing where they were going.

Steve could have re-staked his claim, but instead he's secure enough to know that what Gareth means to Eddie is different than what Steve means to Eddie. Gareth fucked Eddie last night, sure, but Steve's so confident in their love that he's willing to let Gareth have a reminder of that inked onto his skin, just like he got.

"Only if you want," Steve offers, and Eddie stays out of it. This is between them.

And Gareth nods, and gets it along his ribs, Petey acting like he doesn't know anything about anything the whole time. Like he can't put one plus one plus one together to get three. Probably five, even if the other two are absent tonight.

Eddie's gotta admit, Steve and Gareth leaving with matching tattoos wasn't on his bingo card for the day, but they pay Petey, tipping big time for him doing this for him. For all of them.

Eddie wonders if Jeff and Goodie will be mad that they weren't asked to come along. But he's pretty sure it wasn't the same to them. And that's okay. They made his fantasy come to life, all of them. He doesn't need more.

He just needs them to stay, exactly as they are.

It's late when they leave the shop, the glow of the streetlights hitting the pavement.

"I was promised food, what's still open?" Gareth asks, and Steve motions for them both to get in the car. Steve will take care of it. Of both of them.

He always does.

Eddie has to lean crazily in the seat of the car to keep pressure off of his fresh ink, and he listens as Steve and Gareth banter over where they can get a bite to eat. Neither one sounds overly confident that they know what's open now on a Tuesday night, but they're sure debating it like they do.

Eddie closes his eyes and just listens. It's normal. His husband and his best friend, going back and forth, fussing over something as normal as what restaurants are open at this hour in this town they don't even live in.

Like they both weren't balls deep in his ass twenty-four hours ago.

Like they both didn't just get proof of that, permanently inked onto their skin.

Like neither one is concerned that they might regret it later.

Like Eddie can't still feel the echo of all of them, with every move he makes.

Thing is, Eddie's pretty sure they won't regret it. Because Eddie doesn't regret it, will never regret being close in a new way to them all, at least for one night.

And unlike Goodie, he'd wait in a line for that any day.

If you want to write your own, or see more entries in this pop-up, check out @corrodedcoffinfest to see other entries for the Black Friday prompt! 🖤

Notes:

Title is from "Right Hand Man" from Hamilton.

This started as an entry for one of the prompts during Corroded Coffin Fest in July, but got way too long for the 1000 word limit. I held it back, and then fleshed it out for this pop-up event instead.

Am I thinking about the conversation Jeff and Goodie surely had as best friends once they left that room? Absolutely.

Also? Happy to see you again, Road Manager Steve Harrington, my beloved. I adore getting to write him. And Petey is also a holdover from Tuesday's Gone With the Wind. Eddie needs a tattoo guy? It's gonna be Petey. Because I said so, lol.

Thanks so much for reading! 🖤

#corrodedcoffinfest: black friday #prompt: “I'm not standing in line for that.”#corrodedcoffinfest #eddie munson #steve harrington #stranger things #gareth stranger things #jeff stranger things #freak stranger things #corroded coffin #corroded coffin fic #thisapplepielife: corrodedcoffinfest #thisapplepielife: short fic

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ohrandomfandom · 23 hours ago

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I kinda really love “Robiin II: Becoming the Monster” because it contrasts the brightness and excitement that “becoming the magic!” encompasses. But what I really like about it is how if there’s an emphasis throughout about his view of himself and how others see him.

Wasn’t he buried next to Sheila? Bruce focuses so hard on how Jason died(does he even know that Sheila led Jason to the joker? That he was just trying to help his mom, that he didn’t just run off recklessly and confront the joker? That at the last moment Sheila, instead of immediately running off tried to help Jason because of how selfless and brave he was but it was too late for them?) that what he remembers of Jason becomes almost warped by every small interaction that could have been a “warning sign” of what was to come. Every close call, every disagreement, every expression of anger from his child is now overshadowing who he actually was. And tbh he still loves Jason dearly and cares for him and his light and hope but after Jason’s death he becomes especially unforgiving, most of all to himself, so he’s remembering what he thinks he should have seen

From growing up in crime alley, people who don’t even know him hear that and just assume he’s violent or destined to become a criminal(probably something he hears a fair amount after he gets adopted by Bruce from higher society members and the media). Maybe he learns from Talia’s sources about how his entire memory has basically been moulded into this tragic thing. The words that travel far enough to reach him are the cruelest. Talking about how he was reckless, how him dying was inevitable, maybe about the memorial in the cave. There’s this one panel set where Talia tells catatonic!Jason that Bruce misses him and that Jason(and dick) gave him hope as Robin and he cries

How he views himself, with his going against some of the rules Batman ingrained in him. How it feels right but also like a betrayal even though he’s so angry with Bruce.

Even physically too ! Dying at 15, losing more than a year of time, did his revival or the Lazarus pit reduce the effects of any malnutrition as a kid? Did he have a growth spurt? Does his body even feel like his? It must be incredibly disorienting and dysphoria inducing to die in one state and basically emerge from that water in a body he can’t remember growing in to. Muscle memory and habits that are unfamiliar.

Becoming the monster is just him learning how to exist. How to help in a way he thinks can actually work. The joker got out and he died, he grew up seeing people get hurt after the system failed to protect them again and again and so his training and returning to Gotham was part of a plan to show that to Batman. To make a Statement that he doesn’t think that things can stay the same and get better.

Him seeing Tim in all that armour could be reinforcing his view that he wasn’t as valued/ was more disposable. Or maybe he takes this as Batman caring enough to add more protection to this new kid but not enough to get blood on his hands and stop the major threats that would endanger him the most.

Ok I’ve gone off on a super tangent and was trying to pay attention to a conversation at the same time so maybe this doesn’t make any sense or is relevant at all but I just really like “Robin 2: becoming the monster.” Jason embodying the whole “I may be a terrible person but at least I’m taking a bunch more down with me and proving a point while I do”(or at least trying to! He thinks he’s making a very good and reasonable point and this is about him so that’s what matters). And I just love imagining talias support of him through all of this being portrayed as mostly background or insignificant in the face of how much he’s Feeling except for a few small moments where like maybe it’s a flash back or a v/o of a line of her supporting him would be like <33 especially if it happens during like a scene with Bruce to set her as a contrast adult/parental figure in his new second life. Or when he’s killing someone Talias line from lost days where Jason’s like “[blah if I kill this person] don’t tell me the world isn’t better off. Why are you smiling?” And talias like “you’re learning” and he’s all intense like “yea guess I am”

Idk just Jason not thinking he’s a good person but still thinking the terrible and even monstrous things he’s doing aren’t necessarily wrong and are even good is just such an important part of his character and I love that for him and that title was just yesssss and I could talk about Jason for hrs and I’m not going to edit this so I’m so sorry if it doesn’t make sense but your brain is so big and this thread is wonderful

There's a post about wanting a story about Jason's time as Robin. I made a reblog of it so long ago, but I can't stop thinking about it.

I want to watch Jason's flight as Robin, but the entire story he's haunted by the future we all know is going to come.

When he first grabs his tire iron, he has the choice of taking a crowbar instead.

Subtle purples or greens pop up when he's in danger (but not necessarily the Joker).

He frees a bird trapped inside a warehouse.

He rescues a kid who was kidnapped by their mom and returns them to their dad.

So many dead or injured birds

While helping Alfred with gardening, he breaks a nail

Gun magazines at many scenes

Motorcyclists wearing red helmets

Someone's bubbling jacuzzi has a green light on

Duffle bags

He helps hold a bandage to someone's neck until paramedics arrive

Jason reads Frankenstein while at the Manor

An ad proclaims their coffins to be the sturdiest

Just his Robin story being jammed packed with foreshadowing.

It'd also be rad to have Easter Eggs:

Someone makes a comment about assassin kids

When talking to Bruce about something, on the batscreen is a very short file about "One Who is All"

Someone at a gala mentions the Drakes' newest archeology find

Kids at Jason's school chat about meta powers and how cool controlling light is

When visiting the hospital, the nurse introduces herself as Crystal

The buildup of the audience watching Jason, who's unaware of his future, continuously face sign after sign after sign? The irrational hope that maybe someone will notice the universe basically screaming about the future? Nobody notices as more and more signs pop up. It's maddening but so intriguing.

Jason's story of Robin would follow him as he goes from being desperate to survive to thriving. His paranoia that it's too good to be true thrums in his veins, but he learns to ignore it. He's fed, loved, and flies over Gotham every night. There's conflict, sure, but he's figuring out. It's okay.

The signs start out slow and subtle. As he starts to reach towards the end, they get more and more obvious. They occur more often.

Jason doesn't know when it all goes wrong, but he's figured it out before.

We don't see him lose hope until the very end.

EDIT:

Here's the og post I was referencing

#long post

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totallyjustabunchofhocuspocus · 3 days ago

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Fic: Something to Sink Your Teeth Into 27/?

Pairing: Buck/Tommy

Vampire/Witch!AU

Read on AO3 (current chapter)

Read on AO3 (from beginning)

“How long can we stay here?” Tommy asked, his eyes staying fixed on the two witches who were searching with increasing rage for the spot where Evan had slipped into the between.

He doubted they would find it—at least not quickly—as they had both been focused on taking Tommy and Del Marco out, but one of their familiars might have noted Evan’s position. Even if they had, it would still take a while to seek out the exact place where he’d dragged everyone into the between. They had time. But.

“Probably not long enough for them to give up and leave,” Evan admitted softly. “I can’t…Tommy, I don’t know how long I can hold this. Not with all of us.” He inhaled shakily through his nose, trying to quell the wave of nausea that had swept through him when he yanked three people into the between with him. In an instant, Tommy was in front of him, his hands cupping Evan’s face gently. In the chill of the between, his vampire’s hands were almost warm.

“Are you all right?” Tommy asked urgently.

Evan closed his eyes and let himself sway forward just a bit, resting his forehead against Tommy’s. “I’ve got enough in me for a few more spells,” he said. Tommy’s hands left his face, only for his vampire to gather him close and hold him tightly. He sighed, imagining for a moment that he could draw some of Tommy’s strength into him, let his vampire take some of the strain of the casting the way he was taking Evan’s weight. When he opened his eyes again, he felt a little less dizzy, adrenaline carrying him a little farther. “We need a plan.”

“Maddox…Maddox—God, can you hear me?”

At Del Marco’s frantic voice, Tommy let him go with visible reluctance, stepping back and turning to the high coven witch. The woman had managed to drag herself to her knees and was crouched over the still body of her familiar, stroking the poor thing’s bloodied fur with shaking hands.

Cath—Catherine? the familiar whispered. Henry…Henry attacked me. I don’t…Bianca was…helping him.

“I know. Hush, I know.” Del Marco began chanting a healing spell, running her glowing hands over the bite marks that littered her familiar’s body. She ignored the raw gash on the side of her head, all of her attention on her familiar. Only when the familiar’s breathing seemed to steady did she look up at Evan. Her dark eyes roamed over their surroundings, shock plain on her face when she realized what he had done.

“The between…you took all of us into the between?” she whispered. She picked her familiar up gently and staggered to her feet, clutching the cat close to her chest.

“Look, we need to figure out what we’re going to do about your friends, there. Evan, can we just, I dunno, get down the street before you take us out of here?” Tommy asked. “Like before, where you got us onto the porch at Greenway’s house?”

Evan winced when Del Marco’s eyes snapped to him, so wide they showed the whites all around. “Who the hell are you?” she demanded. “I can’t make the between big enough to stand in, let a lone fucking travel in it! That…familiars don’t teach us how to do this anymore. Most of them don’t really know how to do it anymore!”

It was…common, once. His...familiar must have…been one of the old…ones.

“An old—wait,” Del Marco said, her brow furrowing. “Wait, no, the only remotely recent banishment who had been chosen by one of the old ones was—”

“It doesn’t matter who he is,” Tommy interrupted, and Evan was pathetically grateful. “We need to figure out what we’re going to do! Evan, how far away can you get us?” He winced when the linebacker suddenly plunged through him, stalking in ever-widening circles in the parking lot. “God that’s weird,” he muttered.

Evan shook his head. “I, I can get us across the parking lot. Maybe. But I, uh, I can’t stretch the, the between beyond what I could see when we went in. And—” He paused, closing his eyes against a rush of dizziness, and Tommy was instantly in his personal space, sliding an arm around his waist to steady him. “Taking all of us…Tommy, this place looks like it’s as big as the real parking lot, but…”

“But the path we’re standing on is razor-thin,” Del Marco finished grimly. “If one of us mis-stepped, we could slip right out of Evan’s spell.”

Tommy’s arm tightened around him. “And where would that leave us?”

“At best? Right back out in the parking lot with Malone and Peterson, and their familiars. At worst? An entirely different part of the between. Maddox and I could probably find our way out, but you’d be lost forever.” Del Marco’s lips compressed into a tight, thin line. “There’s a reason it’s no longer common for a witch to be taught how to travel through the between.”

Evan’s head was pounding, and his hold on his magic grew more precarious by the second. “Okay, there’s two witches and two familiars trying to kill us, and I can’t hold this much longer,” he ground out through clenched teeth.

“Can’t you help him?” Tommy snapped, bodily hauling Evan out of the way as Peterson was about to walk through them again. It didn’t hurt, but Evan knew the sensation could be…disconcerting.

“He’s banished,” Del Marco snapped back.

“He saved your fucking lives!” Tommy’s voice was little more than a growl, and Del Marco drew herself up to her full height, her gaze hardening.

“He is right here, and they are still trying to fucking kill us!” Evan groaned. He slung his arm around Tommy’s shoulders, leaning heavily on his vampire, no longer caring what Del Marco thought of it. Instantly, Tommy’s face softened. Evan turned his gaze back toward Del Marco. “They’re traitors. You know there’s no other explanation. And they’re not going to let you get back to your superiors—they’ll either kill all three of us, or just you two and pin it on us.”

Del Marco’s eyes widened in understanding, flicking to Tommy uncertainly, before she seemed to steel herself. “They’ve betrayed the oaths we took to the high coven. You swear to me that book proves that those witches who have been disappearing were murdered?”

“For what it’s worth, yeah, I swear,” Evan said, his head now swimming sickly. Fuck. Fuck. When he finally went down, he was going to go down hard.

“If you’re who I think you are and you still have your magic, that actually means a great deal.” Del Marco looked down at her familiar, clutching the cat more tightly to her chest. “The punishment for betraying an oath of service is execution,” she said quietly. “I can’t fight them both by myself—Maddox is too hurt to help me much.”

Tommy’s hand at the small of his back clenched into a fist. “So you want us to help you,” he said, a bitter sort of disgust in his voice.

To her credit, Del Marco met his vampire’s eyes squarely. “Yes,” she said. “Help me deal with them, and I’ll make sure your evidence gets to who it needs to in the high coven. I’ll do what I can to get the kill order taken off you both.”

Tommy was silent, before he heaved a sigh, his shoulders squaring. Gently, he let go of Evan, hovering close for a moment in case Evan’s knees gave out—not an unfounded fear—and then stepping back. “Evan, how many times can you throw me out there and pull me back in?” he asked.

Evan sucked in a breath, a thrill of fear running through him. “You’re not doing this without me!” he said, and was immediately undermined by how shaky his voice sounded even to his own ears. Tommy’s expression went tight and worried.

“Please don’t argue with me,” he said quietly. He jerked a thumb at Del Marco. “She’s the best shot we have at getting Grant the support she needs in the high coven. That gets them off your back faster. Trust me, okay? Can you pop me out and back at least a couple of times?”

Evan did trust him. He trusted him more than he’d ever trusted anyone except Maddie and Sally. He licked his lips and closed his eyes, assessing. “You’re probably gonna have to carry me out of here,” he admitted softly. “But yeah, I can do it.”

“You sure?”

Once upon a time, Evan might have bristled at the question, seeing it as a question of his competence. In Tommy’s voice, though, all he heard was honest, genuine concern. His vampire would trust his answer; he knew that. He firmed up his stance as much as he could and nodded.

“You want to ambush them,” he said, not needing an explanation of Tommy’s plan.

Despite the dire situation, Tommy’s grin was fierce and a little feral. His eyes sheened over red, and his fangs lengthened to visibility. “Fast and hard,” he confirmed. He leaned in and kissed Evan quickly, taking his hand and turning to look at where the witch Del Marco had called Malone was stalking directly toward them.

“On three,” Evan said, planting himself and his vampire firmly in Malone’s path. He closed his eyes and chanted, pushing Tommy firmly between the shoulder blades at the crest of the short spell. He felt the between part around his vampire, spilling him out into the actual world.

Tommy melted back into reality barely a foot away from Malone. The man recovered quickly, throwing one hand up, the beginnings of a fire spell already on his tongue…but Tommy was faster. The distance between him and the witch vanished between one blink and the next, and Tommy had him by the throat in an instant. Peterson screamed, and Malone’s familiar bounded toward them, but too late. Tommy tore into the witch’s throat, ripping into his jugular with the brutal efficiency of an apex predator. No neat, small puncture wounds…the ruin of Malone’s throat was little more than ground meat when Tommy pulled back, blood gushing out in a fountain. Tommy snarled and flung Malone’s body away from him, sending it sailing a dozen or more yards into the air to crash down on the concrete with a sickening crack of bone that Evan could hear even through the distortion of the between.

Then Tommy pivoted directly back towards where Evan had pushed him out of the between, reaching his hand out in perfect trust that Evan would pull him back before Peterson or the familiars could retaliate. Evan was there. His magic surging through him felt like fire crawling up his spine, like sandpaper scraping over every one of his nerve endings, and his vision doubled, trebled…but then Tommy was in front of him again. Steadying him. Solid and sure as he gripped Evan’s shoulders.

“I’m all right,” Evan gasped. It was the truth, but it wouldn’t be for much longer. Tommy’s hands tightened on his shoulders, and then his vampire whirled to face the wavering figure that Peterson made as she sprinted towards Malone’s body. Her sparrow familiar flitted through the air above Malone’s familiar, who had collapsed to the ground and was howling in anguish as its bond with its witch was abruptly severed.

Delia, don’t! the familiar shouted, as Evan heaved in another gulp of air and pushed Tommy free of the between.

It hurt. The pain nearly blinded him, his head feeling as though it was going to split open, and he collapsed to his knees, blood streaming from his nose and dripping onto the ground beneath him where it shimmered and disappeared. He barely heard Del Marco step closer to him, felt her hand hovering over his shoulder briefly before withdrawing. All his focus was on Tommy.

His vampire’s exit was not as graceful this time, and Tommy stumbled a couple of steps before he regained his footing. He did not let it slow him down, barreling toward Peterson like a freight train. She was even faster to react than Malone had been, a spell bursting out of her even as Tommy tackled her to the ground. The force of the spell went wild, arcing over Tommy’s shoulder and slamming into the SUV they’d driven to the motel. There was a thunderous crash and the vehicle rocked on its wheels and nearly bent in half—as though some invisible giant had just punched it as hard as it could. If the spell had hit Tommy, he’d have been obliterated into a bloody mist.

He was even quicker this time, and not as brutal as he could have been. His hands wrapped around Peterson’s head before she could get off another spell, and with a forceful twist, her neck snapped audibly. Her familiar wailed in the air, falling from the sky like a stone and writhing in pain along with the dog. Gasping for breath, feeling like something was trying to claw its way up his spine, he let the spell holding them in the between dissolve, and melted back into existence in the parking lot.

“Evan!” Tommy crashed to his knees beside him, and it was all he could do not to just collapse forward into his vampire’s arms.

Too much.

He’d done too much. Traveling through the between was exhausting all on its own, even with a coven bond…on top of everything else he’d done today, he couldn’t understand how he’d even lasted this long. He didn’t think he could get back to his feet if his life depended on it…and it very well might. There was no way people would ignore what had just happened out here. Even if the high coven enforcers had placed some kind of silencing spell or look-away charm on the property, it wouldn’t be able to hold against all this. They had to…they had to…

Just a minute. He could take…just a minute…

* * *

Evan looked a thousand times worse than he had after he’d teleported them from the office building.

He was not just pale—his face looked gray in the fluorescent light of the streetlamps scattered through the parking lot. Blood dripped from his nose in a steady stream, and his skin was cold and clammy when Tommy dropped to his knees beside him and laid a gentle hand on his face.

“Evan! Are you all right?” Stupid question. Stupid fucking question, of course he wasn’t all right. Evan barely seemed to register his hand on his face, listing alarmingly sideways until Tommy slipped an arm around him and gathered him close, nearly pulling his witch into his lap. Frantically, he pushed two fingers against Evan’s throat, hissing when he felt his witch’s heartbeat—weak and fluttering like a moth battering itself against a window. Too fast, too thready.

This wasn’t going to be fixed by a hot meal and a night’s sleep.

He turned desperate eyes on Del Marco, who was staring at the bodies of her companions in a kind of numb shock. “What’s wrong with him? What can I do?” he demanded. He understood the basics of why magic seemed to hurt his witch if he pushed it too far…but this wasn’t like what had happened before.

Del Marco’s eyes snapped to him, her expression going carefully neutral as she looked down at Evan. “He dragged all three of us into the between with him—and kept it from collapsing on us while he pulled you in and out of it multiple times. I’d need a week to recover if I’d done that. On top of what we saw at Jonah Greenway’s house…without a coven bond? I don’t understand why he wasn’t a heap on the ground when we got here.”

Convenless magic puts a tremendous strain on a banished witch’s body, her familiar added, its gaze not unsympathetic. I am sorry—either he is strong enough to recover or he is not.

Tommy went cold at that. “Can’t…can’t you do anything?”

Del Marco’s posture took on the stiff cast of a soldier delivering bad news. “Magical exhaustion is different from other ailments or injuries…healing magic doesn’t affect it. And—I’m sorry, but he’s banished. Even if we could help, it’s forbidden.”

Tommy could not bite back the growl that erupted out of him at her words, his eyes glowing scarlet as he pulled Evan closer. He stood with his witch in his arms and taking several steps back from Del Marco, as though she might try to hurt him. Something inside him snarled in ruthless satisfaction when her eyes widened a little, her scent sharpening with apprehension.

“I meant what I said. You did the high coven a service here, Mr. Kinard. I’ll do what I can for you with them. I’ll do what I can for both of you.”

She did not say if he lives.

She did not have to.

“May I have the book?” she asked, a thread of hesitation in her voice.

Tommy clenched his teeth, biting back the new growl that wanted to bubble up from his lips. This was their goal…Del Marco was in a far better position to help Grant and Howie with the high coven than he and Evan were. If he refused to give her the evidence they had found, then this was all for nothing. Evan groaned softly, stirring just a little as he grabbed clumsily at Tommy’s shoulder. His eyes were open—barely—but his witch didn’t seem to be tracking anything. Panic like Tommy hadn’t felt in centuries clawed at his guts.

He shifted Evan awkwardly to get at the front pocket of his borrowed sweatshirt, pulling the ledger out and tossing it at her before his witch could slip out of his arms. Del Marco caught it with one hand, tucking it under her arm. She turned and looked out at where the familiars were still twitching weakly on the ground, the dog whimpering weakly while the sparrow’s wings spasmed.

“You need to leave,” Del Marco said, holding one hand up in the air. She chanted a few words, and the white glow of witch magic sprang up around the familiars’ bodies.

“What?” Tommy asked incredulously. “What am I supposed to do?” He and Evan were painted in blood again, and his witch’s breath was growing more labored by the second. He needed…fuck, should he call an ambulance?

“This place will be swarming with high coven operatives in less than ten minutes. You cannot be here when they arrive,” Del Marco said. “I’m sorry, this is all I can do. There’s still a kill order on you. I’m risking everything not detaining you.”

He would like to see her fucking try.

He shifted Evan’s weight into a more comfortable hold. All right…all right, he just needed to get far enough away that the high coven wouldn’t find them. Then he could assess Evan…get him help. Either he is strong enough to recover or he is not. No. No. Evan was strong enough. His witch would be fine. He just needed…

The screech of tires suddenly sounded in the parking lot, and a black SUV with darkened windows came racing into the parking lot. Del Marco startled back, her hands glowing with white light, but Tommy…

Tommy didn’t think he’d ever felt such a wave of relief.

The car screeched to a halt only a few yards away from them, and the driver’s side window rolled down.

“Can’t leave you alone for a fuckin’ minute, can we Kinard?” Sal drawled.

#911 abc #911 tv show #evan buckley #evan buck buckley #tommy kinard #bucktommy #buck x tommy #kinley #tevan #tevan fic #firepilot #firebeast #my writing #shameless self promotion

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