#unless she’s going to turn around and double cross everyone

[theaologies]

Listen. Tawny is not gonna end up with Kieran. She’s going to end up with Gianna. Here is my chart-

[wlntrsldler]

ii. and i never saw you coming, and i'll never be the same. | luke castellan | state of grace

sixteen-year-old luke castellan has his first kiss with you, the girl he'd been hopelessly crushing on for the last two years.

athena!reader x luke castellan. not canon compliant, no betrayal. happy ending luke :)

series masterlist | previous | next

sixteen-year-old luke castellan was shooting daggers at annabeth right now while she playfully approached you, pretending to expose his crush on you. 

“beth!” he hissed, making a ‘cut-it-out’ motion with his hands. chris chuckled softly from beside him, too entertained by the situation unfolding. luke jabbed his elbow into chris’ rib, unable to handle two of his so-called friends laughing at his demise. “annabeth, please don’t!” 

that caught your attention. you turned around to see annabeth, a sheepish smile on her face as she awkwardly waved at you. you cocked an eyebrow before tilting your head to see luke, half-standing from the bench with a frozen expression on his face. chris was doubled over in laughter, nearly falling off his seat. 

“come with me,” you placed both hands on beth’s shoulders, letting her lead you to the two hermes boys. you stood in front of them, removing your hands from beth and crossing them over your chest. you playfully pointed between the three of them, “care to tell me what this is about?” 

“i think luke should tell you,” chris shrugged, making eye contact with annabeth. the two of them erupted in giggles and luke wanted the ground to swallow him whole. if it wasn’t for his friends’ actions, he’s sure it would’ve been the redness on his cheeks that gave it away. 

“well, go on, head counselor,” you bit your bottom lip, finding his blushing face completely adorable. 

you and luke got closer over the past two years since he got to camp. he was always around the athena cabin, at first because he wanted to be close to annabeth, but everyone knew that it slowly morphed into wanting to see you and hang out with you more. because he was always with you, the campers got to know him fairly quickly. luke was right– everyone did love you, and by association, the campers liked him too, or at least, tolerated him. 

you were known to be the nicest head counselor, even before you took the position from oliver, known as the best archer in camp’s history, and the wisest daughter of athena. the more luke hung out with you and got to know you, the more his feelings for you developed.

in his defense, it was hard not to fall for you. he’d never met anyone as funny as you. every time he returns to the hermes cabin from being with you, his stomach hurts from laughing so much. you seemed to finish each other’s sentences so the punchlines of the jokes die on the tip of your tongues, but you’re both out of breath from laughing that not finishing the joke didn’t even matter. 

you took care of everyone at camp, even if they weren’t your own siblings. he’d seen you bandage travis and connor stoll up one too many times and let them go instead of writing them up for one of their pranks. the boys would return to the hermes cabin, heads hanging low, with a look of short-lived apologies on their faces when luke asked them about why they had bandages on their forearms. luke pretended not to notice the knowing smiles the two troublemakers shared whenever he would say, you’re lucky counselor y/n was there. 

you were fearless. you were often chosen to be a companion for quests because everyone knew you were the best. you never denied them and it got to the point where chiron and mr. d had to make a public service announcement that you were no longer allowed to go on quests unless it was your own because camp fell apart during the weeks you were away. the first time luke prayed to the gods, to his father, was when you returned from a particularly difficult quest with clarisse and you were in the infirmary for three days.

but above all that, you made luke a better person. you inspired him to always find kindness in everything. you cared so much about your siblings and the campers and it made him open himself up to care for his own siblings. he and chris were inseparable now and luke knew he probably wouldn’t have been ready to get close to other people if it weren’t for you. you pushed him to work on his sword work, helped him understand strategies, and taught him everything about camp. eventually, people took note of him and he became the hermes head counselor not too long after. 

in between all of these things were luke’s favorite moments; like the calm minutes after hours-long training sessions, where you reveal something new about yourself. you’d go on and on about a random story that goes off into at least ten tangential stories, but luke didn’t care. he’d gladly lay on his stomach, letting the rays of the sun beat down on his back until his skin turned red and hot to the touch, to hear you talk. you’d roll over on your back or prop your chin on your open palm and ask him questions about himself. and luke would tell you things he’d never told anyone before. luke treasures these moments in his mind– small, happy memories, like a step-by-step guide on how to fall in love. 

“they were just going to pull a prank,” he lied, ignoring the ‘thumbs-down’ motion annabeth sent his way and the ‘womp womp’ that chris let slip past his lips. “told them to quit it.” 

“tsk, tsk,” you tutted, but there was no anger on your face, only fondness. you looked at annabeth, “i expected better from the daughter of athena, but you’re too much like your brother.” 

“oh, ew, don’t say that,” annabeth shook her head, walking away as luke raised his hands in defense. chris pat luke on the back, following annabeth back to camp to join everyone else. 

“i am offended that she is in her, ��i hate my brother phase,” luke scoffed, shaking his head. he moved over to let you sit on chris’ previous seat. “i’m not that bad to warrant an ‘ew.’”

“she loves you,” you nudged him, letting your shoulder stay connected to his. “she’s exactly like you, even if she doesn’t admit it.” 

“she’s got the good parts of me,” he replied, looking down at where his shoulder was touching yours. his hand slowly crept to yours, trying not to be super awkward about it. 

he’d held hands with you before, when you’d mindlessly lace your fingers together underneath the table while you were talking to someone, wanting to feel him there, making sure that he was next to you or when you’d hold his hand during moments where he’d get so frustrated with the gods that you had to calm him down. but he always got nervous initiating it.

over the years, he’d grown to be strong and unafraid, but when it came to you, his resolve crumbled. with you, he was just a teenage boy with a crush.

“so, she’s got all of you,” you said, noticing his hand moving closer. you put a hand over his, flipping it over so you could properly hold it. you squeezed his hand making him rub his thumb across the back of yours.

“not all of me,” he turned his head to look at you, “i see parts of you in her, too.” 

“you mean our mom.”

“no, i don’t,” luke replied, sincerity in his eyes. “i mean you.” 

sure, annabeth was brilliant like the daughter of athena should be. she was always six steps ahead of everyone else and she quickly became your right-hand woman when coming up with strategies for capture the flag. there was no doubt that annabeth was a daughter of athena.

but there were so many parts of you, the person she looked up to the most, in her as well. annabeth was more patient than luke. she can explain things to younger campers, and sometimes older ones, a hundred times without getting frustrated that they weren’t grasping the concept. luke had to walk away so many times when he got frustrated. you’re such a hot head, luke, you said to him once, a teasing smile on your face as you ran your hands down his back to help him relax. beth also grew to read people well. she can hear the unspoken words in conversations and know exactly what someone needs, a heightened sense of emotional intelligence that luke knew she couldn’t have learned from anyone else but you.

there were other, simpler, things too; like how annabeth doesn’t tie her shoes too tightly, unless she was training or competing, so she can slip her shoes on and off easily, or how she tucks her camp necklace under her shirt just like you. 

the look in luke’s eyes was intense. you had to look away before you lost your senses and connected your lips with his. he does this often, say things so nonchalantly like it didn’t make your breath catch in your throat. he says these words with such clarity, like the only things he’d ever been sure of in his life were the things he says about you or to you. it made your head spin. 

“so,” you changed the subject, untangling your hands from each other to turn your entire body to face him. you poked his cheek with your index finger, “you gonna tell me the truth about what that was?” 

“what’s that?” he asked, dumbly, trying to act like chris and beth didn’t just leave you alone with him. he pretended to think, rubbing his chin with his fingers, “dunno what you’re talking about?” 

you groaned, dropping your forehead to his shoulder. you felt him wrap an arm around your torso, his chest rumbling as he laughed at your reaction. you looked up at him, temple pressed against his shoulder blade, “c’mon, luke,” 

“no,” he shook his head, face turning red again, “it’s humiliating.” 

“if i tell you a secret, can you tell me yours?” you whispered. luke shivered at the feeling of your breath hitting his skin. he felt the goosebumps rising on his arms that he had wrapped around you. you pulled your head away from him, creating more distance, “how does that sound?” 

“no promises,” he replied, eyes darting to your lips for a brief second. he cleared his throat, “if your secret is a good one, then maybe i’ll consider it.” 

“oh it’s a good one,” you said, mischief in your eyes. there were only a handful of moments where you let go of your head counselor persona, where you’d join the hermes cabin in wreaking havoc on camp.

his sixteenth birthday came to mind. you arranged for a surprise birthday party for him. he woke up to an empty cabin, which was rare, and camp was deserted when he left to grab breakfast. when he got to the dining hall, all the food prepared were his favorites and there was a messily painted banner hanging across the walls, courtesy of the art skills of the younger campers you taught during arts and crafts the day before. 

the food wasn’t nutritional at all and mr. d made it clear that it would never happen again. i don’t know what i was thinking saying yes to an all-day sugar rush, he muttered after the third instance of young kids breaking their arms from attempting to climb up on their cabin roofs. maybe twinkies and salt and vinegar potato chips were not the healthiest breakfast foods, but luke thought it was perfect.

he received his present from you after, a messenger bag for the son of the god of messengers and a compass that always pointed him back to the athena cabin. so you always find your way home, you reasoned. 

luke knew he didn’t need a compass to bring him back to you. his dad gave him the ability to always find his way back home and he was glad you knew that to him, home was wherever you were. on his sixteenth birthday, with you under his arm and the compass safely tucked inside his pocket, for the first time, he was thankful to be his father’s son. 

that look of mischief in your eye always meant that you had something up your sleeve and luke didn’t know if he should be excited or scared. luke pressed, “tell me, then.” 

“i have a crush on this boy,” you scrunched your face up, cheeks dusted with the lightest shade of pink.

he pursed his lips, heart dropping. he knew this time would come. he was thankful that he was spared from the boy talk that you engaged in with your other friends. he often heard you and silena squealing about some guy one of you liked and he was glad that you had other friends to talk to about it because he couldn’t handle you gush over another guy when he felt this deeply about you. 

“it’s the new aphrodite kid, isn’t it?” luke asked, pulling away from you. “everyone is in love with him. even clarisse said he was cute! i personally don’t see it.” 

you rolled your eyes, “luke, come on.” 

“what?” he asked, “i’m pretty sure he’s not even a natural blond.” 

you didn’t know if luke was playing dumb or if he genuinely didn’t realize that you were talking about him. you’d been blatantly obvious about how you felt about him, at least you thought you had been. you were always sitting beside him, choosing him to be your partner for head counselor activities, spent every free moment you had with him, and you were touchy with him, more than you were with anyone else at camp. at this point, all that was left to do was to spell it out for him. 

you laughed, throwing your head back in laughter, “it’s not jack.” 

“who then?” 

“nope,” you said, shaking your head. “you gotta tell me your secret now because i told you mine.” 

“that was like half a secret, angel!” 

“okay so tell me half of your secret!” 

“fine,” he relented, “i have a crush, too.” 

your eyes widened, heart beating a million miles an hour. you knew how he felt about you, but you'd just been waiting for him to say something. “now, you have to tell me!” 

“you first!” luke laughed, reaching out to grab you when you got up. you slipped past his fingers, walking away. “come back!” 

your laughter filled his ears as you stood behind him. you wrapped your arms around him, propping your chin on his shoulder. luke nuzzled his head into the crook of your neck, letting out a content sigh. he tilted his head to the side, his lips ghosting over the skin of your arm. 

you stayed like that for a few beats until he broke the silence. he should be upset right now because you liked a boy and wouldn’t tell him who it was, but it was hard to be mad when you were holding him like this. he looked up at you, a boyish grin on his face, eyes half open, “you gonna tell me?” 

“it’s obvious,” you said, running your fingers through his hair. he purred under your touch, grabbing a hold of your arms to stop you from leaving his side. you weren’t planning to. “come on, luke. use that pretty little head of yours.” 

luke tucked his face into the crease of your elbow, hiding his blush. he racked his brain for anyone else who you could have a crush on, but his mind ended up blank. when he thought of who on this earth could deserve you, he came up with no names. there was nobody who was good enough for you. 

he changed his strategy. who did you hang out with at camp? he tried to think of the people he saw you with. he’s seen you with the boy from the apollo cabin a few times but that was usually only when one of your siblings got injured. maybe the boy from the hephaestus cabin? the one who made his sword? no, you only talked to him on luke’s behalf that one time when you noticed he needed a new sword because he broke it during a particularly intense training session with you. he frowned. the only guy you actually hung out with at camp was him. and that couldn’t possibly be… unless? 

luke’s head snapped up, “do you like me?” 

“do you like me, he says,” you mimicked, “took ya long enough.” 

you placed a chaste kiss on his cheek before running away from him, giggling and blushing like a school girl. luke couldn’t react quick enough to stop you from leaving, too dazed at your rushed confession. when he snapped back to his senses, he jumped from his seat, using all his strength to chase after you. he was thankful for his growth spurt because he caught up to you before you entered the main area of camp. 

he wrapped his arms around your hips, twirling you around, ignoring your sounds of protests. he stared at you as you beat on his chest, hair in disarray from the wind. his lips were in a full-blown grin, head spinning with thoughts of you. you. you. you. you were all he could think about. 

he finally put you down but left his hands on your hips as you tried to fix your messy hair. he liked you like this, soft and shy. it was a part of you that felt like was reserved for him. usually, you took on this authoritative, caretaker role, always having the weight of responsibility resting on your back, but with him, in these secret moments, you were delicate. luke wanted to protect you from everything, not because he thought you needed his protection, but because he felt like he’d finally found his purpose in this life-- to be with you. it was still caused by the hands of fate but away from the meddling of the gods.

“you like me,” he teased, pinching the skin of your hips. 

“don’t get cocky,” you replied, smacking his chest. 

luke hummed, leaning closer, “i like you too.”

“i know,” you whispered, inching closer to him. “just wanted you to confess first.” 

“c’mon angel, cut me some slack,” he blushed, eyes darting to your lips. he ran his tongue across his lips, “didn’t think i had a shot with you.” 

“you need to start giving yourself more credit, luke,” you reached over to cradle his face in your palm. your eyes traced over his features, mesmerized by the pools of honey in his eyes, the pink of his plump lips, “you’re the best person i know.” 

“all ‘cause of you,” there were those words again. there was no room for argument when luke spoke about you. he was sure of it, too sure of you.

“are you gonna kiss me or am i gonna have to make all the moves in this relationship?” 

luke rolled his eyes, “shut up.” 

he placed his lips on yours, unable to stop himself from smiling as you kissed back. he pushed you towards him, wanting to feel you closer. the kiss was short because you were both breathless and grinning. it was messy and uncoordinated with it both being your first kisses. when he pulled his lips away from yours, he placed kisses all over your face, your jaw, your neck, his curls tickling your skin. 

eventually, he stopped in a fit of giggles, lips puffy and pink. there was a dazed look on his face, as if he couldn’t believe that this was actually happening. he let go of your hips but threaded your fingers together as you walked into camp, burying his face into your hair when he heard chris and beth hollering in support when they saw your intertwined hands and disheveled demeanors. 

[genshinluvr]

Where Are the Updates? (HSR Filler)

Pairings: Somewhat HSR Men x Isekai'd!Reader, but there's no romance in this fic (unless you count the moment with Sampo)

Summary: The person who writes the script for your and the men's future project is visiting the Astral Express. Everyone is wondering what is their future role in the projects (and Sampo is being Sampo)

Note: This is a filler fanfic since I haven't updated in so long and I'm trying to force myself to write something so I can get used to writing fanfics again. I'm not expecting anyone to read this. This is a filler chapter until I can actually write something. Anyway! I don't post anywhere else but on Tumblr (Genshinluvr) and on AO3 (Aaliah_exo).

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1.6k

Caelus walks into the Astral Express, approaching March and Dan Heng. “Hey, does anyone know where [Y/N] is? I’ve been trying to look for them, but they’re not in their room.” Caelus says, crossing his arms over his chest.

March scratches the back of her head. “Uh, I think they’re with the author right now. [Y/N]’s been keeping them company ever since they boarded the Astral Express.”

Caelus does a double take. “Well, this is news to me. How long has she been on the Astral Express?”

Dan Heng looks at his phone. “She’s been here for a few hours now. I don’t think you should disturb the two of them. But if you want to see what they’re up to, they’re in the Parlor Car.”

Caelus quickly thanks Dan Heng before rushing to the Parlor Car. Dan Heng and March watch the silver-haired man leave the Passenger Cabin before turning to look at one another.

“Should we follow him to make sure he doesn’t cause any problems? Who knows what Caelus is going to ask the author to do for him,” March says, propping her hands on her hips.

Dan Heng sighs. “Looks like we have no choice.” Dan Heng mutters before following March to the Parlor Car.

Caelus enters the Parlor Car and freezes. You look away from the woman sitting across from you and wave at Caelus, who presses his lips together while surveying the area. You shrug and turn towards the woman across from you, leaning in your seat. 

“How about a story where you make the main character, aka me, get mad at someone, and they jump universes and get lost for months?” You suggest.

The woman sitting across from you puckers her lips, tapping her chin as she stares at the laptop before her. Hey, you’re merely suggesting ideas for her to write, but the woman seems hesitant about it.

“I like the idea, but I’m not sure. Is it supposed to be another version of the story where these men,” she gestures to the men sitting around you and her, “jumped to another universe in search for you— I mean, the main character from their universe?”

You squint at the woman before you, nodding slowly. “Yes? But that’s up to you! I’m trying to help you come up with ideas to write.”

She nods wordlessly, eyes focusing on the screen before her. Caelus approaches where you and the black-haired woman are sitting. Before Caelus can make it over to the table, someone places a heavy hand on his shoulders, causing him to stop in his tracks. Caelus turns to see Jing Yuan standing beside him while his eyes are elsewhere.

“General, it’s good to see you on the Astral Express! Though, it’s a bit unexpected,” Caelus says, glancing in your direction from the corner of his eyes.

The General of the Xianzhou Luofu chuckles, shaking his head. “I received a message from [Y/N]. They wanted us to come over while someone important was stopping by,” Jing Yuan replies, showing Caelus his phone.

Caelus looks at the screen, and yep, you certainly sent out a message to the General to meet up at the Astral Express. However, Caelus doesn’t know why this “important” person was stopping by the Astral Express. The very same person glued to her laptop, occasionally pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose as it kept slipping down. Caelus has met this woman before, heck, and so has everyone in the Astral Express. The woman with black hair is the one who delivers everyone their “scripts.” And since it’s been a while since there was an update from the author, no one has heard from her since then. Until now, of course.

“Ooh! If you ever write about Penacony, would the others make an appearance?” You ask excitedly, tapping your foot on the ground.

The woman blinks at you cluelessly. “Oh, shit. There’s more?” She mutters, looking around the Astral Express for new faces. Lo and behold, there are certainly new people on the Astral Express. The woman turns toward you, scratching her head, “I haven’t even written anything that debuts Dr. Ratio and Argenti’s appearance— which is long overdue—”

“Very overdue. I understand academics are important, but I don’t see how you can’t write something short and simple for my appearance,” Dr. Ratio comments, crossing his arms over his chest while staring at the woman, displeased. 

The woman gives Dr. Ratio a tight-lipped smile and closes her laptop. “Dr. Ratio, with all due respect, but if you continue to give me that sass, I will continue to delay your appearance in future works.”

Dr. Ratio huffs, looking away with a visible pout on his face, while Adventurine snorts and shakes his head. Adventurine props his arms on Dr. Ratio’s shoulders, only for the man to push him off with a glare.

Adventurine clears his throat. “Dearest author, allow me to pitch my idea for your possible upcoming story~” he strikes a dramatic pose.

The woman nods, “And what is the idea you’ll be pitching?” She asks, waiting for the blond man to say something.

Adventurine clears his throat and jogs over to the woman, sitting beside her before whispering something into her ears. Caelus nearly let out a loud groan. Damn him for making his pitch a secret. Adventurine pulls away and clasps his hands together, placing them on the table while waiting for the woman’s approval or disapproval of his idea.

“I will think about it, and if I’m able to map out how your idea goes, then I will try to make it into a script.” The woman nods.

Adventurine cheers loudly, hopping up from his spot and jumping in the air before looking at Dr. Ratio smugly. Dr. Ratio rolls his eyes with disgust before walking to the other side of the Astral Express while muttering under his breath about how Adventurine is an annoyance. 

“And what about me, Madam Author?” Sunday asks, bowing to the woman before him.

The woman stares at Sunday, pressing her lips into a thin line. “If you’re talking about your appearance in future works, I will include you and new people in future works. The only issue is I’m still unfamiliar with all of you, and your personalities won’t be nearly as accurate as the others.”

Sampo approaches the table where you’re sitting with the woman. You stare at Sampo while he gives you a sheepish smile before looking at the woman. If Sampo had a tail, it would’ve been wagging. Is he excited, or is he nervous? You can’t really tell.

“Ahem, Miss Author, I was wondering why there’s a delay in updates for the script,” Sampo says, poking his index fingers together. “You’re not tired of us, are you?” Cue the puppy dog's eyes.

Welt Yang sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Sampo, I don’t think you should be asking something like that. There could be many factors that play into why she hasn’t been updating us with new scripts.” He mutters, giving Sampo a subtle glare.

The black-haired woman smiles at the older man and gets up from her seat, dusting her pants off. “Sampo, I wasn’t able to update you all on new scripts because I have other priorities, such as my education. I was also behind on your world and wasn’t able to keep up with what was happening in your world.”

Sampo sniffles dramatically, his bottom lips trembling. “But you have time to keep up with the other universe with other people?” Sampo whines, batting his eyelashes at the woman.

“To be fair… I didn’t even update things for them, either.” The woman shrugs.

You got up from your seat and pat Sampo’s shoulders. Sampo dramatically drapes himself over you, burying his face into your neck while dramatically sniffling. You can’t tell if he’s pretending to cry or if he’s trying to inhale you— or both.

Luocha whispers to the woman, “I think he meant being updated with what’s happening in the universe, not your stories and scripts.”

The woman mouths ‘oh’ before nodding slowly. The Parlor Car feels crowded with how many people are present on the Astral Express. All have pressing questions regarding their roles for future projects and what they can expect to happen as the plot (is there even a plot?) progresses. Of course, you and the author reassured everyone that their roles are safe and nothing is going to happen to them. However, even if something were to happen, it would not be permanent. Speaking of something happening and permanent….

You turn to the woman and clear your throat. “You’re not going to kill me in any future projects, are you?”

The woman takes her glasses off and wipes the lenses with her shirt. “That would depend on the plot and the situation. I’ve killed you once, and the other time where you reincarnated, your death was implied and mentioned, but there weren’t scenes, you know?”

You pout, crossing your arms over your chest. “I know, but why do I have to be the one to die? Why can’t it be someone else like, and I mean this as nice as possible, Blade?”

The woman puts her glasses back on and tucks her hair behind her ears. “Because I love making the male love interests suffer.” She replies nonchalantly, brushing her hair off her shoulders.

“I mean, you can still do that without killing me,” You bat your eyelashes at her.

The woman nods. “You’re not wrong about that. I’ll see what I can do, but it will take time, and I probably won’t have the script done before I complete other scripts as well.”

You’re fine with that. As long as you don’t die in future projects (again), then you’re not complaining! Although now that you have (somewhat) given her an idea for future projects, you don’t think you’re going to be prepared for anything gutwrenching. 

Note: I feel bad for not updating in so long 😭 I've been super busy with school and did not have any motivation to write at all, even though that's what I'm required to do for my major. I have finally caught up with Honkai Star Rail— it took me days to catch up because I was also exploring Penacony. I have school in 4 hours, and I still haven't slept. Goodnight! Anyway, to all my new and returning readers, keep in mind that I ONLY post on my Tumblr (Genshinluvr) and my AO3 (Aaliah_exo)! Nowhere else except Tumblr and AO3!

Read more of my works on my Masterlist / Masterlist 2 | Maybe support me by tipping me on Ko-Fi or by reblogging my fanfics! ^^ I will also be posting exclusive fanfics on Ko-Fi as well very soon! I might post all of my stories on there, too, but who knows. You can also tip me on Tumblr if you'd like as a way to show support! ^^

[ampzura]

sam carpenter headcanons || masterlist

sam carpenter x fem!reader

for the ladies ~ warnings: nsfw at the bottom!!

╭────────────────────╮

crushing on you ~

uber protective(duh); does not let you out of her sight when youre out with the group.

always finding an excuse to touch you, whether it be a small brush of her fingers on your back, “fixing” a stray hair in your face, or grabbing your hand when crossing the street, sam cant get enough of the rush she feels when you make contact.

melts when you call her “sammy♡”

constantly texts to check up on you and ask where you are, especially if she knows youre alone

reminds you to double check the locks on your doors and windows every night to make absolutely sure that nothing gets to you. often insists on sleeping over.. just in case.

terrified of losing you or driving you away with her overbearing and paranoid personality like she did tara, leading to sam often seeming distant. her heart skips three beats when you make effort to include her in conversations and activities.

whenever you walk through crowded areas sam makes sure to walk right beside you and hover her arm behind your back to prevent losing you.

────────────────────

domestic love ~

dial up the protectiveness tenfold; turns feral when god forbid anyone she doesnt know/trust gets close to you. her “killer instinct” suddenly has two meanings.

always wrapping her arms around you from behind, she needs to be touching you 24/7. (and signal to everyone else that you are hers.)

she struggles a lot with self-worth due to her reputation and needs a lot of reassurance.. could never bring herself to admit this though and swears shes fine, but at the same time breaks into a sob when you tell her that you love her

cannot sleep unless she is wrapped around you like a python and can feel your heartbeat, to knows youre alive and okay. sam also knows you tend to get cold and love when she acts as a personal heater.

often experiences night terrors, most of which involve you being brutally murdered or abandoning her like everyone else in her life. you can tell by the way shell suddenly hold you extra close in the middle of the night.

it could be a minimal papercut or a painless bruise, the second sam notices you hurt or sick she drops everything to coddle you.

and did someone hurt you? dont check the news on woodsboros recent killings “missing persons” cases tomorrow.. you might see a familiar face

huge on petnames, her favorites for you are baby, querida, love, angel, and doll.

(the latter two mostly when shes knuckles deep and calling you her good girl.)

did i mention that sam is just a tad clingy?

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steamy ~

there is nothing sam loves more than kissing you, all of you. she has taken great care to memorize your sweet spots and how to drive you absolutely berserk with her mouth. god bless your sanity if she involves her tongue.

youre in a state of pure ecstasy before she even nears your soaked heat

despite how rough she tends to.. “handle” you, sam always makes sure to give the most gentle and loving aftercare. the last thing she would want is to hurt you.

loves having you on her lap. having you straddle her toned thigh as it presses right up against your center and oh.. she knows just how to move it to hit all the right nerves. you dont last 5 minutes before youre begging her to throw you down and absolutely ruin you. she enjoys torturing you by making you get yourself off by riding her thigh alone before she even touches you.

“oh i think you can do it yourself mi dulce, youre a big girl”

if you let her sam would eat you up, literally. as heavenly as it feels when she bites into your skin like a hungry vampire, you wish to retain what little dignity you have left when you go out tomorrow..

but at the same time, the thought of her marking you up for everyone to see feels so good.. concealer it is.

will take any opportunity to get you shirtless and under her. she ravishes your breasts like its her last meal, drooling even further at the sweet sounds that emit from your lips and that glazed over look in your eyes as you cant keep your mouth shut while she kneads your sensitive mounds, swirling her tongue around and pinching your nipples..

you swear she has an addiction. constantly coming up behind you and squeezing your tits in the shower, while youre cooking or even watching tv.. not that you mind it though

sam cant help but swoon for at way you look on your knees as you incoherently beg her to touch you, all the while youre forced to sit watch as she takes her sweet time giving you an slow and sensual strip show.

then only to bend down with a smirk, prying your mouth open with her thumb and whispering to you in that sultry tone.. “use your words mi preciosa..”

treats you like a pampered pillow princess most of the time. she had rarely allowed you to pleasure her back until you told her that it would mean a lot to you.

she now considers riding your face a guilty pleasure she cant get enough of, especially when shes moving her hips in a way that nearly suffocates you. your muffled moans and whimpers only work her up more.

the two of you were watching a classic horror movie one night, only for the killer to pin the victim to the wall and hold her at knifepoint. sam watched as you bit your lip and squirmed in your seat, face glued to the screen.

thankfully the neighbors werent home to witness the screams of bloody murder as you “helplessly fell victim” to a very enamouring freak with a knife that night.

the real struggle came with trying to walk the next morning

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[onceuponaoneshotfanfic]

Something There (Chapter 7)

6.5k words

Roy Kent x Reader

Warnings: Language, mentions of sex, angst, slut-shaming and double standards, misogynist graffiti, pining, angst

Series Masterlist

I passed by that sign every day on my way to the Dog Track. Normally, it gave me a surge of pride when I saw it, this reminder of something I felt so proud and honored to be part of. But now, with those blood-red letters, it made my already broken heart die a little more.

It wasn’t as if this kind of treatment was new. Whenever my teams didn’t perform as well as expected or hoped for, suddenly we weren’t talented. Or we were dumb bitches. Or we were all on our periods. Not like when the men underperformed; then it was every excuse in the book from the horrible refs to the weather to their kitman used the wrong detergent that week.

But unlike all those other times, now I had actually done something to earn this treatment.

It wasn’t like I regretted sleeping with Roy. It was nice. He was nice. And if he was any other guy with any other job and any other reputation, I’d probably consider repeating the encounter. A few times, actually. But those ugly red letters reminded me of why it was one of the stupidest things I’d ever done.

“Come on,” Lucas urged, placing a hand on my arm. “Don’t want to be late.”

Don’t want to be late. Ha. More like don’t want to go to work today. Don’t want to face everyone at Nelson Road. Don’t want to be seen in public.

Don’t want to see Roy Kent.

Of course, I couldn’t avoid any of those things, thanks to the text Rebecca had sent me the night before, the text where she sent me that stupid, stupid article and told me to go straight to her office in the morning. Lucas and I wordlessly parted ways so he could go prepare for training while I trudged up to Rebecca’s office.

I stared at the door when I arrived upstairs. I wasn’t sure if I should knock. Or head in. Or turn around, run home, and pack my suitcase to head back to the States. Just as I was pondering the consequences of that last one, someone cleared their throat behind me.

And I’d have known that sound anywhere.

Roy’s eyes were pained when I turned to look at him. Mine were probably the same.

“Alright?” Before I could figure out an answer, he grimaced. “Fuck. Stupid fucking question.” He crossed his arms and shook his head. “I… It’s just… fuck.” His voice was that low, angry growl he used to use when we fought.

Never thought I’d miss fighting with Roy Kent.

The door opening caused me to jump, sending me a step closer to Roy, narrowly avoiding bumping into him. Rebecca’s face was stony as she looked us over, perfectly pink lips in a straight line. Her eyes, though, were soft, full of pity, especially when she caught sight of the miserable expression I assumed I wore.

“Best come in,” she murmured, nodding towards her office. She shut the door behind us, watching Roy and me carefully as we all took the seats around her desk. She leaned her elbows on her desk, eyes darting back and forth between Roy and myself. Finally, she opened her mouth. “I know that as your boss, it truly isn’t my business,” she started slowly. “But, considering the publicity that comes with your jobs, we should all agree on the best course of action. Now, as your friend, you don’t have to tell me if you-”

“We slept together.”

Roy’s mouth fell open as he stared at me, as if he couldn’t believe I’d said it so plainly. Rebecca simply raised her eyebrows at me.

I shrugged, forcing myself to look Roy in the eye. “What? Why deny anything? It’s what happened.” I turned back to Rebecca. “If they already have those pictures, there’s no use pretending. It’ll make us look pathetic if we try to lie. So unless you want us to deny anything happened, and then get caught in the lie when our stories don’t match, or they come up with photos of me leaving Kent’s place in the morning, let’s stick to the truth.” I let out a deep breath. “Kent and I slept together. It was consensual. We were both single at the time. The end.”

Rebecca cleared her throat. “Well. And, just for the sake of transparency between the three of us, was this a one-time thing? Or is this a regular occurrence?”

“A one-time thing,” I immediately replied, not looking at Roy. “That’s all.”

“Right.” Rebecca’s eyes flashed to Roy before returning to me. “I’ll call Keeley. We’ll work on a game plan, keep an eye on the headlines.” She sighed. “I’d love to say this’ll blow over in a day or so but… considering who you are-” She nodded to Roy. “-and the… uniqueness of your position-” She gestured towards me. “-this will probably be something we’ll be hearing about for a bit. Especially in the local press.” She shook her head. “Neither of you deserve this, of course. Believe me, I know quite a bit about how you feel, although I’m sure it’s no consolation.” She offered me a sad smile. “Why don’t you head on down to your team? I’m sure they’re anxious to see how you’re doing.”

I stood, not needing an excuse to get out of that room. With nothing but a small nod to Rebecca, I turned and did my best not to sprint out of the room, desperate to get away from those sad brown eyes.

~

Rebecca stared at Roy as they listened to the door close, leaving the two of them alone. It had been a while since they’d had a proper chat, just the two of them, but it seemed that Rebecca was still an expert in making Roy squirm with just a quirked eyebrow.

“One-time thing?”

“Hmmph.” Roy slouched in his chair and crossed his arms, wondering how long Rebecca would keep him in her office.

She tilted her head, pity evident on her face. “You… you don’t want it to be a one-time thing, do you Roy?”

Roy let out a growl of a sigh. “It doesn’t fucking matter what I want,” he murmured. “It’s about her. This is her reputation, her career they’re fucking with. It’s different for her than for me. I need to respect what she wants.”

Rebecca’s face crumpled, her heart breaking at the pain she could see on her dear friend’s face. No amount of pep talks could help him now. At least, not one from her.

“I’m sorry, Roy,” was all she could manage. “I’m truly sorry.”

Feeling that this was enough of a dismissal, he stood and waved absently as he left her office. He slogged down to the changing room, where the Greyhounds were changing, their conversations much quieter than he was used to. That low chattering came to a stop the moment he entered the room, confirming that the guys had indeed been talking about him. He sighed and closed the door to the office, wanting a moment with just his team.

“Alright,” he started, gaze on the ceiling before looking at the fellas. “So, I’m sure you’ve all seen those stupid fucking photos. We’re not talking about that shit because it’s no one’s fucking business, and it was vile for someone to publish them. I hear any of you mention that shit, you’re suspended, because it’ll be hard to play with broken legs.” His voice lowered as he took in the faces of the Greyhounds- sadness, disgust, pity, anger. He knew his threats weren’t necessary, but he needed to feel like he was doing something. “And if any one of you breathes a fucking word of this to any of the Whippets or Coach Buck, you’ll be off this fucking team, and I will make it my personal mission to keep you out of the Premier League for the rest of your fucking life. Understand?”

After a moment of silence, Isaac stood up from his perch on the bench. “No one talks to the press,” he commanded. “Tell them they can fuck right off with their bullshit. We don’t condone this invasion of privacy or the misogyny they’re hurling at Coach Buck. We support her, and we support the Whippets, alright?”

Sam nodded. “We’ve got your back, Roy. Every single one of us. We all agree that this is disgusting.”

“Is she okay?” Jamie slouched in the corner of the changing room, looking at Roy as if the manager was an injured puppy.

Roy stared at Jamie, the striker’s timid voice ringing in his ears. Finally, he cleared his throat and yanked open his office door. “Weight room in five,” he barked. “Time to get to work.”

~

The Whippets were already on the field when I finally joined Lucas on the sideline. My walk from Rebecca’s office to the pitch was torture; no one would look me in the eye, a far cry from the wide smiles and waves I received walking through the Dog Track after each Whippet victory.

Lucas watched me carefully as I took my place beside him, tugging the sleeves of my Richmond jacket over my hands. The team slowed when they saw me but continued their drill; surely Lucas had spoken to them while I was upstairs.

“Bring them in,” I murmured, tugging the baseball hat I wore over my eyes.

“You don’t have to-”

I shook my head. “Bring them in.”

At the sound of the whistle, the Whippets jogged over, clustering around us with wide eyes and concerned frowns. I held their gazes, refusing to let my face tilt downwards. Once they were all together and quiet, I opened my mouth.

“We’re a team,” I started slowly. “And teams are built on trust and honesty. So, I’m not going to play pretend with you ladies. There’s photos, of me. And Coach Kent.” Some of the girls exchanged glances, but no one looked too shocked; they’d surely all already seen them. “Nothing scandalous, just us going into his house after the charity gala. But people can connect the dots. And people are starting to say shit about me.” I cleared my throat. “But my priority is you. The Whippets. So, let’s just keep our heads in the game, play the Richmond way, and be the team I know we are. Good deal?”

Kira Malone spoke up first. “We got you, Coach.”

The wholehearted murmurs of agreement finally had the lump in my throat threatening to turn into tears. “Thank you, Captain. Appreciate it.” I turned to Lucas, not trusting myself to look at the team for another moment. “Coach?”

Immediately, Lucas was calling for the ladies to return to training, which they promptly did. Once they were out of earshot, I let out the shaky breath I’d been holding. Lucas reached out and took my hand in his, giving it a squeeze.

“We’ve got you.”

As much as I’d dreaded coming to work, I had to admit it was kind of nice having something to focus my energy and attention on. It was nice thinking about something other than headlines saying things like “America’s Sweet-Tart Scores with Kent” or “He’s Here, He’s There, He’s Every-f*cking-where- including Coach Buck’s Bed!” I wasn’t sure what was worse: the headlines that screamed my name, or the headlines that didn’t bother giving me one.

It was evening when I got a text from George letting me know he’d be picking me up in five. He’d been great about the whole thing; we were having drinks when I got Rebecca’s text alerting me to the photos. He immediately offered to take me home and didn’t mind when I told him I wanted to be alone- which really meant I wanted to call Lucas and sit numbly in my best friend’s arms for an hour.

I gathered my things, looking forward to the relaxing night of movies and takeout George had offered to help take my mind off things. He really was the nicest guy I’d ever gone out with, really respectful and polite. The kind of guy who’d have my parents thrilled. The kind of guy who’d happily sit in the stands and watch my games. The kind of guy who made me feel comfortable and safe.

“Oi.”

That voice had me stopping dead in my tracks as I stepped into the parking lot. Roy Kent walked over from his car, hands stuffed in his pockets, eyes scanning my face for any sign of whether or not I was going to run away from him. It was definitely a tempting option.

“So,” he started once he’d reached me, “I… I told my guys they’re not to say a fucking word about anything. Not to each other, not to the press, not to you. They’re idiots, but they’re not stupid.” He stared at me, his jaw clenched. “I… I am really fucking sorry.”

“Please stop apologizing,” I murmured, clutching my bag tightly. “You did nothing wrong, Kent.”

He nodded, as if he was trying to convince himself. “I know. Neither did you.” He took a deep breath. “Listen, that night was-”

“Ready to go?”

While Roy was talking to me, George’s car had pulled up next to us, and he was leaning out the window with that boyish grin, his eyes trained on my face pointedly. I swore I saw this eyes flicker to Roy for a fraction of a second, but I couldn’t be sure. What I was sure of was the way Roy tensed up the moment George’s voice reached us.

I gave my fellow manager a nod as I took a step towards George’s car. “I…. I’ll see you tomorrow, alright?”

A grimace covered his face. “Yeah. Have a good night.”

With a little wave, I climbed into George’s car. My face flushed when George leaned over and planted a peck on my cheek; I stared straight ahead, not wanting to know if Roy saw, and not quite knowing why it bothered me. I slunk into my seat, glancing at the newspaper on the passenger seat floor.

“Love on the field? Coaches of AFC Richmond and its girls’ team caught in scandal!”

I sighed and leaned my head against the window, wishing that a night of movies and takeout could somehow make this whole mess disappear.

~

Doctor Sharon stared at Roy thoughtfully. It wasn’t like she didn’t know about what was happening; but goodness, to hear Roy mumble out the story about him and the manager he was clearly pining over and the debacle with these horrible photos was nothing short of pitiful. He’d spent much of their session ranting about his hatred for the press, how idiotic the headlines were, and how he wanted to punch the dicks of every photographer that had been lurking around the parking lot over the last week.

“… and now she’s got this, I dunno, fucking boyfriend,” Roy spat, his eyes glued to his shoes. “Fucking reporter, of all things. Prickiest prick that ever pricked.”

“I take it you don’t like him?” Doctor Sharon mused, raising an eyebrow.

Roy sat up a little. “He’s a prick,” Roy repeated.

Doctor Sharon nodded. “So I heard.” She stared at the gaffer for a moment. “Is that why you’re so angry? Her boyfriend isn’t a nice guy?”

There was a short pause before Roy opened his mouth again. “I just… I don’t fucking know.” He twiddled his thumbs. “She said she wanted space,” he sighed. “And I figured that she just wasn’t looking to date right now. Focus on coaching.” He blinked rapidly, his gruff voice quieting. “Guess now I know she just wasn’t interested in dating me.”

“And you wanted to date her?”

After a moment of staring at his shoes, Roy nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, I think I did.” His voice was thick. “I think… we would’ve been good together.”

A small smile appeared on Doctor Sharon’s face. “Thought you two hated each other?”

Her teasing tone was rewarded with the sight of Roy’s mouth lifting in the corner. “I thought so too,” he chuckled hollowly. “But I dunno. We were starting to get along. She’s fucking great with Pheobe. She split that charity money with me.” His eyes shifted, full of thoughts. “We had a good time at the gala.” He nodded. “She made me laugh. Dancing with her was nice. And afterwards, we just, you know, had a drink, talked about football.” He sighed, a heavy sound that filled the office. “Talked about being injured, retiring, all that shit. It was, I don’t fucking know, real. She fucking understood. Didn’t look at me with pity.” He looked away from Doctor Sharon’s face, his own face reddening. “And the… other stuff was pretty nice too.” Another sigh escaped his lips. “Just, for the first time since Keeley, I felt like I might have found someone. Someone who, I dunno.” He looked Doctor Sharon in the eye. “You know?”

“A partner?” Doctor Sharon offered.

“Yeah.” Roy cleared his throat. “A partner.”

Roy wasn’t sure how he felt when he left Doctor Sharon’s office. He didn’t feel better, but at least he didn’t feel worse. Mostly he felt heard, which he had to admit was nice. As he made his way back down to his office to pack up his things, the wheels in his head started turning. One of the things he told Doctor Sharon was how fucking helpless he felt, how he felt like he wanted to do something.

When he reached his office, that something occurred to him.

He pulled out his phone and dialed.

“Roy?” Trent Crimm’s voice was filled with confusion. “Something wrong?”

“You’re really asking me that?” Roy’s eyebrow quirked with amusement. “You haven’t seen the fucking headlines?”

Trent laughed, and Roy could just picture the writer adjusting his glasses. “No, I have. I’m just a bit surprised you’re calling me. How’re you holding up by the way?”

Roy sat at his desk and leaned back. “Not answering that one,” he grumbled. He glanced at the empty Whippets’ office. “I… need a favor.”

“What’s up?”

He leaned his elbows on his desk. The wheels in his head were spinning faster than they had in a long time. “All this bullshit with those photos,” he said slowly. “Would you be able to… find out where that came from?” The long pause on Trent’s end had him continuing. “I know there’s like journalistic integrity- fucking oxymoron by the way- but I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important.”

“You’re not…” Trent cleared his throat. “… going to kill anyone are you?”

That year at the Dog Track had truly helped Trent understand Roy. “No, nothing like that,” Roy assured him. “I just… I don’t really know why I want to know,” he admitted, his gaze again on the office next door, on the chair she normally occupied. “I just need to know.” He cleared his throat. “I’ll buy you a new scrunchie or some shit,” he offered.

Trent’s laugh eased some of Roy’s tension. “Well if there’s a new scrunchie involved…” He paused. “But sure, Roy. I could do some sniffing around. Just don’t make me an accessory to murder, alright?”

“Promise,” Roy assured him. “Thanks, Trent.”

~

The parking lot had never been so filled with people before a Whippets game. I’d love to think it was because of our multitude of wins, or the charisma and skill of our players, or just because women’s soccer was growing in popularity. But once I saw the cameras, I knew better.

Sure enough, as Lucas and I walked towards the doors to the stadium, those people started shouting my name, along with questions about whether I’d slept with Roy Kent, if there was any tension at the Dog Track because of all this, how Roy was in bed. My personal favorite was, Have you guys done it here at Nelson Road?

Lucas placed a hand on my back and urged me inside, an uncharacteristic scowl on his face.

“Fucking scum,” he muttered as we made our way down the hall. “Let’s see them ask Kent those kinds of questions at the Greyhounds’ game tomorrow.”

I leaned my head on his shoulder as we made our way to our office. “Ignore them, Luke. Let’s just focus on getting the win.”

Even with the scandal, the stands were still packed. Or maybe it was because of the scandal; while standing in the tunnel, I swore I could “slag” being shouted over and over again from one section of the stadium.

“Fuck,” I whispered, gripping Lucas’s hand tightly.

He shook his head at me. “This is ridiculous,” he spat, tugging out his phone with his free hand. “I’ll text Rebecca, they need to be fucking thrown out.”

Doing my best to focus on the task at hand, I released Lucas and stepped out onto the green, keeping my eyes on the Whippets. When I heard particularly loud chanting begin, I blocked it out, straining to pick out a familiar voice. Keeley’s. Rebecca’s. Higgins’s. Hell, even Roy Kent’s growl would have been welcomed. But this certain chanting was so loud, it was almost enough to make me turn around and spend the game in the changing room- something I’d never dream of doing.

Maybe the papers were right. Maybe my career was over.

Dammit. I couldn’t cry on the field. I’d seen A League of Their Own; there’s no crying in baseball, and not in soccer either. The only tears I shed in uniform were tears of joy when I won. But the shouts, the knowledge that apparently everyone in Richmond, everyone in England, thought I was a slut for one admittedly lovely night with Roy freaking Kent, was enough to have me breaking my no crying in soccer rule.

“Bucky,” Lucas said, apparently not for the first time. “Bucky.” He was turned around, facing the seats behind the dugout.

I blinked rapidly and looked at my assistant coach, who was- wait, was he smiling?

Lucas was shaking his head, an amused chuckle escaping his wide mouth. He grabbed me by the shoulders and turned me around, pointing about halfway up the stands. The sight had me almost breaking my no crying rule, but for a completely different reason.

About two dozen men were on their feet, shouting “Let’s go Whippets!” and clapping rhythmically. I recognized the giant grins of Jamie Tartt, Dani Rojas, Isaac McAdoo, Colin Hughes- all the Greyhounds, each one clad with a white Whippets jersey. When Jamie saw me watching them, he jumped up and down and started smacking the guys next to him. Quickly, they all turned around, showing off the back of their kits: each one was adorned with the number six- my old number when I represented the United States- and five simple letters: B-U-C-K-Y.

“What the hell are they doing?” I gasped, shaking my head.

“I think,” Lucas hummed, wrapping an arm around my shoulder and giving me a squeeze, “that they are letting you know they’ve got you.” He pulled me close. “We’ve all got you.”

~

Roy couldn’t help the way his heart fluttered as he looked at his phone while walking through the parking lot. Fuck, how he wished he’d been there on Saturday. When Isaac and Jamie came to him, expressing how they wanted some way to show the Whippets their support, Roy’d suggested they attend that weekend’s match. It was Isaac who came up with the idea to wear the team kits, and Jamie had thought of adding her name to the back. The guys had invited him to join them, of course, but he’d declined; he knew his presence would only add to the media circus the match would be.

The boys had provided Keeley with plenty of material for both teams’ social media. Sam had posted a video of a gorgeous Whippet goal with the caption “One of the best matches I’ve seen in a while! #RichmondWhippets”. There was Jamie’s selfie with a few players (including a blushing Kira Malone), simply saying “These girls got game!”. Particularly amusing was Colin’s picture with a Whippet from Wales, accompanied by a paragraph on Welsh independence and another paragraph on women’s sports.

But Roy’s favorite post had to be from Dani Rojas, a photo of him with the Whippets’ manager, with the simple caption “Ella es dorada 🥇”. She looked happy. Proud. Brave. Not to mention stunning in her blazer and red lipstick.

But he couldn’t focus on that. It was a new week of training, and he had a text from Rebecca summoning him to her office.

He winced on the stairs, his knee aching, and made a mental note to go easy on it all day. Could stress cause his injury to flare up? He’d have to look that up. He finally arrived at Rebecca’s office, strolling right in when he saw the open door.

Rebecca and Keeley sat on the couch, speaking in hushed tones. They perked up when they saw him, almost as if they hadn’t expected him to show up.

“Good morning, Roy,” Keeley chirped, clearly trying to keep her voice cheery. “Great game yesterday. You boys looked great.”

He grunted in response before turning to Rebecca. “You needed to talk to me?”

Rebecca sat up, straightening her blouse. “Just… checking in.” She offered that tense smile of hers, the one that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “How are you doing?”

Roy shrugged. “Fine. Whatever. I mean, I’m not the one getting all the shit press, am I?” He thought of the headlines and tweets he’d been seeing, double entendres and dirty rhymes and just straight up insults. Somehow, even worse, were the posts from idiots praising Roy for the whole thing, as if two adults having sex was some sort of accomplishment.

“Sure,” Rebecca said slowly. “But still. I know things aren’t exactly great for you right now.”

Right. It wasn’t a secret around Nelson Road that one of the managers was in the early stages of a relationship- and that manager definitely wasn’t Roy Kent. She wasn’t exactly flaunting things, but George often picked her up at work. He called her sometimes during the day, just to check in. Worst of all, the prick even brought her lunch to her office a couple of times, offering Roy a smug grin as he passed through the Greyhounds’ office.

Keeley knew Roy well enough to practically read his mind. “I’m sorry, Roy,” she sighed. “Just give it time. Things’ll get better, you’ll see.”

Roy shoved his hands in his pockets, feeling sick of this pity party his friends had decided to throw him. “If there’s nothing else, can I head to my office? So I can do my job?”

Amazingly enough, Rebecca smiled, a real smile. “Yes. There’s actually something in your office. A little surprise.” She glanced at Keeley, who suddenly broke into a matching grin. “Something that’s going to either cheer you up or positively piss you off.”

Frowning at the sudden attitude change, Roy nodded to the two women before walking out. Fucking weirdos.

He stalked down the stairs, down the hall, wondering what the hell Rebecca had meant about a surprise. Shit, had Keeley attempted to redecorate the offices again? Because he was still finding glitter from last time. He swore, if she replaced his chair with some fluffy monstrosity-

Roy froze when he opened the door and was greeted by a mustachioed smile.

“Howdy, Coach.”

~

“Right, so if we start Frankie and Brogan next week-”

Lucas and I froze in the doorway. There was an unfamiliar man in my office, staring at my Brandi Chastain poster. With everything going on, Rebecca was wary of letting reporters she didn’t trust wander around unsupervised; there was no way she’d let some stranger meander into my office.

“Excuse me,” I started, taking a step into my office. “Can I help-”

The man turned around, offering a broad grin, his eyes sparkling with excitement. “Hi there.”

Without ever meeting him, I realized exactly who I was talking to. “Oh gosh, you’re Coach Lasso.”

“Guilty!” he chuckled, leaning forward to shake my hand, then Lucas’s. “Sorry, I don’t mean to be Snoop Doggie-Dogging in your office, just admirin’ your magazine here.” He nodded towards Brandi. “Great little piece of history you got up there.”

I nodded, still a bit dazed at the realization that I was finally face to face with the Ted Lasso. “Yeah, yeah, she’s one of my heroes.” I cleared my throat. “Oh, I’m-”

Ted shook his head. “Oh, I know exactly who y’all are,” he assured me. “I mean, when Becca- uh Rebecca- told me she was hirin’ y’all, I’m embarrassed to admit I only sort of knew your name from when you were in the World Cup. But my son Henry, well when he watches American soccer, he prefers to watch the NWSL. So, he gave me a proper education on all things Coach Buck.” Somehow, his smile widened, filling his face even more than his mustache did. “Don’t suppose I can get an autograph for him while I’m here? Kid’s pretty jealous I get to meet ya.”

Don’t suppose I can get an autograph for him while I’m here?

He had no idea how badly I needed those words.

“Oh, yeah, definitely.” I shifted my weight from one foot to the other. “No worries, I can do that.”

In my peripheral vision, I could see Roy enter the Greyhounds’ office. Our eyes locked for a fraction of a moment, the way they seemed to be doing a lot these days, before we both quickly broke eye contact- the way we seemed to be doing a lot these days.

I cleared my throat and smiled at Ted. “Listen, we’ve got to get to training. And I know you probably want to spend time with Beard and Rebecca and…” My eyes shot to Roy again, trailing over his bearded face as he focused on something on his desk. “….everyone.” I made myself look at Ted, whose expression was amused. “But, uh, think I could buy you a drink while you’re in town? American manager to American manager?”

Ted shrugged. “Shoot, those guys’ve all seen me a million times. Why don’t we grab that drink tomorrow night? Say, there’s this one place I love, the Crown and Anchor. You know it?”

“Uh, yeah, been there once or twice.” I shook Ted’s hand. “It’s a date, Coach Lasso.”

His brown eyes sparkled teasingly. “A date? Don’t forget my corsage then!”

~

Roy’s stomach twisted as he walked from the park to his car after his workout with Jamie. It was unfair, so fucking unfair. What had she done wrong that he hadn’t? They’d both danced. They’d both gone into his house. They’d both had whiskey and commiserated over their finished playing careers. They’d both had an incredible night together. And yet, she was the only one being punished for it.

With a heaving growl, he reached up and grabbed at the corners of the poster. He’d apologize to Rebecca later; he just couldn’t bear to see those vulgar words, not when they were aimed at her. He pulled down as hard as he could, harder than was really necessary, relishing the harsh ripping sounds. As he crumpled up the poster into a ball, he heard another sound: click, click, click.

He whipped around; sure enough, a camera was aimed at him, held by some young guy in a backwards baseball cap. The kid blinked at Roy, as if he didn’t expect the gaffer to look at him. When Roy took a few steps in his direction, the photographer took the same number of steps backwards.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Roy spat as he picked up his pace, closing the distance between them. Without thinking, he threw the balled-up poster at the photographer, not hard enough to cause any injury, but hard enough that it bounced off and rolled a respectable distance away.

“M-my job-”

Roy’s laugh was sharp. “Your job?” He pointed at the spot where the poster had been. “You pricks are making her job- my job- harder to do, you fucking know that?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “We’re just trying to coach fucking football, but we’ve got you twats acting like we’re Brangelina or some shit.” He shook his head, picking up the trash he’d thrown. “This fucking shit written on the poster? That’s your fault. Every. Single. One. Of. You.” He roughly brushed past the photographer and shoved the ball into a trash bin. “You can all go fuck yourselves.”

By the time he arrived at work, Roy was mostly calmer. For Roy, at least. He was unsurprised to see Ted was already at Nelson Road; he was amused to realize his old coworker was coming from Rebecca’s office.

“Morning, Ted,” Roy rumbled, quirking a thick eyebrow at the American.

Ted’s face reddened at the sight of Roy. “Good morning, Roy.” He fell into step beside his former player. “Mind if I join you?” Roy’s grunt was good enough for him. Ted pointed at a photo of the Whippets squad as they passed it. “Amazing, this whole women’s team thing. Becca’s really outdone herself. Keeley too,” he quickly added. His smile turned teasing. “How’re the fellas doing with it? Bein’ respectful, I hope?”

Roy nodded. “They’re fucking fine,” he assured Ted. “There’s some flirting sometimes, and Jamie’s got this weird will-they-won't-they thing going on with their captain. But everyone gets on just fine.”

“What about you?” Ted waggled his eyebrows at Roy as they entered the office. “Any cutie patootie Alex Morgan-type catch your eye?”

“No,” Roy answered, a bit too quickly as his gaze travelled to the empty Whippets office, where he’d watched Ted talk to their manager the day before.

Of course, Ted’s gaze followed his. “Ah.” His eyes lit up. “That coach of theirs sure is somethin’, ain’t she? Gold medal, World Cup, hell of an NWSL coach. And pretty darn easy on the eye, huh?” His face softened when he caught sight of Roy squirming. “And I haven’t heard all the scuttlebutt, but my understanding is something happened between her and a certain Greyhound?”

“Can we not fucking talk about this?” Roy mumbled, eyes darting to the door when he heard footsteps coming from the hallway.

“Later then,” Ted promised Roy as Beard and Nate came into view, lighting up at the sight of Ted. “We can talk about this later.”

Fucking hell. Roy hated knowing that Ted would keep his fucking word.

After training ended for the day, he rushed out of Nelson Road, hoping to avoid that talk Ted promised him. As he stepped into the parking lot, he saw a familiar ponytail, just before its wearer put up her hood to shield herself from a paparazzo.

“Come on, Bucky,” the photographer tutted as his camera clicked. “Just one smile, come on.”

Fists clenched, jaw set, Roy took a step towards them. “Oi. Fuck d’you think you’re doing?” It was aggravating how familiar this felt today; it was even worse to see it aimed at her.

The photographer aimed his camera at Roy. “Say cheese, Kent,” he hummed.

With a scowl, he stormed forward and, not for the first time in his life, snatched the offending camera. He ripped out the SD card. He let the camera drop to the floor with a crash before he held the card up to the paparazzo’s face and snapped it in half.

“Leave. Her. Alone,” he growled, shoving the SD card pieces into his jacket pocket. “She is a fucking Olympic gold medalist, you twat. Would you treat fucking Jason Kenny or Michael Phelps that way? I don’t fucking think so.” He pulled out his wallet and took out a few bills, throwing them on the floor with the broken camera. “Stop hounding her. Get a fucking life.”

Roy glowered as he watched the photographer scamper off without either the broken camera or the cash, back to whatever pit of hell he’d slinked out of. Once the scum was out of sight, Roy turned around to see a pair of wide eyes already staring at him. He grimaced at her, his tense shoulders softening.

“Shit, sorry,” he mumbled, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I know you don’t need me to defend you. You can handle yourself. I know that.” When she didn’t say anything, he rambled on. “And I bet having me come to your rescue isn’t exactly the most helpful story to have in the press. But fuck.” He shrugged, kicking a stray rock. “Sick of the way they treat you,” he sighed. “Like you did some horrible thing. And then they either leave me alone or, worse, act like I won some prize. It’s fucking nuts.” He shook his head. “You don’t deserve- It’s all so- I’m just fucking-”

Roy nearly jumped out of his skin when she reached forward and touched his hand, gently taking it in hers and giving it a small squeeze.

“Thank you.”

His mouth went dry as he gulped, immediately missing the warmth of her hand as she pulled back. “You’re welcome,” he managed.

She glanced at her watch. “I gotta go,” she murmured. “Got a date.” There was a hint of a teasing lilt to her voice, one that was almost friendly enough to stop Roy’s heart from sinking at the word date.

“With your boyfriend?” It took all his strength not to spit out the word.

Her eyes somehow grew wider. “Oh, no, he’s not my boyfriend.” Fuck, she said that quickly. “And I was joking about the date thing. I’m actually taking Coach Lasso out for a beer.” She shrugged, a ghost of playfulness in her eye. “Find out what all the fuss is about. See what’s so great about him.”

Roy couldn’t help the way the corner of his mouth ticked upwards. “Let me know if you find out,” he joked, his heart fluttering at their first real conversation since the photos came out. “I’m still trying to understand it.”

Before she could say something- something clever, probably- the doors opened, and Ted emerged, raising an eyebrow when he saw the two managers standing so close to one another.

“You joining us for a pint, Roy?” Ted asked, nodding eagerly. “It’d be great if you did! Three’s Company, after all. We could use a Janet.” He turned to Bucky. “Unless you want to be Janet. Then we’d need a Chrissy.”

“Let me know if you figure out what the hell he just said,” Roy mumbled, giving her a gentle shove with his shoulder, not caring if Ted could hear him. “Good luck.”

“Bye, Roy.” She turned to Ted. “Let’s go get that pint.”

Roy watched as the two Americans walked off, immediately diving into an intense conversation about some 1970s sitcom. Despite the shit day he’d had, he couldn’t help but feel good when he climbed into his car. As he gripped the steering wheel, he stared at his hand, the one she’d touched. He couldn’t help the involuntary flex he gave, the words he’s not my boyfriend floating around in his head. Sure, he was still hurting, he was still in absolute agony. But for the first time in a while, probably since he first saw her with that prick journalist, Roy Kent also felt hope.

~

Taglist: @optimisticsandwichgladiator@reading-blogs@callmecasey81@ladygrey03@puckyou-forpuckssake@royalestrellas@shineforever19 @rae4725 @burnafter-reading @her-fandom-sanctum @infinetlyforgotten@giggling-sewer-ginger@whataloadofmalarkey@agentstarkid@kingleahhh@tortilla-maria1@geekgirl1996 @amatswimming @meg-ro@spicyraccoonlordking@spaghetti-dad187@needlesthreadandbuttons@elissaaa @imsoluckyeverythingworksoutforme @reverieisaway@djskakakaksjsj-blog@thatonedogwithablog@allthetroubleiveseen@sunderland-6 @netflix-addict @paranormal-is-my-life@jill2629-blog@itsbuzzfeedbitch@pretzelactivist@amieinghigh@kashee-h@beingalive1@mythicalbinicorn@needyomega@kno-way-home@janalustare@sssatorus@its-a-rich-mans-world@confessionsofatotaldramaslut@hesitant-alien33@katie-sheep-111 @bonesbonesetc @seacactusplant@thebookwormlife @dreamscape22 @rae4725 @timelordhunterandmysterysolver@littleesilvia @anonurs @itswhateveripromise @chewymoustachio @gcidrvsh @katdahlali

[mayhemakinguser]

Task Force 141 x Reader PART 4

Author: *watching MW2 Tiktoks*

Also Author: *REMEMBERS SHE WAS SUPPOSED TO BE WRITING PART 4 OF HER DAMN SERIES*

Author: *RUNS TO GET HER KEYBOARD AND ACTUALLY STARTS TYPING.*

IM SO SORRY BUT HERE IT IS OK I'LL STOP ACTING LIKE A DRONGO HERE WE GO

<story is beginning...>

"Damn," you wheeze out, pushing yourself up. "No mercy, eh?"

You're sparring with Ghost again because somehow, you defeated every one else on the Task Force. Except for the Captain, of course, you haven't had the chance to spar with him yet. You were itching for that though, on God. He could throw you around anytime...

Ghost scoffs, crossing his arms over his chest. "Say that when you have a gun to your head. The enemies won't take kindly to you."

You hum, standing back up. You gesture at him. "One more time."

"Again?" Rudy inquires, surprised. You two have been at it for almost hours.

"I want to at least get close enough to actually beat him." You mimic Ghost's stance. "I wanna beat... Ghostie."

He gives you the most dead stare in the world. "...What the hell did you just call me?"

"Ghostie. Get it? You're a liutenant, or LT. Ghost, your call sign and you get Ghostie!" You grin. Soap and Alejandro are snickering in the background. You clearly aren't very imaginative when it comes to creating nicknames.

"You are not calling me that."

"Take it or leave it, sir. There is no other alternative. Unless..." Your eyes sparkle. "You wanna be Casper."

Soap can't hold it in anymore; unleash the Scottish tea kettle. Alejandro is laughing so obnoxiously, you thought the whole base would hear him. Gaz doubles over, hand over his mouth to contain his giggles. Rudy had that disappointed white mom look- all he needed was a sweater to wrap himself in.

Ghost narrowed his eyes at you. But was that a twinkle of mirth and amusement in his gaze? You thought so before Ghost rolls his eyes, turning away and walking to get his water bottle.

"Oi, we a'int finished yet! No breaks!" you call.

"Have Soap train with you then," he replies monotonously.

"I'd rather die than train with that man again. He sucks."

"I AM RIGHT HERE, CASANOVA." Soap strides over to you and gives you a rough shoulder shove with a grin.

You smirk. "Whatever, Handwash."

Soap complains loudly and the Captain walks in, taking in the scene. "Doing some practice, are we?"

All of you guys nod in affirmation. He smiles proudly.

"Casanova is fitting in pretty well," Gaz responds, his smile full of nice white teeth. You figured since it was Britain, everyone would got some crooked ass teeth, but nah. These fellas are the hottest guys on earth. Gaz fires a wink at you and you can't help but smirk. "She and Ghost would be a deadly duo, to be honest. Soap can't keep up."

Soap flips him off and Price chuckles.

"Good. Because we have another mission. Laswell will give you all a debriefing and then we're headed out. Are you ready, Casanova?" Price looks at you straight in the eyes, waiting for your answer.

You salute with a goofy smile. "Was born ready, Cap'n. It'll be nice to see Laswell again."

"Yeah, she thinks quite highly of you, Casanova," Price responds with a nod. "Now, let's put that potential to action. Follow me."

All of the team follows their leader with zero hesitation. You stare at the way Price walks and the urge to just grab him is almost impossible to ignore. His hips sure as hell don't lie...

-TIME SKIP BC AUTHOR ISN'T SURE HOW THE MISSION "Cartel Protection" EXACTLY GOES...-

"Been there before, Ale?" you ask, shouldering your SMG on your shoulder. The whole team was on their way to Mexico, to a village that was overun by the cartel there.

He snorts. "Of course! Mexico is my home after all, and I've already had my share with this cartel..." Alejandro scoffs in disgust.

You sniff and lean your head back. You've never been to Mexico before- honestly, you haven't to a lot of places, besides Afghanistan. And that didn't go so swell...

You shake your head again, leg bouncing up and down. You didn't want to admit it, but you were nervous. Nervous that things could go horribly wrong again. That it would be all your fault... For fuck's sake, why now? You've been able to block out the terrible memories, yet now all of sudden they came back to haunt you.

Flashes of gunfire. Explosions. Comrades screaming in pain.

"It's all up to you, Casanova! Go! Now!"

"But Liuetanent-!"

"CASANOVA, IT'S AN ORDER! LEAVE ME BEHIND!"

"NO! I CAN'T LOSE YOU TOO! PLEASE!"

Rudy nudges your shoulder and you flinch.

"Lo siento," he whispers, studying your torn expression. "But..." He trails off and a small smile appears on his face. Rudy nods reassuringly.

You inhale and slowly exhale, banishing the memories, screeching to be remembered. "Gracias, amigo."

He nods once more and leaves you alone. Rudy sensed something was churning in your mind, and that always wasn't a good thing before getting into battle. Good soldiers die that way.

And you knew that all too well.

<end of part>

IM SORRY ITS SUPER SHORT BUT I HAVE TO DO MORE RESEARCH BEFORE I WRITE A MISSION I HAVE BARELY ANY INFO ABOUT- And I have things to do, so take this for a moment im sorry again T^T

Hoped you enjoy this, im trying very hard to get you a moment with every member, so please dont mind the tiny scenes with you and another member... I want the quality time to be equal and not leaned towards just one character, because at the end, like I said, you'll be able to choose which character to be with! :D

Part 5 arriving shortly...!

[the-lonelybarricade]

A Ripple, A Tidal Wave - Part I

Summary: An AU where Feyre encounters a very different faerie in the woods. One she decides not to kill.

A contribution to @officialfeysandweek2023. Starfall = fallen star = sad, injured bat, right?

Read on AO3

-

The forest had become a labyrinth of snow and ice.

Feyre flexed her fingers. They’d gone stiff from the cold. The worn leather from her father’s old carving glove hardly fought off the chill of the gusting wind that cut through the clearing, lashing against the thicket of trees at its parameter where she had been crouched for the better part of an hour.

It was impossible to keep her hands from going numb in these conditions. Still, she flexed them, praying for the blood to rush back into the fingers she had curled around her drawstring. Feyre had overheard the village’s hunters in the marketplace, talking about the wolf tracks they had seen. Pawprints as large as your head. An embellishment, surely, but that didn’t change that the wolves would only come this close to the village for the same reason that Feyre would delve this deep into the woods.

They were hungry.

Winter was harsh for everyone. Even the forest was restless—too quiet, too still. She wouldn’t have risked coming here, knowing there were wolves, if her family wasn’t desperate. As far as they were concerned, Ferye would either return with food, or be taken by the forest so that they had one less mouth to feed. It was favorable for them either way.

Unless Feyre returned empty handed, which was looking more and more likely the longer she crouched in the snow, watching the sun’s slow descent across the horizon through gritted teeth. Only a few more hours left of daylight. Soon she would need to turn back lest she try to navigate her way in the dark and double her chances of getting eaten by wolves.

In the back of her mind, she could already hear Nesta’s disapproving snort. The way her vicious eyes would cut immediately to Feyre’s empty hands, how she’d cross her arms over her chest and hurtle all number of accusations without saying anything at all. Nesta had a gift for communicating her every hostile thought with one single, withering glance. Feyre had witnessed her sister grind men to dust without so much as opening her mouth.

Sometimes, pinned beneath that look, Feyre wanted to cry to her, then why don’t you do it?

But Nesta wouldn’t. And neither would Elain. And their injured father couldn’t. So it was Feyre, stalking through the woods, letting the ice soak into her bones. One day, someone would ask what had turned Feyre Archeron so cold and she would point to the forest. It was here her heart had frozen over. It was here, she’d traded her innocence for survival.

Here, it was kill or be killed.

Feyre began rising from the snow-heavy brambles, stifling a groan at the protest of her stiff limbs. She froze, mid-way through stretching, as a great, terrible noise erupted through the forest. It was pure, blood-pumping instinct that threw Feyre’s body back to the ground, covering in the bramble like she expected blowback from the sound. Like the warning rumble of thunder before the lethal strike of lightning.

The howling wind stilled. There was no mass retreat of wildlife, no birds escaping to the skies. It was like everything held its breath, terrified of being caught by the creature as it bellowed another anguished roar.

It wasn’t like any wolf Feyre had ever heard.

She needed to leave. Now.

Still ducked beneath the bush, Feyre angled her head towards the forest, eyes darting across the tangled roots and underbrush to chart the best path back to the village. One that would offer coverage, would give her a fighting chance if the beast—whatever it was—decided to pursue.

The noise came again. Softer, now, more wounded. Had it been attacked? Or was it mimicking injury to lure its prey closer?

Her heart was beating so quickly that each beat leapt into her throat. The brush rustled on the other side of the clearing. It was coming towards her. It was too late to run. She drew her bow, ignoring the tremble in her fingers, how the air was collecting in front of her in short, breathless exhales.

Feyre peered through the thorns.

The wings stood out to her first. Large, membranous bat-like wings. They had been what caused the rustling, for they dragged against the ground, catching on the underbrush.

More startling than the wings, however, was that they belong to a man. No, a faerie. He was too far away to glimpse his pointed ears, but the wings certainly gave it away. He was stumbling forward, an arm slung protectively around his bleeding stomach while the other pushed aside the wayward tree branches. His entire body slumped inwards, around the wound at his center that trekked blood in a ruby-red path behind him.

When he made it to the center of the clearing, his knees gave out, and he stumbled face-first into the snow. Feyre held her position for several breaths, eyes fixed intently on his shoulders, watching their shallow rise and fall as pool of blood collected beneath him.

Her arrow was still notched, still aimed at him through the brush.

He was a faerie. She should have killed him for that fact alone.

His body twitched, then stilled.

Maybe he was already dead. Maybe she should shoot him, just for good measure. Put him out of his misery.

It would be a waste of an arrow, she decided. He looked dead. Besides, there was still the threat of whatever had done this to him. She pushed her aim higher, monitoring the thicket he had come from. She should be running. She should be gone.

Her aim dipped back to the male lying helpless in the snow.

Snow-tipped wind nudged playfully at the wisps of his blue-back hair. It was the color of the night sky when no stars touched it.

From the amount of blood coloring the snow beneath him, he was almost certainly dead.

Feyre lifted from her crouch. The icy snow crunched under her fraying boots. Her mouth felt dry.

He looked so… so still.

She drew her knife and edged closer, more of him coming into view. Those wings were so much larger—so much more stunning, more horrific—up close. Now, she could see the sun warming their leathery surface, glinting off the sharp claw that rested at each apex. A useless part of her stirred, the part that was fascinating by colors and shadows and the way the sunlight illuminated the veins in his wings. She felt oddly tempted to reach her hand out and touch them.

Except they twitched, and Feyre faltered a step back, nearly stumbling.

Not dead yet, then.

Her grip on the knife tightened. It was difficult to tell with his face in the snow, but Feyre thought he looked young, not much older than Nesta. Though the fae were immortal and he could just as easily be centuries old.

For a creature that could defy time itself, he didn’t look very intimidating now. If she looked past the wings, she could almost pretend he was just a wounded man. Someone who was suffering with every slowing breath. Someone who… someone who needed help.

Inwardly, she was screaming at herself, wondering why she didn’t just bury the knife in his back and run. Or better yet, the asharrow that had sat unused in her quiver for the last three years.

She touched his hair. It was soft, silken yet damp from the snow. She tightened her fingers and used that grip to, as delicately as she could, turn his head to the side. He groaned, a barely conscious sound that told her he was still alive.

For a moment, Feyre could do nothing but stare at the face before her. He was the most beautiful man she’d ever seen, even with the sweat and snow clinging to his skin, and the way his face pinched in pain. He had full, sensuous lips that she ordinarily might have been tempted to study, were they not parted open to expel slow, shallow breaths.

His eyes were shut, and behind his eyelids she could see his pupils moving rapidly.

It wouldn’t even be necessary to stab him. She could leave him here and he would undoubtedly be dead by morning, buried beneath layers of snow. No one would miss him, certainly not in the mortal village. And judging by the mortal wound his own kind must have dealt him, Feyre doubted he would be missed beyond the wall, either.

She stared at him, feeling an unexpected sense of dread, of pity, rise within her. Objectively, she knew that it was absurd to feel bad for him. He was a faerie, and if he weren’t gravely injured, it would likely have been her blood seeping into the snow.

But no one would care if she didn’t come out of the woods, either.

It could have been her laying face down in the snow. No one would have bothered to come looking for her. No one would have helped.

Praying for mercy from the long forgotten gods—as if they would even indulge her for being so foolish—Feyre sheathed her knife. Their options were limited. Sundown was fast approaching and he was… he was ginormous. It wasn’t as if she could run to the village for help, they would sooner finish the job. And he was too heavy to carry back to the cottage. Not that she would. Nesta and Elain would never agree to help him.

No, she needed to take him somewhere close and out of the snow so that she could take a closer look at his wounds. The only thing that came to mind was a small, deserted hunter’s shack further in the forest, leftover from a time when humans felt comfortable enough to venture that close to the wall. Or a time when they were desperate enough to risk it.

The first difficult task would be getting him onto his back. She’d need to drag him a way’s through the forest and she couldn’t risk the dirt and undergrowth catching in his wound. With the wings, turning him over would be a cumbersome task—especially given that they looked heavy.

After several moments of deliberation, puzzling over the best approach, Feyre decided to forgo caution and just move him. It was better than letting him bleed out in the snow. But the second her hand curled around the edge of his wing, his eyes snapped opened.

Feyre dropped it immediately, letting the massive appendage fall back to the snow with a soft smack. He groaned.

His eyes fluttered shut again, giving her the confidence to step forward. “I’m trying to help you,” she said to him. “I don’t… I’ve never met someone with wings before. So you have to be patient with me.”

He made a gurgling noise in the back of his throat, like he was choking on something liquid. Then a moment later his wing fluttered, trying to lift it, and Feyre decided she could meet him halfway. With the faerie taking some of the weight off, she was able to fold the wing to the side.

“Thank you,” she said. Then, “If you thought that was bad, this next part isn't going to be very fun.”

Feyre could almost mistake his answering grunt for a laugh. She took that as permission to haul him upwards from beneath the shoulder, trying to both lift and roll him onto his side. He hissed—a weak, agonized sound that raised every hair on her arms.

“You’re almost there,” she said, not letting the noise deter her movements. If she did, it would only prolong the pain. “Just suck it up a little more.”

It felt like pushing a boulder up a hill. Feyre was panting by the time she got him propped on his side, and from there it was only a matter of letting gravity do the rest. She rolled him, inelegantly, onto his back, wincing at the way his wing had folded under him. It wasn’t perfect, or comfortable, but nothing about this experience would be.

He slumped into the snow once it was done, tilting his head back in exhaustion like he had been the one to lift a male twice his size. Though, from the wounds splitting across his torso—the worst of them a deep gash stretching from his sternum to his naval—Feyre supposed she shouldn’t be complaining.

The sight of the gore made her feel dizzy. She turned away, pressing a hand to her mouth like it might do anything to ease the rising bile in her throat. Feyre swallowed, trying to steady herself. Would whatever creature that had done this to him come for her next for trying to help? Would they come for Nesta and Elain?

“Rh—ys.”

It took Feyre a moment to register that he had spoken. Or tried to, at any rate.

“What?”

“Rhys,” he choked out, eyes opened to barely-there slits.

“Is that… your name?”

He just huffed, which Feyre took to mean yes.

“Well, Rhys,” she said, stepping around his body to kneel at his head. Her arms slid under his shoulders, securely his body beneath his armpits. “I hope those wings aren’t sensitive, because you and I have a long journey to make through those woods.”

[usermischief]

chapter 59: it’s just your shadow on the floor Warnings: violence

You can read it on AO3 as well.

---

“If you think this is helping,” Stiles mutters, squinting at the shadow figure on the ground, “let me assure you that it’s really not.”

Lydia cackles, not even try to hide her amusement when Jackson shoots her a look. “At least I’m trying.”

“Sure, you are.” Theo pulls Stiles closer and props his chin on his shoulder. “What’s that supposed to be?”

Jackson makes an elaborate gesture with his hands. “A bird!”

Once more, Stiles squints at the shadow figure on the ground. Maybe if he turns his head a little? Nope, still can’t see it. Not that it would’ve helped anyway. “If you say so.” Stiles furrows his brows and hovers a hand over the shadow, trying his hardest to imagine a bird to create something. Still, neither the shadows nor the darkness cooperates. They give him nothing but a headache.

Sighing, Stiles drops his hand.

“You suck at this,” Theo chuckles.

Stiles bristles and whips around.

“Not you.” Theo quickly leans forward and presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Jackson.”

“If you can do it better, please, after you.”

“I think,” Lydia interrupts what easily could’ve turned into either a ridiculous competition or an argument, “Stiles needs a break.” Offering him a small smile, she leans back in her pool chair and pulls her blanket up to her shoulders. Her curls move in the cool breeze.

Jackson huffs, but whatever complaint he intended to throw around got stuck in his throat the very moment Lydia places a hand on his thigh. Instead, he falls back against his chair and crosses his arms with something that could only be described as a pout.

Theo wraps his arms around him and kisses the nape of his neck. “You’ll throw shadow stars around in no time, babe.” It’s supposed to be an encouragement, yet it sounds like Stiles has fallen off a bike and worries to get back on. He sounds as if it didn’t matter that Stiles created weapons for the sole purpose of attacking him.

That it didn’t matter he tried to kill him.

It doesn’t make any sense.

Unless maybe Stiles is simply bitter and prone to holding a grudge. But Theo holds grudges too. His hatred for Scott is rooted in a fight from their past, one he never forgave him for. Yet when it comes to Stiles, he bounces back like it’s nothing.

Stiles wonders if he should be grateful for this. If perhaps he should be happy that Theo doesn’t hate him after everything he’s done.

He would lie if he said he wasn't utterly relieved that Theo still wanted to be with him, yet, part of him needed Theo to at least show some sort of emotion regarding everything that happened. He needed a reaction. Not the prayer of, ‘it wasn’t you’ everyone keeps reciting whenever he brings it up. That’s only pushing the reality away from them.

Because this is Stiles. 

And now, he is scared of touching Theo, who has no reservations at all.

It’s not fair.

Stiles pulls Theo’s arms away from him and gets to his feet. “I’m going to bed.” He would’ve preferred to go to his own bed, with Isaac on the ground next to him, so he can check on him whenever he wakes up and see he's okay. But Stiles knows they’ll have to go back to normal at one point — and today would be that day whether he wants to or not because his dad and Jordan just so happened to work a double tonight. They want this to happen in a safe environment, and being with Theo is about the safest he can be.

“Okay, let’s head-“

“No,” Stiles smiles at Theo, trying to somehow diminish the hardness of this one word, “it’s fine. You don’t have to.” Although Stiles isn’t looking at the others, he can feel the heaviness in the air as they’re exchanging what they probably think are sneaking glances. They’re not. Not even a little bit.

Their silence lasts a little too long. “Sure,” Theo agrees eventually.

“G’night.”

“Night.”

Stiles can feel Theo staring at him when he slips into the living room. His gaze is heavy, almost dragging him back to his warmth. But he needs space. To breathe. To think. To get settled for a night that’s not going to be easy. He hurries upstairs, takes two steps at a time and switches the lights on the moment he’s entered Theo’s room. He glances around.

There’s nobody there.

The only shadow he needs to be afraid of is his own.

But he’s not afraid of people jumping him in the dark, the people who want him don’t need cover. He’s afraid of the dark because it’s whispering to him, bad things, wrong things. It’s promising him power, unlimited, destructive — violent. He’s never felt more uncomfortable in the dark than he does right now.

And he hates it.

Swallowing around the lump in his throat, he crosses the room and turns on the lamp on the nightstand then switches the overhead light off.

It’s so fucking stupid. He feels like a little kid afraid of the basement. It shouldn’t be like that. This is supposed to be his element.

Stiles studies the shadows, dancing on the walls. Everything, every single inch of it was at his very fingertips only a few days ago. He’s sure it’s still there. All he has to do is reach out.

The door clicks open.

Stiles presses his lips together.

“Don’t even start.” Theo closes the door behind him and leans against it.

“I haven’t said anything.”

“You don’t need to.” Theo crosses the room, brushing past him, “your body posture tells me everything I need to know.”

Letting out a breath, Stiles relaxes his shoulders and watches Theo plop onto his bed, legs spread, eyes narrowed. “What?” He can feel the argument brewing beneath their skins. It’s been coming the whole day, every time Theo shifts closer, Stiles pulls away. They spent the whole day together. Neither Jackson nor Theo went to school. The brothers tried their best to act normal around him, but as good as an actor Theo is, his mask slipped every time Stiles pulled away from him.

“So, you’re going to be scared of being near me for the rest of your life?” Theo presses his lips together, trying to feign disinterest — something he’s usually terrible at, and he’s not exactly doing a great job now. Unsurprisingly. Theo has never been disinterested in anything when it comes to Stiles.

“I’m not scared.”

“Right.”

Stiles grinds his teeth. “Give me a fucking break,” he snaps, clenching his hands into fists.

“I did.” Theo pushes to his feet again, anger radiating off him. “I stayed away for a week, and it’s killing me.”

“Do you really think this was easy for me?” Stiles shoots back. Staying away from Theo made everything so much harder, the healing, dealing with his nightmares. The only thing keeping him sane was Isaac's constant presence in his room. That way he knew that at least he was safe. “I can’t hurt you again, Theo. I am not safe to be around until I get this under control.”

“Then let me help you!” Theo reaches out to grab his face.

Stiles slaps his hands away, and the pain on his mate’s face hurts more than anything else. It’s agony, bright and burning. No matter what he does, staying away or being close, he’ll always end up hurting the person he loves the most. “I can’t—”

“No, you won’t.” Theo shakes his head and crosses his arms over his chest. “That’s a difference.”

“I don’t trust myself around you. Not right now.” The admission burns on his tongue, but honesty is the least he can offer Theo right now.

“That’s okay.”

Stiles stares at him for a moment. What the hell? “Nothing about this is okay.”

Still, Theo smiles, like he knows something Stiles isn’t aware of. “I’ll trust you. Enough for the both of us.” He makes it sound easy, possible, as if the unwavering faith Theo has in him could somehow change what happened, what could very well happen again.

It’s not that easy.

Yet when Theo reaches out to him again, Stiles allows to be wrapped up in his arms, and it feels like coming home after a long nightmare.

———

“Are you sure it’s a good idea to be alone at the moment?”

Stiles closes his eyes for a deep breath then fixes his gaze on the tombstone in front of him once more. “I don’t need a babysitter.” He pushes his hands in the pockets of Theo’s hoodie. The scent of his aftershave is distinct. It keeps him grounded, but his heart still beats like a drum.

She greets him with a slight smile. “I know.” As she steps forward, she holds out a vase with a few flowers. “That’s not why I’m here.”

A cool breeze rustles through the graveyard. Stiles pulls Theo’s hoodie tighter around him, watching as Kira puts the vase down and brushes leaves away from the tombstone.

Tracy Stewart.

Stiles stomach churns, and he turns away. Maybe Lydia was right. Maybe he shouldn’t have come here. But he couldn’t say goodbye. He couldn’t apologize for what he did to her, couldn’t explain why he did it — although it wouldn’t be an excuse. I succumbed to my anger. I was jealous of you. Peter got into my head. Nothing he could say or do would ever be enough. There’s no way to make it up to her. He killed her because he wanted to, and the only person who truly seems to blame him for it is Noshiko. Everyone else seems to excuse it with ‘losing control’ because he’s new to this. It’s normal. Losing control happens to every newly turned supernatural creature.

All he has to do is learn to move on.

Stiles squeezes his eyes shut and takes a deep breath. “Why are you here?” he asks as Kira gets to her feet again.

Smiling softly, she hooks her arms around his. “It’s my fault.”

“You didn’t kill her.”

“I might as well have.” Kira looks at her feet and pulls her shoulders up. “Brett was worried about what state we’d find you in, so I pushed for her to go in with Theo. He didn’t want to bring her.”

Stiles raises his brows. “He didn’t?” The very reason he lost control in the first place, the very reason he nearly killed Theo; it wasn’t even Theo’s fault. Peter would’ve known that. Of course, he lied. Stiles expected and still fell for it.

“No.” Kira shakes her head. “I insisted because of mom. Brett didn’t think it would be a good idea… and he was right. It’s my fault.” She covers her face with her hands, crying quietly.

Stiles wraps her into his arms. “It’s not your fault.” He doesn’t know what else to say. She couldn’t have known, after all. Nobody could’ve expected how far Stiles was actually gone. Still, it certainly explains why they were taking all the precautions, why they made sure no-one but his friends would be there to cross Stiles’ path.

“I should’ve known better,” she mutters against his shoulders, wrapping her arms around him, fingers curling into the fabric of Theo’s hoodie. “I know what can happen when the fox takes control.” She tightens her grip on him.

Stiles rubs her back. Dread pools in his stomach. Of course, she knows. She’s been in his situation before. Her fox made her kill someone as well. Nobody blamed her for killing that chimera — especially not Stiles. He’s had countless discussions with his dad while being torn between defending his friend and defending his dad for doing his job.

And during all of that, Kira was eaten up by guilt.

She’s been where he is right now.

Stiles pulls back and cups her face. “We’ll make it up to them.” His father’s words echo deep in his soul.

“How?” Kira scrunches her brows together, wiping another set of tears away.

“By protecting this town.” Stiles sets his jaw. That’s his job. It’s the one thing the nemeton entrusted him with, and he’s not going to disappoint it again — he’s going to make sure that every single threat setting foot into Beacon Hills will never get out alive.

Kira blinks a couple of tears away and narrows her eyes then nods once.

They both took an innocent life, the only way to feel better about that in any way, is to make sure something like that won’t happen again — neither by their hands nor by anyone else’s. “First things first…”

“The Dread Doctors.” Kira steps away and wipes the last traces of her tears away with her sleeve. 

Stiles nods. Exactly. It’s time to rid the world of them, preferably before they manage to find a suitable host for their beast. Although the mural shows that the beast might be able to be stopped by Jordan, Stiles would prefer if they could prevent that from ever happening. There is no way to tell what the collateral damage may be. In a fight like this, too many people could end up in the crossfire.

And if even Theo is afraid of it, that’s saying something.

“Want to grab a bite to eat?”

Kira draws her brows together. “School’s starting soon.”

“My treat.” Stiles pulls a shoulder up for a half-shrug.

For a moment, she’s watching Stiles quietly but the smile tugging on her lips is answer enough. 

———

“No, no. You need to-“ Kira places her hands on his shoulders, digging her fingers in as if to prove a point. “You’re way too tense.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Stiles mutters, lowering his hands and pulling his shoulders up. “Last time I did this, I attacked Theo.” Using his new powers isn’t exactly connected to great memories or positive emotions. He understands that’s exactly what is hindering him. Just because he knows that, however, doesn’t mean he can change it. Thinking about using his magic makes him feel powerful which in turn scares the living hell out of him. It doesn’t only bring back the memories of Eichen House, but also what happened while he was possessed.

Kira sits down on her chair and reaches for the electric candle in the middle of the dining table. Currently that is their only light source in Theo’s living room. She taps her nail against the glass and pulls her hand away. A thin line of electricity follows the movement of her finger before settling in the palm of her hand. There, it twists into an incomplete circle and chases itself. Kira closes her fist around it. When she opens her hand again, it’s gone.

“You are the one in control,” she reminds him and crosses her arms on the table. “The darkness can’t do anything you don’t want it to do.”

Right.

He is in control.

Stiles is completely in control of everything the darkness does.

Taking a deep breath, Stiles reaches into the darkness again. He closes his eyes, trying to get a feel for the shadows again. Kira made it look so easy. Fuck, he had made it look so easy. The darkness bent to his will. He barely had to do anything, now, he’s starting from zero once more.

“Don’t make it too complicated,” Kira says, drawing another string of electricity from the candle, causing it to flicker.

Stiles nods. Not too complicated. Sure. He can do that. A string then, nothing more, nothing less. Just enough to make the darkness move with him.

But it doesn’t move.

It refuses to cooperate.

Kira grabs his hand, squeezing his fingers tightly. “Don’t focus on a shape. I want you to hold it in your hand and keep it there.”

That doesn’t sound too complicated. It doesn’t sound dangerous. It sounds like something he should be able to do. Stiles closes his eyes again, focusing on Kira’s fingers and tries to imagine that the darkness is doing the same — holding his hand, squeezing his fingers. Maybe it’s easier this way, giving some weight to it, pretending it’s something real, something he can touch.

There is something moving, brushing past the palm of his hand. He grabs it and pulls his hand back into the light.

The front door slams open, banging against the wall and cutting through the silence of the house. Stiles startles, losing his grip on the darkness in the palm of his hand. It vanishes into thin air.

He lets out a breath.

Kira frowns and turns towards the hallway.

“What is your fucking problem?” Brett waltzes into the room and flicks on the lights.

Stiles winces. “You want a list?”

“I want you to answer your fucking phone, Stiles.” Brett throws his backpack on the couch and crosses his arms, glaring at him.

Isaac sets his own bag down, glancing around the room.

“You know where I am at all times,” Stiles reminds him. Not only Brett but Jordan and Theo as well.

Brett massages the bridge of his nose. “That doesn’t mean you’re safe.”

“You can feel-“

“Distress,” Brett interrupts him icily, “is kind of your baseline. It’s hard to tell-“ he cuts himself off as he grabs Stiles’ phone and tosses it sat him. “Just answer your fucking phone.”

Stiles rolls his eyes.

“Do not,” Brett explodes, and Isaac grabs his friend’s jacket, stopping him from advancing on Stiles. “You were gone for two and a half weeks. Don’t you dare roll your eyes at me.” His eyes narrow, yellow burning underneath his lashes as he glares at him.

Isaac presses a hand to his chest. “Relax.”

“Oh, fuck off.” Brett shoves him and turns away. Growling low in his throat, he rips the curtains open and steps out into the backyard. Anger vibrates through their connection, becoming increasingly more distracting by the second.

Stiles rubs his chest and stares at his phone. Six missed calls, thrice as many text messages from Theo and the others. His father doesn’t seem to know about his lack of communication at the moment, or he would’ve been right there with them.

“Lydia told us Kira didn’t show up at school, and she said it’s not like you to stay away without a word.” Isaac pulls out a chair and sits down opposite Kira. “It really freaked us out when neither of you answered the phone.” He offers them a small smile and shrugs half-heartedly.

Kira fidgets with the flashlight, looking as guilty as they come. “We were training…”

“I get that,” Isaac says softly. “Just keep an eye on your phones next time.”

They both nod, knowing there isn’t really much else to say. It’s a fair request, especially after Stiles has been kidnapped not too long ago. If he’s being entirely honest, Theo not being here before Brett and Isaac is more than a little surprising. Beacon Hills High is a twenty minute drive from here, Devenford Prep meanwhile is twice as far away.

Stiles glances out the open French door. Although he can’t say he knows Brett too well, his leaving the situation instead of dishing out passive-aggressive remarks seems odd. He doubts Brett would ever let go of a chance like that. Sighing, he gets to his feet and walks outside, blinking against the bright autumnal sun. It’s his fault Lydia freaked everyone out, after all, so it’s only fair if he catches the brunt of everyone’s frustration.

Sitting on a chair by the pool, Brett stares into the water. “Theo should be here in around ten minutes. Fifteen if he drives responsibly.”

Stiles snorts. “Sounds like you don’t know Theo very well.”

“Trust me,” Brett says in a low voice, “I got to know your boyfriend very well in those seventeen days you were gone.” He looks up at him, studying Stiles for a few seconds before looking back at the water. “I’d wager he’s here in seven minutes.”

Stiles sits down on a chair next to him. “Twenty bucks, he’ll be here in five.” He holds out his hand.

Brett shakes it with a chuckle then falls back against the chair and closes his eyes. He’d almost look peaceful if not for the tight line he’s keeping his shoulders in or the way he clenches his jaw. Something else is clearly bothering him.

Neither of them checks their phone for the time.

Glancing back at the water, Stiles shifts into a cross-legged position on the desk chair. “So,” he clears his throat, not quite sure how to broach the subject of whatever is going on in Brett’s head, “how’d you get here so fast?”

“Isaac.” Brett sits back up, propping his left leg on the chair and crosses his arms over his knee. “He wasn’t doing well. I didn’t know what else to do, so I brought him here.”

“Probably a good idea.” Despite being fully aware of co-dependency being unhealthy, for now, it’s what they both have to deal with. Convincing Kira to skip school wasn’t entirely selfless. Stiles didn’t want to be alone either. For nearly two weeks, Isaac was his rock. The only reason they’re both getting any sleep was because Isaac camping on his bedroom floor.

Brett tugs on a loose string of fabric. “He didn’t sleep at all tonight,” his voice is so quiet, Stiles nearly didn’t hear him talk, “and I don’t know what to do.” Probably not separating them already. That would fucking help.

But Stiles keeps his mouth shut. He knows better.

“I can’t help him.”

Shit. Stiles isn’t sure he’s ready for a conversation of this magnitude when it comes to Brett Talbot of all people. “Brett...”

“You know, he told me he’d go looking for you,” he continues, almost as if he hadn’t heard Stiles talk at all. His eyes are locked on the string now tightly curled around finger. “I knew he thought the Dread Doctors could have taken you to the tunnels. I shouldn’t have dismissed it.” He tugs on the string, and his skin turns white. “I should’ve gone with him, but I guess I underestimated his stupidity.” The string snaps and Brett studies it for a moment, eyes narrowed as if he could put all the blame on that thin piece of bright white fabric.

Stiles shakes his head. “Isaac isn’t good with sitting around and waiting,” he tells Brett with a small smile, remembering how Derek told him Isaac got in his face despite being his alpha. “Not even Satomi could have stopped him, trust me.” 

“That’s not exactly reassuring.” Brett drops the string on the chair next to his foot. “But it explains why you two are friends.”

“Hilarious.” Stiles resists the urge to flip him off and shoots him a look instead, but his annoyance vanishes when Brett still looks worried and guilty. It’s not your fault won’t cut it. The words don’t do anything for him, so he doubts they’d change Brett’s mind. Stiles will feel guilty about hurting Theo until the end of days. The feelings will get less intense over time, but they’ll never leave – not completely. “He’s going to be okay.” That much, Stiles is sure of. Isaac is nothing if not resilient.

Brett looks at him, brows drawn together. “How can I help?”

You can’t. Not really. There are some things people have to get out of by themselves. Still, Stiles knows it’s easier when there is someone by your side. “Listen to him. Be there for him. He’ll come to you when he’s ready.”

“Eight minutes!” Isaac calls.

Brett curses under his breath.

Before Stiles is able to understand what’s going on, Theo bursts into the backyard. His eyes flash red, and he jabs a finger in his direction, chest heaving. “You-“

“I already yelled at him,” Brett cuts him off. The chair scrapes over the floor as he gets to his feet and places a hand on his shoulder. “Pretty sure he got the message.” His fingers dig into his shoulder, almost like a warning. After a moment of silence – or some sort of silent communication between Brett and Theo – Brett walks back inside and Theo sits down on the vacated chair.

Stiles squints at him. “No arguing?”

“I can call him back if you want me to.” Theo moves to place a hand on his leg then crosses his arms over his thighs instead. “I’m sure he’d respond unlike a certain someone.”

“It was an honest mistake,” Stiles mutters, sitting back in the chair. “It won’t happen again.” While he very much understands how they’re all worried and on edge, they also have to understand that Stiles can’t run around with his phone taped to his hand. Plus, there will be times when he can’t answer the phone simply because he’s asleep or in the shower or… or what? It’s not like he’s planning on going back to school.

Theo runs his fingers through his hair. “I get it. We know where you are, but-“

“Distress is kind of my baseline, I get it.”

For a moment, Theo doesn’t respond. His face does this weird thing when it’s hard to tell what else he is feeling. He’s worried, Stiles understands that, but there is something else bubbling just underneath the surface — something he is very much trying to hide. Cracking a smile, Theo holds out his hand. “Come here.”

Stiles sighs. “Theo-“

“Humor me.”

Biting the inside of his cheek, Stiles grabs Theo’s hand, lets him intertwine their fingers. Deep down he knows that touching Theo won’t kill him, but it’s the memories, the awareness that he could. The worst part? Theo would let him. While he would fight, while he would defend himself, if it came down to him or Stiles, Theo would stop, he’d let Stiles kill him without a second thought.

Theo squeezes his hand. “Come here, please.”

Stiles’ heartbeat picks up. His whole body aches for Theo’s touch, to sit on his lap and wraps his arms around him, to breathe Theo, feel his warmth, feel at home and at peace. But his head won’t let him. “I love you,” he whispers, wishing there was a way to show Theo just how much he feels for him because words don’t seem like enough especially not right now.

Although Theo tries his hardest to keep his smile, the light in his eyes dims.

And it’s killing Stiles.

“Hey Raeken!” Brett pokes his head out of the door. “Can I talk to you for a sec?”

Sighing, Theo gets to his feet. “Sure,” he mutters, not particularly enthusiastic. Before leaving, he kisses Stiles briefly. “I love you too.” Soft words painted again his lips.

Stiles squeezes his hand. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Theo kisses his forehead then strolls off. The words feel empty. He doesn’t get it. Not really. But not because he isn't trying to see things from Stiles’ perspective.

Stiles gets to his feet and crouches down next to the pool. Guilt burns in his stomach. No matter how much he’s telling Theo he loves him, it doesn’t feel like it’s enough. Not right now. Not with that fear gripping him, with his shadow haunting him wherever he goes. All he wants is Theo to know that he wants it all, for the rest of their lives – that he wants the lazy mornings in bed, that he wants to fight over which movies to watch and what to eat for dinner, he wants to slap Theo’s hands away when he’s trying to eat before Stiles is done cooking, to run out of the house, Theo after him, yelling and shouting at 2am because they’re a mess and they’re in love, and they can’t live without each other.

He wants their imperfection.

He wants everything Theo is willing to give him. He wants to be selfish, to ask Theo to give him his heart when Stiles is too afraid to touch him.

Swallowing, Stiles hovers his hand over the water and watches as nothing happens.

Someone crouches on his left, another one to his right. They don’t say anything. They don’t touch him, merely joining him in watching the water have its own mind.

“I feel weak,” Stiles whispers, lowering his hand until he nearly touches the water. Before Eichen, nature listened to him. His power shrank now that he’s become a nogitsune. He’s lost part of his magic, and he lost the ability to touch the person he loves. Closing his eyes, Stiles sits back and puts his head in his hands.

“You’re not weak,” Kira tells him. “You’re adjusting. It takes some time.” Time, they don’t have with the Dread Doctors still roaming around.

“We all need adjusting.” Isaac sits back down and bends his legs, crossing his arms over his knees. “And that’s because Kira and I were thinking…” he trails off, glances at her over Stiles’ head, grimacing at his own transition. “How about a barbecue?”

Stiles cocks a brow. “Barbecue?”

“Or a pool party?” Kira pulls her shoulders up with a smile.

“Yeah, I don’t think I’m in the mood for people.” Stiles mirrors Isaac’s pose, glancing at him out of the corner of his eye.

Isaac bumps his shoulder. “Me neither, but it’s good for us… and the chimera pack too.”

Stiles lets out a long breath and pulls his legs to his chest. “Yeah,” he drawls, “I’m sure they can’t wait to see me again.”

“They're a little freaked,” Isaac admits, “but they know it’s not- “

“Don’t.” Stiles gets to his feet so fast he nearly loses his balance. “Just-“ he squeezes his eyes shut. If someone else tells him ‘it wasn’t you’, he’s really going to lose his mind. “I’m going for a run.” He needs to clear his head. He needs to be alone for a little while. He’s spent the last week cooped up in his bedroom, alone or with Isaac most of the time. It wasn’t any different while he was at Eichen. But Isaac is probably right. Being with friends, with the pack, it helps.

Regardless, it’s a lot.

Kira gets to her feet. “Stiles-“

But Isaac interrupts her. “Don’t go far.”

———

“You’re not hard to find.”

“I’m not trying to hide.” Stiles props himself up on his elbows, eyeing Theo with a raised brow. “I just wanted to go for a walk.”

Theo hums and sits down next to him. “Comfortable,” he remarks, patting the side of the nemeton, a small smirk curling around the corners of his mouth.

Stiles shrugs. “I wouldn’t recommend sleeping on it.” But it’s a good place to think, to ground himself. Even if the nemeton isn’t here any longer, its roots are, and there is something weirdly reassuring about it.

Theo leans back onto his elbows. “Isaac said the get-together didn’t resonate with you.”

“I’m not exactly a people person at the moment.” Stiles pulls his shoulders up and avoids Theo’s gaze. “Besides, I doubt your pack wants to see me.” They made that pretty obvious by not staying the night when Stiles was unceremoniously dropped off here at Theo’s place yesterday. He can’t really blame them.

“That’s not true.” Hayden’s voice comes out of nowhere, but a moment later, she, Josh, and Corey appear in front of them. Hayden is the only one looking at him. “We want to see you, it’s just…” she trails off, looking at the other two for help.

Josh clears his throat. “We’re all a bit freaked out.”

Hayden elbows him.

“What?” he shoots back. “It’s true.”

Corey stares at his feet.

“We don’t blame you.” Hayden hurries on, rolling her eyes at Josh. “We understand that you lost control.”

“I nearly killed you when I did.” Josh scratches the back of his head, pointedly looking anywhere that isn’t Stiles or Theo. “You never blamed me for that.”

Probably because he didn’t exactly have the time to process anything since Theo ripped his throat out and then threw Donovan’s death in his face. A lot was happening all at once. Still, Stiles gets the sentiment.

Squeezing his hands together, Corey looks up at him. “We know you’d never hurt us otherwise.”

“I wanted to hurt Tracy,” Stiles admits because that’s the issue. It’s not that he was completely out of his mind and jumped the first person he saw. His attack was deliberate. He wanted to kill her, and he did.

Corey straightens his posture. “You didn’t want to hurt me. You got me out.”

Stiles stares at him. He remembers all of that. He even remembers feeling bad about Corey getting caught in the crossfire. He never meant for him to get hurt.

“Isaac told us you were fine until they almost killed him,” Theo says, sitting up again. “Failing to protect him pushed you past your breaking point, that’s why you lost control.” Not because you became a nogitsune. Although Theo doesn’t say the words, they seem to echo all around him, whispered by the leaves rustling in the wind.

Taking a deep breath, Stiles closes his eyes. Being a monster is not his nature. He’s no more of a killer than he was before he accepted the fox fully. Although he will have to deal with the guilt of what he’s done for longer — that’s just not something he’s going to be able to shake off soon — it’s a lot easier to accept that he became a monster to protect Isaac. He’ll learn how to stay in control. Theo will figure out how to pull him back.

It’s going to be okay.

“Well,” Josh clears his throat, “after that though…” he trails off and mimics a bomb exploding.

Hayden smacks the back of his head.

“Hey, I’m just saying!”

“You’re so not helping,” Corey mutters.

“No.” Stiles gets to his feet, brushing dust and dirt off his clothes. The world feels a little brighter now, but he can’t have people tiptoe around him anymore — and he doesn’t need them to pretend what he did is in anyway excusable. “He’s honest. I don’t need you guys to blow smoke up my ass.” He turns to look at Theo and crosses his arms in front of his chest, narrowing his eyes slightly. “Especially you. I need you to be straight with me, okay?”

Smirking, Theo slips off the nemeton. “Well…”

“Don’t even think about saying it,” Stiles jabs a finger in his direction.  With all his hard exterior, it’s sometimes very easy to forget that Theo isn’t as grown up he seems at first glance.

Theo pushes his hands in the pockets of his jeans, his smirk slowly softening. It’s an expression Stiles rarely gets to see when someone else is around. “I promise.”

———

“Josh, we really don’t need any more batteries.” Stiles is ready to put this kid on a leash. This is the third time he’s come back with a pack of batteries hidden between snacks. “He’s worse than a toddler,” he mutters as he watches the chimera walk away with a scowl, tossing the batteries in the next best shelf. Stiles’ fingers itch to take them back where they belong, but Theo’s quiet cackling distracts him.

Theo glances up at him, arms crossed over the handle of the cart. “You sound like you’ve met a lot of toddlers.”

“I’ve been in charge of grocery shopping since I was ten,” Stiles reminds him, contemplating his list with a slight frown. Hopefully his calculations are right. He’s never really bought groceries for more than two people, and with supernatural creatures, he can’t just double everything up. “So yes,” he continues, glancing up to spot the cooling shelves with cheese a bit farther down the aisle, “I did meet a lot of toddlers.”

Theo watches as Hayden drops two packages of flour in the cart before walking off again, checking her own list. Since they had to buy stuff for the party anyway, Stiles decided that the Raeken household is in desperate need of a restock. Josh and Corey are in charge of the snacks and food for tonight’s barbecue while Hayden and Stiles deal with the regular grocery shopping for their respective households. Theo is mostly here for moral support — and to pay for most of it.

They stop at the cheese section.

“I think this is the first time I've gone grocery shopping like this.” Theo straightens, eyes darting from one choice to the next before he grabs a package of cream cheese and holds it out to Stiles questioningly.

Stiles takes it and exchanges it for a better deal. They might not have any money issues — especially now that Peter paid the bills for Eichen as well as his mother’s hospital bills — but they’re not exactly ‘waste their money on Philadelphia cream cheese’ rich. “Did your parents or fake parents never take you with them?” He thought that trudging along while their parents buy groceries was the experience of every child.

“My parents had staff who did all of this.” Theo gestures around briefly, scrunching up his face as he continues to stare at the selection. “And with my fake parents, I was usually only there to sleep. I was busy being…” he trails off, gesturing vaguely.

Still, Stiles knows what he means. Theo was busy dealing with whatever issues arose regarding the Dread Doctors’ experiments. With how effectively Theo dismantled their pack in hardly a month, it’s obvious that he’s done something like that before.

They both had to grow up very fast yet in vastly different ways. Stiles had to become the caregiver in the household until his dad got his feet back under him, and even after that, some of the chores became his to deal with. Theo had been turned into a weapon, the responsibility of his own survival looming above him every single second with not one person to lean on.

He reaches out and brushes his hand over Theo’s cheek. His heart races when Theo turns his head just enough to kiss the palm of his hand before going back to studying the cheese assortment, hands firmly pushed in the pockets of his jeans.

Stiles has an idea what Brett and Theo talked about before he left for his run. Looks like his own advice has been given to Theo as well. It’s almost a little disconcerting knowing that Theo actually listened to Brett instead of ripping his head off for suggesting to give Stiles space.

“You look lost.” Stiles quirks a brow, studying his boyfriend’s face.

Grinning, Theo looks back at him. “The only thing I’ve ever been sure of is you, babe.”

“Oh my god.” Stiles shoves Theo, laughing softly. “You’re so fucking corny.”

Theo shrugs, amusement bright in his eyes. “But it made you laugh.”

For a moment, Stiles pauses as he stares at Theo, the world strangely off-center, his heart jumping in his chest. He wants to kiss him, desperately, and for the first time since Eichen, he’s not scared of the desire. However, he’s not sure he’ll be able to stop if he kissed Theo right now.

“I love you too,” Stiles says instead.

Unsurprisingly, Theo looks very pleased with himself.

They’re going to be okay. Stiles has no clue how he knows, but he does. Everything is going to be fine, and who knew all it took is Theo standing in front of rows and rows of cheese for him to realize that.

Well, maybe it’s the normalcy of all of it.

This is what his father wanted, right? A normal life for him. Stiles can still have it, at least to some degree. All the supernatural disaster can’t take moments like these away from him. They will stay with him, and they’re all worth it.

“Josh, put the batteries away,” Theo calls without turning away from studying a pack of cheddar cheese.

Josh curses under his breath and retreats.

Shaking his head, Stiles walks down the cooling section towards the yogurts. “This is your fault, you know?” he informs Theo, glancing at him, and reaches for the Greek yogurt his father has been obsessed with for as long as Stiles can remember. “You got him hooked on batteries.”

“Car batteries,” Theo corrects, putting the cheddar in the cart. “I didn’t tell him to suck on a triple-A battery.”

“Well,” Stiles says, “you still-“ the floor is ripped out from under him, and his world goes dark for all but a second. The yogurts slip through his fingers and crash to the hard tiles, exploding everywhere. Stiles blinks, trying his hardest to regain his balance, but Theo is by his side at a moment’s notice, arms wrapped tightly around him. He sucks in breath and grips Theo’s arm so hard his knuckles turn white as his heart keeps pounding in his chest in tune with the ley lines screaming in his head.

Wrong. Wrong. Wrong.

Josh.

Hayden.

Corey.

Three chimeras. Right here with him.

“Stiles.” Theo’s voice keeps him grounded as his consciousness struggles to stay inside the store, present in the moment.

He squeezes his eyes shut. The ley lines flash in his mind, the nemeton tries to drag him under.

Fix it.

Fix it.

“Stiles!” Theo’s voice is louder now, more urgent.

Stiles opens his eyes again, staring at his boyfriend’s face.

Josh.

Hayden.

Corey.

Three. It’s supposed to be three chimeras.

“They did it,” Stiles whispers. The ley lines settle. The commotion stops.

They’re too late.

“Did what?” Theo asks, eyes widening slightly as he stares at Stiles.

Stiles swallows, fingers digging into Theo’s soft sweater, holding onto him like he’s his lifeline, the only thing that’s keeping him from drowning. “The beast,” he whispers, heart pounding in his chest as the reality of what just happened truly sinks in. “They resurrected the beast.”

[jpitha]

Dreams of Hyacinth 27

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In a flash of pure white light, Tinker Toy linked into the system.

As soon as she appeared, she was immediately pinged.

"Contact! Active Ping! Someone is out there and sees us!" Tink, Eastern, Nick, Hat and Chloe are connected into Tink's mindspace. Tink glances over her shoulder at something nobody else can see. The nuance of ship sensors in the mindspace can look odd.

Chloe looks over at Tink, surprised. "Who is it?"

"Scanning... The ships have Xenni signatures. Eastern, take the data and run it against my database of known ships."

"What? Um, okay, sure." Eastern started scrolling through the settings in her seat, trying to figure out where the data was. In Tink's mindspace, it looked like a console had appeared in front of her, and she was sitting at it. "Got it!" Eastern sounded triumphant. "The three ships match Xenni Warfinders! They're not exactly like how you have them Tink, but they're close enough that it says they are probably new versions of Warfinders." Eastern looked up from her console. "Chloe, you said the wouldn't be a problem!"

Chloe crossed her arms and sounded testy. "It's not a problem... yet. They just pinged us. Tink can you open a channel?"

Outside of the mindspace, Nick and Eastern look at each other while strapped into their acceleration couches. Nick moves his hand to sit up and start loosening the seat. Nick can hear Chloe tip her head up, creaking in the tight seat. "Keep your seat tight Nick, we might have to start maneuvering to avoid missiles."

"I'm sending them a standard greeting and request to transit their space right now. Hold please." Tink bustles with activity.

Much sooner than Nick or Eastern expected, She calls out again, oddly calm. "Missiles inbound, we're getting painted with targeting lasers. I need everyone to assist with defense, we're going to try and duck them."

As Tink called this out, Nick felt his stomach sink past his toes. He heard the characteristic double boom of the juke charges firing to slide out of the immediate path of travel. At the same, time, over the speakers all over the ship he started hearing...

"Music?" Nick looked around, confused.

"Yeah, it helps me when I'm trying to time the shots and to duck out of the way." Tink sounded distracted, but since she still had the ability to answer Nick's question, he assumed things weren't that bad."

The song had a driving beat and felt very classic, almost antique. It sounded fun, but Nick had no idea which one it was. Tink had the volume up very loud. "I don't know this one."

Even with all that was going on and all the effort that Tink was putting into work, she managed to sputter, "You don't know Adam Ant?!? He's a New Wave classic. This song is called Goody Two Shoes, you should listen while we try not to die."

Nick could hear Chloe scoff over the loud music. "Tink you still do this? It's not funny."

"I never meant it to be funny Chloe. It really helps."

"Unless any of you all have an opinion, I'm going weapons free and going to defend myself. Nick, Eastern, get on sensors, I need your help choosing targets."

Eastern's voice over the comm sounds calm. "Wait. Tink, before you go weapons free, how many missiles did they fire?"

"I see two missiles inbound, Eastern. You're already on sensors, check and see if anymore are coming."

Eastern runs another local scan, trying to build an accurate picture of the area around them as Tink ducks and dodges and runs her engines at random intervals to try and defeat the already incoming missiles. The sweep finally complete, Eastern shakes her head. "Tink, there are only two missiles incoming. Nobody else has fired anything else, and the Warfinders turned off active targeting. Their weapons look free but..." Eastern looks up at everyone in the mindspace. "Tink, I don't think this is an attack. I think it's more... a warning. Can two missiles actually hurt you?"

"Hmm, it depends on where they hit, but no, two missiles isn't really a threat." Tink sounds thoughtful as he replies to Eastern.

Eastern disconnects from the sensor suite and looks at everyone in the mindspace. "Uh, Tink, Chloe, Nick? Are we just going to... shoot back at the Xenni? We are kind of in their space, and we didn't actually ask permission to be here. Dodging their missiles is one thing, but they haven't broken out their exawatt laser batteries or slug throwers yet either. I feel like if we shoot back, we're going to cross a line."

"I mean, they did shoot first..." Tink trails off. Nick notices that Tink's movements are slowing down and leveling off too. Once the missiles went past and no new ones appeared, there was no point in dodging things that didn't exist.

Eastern nods to herself and connects back to the communications suite. "I'm going to contact them again."

After a few minutes, the radio crackled to life with a reply. "Unknown Human starship, name yourself and state your business, you are trespassing!"

Eastern keys the mic. "Uh, this is Tinker Toy, and we were attempting to reach a Gate."

There was a pause, longer than could be accounted for with their distance.

"...Why?"

Eastern looked over at Nick and Chloe in the mindspace. Chloe shook her head no very slowly, while Nick shrugged. Hat held up his hands in a 'don't ask me' kind of expression. "Uh... it's complicated. Can we stop shooting and talk for a bit? We noticed you stopped firing missiles, and we haven't returned fire, just dodged."

Again, a very long pause. This time it was nearly an hour. While they waited, Nick, Eastern and Chloe unstrapped from their acceleration couches and configured them back into seats. Tink's support frames were bustling around cleaning up the books that fell, though most of them did stay strapped into her bookshelves. Eastern felt a small measure of pride that they stayed where she and Tink put them.

Finally, the Xenni replied. "You have permission to dock at our station attached to the Gate. A delegation will meet you and we can discuss why you trespassed into our territory in a calm and civilized manner. We do not wish to bring humanity down upon us... again."

"That's not likely." Hat muttered darkly.

"Shh" Chloe glared. Hat raised an eyebrow and met her stare.

Eastern rolled her eyes and keyed the mic to the Xenni. "Thank you. We will dock, and meet with you." She closed the connection and looked at Nick and Eastern. "So... Has anyone here ever met a Xenni? I haven't."

"Me neither. I remember reading about the War in school, but that was it."

"I met one before." Chloe stands and stretches. Nick thought to himself about how odd it was that someone with an artificial body was always stretching and trying to move their muscles. "They're just... people mostly. They're a bit odd looking to us, and there are nice ones and assholes. Their culture is more... hierarchical than what we tend to do? They place a lot of weight on ceremony. But, they're reasonable and we should be able to talk them into letting us visit the Gate, especially since we're alone and aren't part of any particular polity."

Nick leaned forward and disconnected his cybernetics. Tink's support frames had printed and installed a clip and holder to the acceleration couches so that Eastern and Nick could be connected while also secured. It still made his neck itch to be connected to them all the time though, so Nick had a tendency to disconnect as soon as he could. "Are we going to tell them that we want to touch the Gate?"

Eastern shrugged. "At this point, we should probably be as truthful as we can. I don't see why we wouldn't tell them. They'll probably chalk it up to 'some strange human thing'."

Chloe practically blew up. "You don't see why? Maybe because we're not sure that if another human touches the gate we won't wind up with another Empress who can also give orders that can't be obeyed?"

Eastern stands up and crosses her arms. "Chloe. You said that nobody was going to be here, and if they were they weren't going to mind that we showed up. We get here and they fire missiles at us. We talk them out of shooting more and now you want to keep things from them. I'm beginning to wonder if you're not worried enough about things that you should really be more concerned about."

Chloe raised her eyebrow and looked at Eastern. "It will be fine Eastern, trust me. I've done this lots of times before."

It was at that point, that the door to the command deck opened. Medicine Hat... walked in. He was wearing a body, and it looked just like the body he wore in the mindspace, dungarees and flannel and all. Nick and Eastern looked on in surprise, but Chloe rolled her eyes. "Tell me Chloe, how many times have you gone with two humans to a Gate and came across the Xenni who fired upon you, then agreed to meet on their station? Three? Four?"

Chloe glared, and said nothing. Eastern grinned broadly. "Hat! You had a body onboard? You're going to come with us?"

Hat nodded and smiled warmly at Eastern. "Yeah, I keep this old thing around for special occasions. I don't want to miss the excitement and I don't have any support frames like Tink does, so I decided to get small for a bit." He stretched and twisted his shoulder. "It's still as cramped as I remember though. I won't be in here long." He looks over at Chloe. "I still don't know how you can do it. I've been decanted for only a few minutes and I'm itching to get back."

Chloe sat back down in the chair and looked away from Hat. "I feel the other way when I'm a ship. I'm too big. Everything feels wrong. I can't control myself enough."

Hat tipped his head and raised both eyebrows very slightly. "It takes all kinds, I suppose." One of Tink's support frames walked in, and looked at everyone. "I'll go in this frame. I can split my attention and keep everything running in case."

"In case what?" Nick looks at everyone. It feels like they all know something he doesn't."

"Just... in case." Tink's support frame clicks their heels and they salute dramatically.

The trip down to the station attached to the Gate takes a couple of hours. Chloe and Hat spend the time arguing about what the Xenni want while Tink practices splitting her attention among the frame while also being the ship. Nick and Eastern head back to their room to rest.

"This whole thing feels off to me, you know?" Eastern hands Nick a mug of tea and joins him on the bed. They're both sitting up. Nick has a pad on a fold out table on his side of the bed. Eastern sees that he's reading up on the Xenni.

Nick sips his tea. "How does it feel off, hon? I think that's just how Chloe and the AIs are. They're not people, so maybe we're wrong in expecting them to act like people."

Eastern shakes her head. "No, it's not like that. Chloe just isn't worried. About anything I think. But mostly about this. Twice now she's told us that everything was going to be fine, and it wasn't. If I hadn't spoke up, she and Tink might have started firing back. Tink is an old Starjumper and sold weapons, so I'm sure she has a trick up her sleeve or two, but going three to one against Xenni Warfinders? Nick, I looked them up after we figured they weren't going to fire any more missiles. They have a crew of five thousand, each! They're equipped for boarding action. They can drill into a ship and attack the crew. They were used to devastating effect during the K'laxi war." She looked at Nick, and he felt her eyes boring into him. "If they wanted us destroyed, it would have happened, there would have been nothing we could do about it. No, they let us survive."

Nick sighs. "Well, then what's up? Are they going to lure us onto their station and splat us there?"

"No, I don't think so. I think at this point they're more curious about what our deal is, just what we're doing." Eastern looked off into the distance. "I wish I knew what they knew about Melody. Did they ever learn about her? What she could do?"

"I suppose we'll just have to... ask them"

"Ugh, I don't think I want to do that either." Eastern downs her tea, finishing it. "I can't come up with a way to explain what we're doing that doesn't sound wild."

Nick also finishes his tea. He puts the mug down and leans against Eastern. "I think we're just going to have to tell them the truth. It sounds wild, but what we're trying to do is wild. If it works... then we'll have a dose of Nanites and you might be an Empress."

Eastern leans back onto Nick. She can feel his breathing slow as he relaxes. "You're touching that stone too, Nicholas North. I'm not going to be an Empress alone."

He chuckled and Eastern felt the rumble in her chest. "Does that make me an Emperor? The reports said that Melody said it was only ever women in charge. Maybe I'll be an Empress too!"

Eastern scoffed. "It's just a title, Nick. An Empress or an Emperor needs an Empire to rule. Otherwise they're just a megalomaniacal idiot."

Nick and Eastern sat together in their room, just being around each other until Tink pinged them over the room's comm. "Nick? Eastern? We're going to dock in about 10 minutes. Come on down and join Chloe, Hat and my support frame outside the airlock, okay?"

Nick sat up and yawned. He had almost fallen asleep on the comfortable bed. "Sure thing Tink. We'll be right down." He stood and dramatically held out his hand. "Come my dear. Let us go accept our destiny, and rule the galaxy together."

Eastern giggled and took Nick's hand. "Of course. But, we shall do it, together, okay?"

Nick nodded. "Together."

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[dadsbongos]

chapter 3 - hungry howie's big date

2.6K words

warnings - mmm? daddy issues, i think that's it

prev. chapter / masterlist / next chapter

It’s during third-period chemistry with his favorite lab partner, Chrissy Cunningham, that Eddie is interrupted from work he was actually looking forward to. By Michael Wheeler of all people.

“Journalism Pass!” Mike holds up the back of his sister’s badge to Mrs. Clink and she bats her hand dismissively.

Chrissy tightens the scratched plastic goggles around her head while Eddie leans his hip against their work table, arms crossed and foot tapping impatiently, “Yes, Wheeler?”

“There’s a showing of Rocky Horror that I wanna take Jane to this weekend.”

Eddie snorts, peeking over his shoulder at Chrissy, pressing the palm of her hand into her glossed lips to keep back her giggles, “That’s an R-rated movie, wonderboy.”

“Yeah,” Mike rolls his eyes, “and I still can’t date my girlfriend unless you’re dating her sister. So we both have good points.”

Brows shooting to her hairline, Chrissy “woah”s at the little guy’s audacity.

Eddie gestures flippantly to the lanky mess in front of him, “Right? Worse than Henderson, I tell you.”

She wide-eyed nods in agreement.

Returning to his cash cow, Eddie tilts his head - eyes narrowed, “So what? You wanna double-date at Rocky Horror?”

“No, obviously not,” looking through his peripherals, Mike notices Mrs. Clink staring at them a little too hard and turns so his and Eddie’s backs are facing the woman, “I just need you two to be out on a date so I can take out Jane. I also need you to get us into the movie and then leave. Or sit in a different row.”

So demanding, so unfavorable.

Eddie sticks out a hand, palm up, “Fifty. Now.”

Through a positively murderous stare, Mike asks, “What makes you think I have fifty bucks on me right now?”

A long huff passes through Eddie’s nose, “You’re a spoiled, conniving, upper-class nerd and you’re one of my best friends,” he curls his fingers into a fist twice before shoving his flat palm closer to Mike, “Now cough it.”

Similarly sighing, Mike bends down at the knee and yanks out a folded stack of crinkly ten-dollar bills from his sock.

Snatching up the money, Eddie pats Mike’s head as one would a dog, “Now if you wanna complete your Munson-ification process, stop carrying fat wads on your person,” he slaps the pad of tens against the bridge of Mike’s nose, “Everyone knows you’re rich, Wheeler - don’t flaunt it.”

Before Mike gets the chance to properly defend himself, Eddie tucks the money into the snug waistband of his boxers and shoos him away.

“I’ll figure out something for my beloved shrew, but right now Cunningham and I need to light scraps of metal on fire for an hour,” Eddie nudges Mike back by the shoulder and returns to the girl’s side.

She’s tugging on her rubber gloves while Eddie puts on his own pair of safety goggles.

“You know anything interesting going on this weekend?”

Blinking, Chrissy hums before the blankness brightens, “I think there’s an H&M sale in Indianapolis featuring some Laura Ashley stuff. She might like that.”

“Something easier on my fifty-buck budget, please?” he watches her light the Bunsen burner.

Shaking her head, Chrissy pouts, “Sorry, Eddie.”

“No worries,” he stares up at the water-stained ceiling, “I’ll just have to get my own idea.”

And getting Eddie to have his own idea is like asking a teen movie to not rip off the movies before it.

Eddie’s van sputters up to the Hopper cabin precisely two minutes after he said it would. Black backdrop and twinkling stars watch you shoo Eleven off and they awkwardly pull their collars and glance away when your father sternly calls your name before you can follow.

“You’ve had a bad attitude lately,” his hands are on his hips and he’s barely gotten out of his uniform, “I know you’re growing up and need your space, but if you’re gonna go out with this guy then I need to know who the man is.”

And flashing, headache-inducing red lights blare in the back of your mind at the idea of him meeting Eddie. So you resort to manipulation, “He’s a friend of Mike’s - isn’t that enough?”

“No,” he removes the Sheriff’s hat he’s always claimed squeezes too tight and runs a hand through his hair, “I barely like Mike. You expect me to like a senior he’s friends with that I’ve never even met?”

Glancing back, you can barely make out the pinched brows and overly invested lean of Eddie Munson’s concern through his tinted windows.

“Eddie Munson,” you’re too tired to fight and your eldest daughter intuition tells you Jim’s pager is about to go off soon anyways, “that’s the friend.”

“No!” he puts both hands up, evidently distressed, and you find joy in the way his gray hairs must be growing in, “No way.”

“Yes way,” you shrug and waltz towards the van, waving off your father, “I like him so play nice!” and you aren’t totally sure if you’re really saying that to piss him off or if it’s true. Jim opens his mouth to retort, so you lug the passenger side door open and shout before he can, “Can’t hear you over the pager that’s about to go off in two seconds!”

And before you’ve even got the van door closed, his pager does - in fact - go off.

Eddie wants to ask, and you see that, so you just nudge him with your elbow and he pulls out of the dirt driveway quickly.

“Intense fight there,” Eddie hisses through his teeth, “Honestly, I was about to put earmuffs on the kids - it was scary.”

It’s his way of prodding. Avoiding rejection by pretending it could be a joke and then still getting hurt if you turn him down.

“He’s just been up my ass ‘cuz I’m not going to college.”

Eleven comes forward, face puffing up between yours and Eddie’s seats, “You’re not going to college?!”

You shove her back by the shoulder, sick to the stomach at the idea of explaining your life plan (or lack thereof) to your little sister, “What’s the plan for tonight, Munster?”

“For them,” he braces, arms stiff and eyes nervously flickering between you and the rearview mirror, “an R-rated movie. For us? Leaving before the movie to go somewhere totally romantic.”

Avoiding rejection by pretending it could be a joke - his true specialty.

“Sounds spectacular,” you muse, and his arms loosen from their ramrod-straight position.

Totally romantic ends up being at Lover’s Lake next to his van. A threadbare, plaid blanket with a mysterious black stain in the upper right corner is laid over surrounding grass and rocks with a Hungry Howie’s Taxi yellow pizza box in the middle. You suspect the pizza is room temperature by now, but Eddie is nervously picking at his shoelace as he waits for you to sit down, so you choose to not say anything.

As soon as you sit beside him, Eddie shoots up onto his feet, hands bracing you for patience, “I almost forgot!”

Eddie slams open the back doors and disappears inside, you hear a clunk and curse before he tramples back out, uneven-footed and stumbling. A boombox in both hands, he sets it down and presses play.

The borderline waxing poetic opening guitar to Cinderella’s ‘Nobody’s Fool’ crackles over the speakers and Eddie hurriedly turns it down to a gentler hum.

“As long as you don’t listen to the lyrics, it’s kind of romantic,” Eddie pops open the Hungry Howie’s box and grease stains dot the top, “You probably don’t know, but most metal ballads- “ he gestures to the boombox leaking out Tom Keifer with raised brows, “even hair metal ballads - are not super romantic.”

“I can pretend,” you lean over his outstretched leg and brush against his leather-clad side to grab one of Howie’s infamously thick slices, “This is already the most well-thought-out date I’ve been on.”

And you haven’t been on many dates. Eddie knows that, too, but he decides to keep his big trap shut.

The pizza is room temperature by now, but Eddie so nervously tucks an arm into the swirling pit of his stomach and you decide to keep your own trap shut. Eddie can’t say why he’s so nervous - it shouldn’t matter whether or not you actually like him. It really, really shouldn’t, but he can’t help but hope you do.

“Uhm, so,” his eyes look nice under the shiny little pinprick stars, and you chastise yourself for focusing on that when he’s trying to talk to you, “I’m more than happy to listen if you wanna bitch about your problems with the old man. Not that you would be, you know, bitching bitching, just complaining. Yeah, complain. ‘Cuz you’re not a bitch, you know that- “

“Thanks, Eddie,” you cut him off, a hand on his shoulder. You finish off the slice of pizza in your other hand and shrug, “I mean, bitching doesn’t sound too bad if you actually mean it.”

“‘Course I do,” he turns to face you completely, the gentle swoosh of the lake water under moonlight easily forgotten in favor of you, “Trust me, sweetheart, if anyone gets parental problems, it’s me.”

“Well,” you normally have trouble talking about things like this, but something about Eddie makes you feel open. Like a social worker’s dream, he is the softest couch and sweetest candy bowl, “He’s always busy with work - way too busy for me and Jane. And when he is home, it’s about me not going to college and Jane’s stupid high school romance and my attitude as if he’s not the dickhead that causes it all in the first place…” you sigh, a physical weight off your chest, “Only good thing to come of his bullshit lately is that I get to paint in my ex-mom’s storage unit downtown.”

“Ex-mom is an interesting term.”

“Diane wanted to adopt me as a last-ditch attempt to save the family after their birth daughter died,” the years of this exact thought process echoing around your head prevent you from shutting up, “And then she decided she wanted nothing to do with either of us and just,” you make a ‘scatter-off’ motion with your hands, “Left behind divorce papers and then Jim was a wild alcoholic and wilder smoker until Jane came along and then… suddenly he wants to be better.”

The clarity hits you like a stack of bricks, that you spilled your guts embarrassingly fast and that mortification makes you look over to Eddie, who stares back with wide eyes.

“Anyways…”

“No, just- “ he grins and you can’t help but grin back, “I’ve never had someone actually trust me to just let go like that,”

“I’m glad to be the first.”

If Eddie truly had no inhibitions, he would’ve said he wants you to be his last.

And he doesn’t know where that comes from.

“What do you paint about?” so he leans back on his elbow and breaks the thick air. Shatters it completely like it was nothing to begin with.

You cringe preemptively, “My feelings.”

“Oh, a poetic type,” he punches your shoulder softly, “It’s cool, I write songs about that. All the mucky shit.”

You turn onto your stomach, propping your head up on your elbows and ignoring the soft ache it initially stirs in your chest, “Will you ever show me one of your songs?”

“Only if you show me your art.”

“You’re moving a bit fast.”

“Nah, that’s only - like - first base.”

You two linger there. Soft eyes and pouty lips and pizza cooling under the night sky. He hums, entirely to himself, and you lean forward to nudge his arm.

“What’s going on in your pretty head, Munster?”

“Honestly,” he’s quiet. So much quieter than he normally is, and that’s as scary as realizing his rejection hurt your feelings, “I’m just thinking about how you’re not nearly as mean as everyone says.”

“Yeah,” you turn onto your back, eyes up at the stars instead of Eddie’s kind face, “people usually assume you’re a bitch when you’re not smiling at them 24/7.”

He doesn’t respond, and that would be terrifying if he wasn’t motioning for you to continue.

“I mean, I’m not surprised,” so continue, you do, “People usually just expect women to smile and nod to whatever they say as if there’s no thoughts or feelings to each person,” at his persistent silence, you inhale sharply, “First base was actually my feminist rant all along.”

You look back over to Eddie and he’s smiling so big and wide, all for you - at the fear of misspeaking, he intentionally makes himself BooBoo the Fool, “I love Debbie Harry.”

“Oh my God!” you swat his shoulder and he falls onto his own back.

“I’m kidding,” his head swivels to lock eyes with you, sweet bambi eyes nothing except sincere, “but feminism is metal. Equality for all, I fuck with that.”

“I’m glad,” a sudden memory makes you giggle, and at Eddie’s curious stare you expand, “I actually dumped Jason Carver in freshman year because he said women should obey their husbands.”

He gags histrionically, “I’d never say that.”

“I figure.”

You’ve heard from older women the dangers of getting wine drunk with no men to kiss - being that sauced with that intense a romantic urge could kill someone, you’ve heard. And it’s strange - how just being around Eddie can drive you as mad as the stories you’ve heard.

You turn again, onto your side now, “Are you drunk?”

He looks at you like you’re nuts and you’re almost embarrassed at the fact that Eddie can actually drive you so crazy, “No.”

“I’m not drunk either.”

It takes him a painfully visible minute until finally, the lightbulb above his wild hair dings alight and Eddie excitedly matches your position. He tenderly puts a hand on your cheek, calluses purely lovely on your skin as he asks, “Can I kiss you?”

The ache in your chest that you imagine is what the prolonged poison of having no man to kiss when wine drunk hits, you nod, bizarrely giggly, “It’d feel like a personal attack if you didn’t.”

Maybe you were scared for nothing. Eddie seems like a sweet guy with sweet intentions and sweet words. His kiss is sweet, too. It tastes like the tomato sauce of Hungry Howie’s pizza and the weed he smokes and no sinister third thing lingers.

Eddie, however, feels sick. He needs to talk to Mike and he knows Wayne would punch any other guy straight in the head for doing what he’s done to you. He likes you. He likes your bitterness and your anger and the way you roll your eyes at his antics and he wants to soften your edges and he wants to be your one moment of sunshine. He can’t do that if he’s taking money to date you, so he needs to talk to Mike.

But for now, he likes kissing you on his old blanket with the coffee stain he can never get out and cold Hungry Howie’s pizza an arm’s length away.

“I can’t keep doing this,” Eddie has never doubted himself to the point of getting a hideous stomach ache, not even when he had to perform with Corroded Coffin in middle school, “I think I’m falling in love with her, Wheeler.”

“That’s perfect!” Mike, on the other hand, is purely ecstatic, teeth on display as he smiles, “Just keep taking her out, but without me paying you - Jane and I can keep seeing each other and you two are happy. Done deal, Munson,” and this excitement gives him the courage to smack Eddie on the arm, “Just be cool about it.”

“So just don’t tell her?”

“Exactly.”

His stomach twists tighter at that idea, but he swallows it down and pretends to be a little bigger than he is.

“Fine,” finally, he sighs it out, “We don’t talk about it.”

“We don’t talk about it.”

~~ how we rockin? good? good?

going outta state for like 3 days and remembered i should probably update this while i have it

[fluffyzoey]

Dentist Trip (Javey OneShot)

Trigger warnings: homophobia, dentist, bl**d, surgery, anastesia. None of this is violent it’s litertally about a trip to the dentist.

Also this one is in first person pov :0 

“Jack, if you record this, I’m lighting your hair on fire and shutting off the water.”

That was what Davey had told me as I drove him toward the dentist’s office to get his wisdom teeth out. I’d thankfully landed myself in a scenario where the wisdom teeth just fell in beside the rest of my pearly-whites, and therefore didn’t need them removed. My boyfriend, however, wasn’t so lucky. We’d had this scheduled for weeks now, and every day he’s reminded me of how much he was dreading it. And now, here he was, pouting in the front seat of my beat-up blue car.

“I won’t, Davey.” I assured him, chuckling a bit as I pressed down on the gas pedal. “Unless you say something really funny, of course…”

What we were of course talking about were those stupid videos of people saying dumb shit while out of it coming off anastesia. There was footage of people trying to eat their own fingers, convinced their friends and family were dogs, that kind of garbage. I’d joked that I was going to make one too. 

“I’m serious about the hair-on-fire thing.” He looked away from me, staring out the window. It was raining, which probably wasn’t doing much for his mood. 

“Sure, babe.” I took one hand off the wheel and patted his shoulder. He glared at me. 

“Hands at ten and two, Jack.” Davey grumbled. “Didn’t anyone ever teach you that?”

With a sigh, I placed my hand back on the wheel. Davey returned to hating his own existance for the time being, and I put my eyes back on the road. The office isn’t too far from home, only around a fifteen minute drive, so we should have been coming up on it soon. 

Sure enough, I laid eyes on it. A stout, navy-blue building with glass double doors adorned with a logo of a smiling tooth holding a tube of toothpaste. The rain continued to pound against the concrete of the parking lot, forming puddles in the ditches surrounding the area. I pulled into the nearest parking spot (an excellent parking job if I do say so myself) and looked over to Davey. His dread and anger seemed to have shifted to fear. I clasped my hand around his, unbuckling so I could reach him easier. I cupped Davey’s face in my free hand, taking in his features: those soft lips, those big blue eyes, and those thick, lovely curls. 

“It’s gonna be alright.” I whispered, and I could feel him nuzzling his face into my hand.  “It’ll all be over before you know it.” 

“Thanks, Jackie.” He whispered back, a shudder making its way down his spine. I nodded and pulled him in for a kiss—just a soft, gentle brush against his lips—and then opened my door, racing around to the other end to open Davey’s for him. He smiled a bit, stepping out and grabbing onto my hand. As we ran to the relief the small onning provided from the rain, I gave his hand a comforting squeeze.

I pulled open the door and held Davey’s hand all the way into the waiting room. I sat him down next to me on one of the little sofas they have in there, and he rested his head on my shoulder. 

This attracted some attention from the other clients. An older woman wrinkled her nose up in disgust, eyeing my boyfriend and I like we were particularly disgusting wads of gum she’d found stuck to her shoe. A guy about our age whispered something into his girlfriend’s ear, and she erupted into a fit of giggles.  A man actively turned his young son away so he was no longer facing us. 

I don’t know whether it was my close contact with Davey, my black-painted nails, or my pride-pin adorned vest that gave away that I was dating a dude, but I hated the fact that everyone else in that office seemed to be a conservative white person. The man with the kid in particular had an American flag tattooed across his right arm, a cross and the words ‘straight = great’ on his left. I wanted to drive my fist through the guy’s yellowing teeth, but also didn’t want to get up. The couch was rather comfortable. 

It didn’t matter, because before long Davey was called back anyway. He took a few shaky breaths and got up, his loving boyfriend (me) grasping his sweaty palm. 

The dental assistant, a young woman named Julia, brought us to one of the operative rooms. 

“Mr. Jacobs, you just sit down in the chair there. Mr. Kelly, you can sit on the stool in the corner for now, but we’ll need you to head back to the waiting room once we get the operation under way.” She explained. 

I looked into Davey’s eyes. He was clearly very tense. But I knew I couldn’t get in the way of the dentists and technicians, so I took my seat on the stool and watched as Julia placed the mask-like thing over my lover’s nose, the anastesia I presumed. After a few minutes his eyes were shut. 

“He won’t feel a thing, don’t worry.” Julia handed me a sheet of paper with information about the procedure. “He’ll probably be a little out of it when he wakes up, though.”

”I know,” I laughed. “Same thing happened last year, with my ex. I brought her here, same as I did for Davey.”

”Oh, yes!” Julia clapped her hands together. “Ms. Plumber! How’s she doing?”

”Well.” He informed her. “Got into her dream school, and she’s still writing. She’s trying to get published.”

”Always had big dreams, that one.” Julia nodded, turning her back to me and pulling on a pair of blue latex gloves. “You two were close for a long time.”

”Met in freshman year, yeah.” I said. “Best friends ever since. Our relationship just wasn’t meant to be romantic, I guess.” 

“And that’s okay! Seems like you’ve found someone perfect anyway.” She beamed, flicking her hand in Davey’s direction. 

“Yeah.” I sighed. “Been with him for nearly a year now.”

”Are you two hoping to tie the knot soon?” Julia examined her tools, basically paying me no mind. 

“Maybe, after we graduate this year.” I admitted. “I’d like to propose, but who knows if he’ll say yes or not.”

”Well, I wish you luck.” Julia smiled. “The dentist will be in shortly, you can head back to the waiting room, okay?” She pointed down the hallway. 

I stood up and before leaving, made my way to Davey, sound asleep. I brushed some of his chocolate brown curls out of his face and pressed my lips against his forehead. I swear I saw him smile a little bit in his unconsciousness. 

“It’ll be over before you know it.” I repeated, though I knew he wouldn’t be able to hear me. “I’ll be here to pick you up.” 

“Thanks for the speech, Mr. Kelly, but please head back out to the waiting room.” Julia tapped her foot impatiently as I retreated with a sigh. I passed lines of fake potted plants—not as pretty as the real ones my boyfriend somehow managed to keep alive back home—and paintings of smiling people holding toothbrushes, a huge chalkboard with ‘remember to floss!’ written in big block lettering, and a huge portrait of a young girl, toothbrush in hand like the others, all on my way back to the waiting room. I’d have loved to have paid attention to any of those things, I really would, but my mind was focused on Davey. 

I really wished they would have let me stay there with him, so I could be there when he woke up. I sat down on the same couch as before, looking over the paper Julia had given me. 

It said that the procedure would likely take a little over an hour. I crossed my legs, folding the paper in half and jamming it in my vest pocket and pulling out my phone. 

I scrolled through my messages—mostly spam—for a few minutes, quickly getting bored of that and clicking on one of my mobile app games. It entertained me for a while before I saw a message pop up on screen. 

A text from Sarah: ‘How’s my brother?’

I bit my bottom lip then released it, tapping out the message: ‘Okay I think’

’Is he asleep?’ She responded.

’Yep’

‘Oh good’

My nerves started to wash over me again. What if something went wrong and I never saw him again? That couldn’t happen, could it? No, it was impossible! Right? I felt a bead of sweat trickle down my forehead as I glanced around the room. The father and son had been called in, and the boyfriend and girlfriend were also nowhere to be seen, but the old lady was still glaring at me, her eyes narrowed in the direction of my pride pins—three of them. A simple bi flag, a rainbow flag, and a blue one with a pair of interlocking male gender symbols (⚣) with a heart around them. 

I couldn’t stand this place. I wanted to go home, but at this point it wouldn’t be worth it to drive all the way there and just turn back. The rain had ceased, I noticed, so I took a few steps outside and onto the onning. 

I pulled my phone out of my pocket again. There were a few more messages on it, all from Sarah.

’Is he out yet?’ 

‘Jack is he okay?’

I shuddered nervously and clicked the keys in response. ‘He’ll be another half hour, but he’s ok ig’

’Oh’

At this point, I didn’t want Sarah worrying. I put the phone to my left ear and called her, she picked up immediatly.

”He’s okay.” I started by saying. “I’m worried too, but he’s alright.”

Sarah let out a deep breath. “It’s a relief to hear you say it out loud.”

”I understand.” I muttered. “Thirty more minutes, I think. He’s doing great. He’s gonna be pretty out of it when he wakes up though.”

”Record him.” She chuckled. “He said some great stuff the last time he had something like this done.”

”There was a last time?” I grinned.

”He was nine. I doubt he remembers, but he talked about Cheetos for like an hour straight.”

”I cannot wait to tease him about that.” I joked. “But I promised him I wouldn’t record any of it. I think he’s worried I’ll show it to people.”

Sarah gave a hearty laugh ftom her end of the phone. “Alright, I’ll let you go now.”

”Thanks, Sarah.”

She hung up, and I was feeling a bit better. I leaned against the wall of the building, checking my phone for the time every few minutes. Once thirty minutes were up, I went back inside and found Julia waiting for me. 

“He’s all set. We’ve been done for a few minutes now, just giving him some time to wake up.” She explained. “He did great.”

I sighed with relief. “Can I go in and see him?”

”Follow me.” She directed me towards the room. 

Davey was sitting up in the chair, his eyes half-shut, his hair a mess, and his mouth swollen with gauze. He looked at me, and part of me thought he didn’t recognize me.

”You’re all set to go.” Julia announced. She turned to me. “Only soft foods for a while, okay? Take care of him, Jack, he’s basically your little baby for the next few days.”

”He’s always my little baby.” I blushed, helping Davey to his feet and holding onto his hand. Julia chuckled and led us both outside. Davey stumbled over his own feet most of the way, murmuring sleepily. 

Once I had him firmly seated and buckled in the front seat, I pulled out of the parking lot and took to the road. “How do you feel?”

”I love you.”

That wasn’t what I expected to hear. But sure enough, there he was, smiling like an idiot with the bloody gauze sticking out of the corners of his mouth. “Love you!” He repeated again, as if this were the funniest joke in the world. Then, he said something that sounded a lot like “Will you go out with me?”

I rolled my eyes teasingly. “Davey, I’m already taken!” I grinned. This caused a tear to start rolling down his cheek. “What?”

I realized what I’d done. “No no! Taken by you! We’re dating, remember? You’re my boyfriend!” I assured him, and his tears turned to laughter again. “I love you!” 

That conversation went on for a while: Me explaining that he and I were already together, and Davey following it up with ‘I love you’.

I wouldn’t have it any other way. 

He must have been pretty sleepy, because after only ten minutes of driving, he was sound asleep with his head resting on the closed window. The final five minutes of the drive home were just silence, punctuated only by the occasional snore. 

I pulled into our apartment complex’s parking lot, right in our assigned spot. The car lurched to a sudden stop and Davey was shaken awake. 

“Sorry about that, honey.” I whispered. “Now come on, let’s get you to bed.” He looked up to me sleepily. I opened the car door and scooted around in front to get to his. I helped him to his feet, keeping him steady where he stood in a puddle of water from the earlier rainstorm. 

“Think you can make it up five flights of stairs by yourself?” I asked, gently stroking my hand down his cheek. “No? It’s alright, we can take the elevator.”

Inside, I headed straight for the elevator, Davey by my side.  I pressed the button for floor 6 and help him inside. I held onto him the entire time, letting him use my shoulder as a pillow. We made it up to the sixth floor and down the hall to room 641. I slipped the key into the lock, turning it and listening to the pleasant clicking noise it made. 

“Come on.” I tugged him through the doorway and sat him down on our sofa, pulling a blanket over the both of us. He was sleeping again when my phone vibrated in my pocket. 

 Sarah again, I was sure. ‘Got him?’

’Yeah, we’re home. He’s sleeping’ I smiled as I typed out the message.

’What’d he say’

’Mostly he just told me he loved me, actually’ 

‘That’s so sweet’

I tucked it away again and helped my boyfriend into a more comfortable position, laying down beside him, holding him close.

”Today was kind of a disaster.” I murmured. “But you do look pretty adorable, so that makes it better.”

About a week after our disaster trip to the dentist, everything was going well. Davey was finally eating solid foods again (after quite a bit of whining and protests because that man has no pain tolerance) and had stopped complaining of his gums bothering him. I was just happy he wasn’t in pain any more as we sat together on the couch, watching late-night Wheel of Fortune reruns. 

“Hey, Jack?” Davey leaned over out of the blue. 

“Yeah, babe?”

”What sort of stuff did I say on the way home that day?” He asked, humor twinkling in his blue eyes. 

“You mostly just told me you loved me.” I smiled. “It was super cute. I mean, you’re always cute, but…” my voice trailed off. “You know what I mean.”

He chuckled and moved closer so our bodies were touching, Davey providing me with all of his comfort and warmth. “Yeah, I get it. I love you, Jack.”

”I love you too, Davey, and frankly, I’m just happy you didn’t set my hair on fire.”

[maddiethecanadianassassin]

Hi there dear!! How are you, i hope you’re okay!! Can you make a oneshot where an extemely smitten and lovestruck Jacob drives EVERYONE around him crazy because he just can’t stop talking about Madeline? Stay safe and healthy in these tough times. Best wishes😘

I'm okay as one can be when trying to adult and working retail during a pandemic but I'm marching on through the week xD

Many apologies for the delay and I'm sorry if it's a little short and slightly different, but I wanted it to be the best I could make it :) So I decided to set it around to just a bit after they first start dating.

Prompt: Lovestruck Jacob Frye

////

"Is he here?" Evie asked with a soft whisper as she poked her head into the Curio Shop from the back door way.

Henry Green, her newly wedded husband, was going over some papers at his desk when he glanced and smiled, happy to see her presence grace his own, but rose a questioning brow at the female twin. "Is who here?"

Evie rolled her eyes, groaning at the question as she stepped out of hiding, realizing that it was safe to enter. "My brother dearest,"

"What trouble has Mr. Frye got into this time?" Henry asked with a knowing look.

"That's the problem, he's in the complete opposite of trouble!" Evie exclaimed as she threw her hands in the air before collapsing on the couch. "He's in love!"

"Oh, the humanity," Henry scoffed at her in a teasing manner. "Shall I call Scotland Yard?"

"Henry, I'm not joking, it's literally driving me bonkers," Evie stated. "He goes on and on about how smitten he is with this girl, I haven't had a moments rest in days,"

"Who is this girl? if I may be so bold as to ask?" Henry crossed his arms just as the bell chimed at the store entry way. He glanced over at the door to greet his customer. "Oh, Miss Shrike, welcome,"

Evie's eyes widened as she looked up and glanced at the woman that entered the shop. She wore a dark navy blue trench coat over her clothes to shield herself from the cold, but Evie could just barely make out her fishnet leggings along her thighs with her knee high leather boots.

"Afternoon, Mr. Green," The Scottish woman greeted the assassin with a warm smile. "I received your letter that my order was ready,"

"Yes, of course!" Henry motioned for her to take a seat next to Evie. "I'll bring it out, just one moment,"

"Thank you," Madeline sighed happily as she took her seat, taking a moment to warm her hands from the chilly fall air of the outside. She caught a glance of the female beside her, and did a double take before her smile brightened. "Evie, hello! I thought I recognized you!"

"It's good to see you too, Madeline, I thought Jacob would be with you?"

"Oh, he's waiting in the carriage," Madeline pointed outside towards the black and green carriage parked in front of the large store window. Jacob stepped outside of it as he turned his attention to the driver, one of his Rooks and struck up conversation as they waited. "Did you want to speak to him?"

"No!" Evie rose her voice but quickly back peddled, shrugging off her outburst. "My apologies, I mean no disrespect, I'm actually . . . hiding from him,"

"Oh? Did he do something to upset you?" Madeline glanced at the sister with concern in her eyes before cracking her fists. "I'd be more than willing to try and talk sense into him,"

Evie couldn't help but laugh a little at the idea as she took Madeline's fist in her hands gently, lowering them to her lap. "I know my brother, I don't think you'd be able to unless you want to be blue in the face,"

"He is a rather stubborn one, isn't he?" Madeline quipped with a small smirk.

"Oh, you don't know the half of it," Evie shook her head at the thought. ". . . May I speak freely?"

"Of course! I consider you a friend, Miss Frye, you can talk to me about anything," Madeline insisted, her eyes pouring with unrequited support.

"The reason I'm hiding from Jacob is because. . . he's absolutely smitten with you," Evie answered honestly.

This answer caught Madeline completely off guard. "I beg your pardon?"

"Constantly he's always telling me about how much he cares for you, what he likes about you, and honestly it's nearly suffocating," Evie spoke tiredly as she leaned back against the couch.

"Oh my! This is certainly news to me," Madeline responded as she took a moment to process everything she had heard. “So what you are saying is, Jacob talks about me?”

“All the time,” Evie nodded her head. 

Before Madeline could ask her any more questions, Henry returned from the back room with her package. It was a rather large parcel, as the dark skinned male carried it with both hands before setting it down on the desk, “Here we are, Miss Shrike, I hope it is to your liking,”

Madeline stood up and walked over as Henry carefully opened the lid, revealing the contents inside. The Magician’s eyes sparkled at what she say before looking over at the Assassin with relieved admiration. “This is perfect, Mr. Green! It’s just what we need for the Magic Club,”

“It’s rather heavy. Do you require assistance in carrying it?” He asked.

Before Madeline could answer, the entrance door bell chimed as a black leather dressed man entered the shop and scooped the parcel in his large hands. “No need, Greeny,” Jacob chimed in.

Madeline was rarely surprised nowadays when it came to Jacob’s antics, but thinking of what his sister had spoke of him, perhaps she wasn’t too far off. Her eyes briefly glanced over at the couch and to her disbelief, Evie was gone.

“Were you getting bored?” Madeline shot Jacob a playful jab.

“Waiting on you? Yes, it’s been pure agony, my dear, plus you did say you were in a hurry,” Jacob responded with his own knowing look.

“Yes, rehearsal was moved to this afternoon!” Madeline gasped, cursing under her breathe for forgetting such an important appointment. She quickly gave Henry a gracious bow of her head in farewell. “Thank you again, Mr. Green,”

“Happy to do business with you again, Madeline,” Henry offered her a reassuring smile.

“We can’t have the Marvellous Madeline Shrike to miss practice for her next big show, now can we?”

Jacob smirked at his admirer as he nudged her arm with his elbow, motioning towards the door. Using his back, he pushed open the door, holding it open allowing for Madeline to pass through first. When she was gone, Jacob yelled back inside, “Tell Evie her Brother Dearest says hello!”

The door closed behind him as Henry couldn’t help but laugh as Evie emerged from her hiding spot behind a curtain. “I’m never going to hear the end of it, am I?”

“Knowing your brother, likely,” Henry rolled his eyes before going about his daily tasks. “But, at least he seems to be happy, right?”

At that notion, Evie couldn’t do anything but smile. Happy that after everything they experienced in the last year liberating London from Templars, her brother found someone to truly admire and love and they genuinely gave it back.

“Couldn’t be more true,”

[greenfrosticle]

Personal rant under the cut because i can't stop thinking about this, and i need opinions before i lose my mind... 🙏

So, I'm about to turn 26 yo. And this year, because I don't want a party or some get-together and just want to spend my birthday on my own for reasons I won't go into. My sweet mother tried to emotionally blackmail me by saying that I wouldn't get any gifts from anyone on my birthday unless I had a party/dinner/something for them. She kept asking even though i had already said no many times. I told her that that was okay. It's completely up to them if they don't want to give me a gift, but when I then told her that if that was going to be the case then I also wouldn't be giving anyone a gift if I were to not show up to their birthday (because... it's a 2-way street, you know? You give what you get and all that) That wasn't acceptable. I had to buy them gifts on every occasion, even when I didn't get anything out of it, which I had always done in the past, because, to me, that's just what you do on someone's birthday. Because it's their birthday. THEIR day. Not yours. So isn't that just what you do? When you're friends and/or family?? I already bought everyone birthday presents this year, btw (even my mother, after she'd tried to gaslight me about the past and told me it was okay for others to cross my boundaries and not listen when I'd already told them no, then rudly uninvited me from her birthday. I still got her a gift)

I'm seriously considering not giving these people Christmas present this year now... even tho i had looked forward to making the presents, seeing as I'm an artist - it's what I've wanted to do for years. I had already come up with everything i was going to make, too. But I'm not going to double spend my money on people who can't do the same for me unless they get something out of it, that being a party. Why is it not enough for me to say i don't want it? What about MY feelings, on MY birthday?

I'm sorry for the rant. It's typically not what i do on here, but this has been swimming around in my head since it happened weeks ago, and as someone who used to be a people pleaser, and someone who literally developed BPD because she focused so much on how everyone else wanted her to be instead of being her true self. I'm honestly not sure if I'm the one who's being unreasonable here? I don't think I am. The one person I asked did also agree with me. But that's just one person's opinion. So... Am I crazy? Because I want to be able to set proper, healthy boundaries while still not becoming too strict or unreasonable/hurt others. There's a fine line between just standing up for yourself and taking it too far when you first get started on healing, and it's sometimes hard to distinguish if I'm one or the other. Regardless...

Thank you. For listening.

[nickgerlich]

What's Cooking?

I grew up in what could be called a very traditional family. Keep in mind, of course, I was born in 1959, the latter half of the Baby Boom, and in Chicago. It may have been a toddling town, as Sinatra once sang, but it was also the Midwest, where home and hearth ruled supreme.

Dad went to work. Mom maintained the house, which included what we would call drudgery jobs: cleaning, cooking, and making sure my brother and I didn’t kill each other. Dad mowed the grass, changed the oil, and even finished out the full basement into a massive family room that effectively doubled our living space. Mom mended torn jeans and socks, did the laundry, and hung it out to dry. Well, in the summer, that is. Too cold in winter.

But never did their paths cross, their gender roles or expectations intersect. Theirs were very separate domains, prescribed by the culture in which they found themselves. Unwritten though the rules may have been, everyone knew their place.

Oh, and before we continue I must point out the difference between “sex” and “gender.” The former refers to your hardware, while the latter refers to your sexual identity, meaning do you identify as male or female. The vast majority of people have the same sex and gender, but as we now know, some do not. A 2023 Gallup poll showed that 7.6% of Americans identify as LGBTQ, meaning some variation from that statistical majority. I digress.

Of course, skipping forward many decades, much of that has changed, although there is still a long way to go toward a complete blurring of gender role expectations, much less gender equality. But that’s a topic for another blog. Today we’re focusing on those roles, and how one company specifically—Wesson Oil—is challenging those gender roles in its Thanksgiving ad campaign. The ads encourage men to assume the role of family chef.

At this point you might be thinking: So what’s the big deal? Aren’t some of the world’s most famous chefs men? Much could be said of food critics, my favorite of which was the late world traveler Anthony Bourdain.

Well, turns out we have different rules inside and outside the house. Inside the house, women do these tasks, but in either commercial settings, as well as backyard grilling, men take the helm. And while we have witnessed much blurring and blending of roles during my life, a Gallup study noted that the cooking gender gap actually increased in 2022. Wesson hopes to help turn that around.

I will be the first to admit that men have had it pretty darn good when it comes to domestic duties. We get to watch football while the females slave away in the kitchen. Only if there is the ever-represent danger of fire—meaning the backyard grill—do we step up to the plate. For some reason I have mental images of brawny men returning from the hunt, digging a massive hole, and starting an open fire over which their bounty would be cooked for the whole community.

That study showed that women cook 8.7 meals per week at home, and men only cook 4.0 meals, more than a 2:1 ratio. To address this disparity, Wesson’s ads seek to reverse these things, showing a man cooking pancakes while his wife gets ready for work. Another ad shows Mom being relaxed during a holiday meal because she actually had some help in the kitchen.

The end game for Wesson is trying to broaden their customer base by inviting men into the kitchen, and I say Amen. I am not sure how all of these gender roles arose, but when it comes to cooking, laundry, cleaning, and all the things, these are just basic survival skills. To play the gender card as if it gets you out of doing certain duties assumes you are better, and may in fact be a thinly veiled misogyny. Try living alone, dude. None of those things will get done unless you do them yourself, or pay someone to do it for you.

To be fair, that knife cuts both ways, meaning that women shouldn’t expect a hall pass to get out of mowing the lawn, basic home repairs, or changing the oil. But if your dyad observes a labor specialization policy, meaning you do what you’re good at, and I’ll do what I’m good at, then that’s fine, too. It may turn out like my first marriage, in which my then-wife was really good at woodworking and those kinds of things. I said, “You go, girl.” I’ll do something else. Hand me an apron, please.

On one hand it is a little bit sad that Wesson even has to bring this up, but at the same time, it is refreshing to see a company tackling stereotypes head-on. If cooking is your jam, then do it, but we shouldn’t have to do a gender check before you get started.

Dr “Oil And Water” Gerlich

Audio Blog

[gfawkesphoenixchokingonashes]

The Shield Bearer (E, Canon divergence, Howlies era)

Chapter 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 |

Chapter 5:

The hand inside his own was sweaty, sticky with melted ice cream and coated in layer upon layer of dirt. It didn’t matter though, because Steve Rogers was his best friend. And when they were six, best friends held hands.

The memory faded and another took its place. A stickball game. A cluttered back alley. Skinned knees and salty tears and trembling fingers caught up in his own. A slightly older Steve wouldn’t let go of him, not even when they reached his place, and they descended the steps to the lower level. Sarah had patched him up while Bucky sat on a chair watching, still holding that hand.

A dark movie theater and a jump scare later, an older Steve’s hand was in his own again. This time clutching so hard it had made his fingers numb. The little punk had a grip that gave the best snake bites, too. And Bucky would sometimes have to cross his fingers behind his back when he told Steve it didn’t hurt.

There were summers at Coney Island, after the lights had gone out and everyone got on the subway to go home. He and Steve would hide out under the docks and go swimming in the dark. Bucky didn’t trust his friend not to drown, so he kept a hand on him. Sarah would kill him if she found out they were there. She never did.

When scarlet fever struck, and Bucky wasn’t allowed to even see Steve, he sat on his stoop and imagined holding that hand for comfort.

Then, when they were thirteen, everything changed. Someone had teased Bucky about Steve being his sweetheart, and that had ended it. Bucky had ended it. Cruelly.

He could see Steve’s eyes, the shock and hurt in them when Bucky yanked his hand away as they walked home. It was the beginning of their difficult stage. They would drift apart for a time.

At fifteen, Bucky knew. He understood how wrong it was. He understood, but couldn’t help himself. There was something about Steve’s hands that he couldn’t resist.

So, he found other ways to touch him. A rough one-armed hug, high around Steve’s neck. A fake punch to the upper arm, a slow knuckle sandwich to the cheek (with the lightest of contact, of course). 

When it came time to practice dancing, Bucky snatched at every available opportunity, no matter how much Steve grumbled. The foxtrot, the swing, and Bucky’s favorite, the waltz. Even though they weren’t really holding hands, in the privacy of the Rogers’ kitchen, it was damn near close enough.

It was after the Sweetheart Dance that Steve began to withdraw into himself. Bucky would turn up the morning after to spend Saturday with his friend. But his friend wouldn’t look him in the eye. Didn’t want to go to the Dodgers’ game. Bucky couldn’t figure out why sixteen-year-old Steve was so angry with him, unless it was because Bucky was out dancing, and Steve wasn’t.

Bucky began bribing girls with sodas if they’d go double. His pocketbook took a hit, but working at his mother’s bakery gave him a little extra dough. It also kept him occupied when Steve wouldn’t talk to him. Although, it never lasted long.

After graduation, after Sarah died and Steve moved in, things became – complicated. Steve sent mixed messages. He didn’t want to be alone, but he didn’t want to go anywhere, do anything. He couldn’t bear to be by himself in a room, other than the john. He spent most of his days curled up in the window seat of their shared apartment, staring out the window, long fingers twined together, clasped around his bent knees. 

Bucky enrolled at the Police Academy, and, with his father’s weight with the school, was allowed home at night. Steve never said it out loud, but his eyes spoke volumes when Bucky returned. He was a conflicted individual; he both wanted Bucky there and didn’t.

Things leveled out, as they tended to do. Steve sought out contact in the form of a hip check as they passed in the narrow hall, forcing Bucky against the wall before sliding out of reach. A wet towel whipped low at Bucky’s knees, then tossed around his neck, a pat to the back as Steve high-tailed it out of the kitchen. Bucky remembered tackling him one day into the couch, and came up with the genius idea of teaching Steve to wrestle.

It was good. He was good. Wiry and determined, capable of weaseling his way out of most holds, their spars often ended in a draw. Steve used his bony elbows and knees to his advantage, and Bucky found he had a weakness: Steve’s hand covering his mouth.

Things should have improved after that, but they didn’t. Bucky finished his twelve-week course and graduated, and his father shifted his substantial weight around and got Bucky a desk job. His abilities on the shooting range warranted something more active, but George told him to be patient.

Patience wasn’t Bucky’s strongest suit. He grew restless, useless, felt trapped. He discovered a place where guys like him would hook up with other guys. All on the sly, in the dark. But instead of helping, instead of quenching desire and easing frustration, feelings of guilt and shame swelled inside and made things worse.

Steve, like always, caught on that something was wrong. He tried to help, with his great big heart and his stubborn sense of morality. He found a job at the paper drawing political ‘toons. He did the laundry, the dishes, cooked meals. He ironed Bucky’s slacks and otherwise made like a housewife. And Bucky hated himself for all of it.

Then, when Steve took sick with pneumonia, everything changed. Bucky all but physically hauled his friend to the hospital. They tucked him into an isolation ward, cordoned off from outsiders, on account of his history with the Fever, with asthma, his heart arrhythmia. Bucky never felt more useless standing outside the glass, looking in at his friend fighting for his life.

Bucky’s parents footed the hospital bill. Becca sat with him when her shift at the bakery was done. The nurses flirted with him, and Bucky was polite in return. But he realized, once the worst passed and he was allowed in the room to hold that cold, pale hand, he only had eyes for one.

Steve.

The fingers that sought out his own now were thicker, stronger, capable of snapping a man’s neck, of snatching a flying metal disc out of the air and throwing it with murderous accuracy. The fingers that tugged at his own, that tangled themselves in his, were as decisive and determined and comforting as they were when they belonged to a much smaller man. And as those fingers shifted, and Steve gathered Bucky’s hand into a real and proper hold, it dawned on him that it wasn’t just platonic friendship, schoolboy affection, or wartime bonds.

Steve had the same complicated forbidden feelings for him.

Bucky closed his eyes as his stomach did its best to plummet over the side of the cliff. It was all his fault; he’d done this.

“Steve. You can’t tell anyone –”

But Rogers, as always, wouldn’t listen. “It doesn’t matter, Buck. The guys already know, have suspected for months. They’re not gonna say anything to anyone. Loyal enough not to do that.”

Bucky shook his head and, as Steve squeezed his hand to reassure, swallowed around the lump in his throat.

Steve Rogers, the darling of the war effort, strong and handsome and brave and stupid, was running around Europe harboring the very same disgusting secret Bucky was. Already with a target on his head, that secret put him in even more danger if anyone found out.

Bucky repeated himself with gritted teeth, eyes burning as he forced them to remain closed. “Nobody can know.”

Rogers stepped across the path, crowded up close in Bucky’s space. Those big, dumb, clumsy feet clunked into his own. That stupidly muscled forearm bent Bucky’s, tucked their clasped hands into that ridiculously perfect chest.

“Buck,” he said, in a low, trembling voice. “Can you look at me please?”

In his mind, closing his eyes to reality was the only way to survive the thundering of adrenaline inside his veins. His body was reacting in such a violent manner, blood pumping rapidly from his heart in a southward manner that was embarrassingly ill-timed.

But Bucky couldn’t deny Steve. Never could. He forced himself to relax, took a deep breath, and looked up into those beautiful eyes.

Rogers was crying, not with sadness, but with joy. There was absolute happiness leaking out the corners of his eyes, spilling over and dribbling down the perfectness of his stubbled cheek and strong jaw. His smile was radiant, confident, secure. And he was gazing down at Bucky with something so assured that one couldn’t help being gathered up by the shining, golden-boy aura of him.

“I don’t care if anyone finds out, y’hear? The only thing that matters is that you feel the same about me?”

It was a question. A question that hung heavily between them, waiting not-so-patiently for one answer.

Bucky’s mind was suddenly racing with possibilities, his mouth dry and his throat tight and paralyzed. He couldn’t believe they were here, feeling these things, thinking these words, and actually able to say them.

A rumble began off in the distance, like the rolling of the earth in so many earthquakes they’d experienced since arriving in that country. Delayed in his reaction, Bucky allowed the thunderous sound to grow and grow and grow until he could feel it beneath his feet, inside his chest, explosively loud in his ears. 

Steve, gaze frozen on Bucky’s as he waited for his answer, tugged him away from the wall and into the open-roofed space. He pulled Bucky into a bone-crushing hug as the noise built even more loudly around them.

“The guys are here. We’ll talk later, OK?”

Belatedly, Bucky reached with both arms to return the hug, but Steve was already pulling away. Stepping back and squeezing his hand with such force it would probably leave bruises. The soul-shattering gaze found Bucky’s once more, for a long, charged minute. And then he dropped his hand and shifted his eyes to the road below them.

The sun shone on Rogers’ blonde hair in a sort of halo. “Let’s go.”

Steve turned, businesslike, and marched down the path and across the clearing for his pack. The sound of voices calling their names echoed. Dum Dum. Morita. Gabe. They were joyous, cheerful, drunk with their freedom. And as Bucky came to his senses and walked out into the sun to join them, he realized something else.

The Howlies were family.

Somehow they’d secured a truck, a loud, rusted heap of a thing, to pick up their captain and sergeant to bring them the rest of the way to town. Bucky recognized it as a planned thing, and found himself strangely fond of the gesture. They’d known about him and Rogers before Bucky did, concocted a scheme to get them alone, together. And then interrupted them as only the group of them could.

“C’mon Sarge,” shouted Dum Dum from behind the wheel. Rogers and the rest were climbing into the bed of the truck, heaving Steve’s pack with them into a pile of the rest of their supplies. Bucky followed, making eye contact with Jim as he reached for his bag. There was knowing there, but there was also something else. There was acceptance.

Dernier slung himself into the cab next to Dum Dum, and Bucky found himself conveniently seated next to Steve in the back. 

It was close quarters. Knees touching bent knees. Elbows bumping elbows. Shoulders dwarfed by broader shoulders. Dum Dum drove them with such speed that bodies jarred and jerked into bodies, and Bucky found himself all of a sudden touching Steve more than he had in months.

Rogers’ hands rested on his thighs, fingers lax as they rattled down the bumpy road. Bucky found he couldn’t stop staring at them, even when he looked up to find Gabe grinning at him. Caught in the act and admiring it still.

Apparently, now the band of brothers were matchmakers, too.

Attentions shifted over the side once they cleared the hill and the ocean came into view. Morita and James and Falsworth shifted to the scenic side, while Steve stayed put, pressed against Bucky.

Rogers’ right-hand fingers twitched over his thigh until they made contact with Bucky’s, positioned in a similar manner, drifting in a like direction. They crossed over, meeting in the middle and sending Bucky’s heart soaring like the dozens of seabirds flying overhead.

How could it not?

Dum Dum slowed as they approached a wide, flat portion of the road that looked over what appeared to be a fishing pier and set of docks and a sandy beach. The excited conversation grew louder now that they could speak over the engine. The men wanted to take a dip in the ocean, turquoise blue as it was. And Bucky, hand covered by Steve’s larger one, quite suddenly shared their excitement.

Gabe began shedding clothing before they’d begun their descent to sea level. Jim and Jacques followed suit. Dum Dum tossed his ridiculous bowler into the back and loosened the buttons of his shirt one-handed. And Monty took off his bandana.

Steve, however, kept still, holding Bucky’s hand behind the cover of their bent-up knees. And not until they had stopped and four out of five Howlies had launched out of the truck in their skivvies did he shift the slightest. Allowing his thighs to straighten and giving Bucky’s hand a shake before releasing it.

“Go for a swim,” he said, eyes downturned and avoiding. “I’m gonna unload and set up camp.”

Bucky recognized an order when he heard one. Of course he wanted to help, but the tremor in Steve’s voice was familiar. It was the same kind of thing he said in the same way that meant he wanted to be alone.

“OK.”

Bucky climbed out of the bed and caught up with Monty as he strolled instead of sprinted like the rest across the sand and into the crashing waves. He appeared to be waiting for Bucky to catch up.

“Barnes,” he grunted, by way of a greeting.

“Jack,” Bucky replied in return.

Monty cleared his throat before lifting his chin. “Rogers is a decent bloke,” he said, praise never before bestowed on anyone in Barnes’ memory. “Reckless Nause mos’ uh the time. Stubborn as awn ‘oss the rest.”

Bucky snorted.

“Had m’ doubts. But —“

Monty shrugged and stuffed his hands in his pockets, proper British-like.

Bucky glanced back over his shoulder to catch Steve with a heavy pack in each hand, laying their supplies in a neatish line in the sand.

“Me too,” he said. “Not anymore, though.”

Bucky stripped to his BVDs and joined the rest of the guys in the surf while Monty sat in the sand and rolled more cigarettes.

In the distance, between Gabe’s head dunks underwater, Bucky spied Steve setting up tents on the beach. It appeared they were spending the night by the water. The thought of sharing a tent with Rogers was suddenly daunting indeed.

They collected driftwood and began a raging bonfire, Dum Dum producing a rack of lamb wrapped in paper, freshly purchased and kept in the bottom of his pack. They ate and laughed and drank the horribly strong booze that Morita produced from his bag. And while the rest of them passed out in various places, strung out in the sand, salt dried on their skin, or legs hanging out of open tent flaps, Steve sat by himself near the water’s edge, still in his borrowed loose brown clothing.

The sun set and he was still sitting there, looking off over the quickly calming sea. Disappointed, Bucky retreated to their tent, now completely and fully worried, to lie on his back and stare up at the creases in the fabric.

It didn’t take him long to give it up, to abandon his respect for Rogers’ space. To march across the sand in the near dark and find Steve’s clothing in a pile in the sand.

His heart did a familiar quick staccato as he scanned the lapping surface for his friend. Even though he knew, now, in this new body, that Steve was just fine, he panicked, just the same.

Bucky shucked out of his trousers and tee and launched himself into the surf, wading up to his armpits without fear for whatever night creatures lurked below. He paused to listen, to use his strange sixth sense to locate his friend. Only to be scared practically out of his shorts as Steve emerged from the water, not six inches in front of him.

Bucky was panting by that time, chest heaving with the effort required to push aside the weight of an entire ocean to find the person most important to him. He closed the distance and caught Steve’s elbow, the bulge of his bicep. Desperate fingers at the small of his waist, the dip in his lower back.

And kissed him. Sloppily, with poor aim and even worse skill. Kissed that salty, shocked mouth, from which all manner of stupidity streamed out at any given moment. Grabbed at the band of his shorts, twined his fingers into them and pulled him to safety. Feet on the ground and mouth open against his own.

It took everything he had to stop, to realize Steve was stubbornly holding Bucky at arm’s length while simultaneously breaking his heart with quiet, mournful moans. As if he was in pain, as if he was in agony. As if he were –

“Steve,” Bucky spluttered, noticing the vice-like grip on both upper arms as Rogers’ fought some kind of battle within. It came out as a shout, an angry release of years of pent-up confessions. “Of course I feel the same, you fucking idiot. Now quit being strong and let me love you!”

Steve hesitated for a horrible moment, gasping for breath just as frantically. Eyes reflecting the fucking stars as they flit between Bucky’s. And when he melted, he melted hard, falling into Bucky with so much force it nearly dropped them both into the surf.

Bucky squared his legs and gathered every last ounce of strength to be the rock that Steve Rogers needed at that moment. And he was rewarded with the best set of words whispered into the corner of his undeserving mouth.

“I love you, too.”

[inknopewetrust]

Oh, Baby, it’s Monday.

Summary: You and Eddie raise a baby… only you aren’t a couple and the baby isn’t real–but now it's the first week and things evolve. Pairing: Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader [WC: 8k] Warnings: Idiots in love, language, Billy Hargrove and Carol Perkins are assholes, only getting a part 3 aka “Halloween” if people want it (comments and reblogs help!) Quick Links: Masterlist | Part One

Mr. Allen's classroom was a sound box of squabbles and chaos when you walked through the doorway Monday morning.

Tommy Hagen was throwing his doll across the room to Billy Hargrove in the far left corner as girls giggled in gaggles at their desks and Steve was trying to plead with the teacher at his desk.

It was like walking into an inferno without any water.

Bilbo was clutched into your chest; falsely protected by the notebook and pencil case you carried. The doll was swaddled the best you could manage that morning and surprisingly, quiet for the last few hours.

"Would everyone please take a seat!" Mr. Allen called from behind his desk but Steve did not leave and the disorder did not quell.

As you dodged the flying baby, you walked down the aisle of desks and attempted to find yours except it was already occupied. Carol Perkins was sitting in it; her doll placed on top with a stain of spaghetti sauce in the middle of its onesie.

"You're in my seat," you told her, raising your eyebrows as she popped her gum loudly with arms crossed. She peered over to you with flippant eyes, cocking her head to the side, and sticking her neck further out. Carol was no better than Billy, Tommy, or the rest of them.

"What?" She ran her tongue teasingly over her lips and jostled her shoulder with a wink. "Don't wanna sit by daddy?"

They had all heard Eddie's joke in the cafeteria last week. Mama. It was harmless in Eddie's eyes compared to their own. Their minds were far from it—dangerous and begging for a way to make their tiny hearts feel better by putting others in situations they'd never want to see themselves in. No one called people ‘daddy’ unless they were quite literally five and talking to their father, so the sentiment behind it was crude and unwelcome.

You sighed, motioning to your desk, "Can I sit down? This is my desk."

"Sorry," She pursed her face with a comedic frown and the girls sitting around her laughed. Their high-pitched chuckles made your skin crawl. "See these," she waved her hand at the surrounding desks, "are for people who aren't freaks… you know which corner they sit in."

You stared at her, mouth slightly agape and processing what she had said. The problem with girls–high school girls–was that the image of who you grew to be mattered most to them.

"What are you talking about?" You scoffed, furrowing your brows at her. "This is literally my seat, Carol. You can't just kick me out of my seat–" you turned toward Mr. Allen, not wanting to be the person who tattles about menial things, but you didn't want to get in trouble for not sitting in the one assigned to you at the beginning of the year.

"You gonna tattle on me, little miss perfect? No wonder you and Nance are such good friends," Carol fluffed her voluminous red hair, "It doesn't surprise me that you get on well with Munson after she became friends with Byers… maybe you can go on double dates to the cemetery and listen to his pathetic band play at a run-down bar."

"You're such a b-"

You couldn't get the words out to defend Nancy, Jonathan, Eddie, or yourself because Eddie had walked into the classroom as she fluffed her hair. Before you could spit out the insult, he put a hand on your lower back and pushed you forward. The feel of his hand sent a jolt through your spine, your head turning to look over your shoulder only to find him shaking his head with pleading eyes.

"Don't play into that," he said as he sat down at the desk in the right corner. Eddie hooked his foot around the one beside him and positioned it next to his–out of order with the rest of them five rows forward. "Believe me," he rose his eyebrows knowingly, "they just want to get a rise out of you."

You slid into the seat next to him and laid Bilbo between the crease that connected the desks.

"They're assholes. All of them," you mumbled to which he responded with a nod, crossing his arms across his chest and observed the room before him. Mr. Allen looked like he wanted to pull, what little hair he had left, out of his head as Steve tried to persuade him to cut the assignment short. The baby flinging between Tommy and Billy looked ready to lose an arm.

Glancing over at him, Eddie had a cigarette tucked behind his ear that pushed his hair back. He was wearing a black leather jacket and an inconspicuous red t-shirt underneath. The same ornate jewelry he adorned every day littered his figure–a black hair tie on his right wrist. You were reminded of your father's comments from Saturday, looking away and focusing your attention elsewhere.

"I think I cracked it, the code on how to care for Bilbo," you said quietly. Eddie looked at the doll all swaddled in its yellow blanket and recognized it had been washed. The fabric was fluffy and begging to be touched.

"Yeah?"

"The swaddle helps, sure, but it's like… it can sense stress or something. We just have to be gentle and the tantrums won't last as long. The way you touch it has to be gentle."

"That's it?" Eddie appeared unconvinced but the conversation died when Mr. Allen got up from his chair, slammed the door closed, and told everyone to sit next to their partners. You met Eddie's eyes with the question lingering between you–how did he know you'd have to sit by one another?

Eddie leaned over, unintentionally making goosebumps erupt on your skin. You were thankful the weather was changing and you could wear long sleeves.

"Katie Yang has Allen before us. Told me that everyone complained and he makes everyone talk," he whispered.

Katie Yang was a savior. Katie Yang made Eddie's impulsive escape plan valid without reason. The senior Hellfire member had never even spoken to you before, but she had your back and didn't even know it.

"We will have to give them all our secrets?" You smiled and he caught himself glancing down at your lips as they grinned. "I'd rather they all have to walk through Mordor than come home to the Shire."

Oh, Eddie was fucked. Royally and utterly fucked.

"So," Mr. Allen clapped his hands together eagerly. He was excited to hear the tales of the weekend because for once, each one was connected to his assignment.

He gazed around at the pairs and saw the life draining from many of the eyes. Steve was still angered at his refusal to cut the project short, a couple of the girls were picking at the doll clothes, and the many of the guys kept to themselves.

"Who wants to share first?"

Allen paced at the front of the room. He knowingly prepared to choose the first set of eyes that diverted from his and those eyes were Tina Nicholls'.

"Tina!" He exclaimed happily and everyone looked toward her. "How was the first few days of parenthood?"

"Horrible, like everyone else says," she began twirling her hair like something out of a mean girl flick. Tina was too busy planning her Halloween party to care about the project.

"And Peter is your partner?" he pointed to the football player next to her and she nodded.

"Do you think it's horrible, Peter?"

"I mean," he sounded like he was strung out on cocaine, "it's fine, I guess."

"Any tips you'd like to share? How are you able to care for the baby if feeding and hygiene aren't options?"

Steve turned his entire body to face them. He was so far lost that he had no clear plan. For once, the entire room was void of wailing or gurgling or giggles and it was peaceful.

"We just kind of let it cry," Peter admitted, not sure if there was any other answer to the question.

Eddie tipped his head toward yours and you could feel the ends of his hair brush your shoulder.

"Bad parents," he scolded and you bit your lip to prevent the smile that was threating to overtake your face. It was so easy to smile at everything he said.

"Do you think letting it cry it out every time is a good strategy?" Mr. Allen asked in response and the two shrugged their shoulders.

"We're not parents, how would we know?" Tina retorted.

"First time parents don't know what they're walking into either. But, in the end, they make it work," he narrowed his eyes, "sometimes."

"But this baby is fake and only half the work of a real baby," Peter added and Allen nodded.

"Exactly, Peter. If you think this is hard–with a doll that's unpredictable–then imagine being real parents at your age. Many of you are adults or going to be adults within the year and just because you are eighteen, it doesn't mean you're ready to be parents."

Carol laughed from your former seat. "Could you imagine any of us as parents?" She garnered a few chuckles from the ones that follow her around school. Billy Hargrove in the other corner smiled at her when she turned around to look around the room.

"No, I can't," Mr. Allen shook his head at her, preparing to ask another group their experience.

"I mean," she shifted her body to swivel in the chair in your direction, "I don't want to be a mother because it would mess up my body," a whistle left Billy's lips and it perturbed you.

“Think of Hargrove as a dad!” She cackled and Billy let her joke. “That kid would be as buff as Arnold by the time he’s two!”

The way she looked in your direction made Eddie tense up beside you.

"Could you imagine miss perfect and the freak having a baby?"

It wasn't even two days ago that you realized you were attracted to Eddie in a romantic way and here the popular kids were, drawing attention to nothing more than an assigned partnership like it was a choice. You couldn't help the way your face fell. The laughter from the peers you had known since kindergarten invading every sense and it was new.

For Eddie, it wasn't. Hell, he had been crushing on the girl with her nose stuck in a book since the fifth grade and if he was going to let a group of nasty bullies prevent his dreams of sweeping you, that girl, off her feet he’d never forgive himself.

"You know, Carol," He steeled his face as he looked at her, feeling your eyes watch his every movement, "you've been fuckin' Tommy since the seventh grade. I'm surprised an 'accident' hasn't happened."

There was a brief second in time where Mr. Allen's classroom had become a vacuum in space. A pin could be heard dropping in the three seconds of silence that followed Eddie's words and the teacher himself was stunned into a wordlessness despair.

"Holy shit," Billy erupted in laughter and set the whole room off.

"Mr. Munson, Mr. Munson," Mr. Allen breathed in heavily but Eddie wasn't paying attention to him.

Eddie met your eyes and saw the twinkle return in them. He smiled not at his words that defend you from her attack, but at the way you looked at him. He prayed to those metal Gods that what he saw in them wasn't a fallacy; that maybe, somewhere in the glint, there was the spark that illuminated his fire.

"Mr. Munson, please don't use that language in class." Mr. Allen scolded him, looking away from the now red-in-the-face Carol as Tommy high fived the guys around him.

"Sorry," Eddie replied to him half-heartedly because he was still looking at you.

That response was the talk of Hawkins High for an entire week.

Eddie took Bilbo Monday night and returned him Tuesday morning, departing from you with a small 'good luck tonight' leaving your lips as he debated skipping science.

That brief, four-minute conversation centered around Bilbo and his gig at the Hideout lingered within him for the entire day. As he drove home, when he left in his van, as he drove up to the bar, and when he sat tuning his guitar with a stupid, lovesick smile plastered on his face—all of his thoughts were consumed by you. Little parasite.

"What's wrong with him?" Jeff asked Gareth as the other guitarist sat beside the curly-haired boy fiddling with the symbols of his set. Gareth glanced at Eddie with the answer to the master’s knowing grin.

"You ever been in love, Jeff?" Gareth questioned quietly and Jeff choked on air.

"Love? Eddie's in love? With who?" Jeff openly gawked with surprise finding its way onto his face. The junior had seen Eddie flirt with girls, even go on a few dates but never, in his life, had he seen Eddie Munson be a man consumed by love.

"Y/n L/n," Gareth snickered at Jeff's face.

"They're partners for that baby project! He's not in love."

"He scared the shit out of me on Saturday where he admitted it to my face. Spent the whole day with her and you notice him at lunch?" Gareth challenged Jeff. Eddie had been himself for the most part, however, as Jeff reflects, his attention was always being pulled away. Eyes diverted, head turned toward another table, not fully engaged beyond talk of D&D and the new Maiden album Aces High.

"He's half there and half in la la land."

Jeff wanted to play into it. "Hey, Eddie!"

Eddie stopped tuning, eyes flicking to the clock on the wall above the door before looking at his friends.

"What?"

"How's the baby project? Make you wanna be a dad?"

"No," Eddie cackled, "but it's fine. A lot better than last week."

"And Y/n?"

"What about her?" Eddie's eyes left Jeff’s for a split second to see Gareth smiling beside him and the secret, his secret, was out in the open. He should have never said anything. Eddie had just panicked in the moment that evening. "Seriously, man?"

"Sorry!" Gareth giggled holding his hands up in defense, "you were smiling like an idiot and he asked!"

"You gonna ask her out or just watch her every day at lunch?" Jeff joked and Eddie felt the guitar pick between his fingers become a bullet. He tossed the pick harshly in Jeff's direction but the boy dodged it.

"I don't watch her at lunch."

"Yes, you do," Gareth backed Jeff up. He got up from his stool and picked the pick off the floor. "You've been staring at her since Friday and yeah, you talk at school and spent one afternoon together but that's not gonna help you sway her interest. Now that I think about it, I’m pretty sure you’ve stared at her table the entire time I’ve know you!”

"Who said I was trying to sway her interest?" Eddie questioned, narrowing his eyes and leaning his head forward as he gripped the neck of his guitar. "What if I just want to be friends?"

"I'm sorry," Jeff stood up, shaking his head, "you blasted Carol Perkins in Allen's class for what? We get shit on all the time and you don't defend us like that! You did, however, defend her and if you wanted to be 'just friends' you would have laughed it off like it was nothing."

"I was being nice!"

"Yeah, nice to get in her pants!"

"Hey!" Eddie defended again, not realizing Gareth and Jeff were pulling the admissions out of him like stealing candy from a baby. "Don't say that!"

"It's true, though. Isn't it? She's a pretty nice girl… you know what they say about the quiet ones…" Gareth looked at Jeff conspiratorially.

Eddie bolted from the chair he had been sitting in and got in Gareth's face. His face angered and serious, the two knew Eddie played into the palm of their hand. Eddie teetered the line between social strata and confrontation—working for no physical confrontations so long as his jesting was allowed. He had been socked one to many times to know that a concussion would put him out of commission from doing what he enjoyed most.

"Don't fucking say that shit ever again."

"You love her, man," Jeff put his hand on Eddie's shoulder, drawing him back from Gareth, "or at least like her a lot."

Gareth provided a tight, hopeful expression in support. Eddie looked at both of them before turning around and pacing the small room.

"I doubt she would even say yes if I asked. Why would she go out with me? People at school are making fun of her because of this goddamn project so can you imagine if I somehow managed to date her? She'd be a social… pariah!"

"Oh, big words," Jeff mumbled.

"I can't put her through that! What kind of person would I be if I caused her to lose friends or have girls write rumors about her in the bathroom stalls?"

"If she lost friends by going out with you, those people weren't really friends," Gareth concluded.

"You see what's happening to Nancy Wheeler because she's hangin' around Jonathan Byers?"

"He’s zombie kids brother?"

"Zombie kid? Yeah, but that's not the point!" Eddie swiveled back to face them. "Wheeler has like three friends and ever since Barb Holland died it's like the world has gone crazy! If I asked Y/n on date, the world would simply implode."

"Then don't ask her on a date," Jeff sufficed. "Just use the guise of the project as a way to hang out. You did it on Saturday when you went to her house and now do it again but go somewhere else. Take her to the diner, or… or to the park or something!"

Eddie thought on it for a minute. It wasn't a bad plan, per se, but he didn't want his motivations to seem fake. He wanted to spend time with you, get to know you, and if you'd let him, wine and dine you until you realized he was a good guy and you'd give him a chance. Tomorrow was Wednesday and Tina had asked him in the hall that afternoon if he could supply her party on Saturday.

So, he had tomorrow after school; Thursday after school; and Saturday before time with you would run out.

He couldn't guarantee that you'd ever be partners again or that, depending on the grade, you'd be inclined to speak to him after project parenthood was over.

Eddie had to take the chance.

Eddie never showed at your locker Wednesday morning to collect Bilbo from you.

In Allen’s class, you had to discuss alone how the last day and a half had been by yourself because he missed third period, and by the time lunch rolled around, he wasn’t at Hellfire’s table. Every time you glanced at the table out of curiosity as to why, five heads whipped in the opposite direction.

They had been staring. Their gazes fixed upon you like a brilliant gem—the golden statue at the beginning of Raiders of the Lost Ark.

“Why do you keep looking over there?” Nancy broke the silence that settled between the two of you as lunch took hold. She had that same lunch as before, picking off your tray when she got bored of her own food.

“Eddie’s not here,” you shot a look at her then the baby doll beside you. “He was supposed to take Bilbo.”

“Jesus,” she mumbled, “you sound like a real parent, you know that?”

“Well, Barb did always call me the mom of the group.”

Just the mentioned of her name was saddening.

That’s what brought the lull in the first place. Nancy mentioned that she and Steve visited the Holland’s last Friday and, conveniently, forgot to mention it. There was something in her eyes—guilt or sorrow—that existed ever since that night.

Everything felt like one big secret lately.

“Yeah, she did.”

“But I’m kind of pissed about it,” you glanced back at the table and this time, met Gareth’s eyes before he could turn away. “And they keep staring at me too. Do I have something on my face?”

“No,” Nancy snorted a laugh, “maybe they’re concerned about having your attention.”

“I don’t think that’s it,” you scrunched your face in thought as you turned back to her. Nancy had a little smirk playing on her face.

“What?”

She didn’t say anything. Nancy just sat there, smirking into her food like a mad woman.

“What Nance?” You chuckled from pure nervousness. That feeling had been bouncing around inside of you for the last few days and the thought of its reasoning was excitable fear. You couldn’t stop looking for him when he wasn’t here.

“Nothin’…” she trailed off as she tilted her head onto her shoulder. Her big, stormy blues looking at yours with mischief. “There a reason you keep looking over there, though? Never did it before.”

“I told you,” you tried to keep your face as flat and firm as possible, “he’s not here. I have to spend extra time with Bilbo without prior notice and if he had any sense in him, he would have at least called and said he wouldn’t make it in today. I don’t think it’s fair, to be frank, that I have to allocate more of my time with—“

God. You were rambling.

“—Bilbo because that means he isn’t doing the same share of work.”

“And you’re sure it isn’t because you have a huge, fat crush on Eddie Munson?”

Nancy was far from quiet and the girls at the end of the table perked their heads up. Your heart skipped in little beats like a jumping horse.

“I-I don’t like Eddie in that way. He’s my partner,” you defended.

“Mhm,” she hummed, turning her own head to look at the Hellfire table and her investigative instincts told her she was right the moment she caught them all in the act. “The more you tell yourself that, it makes it more true. You’re just denying facts.”

“Nance! It’s not!” You cried, flashing your eyes at the girls at the end as if trying to convince them you weren’t hopelessly in love with the metal head. It made no sense for you to be the one defending your feelings to a girl torn between two very different boys and who also happens to be a year under you.

Why did she get to wear the big girl pants when you squandered in a rain puddle?

“Did something happen? Is that why they’re staring?” She questioned. Nancy was enjoying the way you squirmed because it reminded her of the gossip sessions Barb, you, and herself would have at sleepovers.

“No!” Your eyes blew wide, “nothing happened! I swear—Christ! What is wrong with everyone this week? First, Carol was a straight bitch in health, no one will stop talking to me about what he said to her, and two, you! Why do I have to be in love with someone to care about where they are?”

“So, you are in love with him? Who knew…”

And like fate, you were saved by the bell.

“I’ll take you home, alright?” Nancy stood, zipping up her lunch bag as everyone began to prepare for their afternoon classes. You still sat down, hands gripping the table to the point where your fingertips hurt.

Why was the admission that you found Eddie to be the perfect mix of charming and attractive so difficult?

“But we have to wait for the boys because I have to take them all home too.”

“What? Jonathan can’t?”

“Sick today. But you would have noticed that if you paid attention. Too bad,” Nancy smiled, “Eddie Munson is corrupting your mind.”

“Seems like Steve’s really blowing you off.”

Nancy’s car was actually her mothers. Borrowed for the week because Steve was entirely too consumed with Tammy Thompson, Nancy hadn’t even appeared jostled any time they were seen together. Sure, Steve still snuck up on her in the hallway and planted kisses on her rosy cheeks when he had a second, but the hair had stressed himself out to the point where he and Tammy were tied at the hip.

It did not help the situation to know that Tammy Thompson had heart eyes for the brown-haired beauty.

“He’s just busy,” Nancy leaned against the car with her arms folded across her chest as the two of you stared at the middle school.

Classes for the day had just been let out which meant within fifteen minutes, the smattering of little middle school boys would come bolting out of the school with backpacks barely zipped up and start a fight over who got the window seats. Bilbo was shut inside the car in the passenger seat. Just the sight of the doll made your mind filter back to the fact that Eddie never showed and you were stuck with the doll.

You didn’t want to believe that he had left you scorned when he promised to make this project as equal as possible. But the world wasn’t perfect and pretending that Eddie Munson wouldn’t flake on you halfway through the assignment appeared to be wishful, premature thinking on your part.

“Doesn’t it bother you that he’s spending all his time with Tammy? It’s bullshit if you ask me.”

“It’s for the project,” she bore her eyes into yours, “what’s the difference between Steve and Tammy and you and Eddie?”

“Steve’s your boyfriend, Nance, not Tammy’s.”

“Thank you for that reminder,” Nancy deadpanned, “I didn’t know I had a boyfriend.”

“I’m just saying,” you looked back to the middle school and no kids were coming down the walkway yet.

Maybe it wasn’t your business, but Nancy was your friend. Steve was a halfway decent guy most of the time and while you thought she could do better; it was her decision in the end. You hadn’t meant to put doubt in her mind, yet she gnawed on her bottom lip anxiously in the minutes that passed.

“Do you really think it’s bullshit?” She asked quietly as two sophomore girls passed the bumper of Karen Wheeler’s car. A bell sounded in the distance signaling the end of another day.

“Nance,” you sighed, putting an arm on the top of the car and letting your head fall into the hand that prepared to rest at the top of your head. “I didn’t mean anything by it… I just thought it was rude of him. It’s like you’re not a priority.”

“It’s been like that a lot lately,” she admitted to the ground; eyes downcast to her shoes. “He’s so,” Nancy let out a frustrated groan, “caught up in all of that,” she waved her hand in a circle at the high school building.

“That’s kind of the point of senior year, I suppose,” you shrugged, “but I know you, Nance, and I don’t think you’re happy. I know with everything that happened with Will and Barb and what not screwed a lot of things up…”

“I know, I know.”

“Don’t dwell on it, alright?” You felt guilt wash over you. Nancy’s face was drawn and sad when the thought of the weekend almost there and Halloween just on the other side of Friday should be exciting. “You still going as Joel and Lana?”

Risky Business. Her favorite movie.

Nancy nodded her head and gazed off into the distance. Little ant like shapes began to descend the walkway from the middle school. “Yeah and that reminds me,” she opened the driver's side door and fumbled in her bag for a second before pulling an orange slip from it.

“Tina was handing these out after class. Not sure if you got one,” she handed it to you and you read over the information quickly. “You should come. I know Halloween isn’t like, your favorite, but it could be fun. And if Steve’s an asshole I’ll be happy to have you there.”

“Oh?” You quirked a brow at her, “You want me to be a third wheel to the Stancy show?”

She laughed, a small smile threatening on her face. “No… it would be good for you.”

“To get plastered and smoke a little weed? My dad would lock me in my room if I came home smelling like that.”

“You can stay at my house,” she offered. Mike Wheeler’s loud yelling could be heard twenty feet away.

“What in the world would I go as? It’s a little late to be thinking of a costume now.”

“I don’t know…” she pondered and saw the group of kids barreling toward the car. “Maybe you could go as Sandy, you know, from Grease.”

“Yes,” you rolled your eyes at her as Lucas Sinclair’s feet came thudding toward the two of you and he tapped the trunk of the car first. “Because I look exactly like Olivia Newton-John…” you joked.

“Halloween doesn’t mean you look like them. You just have to embody the character. Get some leather pants… maybe a jacket too and I can get a red ascot for you.”

“Nance,” you complained but Dustin, Mike, and Will quickly followed and slapped their hands on the trunk behind you.

“What are you talking about,” Mike asked out of breath, hands clutching the straps of his backpack.

“Halloween but that’s none of your business,” Nancy told him and tipped her head toward the car, “get in. I have homework.”

You opened the car door for the boys because you had been leaning on it. A scramble of thank you’s, you forgot Bilbo was tucked in the front seat.

“Shit!” Mike laughed loudly and Nancy rolled her eyes, “Whose baby?”

“Y/n’s baby,” Nancy winked at you before slipping into the car and shutting the door; the conversation inside went silent for you. As you shut the door for the boys and walked around the side of the trunk, an eruption of metal music began to invade the parking lot of Hawkins High.

Eddie. Eight hours late to first period.

Groups of kids rapidly moved out of the way as the van sped into the lot. It nearly tipped on itself when the wheel hit the edge of a low concrete planter in its first turn. The sight of it peeved you. The entire day you spent hanging onto Bilbo when it wasn’t your job. Eddie left you hanging onto hope and didn’t help with the climb.

You opened the passenger door the second he pulled into the spot erratically next to you. His window rolled down, the music ceased with a press of a button.

“Don’t leave! Please, don’t leave!” Eddie begged but didn’t get out of his van. You folded your arm over the top of the car door and looked at him. You were still holding the orange invitation to Tina’s party. He had slight bags under his eyes like he didn’t sleep; his hair was barely brushed [per usual], but he had his entire body turned toward the window as he leaned out of it.

“Why shouldn’t I? You said you would take this seriously and it didn’t even take a week before you flaked!”

“I didn’t mean to!” He defended himself, voice a higher pitch than he would have liked. “I was hungover and there was no way I was going to stay awake the entire day so I stayed home. I meant to call but by the time I got up it was already eleven.”

“Who’s that?” You heard Lucas ask Mike as Lucas was the lucky one to get the window seat behind the passenger side.

“I don’t know. Maybe Y/n’s got a boyfriend now.”

“He’s like… dirty,” Lucas cringed and Dustin slapped the back of his head.

“I think he looks cool!”

“You got drunk on a Tuesday night?” You asked him, baffled he had the audacity to do such a thing but he had come to school stoned before—it really wasn’t out of the realm of ‘Eddie.’

“We had a few drinks after the show last night and it got away from me.”

“Well,” you grumbled, “it sounds like you have a problem there, Eddie.”

“I don’t have a problem! It was an accident, I’m sorry!” Never, in his eighteen years on the planet, had Eddie ever apologized to one of his peers. “I’m sorry, Y/n. I promise it wasn’t intentional. I know this project is important.”

“You sure have a funny way of showing that,” Eddie hated the attitude that slipped out with every word. It made the plan he spent all night mulling over feel less and less plausible.

“How’d you even know I’d still be here?”

“Lucky guess. If you weren’t I would have checked your house and if you weren’t there, I’d check Wheeler’s.”

You pursed your lips. “And you know where she lives because...?”

“Well,” Eddie snickered, “someone has to t-pee the rich kids every Halloween.”

Nancy’s head perked up at that.

“Let me make it up to you?” He looked hopeful and that bit away at your anger. The way his eyes pleaded, the frantic way in which he tried to show you that it truly was just an accident and he meant for none of it to happen.

“Maybe it is her boyfriend,” Mike said to Lucas who smiled cheekily.

“He looks so cool…” Dustin followed the comment as Will hummed in agreement. Through the windows of Karen’s car, Eddie could see Nancy Wheeler eavesdropping and a bunch of middle schoolers staring back at him.

“Those kids,” he pointed at them and they all looked away as if he hadn’t just made eye contact with each and every one of them, “they’re the ones in your locker.”

“What?” That hadn’t come out exactly right.

“The picture, in your locker,” Eddie clarified, “the Star Wars kids.”

“Oh,” you nodded, “yeah I babysit some of them.”

“We’re not babies!” Mike yelled at you from the back and Eddie laughed, his smile shooting an arrow through your heart. You hadn’t even noticed he saw the picture in your locker, let alone remembered it.

“So,” he cleared his throat, “You free right now?”

“I have homework… you know, from school today.”

“Then let’s do homework,” Eddie opened his door, hopped out of his car and extended his arm toward the front bench like a prince opening the carriage door for a princess.

“See! Look at him! Freaking wicked!” Dustin laughed and while you weren’t looking at him, you bet that toothless grin was adorable. Nancy shushed them but it didn’t stop Lucas from peering again.

“Is he new like MadMax?”

“No, I’ve seen that van before,” Will commented quietly. Nevertheless, you could still hear them. “I think he’s a drug dealer.”

Will wasn’t wrong—in the slightest—but before the boys could get any more curious about Eddie, you grabbed Bilbo off the seat and slung your bag over your shoulder while looking at Nancy.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?”

“Mhm,” she hummed, keeping her lips together knowingly, “don’t do drugs.”

“See!” Will said and Dustin leaned back in his seat. You looked back at them and they went silent. Through the passenger window, Eddie was hanging onto the door with one hand and the other tucked itself into the pocket of his leather jacket.

“He your boyfriend, Y/n?” Mike questioned, “Nancy said you’ve been acting weird.”

“Oh my God,” you looked at Nancy again and she shook her head.

“I never said that.”

“Keep your noses out of my business, ‘Kay, twerps?” You scolded them to which they nodded, but Dustin’s devious smile meant it would never end. You shut the door as Eddie extended his arm again.

“After you, mama.”

For the first few minutes, Eddie didn’t even turn his radio back on. It was quiet—like the lingering silence that had fallen between you and Nancy not twenty minutes before. The only difference now was that it was just you and Eddie.

Just you and Eddie.

It wasn’t as though the silence was completely silent; the kind that made your ears ring and made you feel like you were underwater. The van itself was loud, in need of a tune or two, and his fingers tapped on the steering wheel and open window too. Bilbo laid between you on the van’s fuzzy seats. It smelt like cigarettes and weed, but the little tree that hung from the rear view mirror smelt like pine.

“So,” you watched the forests beside the school pass by quickly, “where are you taking me?”

He looked over, the hand that was resting out the open window came back in and ran over his chin. “You really wanna know?”

Pondering for a second, you decided that a surprise wouldn’t be so bad. Eddie was harmless—as harmless as a doe-eyed drug dealer could be—and never struck you as a guy that would intentionally put you in any danger. He was apologetic and soft spoken when he most needed to be.

“No. It’s fine.”

“You and Wheeler babysit those kids after school or something?” He asked to keep the conversation alive. He didn’t want the ride to the destination to be silent. Eddie wanted to know everything about you and silence defeated that purpose. “I see them ride their bikes to school sometimes.”

“Two of them I do,” you responded, watching as he nodded his head slowly and took in every piece of information you gave. “Nancy has a little brother, Mike, and the other one is Will Byers.”

“Right,” He felt a little embarrassed by the fact he had referred to the kid as ‘Zombie Kid’ to Gareth and Jeff even if you would never know of it.

“They’re good kids. They’re the ones who play D&D,” Eddie recalled your dad mentioning that, “Mike’s the DM.”

“You know more about D&D than you let on there, mama?” He smirked, stopping at the stop light like he was supposed to.

“They try to teach me every time but I can’t grasp it. I’m more of a monopoly kind of girl.”

“Monopoly girl…” he ticked.

“I think Bilbo has taken after me that way,” you joked and smiled. He loved the sight. “Pretty sure he’ll be a monopoly kid.”

“Over my dead body,” Eddie mumbled quietly, “I thought you said he wouldn’t grow old? Would never have memories?”

“Changed my mind…” you diverted your eyes to the front and watched the light. “You really were hungover?”

“As much as the kids at school like to brag about theirs, I wouldn’t openly admit that I was… still am a little bit,” Eddie laughed but knew the lingering effects of his overconsumption were long gone. “I didn’t mean to leave you high and dry there.”

The sincerity in his voice was hard to escape from. Like before, as he half hung out the window to convince you he was truly sorry, Eddie wasn’t wearing a mask. He wasn’t pretending to gloat about getting drunk after one of his shows and being a show-off by not coming to school the next day. It was a tone you had been catching often in his voice when he spoke to you. The same could not be said for the way he interacted with Hellfire or the rest of the lot at school… it was nice and non-combative against the world shaming him for being who he was.

“I believe you,” you told him as the light turned green, “Sorry for being a bitch about it.”

“You don’t have anything to apologize for,” Eddie scoffed in a second of disbelief, “you should be mad. I broke a promise that I made to you and being upset about it isn’t wrong.”

“I didn’t mean to imply you had a drinking problem or anything…”

“Hey,” you looked over at him. Eddie shook his head, eyes telling you it wasn’t a big deal. “It’s fine.”

You still felt bad about it because the comment wasn’t something you meant. People upset by things beyond their control often say things they don’t mean and the last thing you wanted Eddie to think about you was that you thought he was a burnout—one of those stoner drunks who would never graduate high school.

“Well, I still didn’t mean it.”

“Okay,” he said quietly. In his mind, he wondered if he should admit why he had even taken up the night that way. Gareth and Jeff had gone to school perfectly fine yet there he was, blocking out the sunlight with his sheets as it burned his eyes. The thoughts that ran through his mind pounded harder than the alcohol he gladly chugged.

But by some unimaginable force, you mentioned the two first.

“At lunch today, your Hellfire table kept looking at me.”

“O-oh?” He stuttered knowing the reason they were looking. In his drunken stupor, Eddie had engaged in some… flower-y language to describe his feelings about you.

“Do you know why?” A part of you wanted to think he did. That maybe he talked about you to them and what you saw in your mind wasn’t an illusion of your own making.

“Why they were looking at you?” Eddie stalled. He focused on the road ahead of him and was very thankful that the park Jeff had suggested wasn’t farther away. You nodded and gave a gentle hum.

“No, not really… maybe they thought you’d be mad I wasn’t there.”

“That doesn’t constitute staring at me for a half hour.”

“I’ll tell ‘em to knock it off tomorrow. You don’t have to worry about Gareth’s eyes drilling a hole through the back of your pretty little head anymore.”

Pretty.

It was passive but it was there.

You settled with his answer but a pit grew. There was no longer a part of you that wanted him to admit that he talked about you and their curiosity was what caused them to keep looking. All you wanted was that. Not a little, not some, but all of you. The rest of the ride was quiet and when he pulled into the small parking lot beside Hawkins Memorial Park, he grabbed Bilbo and opened his door.

“We have arrived,” he lowered his voice dramatically.

“The park?”

“No, it’s the Shire.”

“Funny,” you panned, grabbing your bag and getting out of the van where fresh, unpolluted air filled your senses. Eddie walked ahead of you and while your mind traveled to the idea that everything was awkward now, Eddie was thinking of how he was going to slap the shit out of Gareth when he dropped you off later. He stopped at a picnic table in the middle of the park beside a giant tree and set Bilbo down on the top.

“Tell me,” he said as he sat down, “How was the dear little Bilbo for you? He say he miss his dad because I missed him.”

He was trying to break that tension again. By doing so, it only made your heart feel more giddy. The effort; Eddie was trying.

“He talked a lot about you,” You followed his movement and sat across from him while unzipping your bag and taking out your calculus homework. “In the last twenty-four hours, he learned how to speak and sign at the same time so, we’ve got a pretty brilliant little guy right there.”

We’ve.

“And what homework did Clay assign?” He picked up the sheet as soon as you set it down. You didn’t complain when he took it.

Eddie technically had already taken the class. It was one of the only subjects he considered himself to be a true fan of—and it was probable that D&D played a large part in that. All the calculations and fanfare that surrounded it… it made classes like math easier.

“Chain Rule…” he trailed off, brain racking itself to remember what it was. He was rather good at math and English—it was science and history that always caught him in a fix.

“I’m lost in there,” you laughed, embarrassed that calculus was beyond your skill set, “I can’t tell which lines are which or where the graphs are supposed to go… it’s like the numbers flip the minute I see them.”

“Do you need help? I think I can manage this?” Eddie returned the sheet and touched the textbook that didn’t set aflame the moment his fingers skimmed the cover. His ring clad hand searched for the pages on the unit and he let out a “voilà” when he found it.

“Have you taken this?”

“A year ago but I’m not as bad at math as everyone thinks.”

“I never said I thought you were bad at math.”

Eddie glanced up from the book. The wind was blowing slightly, the leaves changing their colors around the two of you and it was picture perfect; straight out of a movie. John Hughes should have teleported there because you’d look amazing as the subject of his next film—not that Eddie would ever admit he had seen a Hughes film before. Only Rocky Horror and Evil Dead for him.

“Actually,” Eddie swallowed hard and you could see the way his Adam’s apple bobbed, “I had the privilege of sitting next to Harrington for that class.”

Steve too was good at math. He had taken it a whole year before you did. You remember him complaining about Clay when he asked to see your schedule in September.

“He hasn’t changed a bit.”

“No,” you shook your head, “still the same old hair. But not the best hair.”

“Don’t let Steve hear you say that,” Eddie laughed, two little dimples on the sides of his smile forming. “Who is it then? Who has the best hair?”

“You,” the moment it left your lips you couldn’t regret it. It was the truth. Eddie Munson had the best hair and it drove you insane. All you wanted to do was run your fingers through it and brush it carefully away from his eyes. “You have the best hair.”

He hoped you did not see the way his cheeks went red. Eddie never blushed, he was never flattered but it worked on him. Instead of letting it simmer inside of him, he dramatically tossed one side of his hair over his shoulder.

“Me? You’re just sayin’ that so I do your homework,” words that he had never said before.

“No,” you chuckled and the sound opened his heart. Cracked it right open. “It’s true! You do have very… nice hair for a guy.”

“For a guy…” he whispered and looked at you again.

“Yes, for a guy. Obviously dear little Bilbo has the best hair,” Bilbo left the spot on the table as you picked him up; jokingly caressing the plastic black hairs on its plastic head. Eddie rolled his eyes and tapped the textbook.

“Yeah, Yeah,” he said, “You wanna finish your homework by the time the sun sets or what?”

He didn’t want the sun to set and neither did you. When daylight ran out, it meant the day was over and even if you had only a few hours together because he missed the day, it would never be enough for what you both wanted.

It would simply have to do for now.

The clunky van parked in your driveway long after the sun had set. Eddie promised he’d take Bilbo for the night and the rest of tomorrow before leaving you with him tomorrow night. The doll hadn’t made a noise all afternoon and it turned out to be a miracle.

“Thanks for the ride,” you smiled gently at him as the only light that trickled into the van was that of the two sconces that sat on either side of your garage door. “And for the homework help.”

“Never thought I’d hear anyone say that,” he leaned his head back against the headrest and you gripped the door handle but didn’t pull.

“And thanks for sticking up for me the other day in class… I don’t think I ever thanked you for that.”

“You don’t have to thank me for that,” he said quietly. Eddie didn’t know what washed over him. He had slept all day and wasn’t overly tired, yet he could just close his eyes there, knowing you were next to him and not afraid of his presence. Even with the knowledge that your parents were just beyond the walls of the house was comforting. He was content. Maybe for the first time ever.

“But I do…” you murmured. His eyes scanned over you, your bag. He saw the little orange slip that you had been holding when he rolled up to Hawkins High earlier. Eddie knew it was the invitation to Tina’s party because she had handed one to him yesterday with the promise about dealing. No one talked to him outside of his circle unless they needed something. He only agreed because he needed the money, but now an idea sparked in his mind.

“You going to Tina’s party on Saturday?”

He saw your eyes flash surprise, “Nancy’s making me go. Third wheel to her and Steve.”

“And you’re going as…?” He wondered and you looked at your house as if you didn’t want to tell him.

“It’s stupid,” you said.

“I’m sure it’s not stupid.”

“Nancy picked it out.”

“Well,” he squeaked, “maybe it is stupid then but I won’t know unless you tell me.”

“Sandy, from Grease. It was her idea and I have no idea what I’m doing. I’m not even Sandy material.”

Eddie scoffed, head lolling forward in the direction of the house before turning back in you. His head was still flush against the headrest. “You are the epitome of Sandy, mama. Girl next door…”

“That’s Nancy,” you breathed out, “I think I’m a Frenchie who wants to be a Rizzo. Are you going?”

“Mhm,” he hummed, nodding his head in a defined manner, “Don’t know what I’ll go as.”

“Think about it, let me know. We can laugh at ourselves before anyone else can.”

“Yeah, okay,” he replied with the reminder you claimed to be a ‘third wheel’ at the front of his mind. “You don’t have to be a third wheel though.”

“No?” You rested the top of your head on your backpack as your arms wrapped around it. You could sit here for hours just looking at him like this. “You know something I don’t?”

“I’ll be there so you can hang out with me.”

“Ah,” you let out a light gasp, “no more third-wheeling?”

“Nope.”

“Is that your way of asking me to go with you without wearing matching costumes?”

You don’t know where that question came from. It weaseled its way from the back of your brain and straight out of your mouth. But like he did with Jeff’s suggestion, Eddie took that question and ran with it.

“Yeah, I guess it is.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yeah,” you smiled, “I’ll be going with Nance and Steve but you can take me home so long as you don’t get too high or get too drunk.”

He would go sober if it meant having you by his side for a second longer.

“You’ve got yourself a deal, mama.”

Nearly a week after Gareth was scared shitless by Eddie Munson knocking on his window at an ungodly hour, he kept the blinds closed to relieve himself of the embarrassment that it may happen again. Eight-thirty on a Thursday evening, he was reading his English book when three knocks sounded on his window and made him jump out of his skin.

He lifted those blinds with a fury and scowled at Eddie who was outside of his window once again.

“What the hell do you want this time?” Gareth screeched in a whisper at him.

“You’ll never fuckin’ believe it, man,” Eddie laughed as he gripped the windowsill with antsy fingers. “I think I’ve got my shot.”

“What? She actually agreed to go on a date with you?”

“Kind of, yes!” Eddie couldn’t really believe it. Neither could Gareth.

“You’re shitting me. No way did she say yes to you. She looked like she wanted to bolt from the lunchroom every time I looked over there.”

Eddie shook his head at Gareth, not caring if the kid believed him or not. “Oh, yeah, about that?” He rose an eyebrow and grew serious quickly. Gareth’s face fell.

“Don’t do it again, yeah? She caught on and thinks you guys are creepy. Don’t stare.”

“If she thinks we’re creepy, then why in the world did she agree to do anything with you?”

“I’m not the creepy one, Gareth the Great,” Eddie bounded off the window and spun around like a love sick fool with unsteady legs. “But I’ve almost got the girl and on Halloween, I’m gonna ask her on a real date. Like all that fancy shit and stuff… a real date.”

Part Three Here

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