#Anyway I'm sorry if any of this comes across as curt or if it's worded weirdly I'm falling asleep on my laptop hhhhhhhhhh

[solradguy]

I have sent many asks to you before filled with honest yet corny-as-hell sentimental bullshit about how much your blog, and you by extension, means to me— even if we don’t even really know each other. But if this isn’t a better time to actually buckle down and give you a proper “thank you,” than I don’t know what is.

I found your blog a while back, sometime early last summer if I remember correctly, through your Guilty Gear scans. It was around the time I first started actively hunting down whatever remnants of a Guilty Gear fandom were scattered across the internet, and luckily I hit the jackpot with Tumblr (amongst other sites.) God bless whatever made you make this blog, cause the things it has done for me since then have been tremendous. From small things like your discussions about music and your random posts about vintage technology that inevitably prompt me to do deep-dives on the subject, or bigger things like your entire translation or scanning projects that open me to an entire new world of Guilty Gear media, your blog has taught me about so many new things that have molded me into the person I am today, and suffice to say, I’m proud of that person. You have introduced me to new singers, bands, books, movies, games, shows; so many goddamn things and the majority of them have turned out to be things I simply enamor. Beyond that, your art has helped me improve on my own art and has inspired me to make so much more work and work even harder. Plus, you also brought back my obsession with dragons! I used to be enthralled by dragons; collecting paintings, statues, plushies, books, you name it and I probably have it. And just to like them once more due to my exposure with the content you churn out (wether original or reblogged) is something I can also say I am grateful for. Even just ranting about personal interests in your asks or asking if you perhaps enjoy the same things that I do is something that makes me happy.

I don’t want to make you uncomfortable by saying this, but I seriously do see you as a sort of “big brother” figure in my life. It’s a parasocial relationship, sure, but I have found solitude and comfort in your blog, and even a sort of aspiration to be like you. Either way, the truth is your blog has helped me so much this year and has brought me so much more happiness than what I had before. You have seriously helped me become a better person, better in loving myself and finding something to love in the world around me as well.

So, thank you. Thank you for this blog and for everything you post on here. Thank you, and happy new years. I hope next year gives you nothing but unadulterated love. You deserve it.

Ok so, for an uncountable amount of times this has happened now, I typed a really lengthy reply to this and then cut a section of text to move it and Tumblr decided that meant "delete the whole post except the cut text and then close the post editor, deleting everything forever." It is 3:30am. I'm going to summarize what I wrote as I type it for the second time. The last two paragraphs are the only sections from the first draft that got saved.

--

First off, I apologize for taking so long to reply to this. Your message is extremely heartfelt and sincere and, when I got it (around noon), I wanted to think on it for a little and reread it a few times before replying.

I'm... not great... at accepting compliments. For a lot of my life I've been picked on for my physical appearance and interests so I learned how to take advantage of my size and how to project a pissed off aura to get people to leave me alone. It works very well. Online that doesn't work, and I wouldn't want it to, but offline I think I can be kind of a grumpy asshole. I try really hard to only appear to be that way. After making kids/babies cry just from being in the same space as them though, it can be difficult to think otherwise. I'm not used to people being this kind to me, let alone even admiring or looking up to me.

But the online format is nice; people just see me as an icon and if they don't like my posts/interests they can close the tab or filter it instead of making it my problem. Being able to talk about whatever on here and finding other people that also think it's interesting has helped me a lot too. Before getting into Guilty Gear around August 2021, this blog was mostly just an art reference blog with a very, very, small amount of personal posts scattered in-between when it was something I wanted to archive (like when I started HRT).

I started doing scans because I wanted to send a specific illustration to someone but could only find it in a low resolution. Since I had the GGX '07 art book and a scanner, I figured I might as well just scan it myself and it all sort of snowballed from there. The GG community has been incredibly motivating and I don't see myself quitting doing these scans/translations until there's nothing left to scanlate. Guilty Gear has done so much for me and I love the games and its setting probably more than any other series I've ever been into.

Know that I really, truly, appreciate you sending me this message. I have a little folder of nice messages like yours that I keep to look through on bad days. They genuinely mean a lot to me.

It's such an honor that the things I've posted about have inspired you and lead you to new interests, too, and I hope that I can keep motivating and inspiring you. 2023's gonna be a good year, I think, and I hope you get some of that unadulterated love too.

[incognit0slut]

PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3| PART 4

Behind Closed Doors 4

Your frustration over his broken promise melts away as soon as he calls, and you find yourself unexpectedly drawn to his voice, more than you anticipated.

Warnings: (18+, MDNI) Phone sex, mutual (and guided) masturbation, dirty talk ~4.7k words

A/n: this is just me wishing he was on quinn😔 anyway enjoy part 4, this mini series is not dead (i don’t even know how long it will be but let’s just celebrate that I’m finally updating)

All men do is lie, you thought as you flopped onto your bed.

Okay, maybe it wasn’t entirely his fault—but you weren’t in the mood to be reasonable. You remembered that car ride vividly. He had promised you more time together, a moment to finally be alone. Instead, what did you get? A new case, then another, and amidst all the chaos and dodging bullets (literally and metaphorically), you two somehow managed to drift apart.

The past few weeks had been the busiest since you started working at the BAU, and that was saying a lot, considering there was never really a moment of peace when you worked for the government. But this time was different, it seemed even more chaotic than usual. Every time you thought of bringing up the conversation with him—or maybe sneak in a little make-out session—something urgent would come up. 

There was never the right time, or the right moment. It felt as if the universe had other plans for you, and none of them involved the two of you getting a moment alone. And before you knew it, you were caught in this maddening cycle of missed opportunities, and the worst thing was, you were sexually frustrated.

This time, you had no one else to blame but him. Ever since he came into the picture, your carefully maintained self-control had started to slip, and now, despite your best efforts, you couldn’t ignore the growing need between your legs. It was aching, throbbing, and even the thought of him was making you hot and restless.

How did he manage to do that? He wasn’t even trying. There was nothing overtly seductive in the way he moved or spoke, and yet every glance, every accidental touch, seemed to affect you. Spencer. Just his name made your breath hitch, your body betraying you. You weren’t proud to admit this, but the mere thought of his fingers brushing your skin had you feeling that first rush of arousal slipping into your panties.

You huffed, considering digging out your pink silicone toy hidden somewhere in your drawer. And while you were contemplating this, knowing it had been a while since you last used it because nothing could compare to the feeling of his touch now, your phone on the bedside table rang.

Maybe the universe was really testing you, because his name flashed across the screen and it took a lot of self-control for you not to pick up on the first ring and demand him to fuck you right there and then, which sounded too crass when you weren’t in the middle of straddling his lap like the last time. So instead, you decided to wait until the sixth ring before you answered with a curt, “Hey.”

There was a pause, then a sigh. “You’re mad at me.”

Could he tell? Of course, he could. He always had an uncanny ability to read you, even over the phone. “Mad? Why would I be mad?”

“I can almost see you rolling your eyes.”

“I never roll my eyes,” you shot back.

“You rolled your eyes last week when Luke tried to tell us that his dog could sniff out bodies better than our trained ones.”

You suppressed a smile, surprised that he even noticed you giving Luke a once-over at that particular moment. “That was because his dog chases its tail more than it chases leads.”

"And I'm not worthy of an eye roll?"

“Honestly, you deserve more than an eye roll,” you blurted out before you could stop yourself.

"So you are mad,” he stated, growing quiet for a while. “I’m sorry.”

And now you felt bad. You ran a hand through your hair, trying to clear your thoughts. “It’s not your fault.”

“I know, but it doesn’t make me feel any less better.”

You felt a pang of guilt as you stared at the ceiling. It wasn’t exactly fair to blame him. Serial killers, unfortunately, didn’t come with a schedule, and now Spencer was already on his leave. You recalled the excitement in his voice when he told you about the seminars Emily had arranged for him to teach. He had spoken with an enthusiasm you hadn’t heard in a long time, his eyes practically lighting up every time he mentioned it.

How could you be upset about that?

"I'm not... mad.”

There was a slight teasing note in his voice as he replied, "Just annoyed then?"

You held back a smile. "Maybe a little."

“Anything I can do to help with that?” His voice softened through the phone. “Is there any way I can make it up to you?”

Your thoughts immediately went to the sticky situation between your legs, and you felt a flush of embarrassment. Technically, he could help with that. But could you say that? Should you? 

"I don’t know, depends on what you have in mind,” you replied, trying to steer your mind away from the direction it was heading. There was a pause, a silence that hung in the air as he carefully considered his next words.

"I could… start by telling you how much I miss you?”

Now that, you didn’t expect. Your heart fluttered wildly in your chest. Spencer had never really acknowledged his feelings with words when his actions spoke volumes, but hearing him say it out loud made the emotions between you feel undeniably real. It was as if his words shattered whatever platonic friendship the two of you had built over the past years.

Although you knew your friendship had fundamentally changed the moment he had you pinned on the desk that fine afternoon, it didn’t stop you from questioning about where you truly stood.

"You miss the idea of me," you corrected him, unable to resist yourself.

“You know that’s not true,” he replied gently.

“Do I?”

“Yes, you know me better than that,” he insisted. “You’re a great profiler, you can tell if I’m not being honest.”

A small smile tugged at the corners of your mouth, despite trying to stay mad at him. "You hate being profiled.”

"That was before I realized how useful your skills are in deciphering my feelings.”

“You know I’d rather you tell me how you feel.”

“I did, I miss you, and you chose not to believe me.”

Your cheeks actually ached from smiling too much. You couldn’t help but feel a warm, tingling sensation spread through you. “Fine,” you sighed, finally giving in. “I believe you.”

“And?”

You rolled onto your side. “And what?”

“Do you not miss my absence at work?”

“Well…”

“Well?” He prompted.

Now how could you tell him you missed more than just his presence? How could you admit that you missed the way he made you feel, the way his breath felt hot against your skin, without sounding obvious or too needy? Because you missed everything about him. His hands, his lips, his tongue—oh dear god, his tongue.

Spencer suddenly called out your name, and you forced yourself to focus, feeling your heartbeat quicken as you cleared your throat.

“Yes, I—I miss you,” you finally admitted.

There was a pause, then his voice came through, lighter, teasing. “Why do you sound like that?”

“…like what?”

“Like you’re out of breath.”

You gripped the sheets tightly, the fabric bunching under your fingers. How could you even begin to explain this to him now that he was onto you? You felt like you were on the verge of a full-blown emotional meltdown. God, if he knew how many times you’d replayed every kiss, every touch, in your mind, he’d never let you live it down.

It was almost laughable, really. Here you were, trying to keep it together, and failing miserably. “It’s just… I really, really miss you.”

“You really miss me? Are you trying to say something?”

You hesitated, your mind scrambling for the right words without revealing too much. “No…?”

“Mhm,” he replied, clearly unconvinced. “You’re not telling me everything.”

You gripped the phone tighter. “I’m just saying... It's hard without you here. You know, in every way.”

“In every way?”

You squeezed your eyes shut, feeling both embarrassed and mortified. “I just... I miss how you make me feel. Physically.”

“Physically?” he pressed. “Can you elaborate?”

“I’m... you know, I’ve been... missing certain things. Certain... activities.”

“Certain activities,” he repeated your words once again. It was then that you realized he was teasing you, clearly enjoying your discomfort a little too much. “You mean like... talking?”

“No. More like... the other stuff we do when we’re alone.”

"I don't understand."

At that point, your embarrassment was gnawing at you. You wanted to crawl into a hole and never come out. “God, Spencer, don’t make me say it,” you groaned, burying your face in your pillow.

“Come on, I need a little more than that.” He sounded both amused and curious. “I’m just making sure I understand you right.”

“You know exactly what I’m talking about,” you muttered into the pillow, your voice muffled but still clear enough for him to hear.

“Actually, I don’t think I do. You could be missing so many things, you have to help me out here.”

You turned your head to the side, exasperation coloring your tone. “Spencer…”

"Yes?" he responded innocently.

"You’re really going to make me say it, aren’t you?”

"I find precise communication to be very important.”

You let out a groan, feeling the last of your restraint crumble. “Alright! Fine!” you snapped. “I’m horny, okay? And it’s all your fault!”

His laughter rang through the phone, and you could almost see the grin spreading across his face. “My fault?"

"Yes! I feel like a deprived, horny teenager here, and I just…”

You trailed off, hardly believing you had actually said that out loud. The realization hit you like a wave, and for a moment, you wished you could take it back. There was a pause that seemed to stretch on forever and you wondered if you had gone too far.

He finally broke the silence, breathing out your name in a way that made your skin tingle. "You could've told me from the start."

You could, but you’d rather not.

"I didn't want to sound desperate."

"You can be desperate with me,” he said softly. “Just say the word and I’ll give you anything you want.”

If there was one thing Spencer was good at, it was getting under your skin. He really shouldn’t be saying those words, not now, not when it was making you crave him even more. You swallowed, feeling a tightness in your chest, a knot in your stomach. The part of you that always played it safe wanted to retract, to laugh it off as a joke. But then there was that other part, the part that craved his attention, the part that was tired of holding back.

“Tell me, what do you want now?”

You took a deep breath and laid on your back, the words catching in your throat. You felt your pulse quicken.

“I want… you.”

“Tell me how you want me.”

Your fingers trailed over the sheets, your touch light as you imagined it was him beneath your fingertips. “Spencer…”

“Come on,” he pressed. “Tell me.”

You paused, your heart pounding in your chest. You could almost imagine him right in front of you, staring at you with those beautiful brown eyes that always managed to make you melt, coaxing words from you that you barely dared to think, let alone speak.

Just say it. He's waiting. He wants to hear it.

Your hand began to move.

“I… I want your hands on me.”

“Where do you want my hands?”

“Everywhere,” you whispered, your fingers grazing your body as if they were his. You closed your eyes.

“Everywhere?”

You found yourself nodding even though he couldn’t see you.

“On my hips…”

Your hand danced across your hips.

“My stomach…”

Your palm slipped under your shirt, moving slowly up your abdomen, feeling the warmth of your own touch and wishing it was his.

“Between my thighs…”

You paused at the hem of your panties, the only barrier beneath your shirt, hesitating as a flush of warmth spread through you. The line was silent for a moment, save for the sound of his breathing—a soft, heavy rhythm that matched the pounding of your own heart.

“Where else do you want me?”

Your fingers dipped inside the fabric. “I want you lower…”

“Tell me exactly where.”

“Where I’m most sensitive,” you confessed, the words slipping out before you could stop them.  Your thighs instinctively squeezed together, hips rolling gently as your free hand began to drift south. “Spencer… please…”

“Are you touching yourself?”

“I…”

“Are you?”

“No…”

“Do you want to touch yourself?”

You licked your lips, your breath coming faster. “Maybe.”

“Then do it, no one’s stopping you.”

You hesitated, the reality of the situation sinking in. You couldn’t believe this was happening, that you were having this conversation with him. "This feels so naughty.”

"Naughty can be nice, though, right?" he assured you. "Don't think about it too much. It’s just you and me.”

There really was something about his voice, the way it effortlessly wrapped around you—smooth, coaxing, almost hypnotic. Despite the hesitation that tugged at your mind, your hand began to move lower, and your legs parting involuntarily. A soft gasp escaped your lips when your hand flew right to your pussy, fingers quickly tracing the length of your folds. You were already wet, and you began to spread your arousal towards your clit.

“Spencer…” you whined, feeling the sudden rush of sensations.

“Keep going,” he urged. “Tell me what you feel.”

You closed your eyes. “It feels… good…”

“Describe it to me.”

You took a shaky breath, trying to find the words through the haze of pleasure. “It’s warm and wet… and…”

And you wished he was the one touching you.

You let your mind drift to your fantasy. You imagined it was his fingers circling your clit. You imagined his lips against yours, the way they would move together. You imagined him whispering these words right in front of you, his eyes locked on yours as you writhed beneath him. The fantasy felt so vivid that for a moment, you could almost feel his weight pressing down on you, his presence enveloping you completely.

Your imagination urged you to move faster, but you felt limited by the fabric in the way. You called out his name. “Can I… can I take my, um, underwear off?”

You could almost hear the smile in his voice as he replied, “Of course you can.”

You put your phone down, and with trembling fingers, you slid the fabric down your legs. You discarded them quickly and turned the call to speaker before you settled back on the bed. Your hand returned to your body, fingers brushing over your sensitive skin. You parted your legs even wider, and as your fingers found their rhythm, a moan escaped you.

“Better?”

You sighed in relief as you continued to rub your clit. “So much better.”

“Keep it slow, okay? We don’t want to rush.”

His voice was low and soothing, and you couldn’t believe how just by his voice he had gotten you so worked up.

“Now press a little harder.” You complied, applying a bit more pressure on your clit. "Right there. Do you feel that?"

"Yes," you gasped, your back slightly arching off the bed.

“I wish I could see you right now," he murmured. “I'd kiss you where you're touching.”

You let your imagination take over. You pictured him with his head right between your thighs, his eyes locked on yours with those intense, pretty eyes. You imagined his mouth moving over your clit, sucking gently while his fingers explored between your folds. The thought was so vivid, so real, that you could almost feel his warm breath against your skin.

The mental image of him looking up at you was almost too much to bear. “Spencer…”

"Keep going. Are your fingers wet?" You could simply moan back a reply, not trusting your own voice. “Now slowly slide in one. Can you do that for me?”

You did as he said, sliding a finger into your wetness. You could feel how tight you were, the slick warmth of your arousal enveloping your skin. You looked down between your legs and watched as you pleased yourself. It wasn’t exactly an unfamiliar sight. You had done this countless times before, but never with the voice of a man guiding you, especially Spencer—the last person you’d imagine doing this with.

Yet look at how much effect he had on you.

"You're quiet," his voice suddenly came through. "Are you still with me?"

"Yes," you managed to whisper. "It's just... a lot."

"In a good way, I hope?"

“Very good,” you assured him.

You could practically picture the corner of his lips twitching into a proud smile. “Good,” he recited. “Now try adding another finger.”

You couldn't help a moan escaping your lips as you pushed in your middle finger, the sound louder than you intended.

"How does that feel?"

"Full," you breathed out, adjusting to the sensation.

“Yeah? I bet you’re so tight.”

You were, awfully so. Your walls clenched around your fingers, almost swallowing them as you started to move them in a steady rhythm. The pleasure built in your lower stomach, a warm, coiling tension that made you desperate for more. You needed his voice, you craved his guidance, even from afar.

“Spence…” you whined. “Keep talking, please.”

“You want me to describe how I’d touch you if I were there?”

You moaned in response, the sound escaping your lips involuntarily, urging him to continue.

“If I were there,” he began, his voice low, “I’d start by kissing you slowly.”

You could almost feel it, his lips on yours, his tongue probing inside your mouth.

“I’d move lower,” he continued. “Kiss your neck, your collarbone… while my fingers would move along your hips, your thighs, getting closer and closer to where you need me most.”

You whimpered, your fingers moving faster as you followed his vivid description, imagining his touch guiding you.

“I’d tease you, brush my fingers right at your entrance,” he whispered. “Then, I’d slip them inside you, just like you’re doing now.”

Your breaths came in short gasps.

“I’d spread your legs wide,” he continued again, and you heard a faint rustling noise in the background. “I’d move my fingers in… and… out...”

Your legs fell further apart.

“I’d curl my fingers the same way I did that day,” he went on. “Do you remember?”

How could you not? It never truly left your mind. You could picture that day clearly, the feeling of his fingers and mouth working on your sensitive spot seemed to linger in your memory.

“I’d do the same thing that you like,” he proceeded, and you focused on his voice. “I’d lean in close… licking you… sucking you.”

You moaned loudly as the image of his mouth on your clit flashed through your mind. You could almost feel the way he would sloppily lap at you, drinking in every drop of your arousal with each eager flick of his tongue.

“Go faster for me,” he urged. “I-I want to hear how wet you are.”

You followed his words, and the slick sounds of your arousal filled the quiet around you as you imagined him there, his fingers replacing yours. You could hear more noise through the line, the subtle rustle of clothes moving, the faint sound of his breathing growing heavier before he let out a low grunt.

“You make the prettiest sounds,” he breathed out. “Now add another finger.”

Your eyes narrowed into a frown, trying to slip a third finger in but the stretch was too intense for you to continue. “I-I can’t.”

“Shh, it’s okay,” he soothed. “Just take it slow. Try to relax.”

You took a deep breath, trying to follow his instructions. You slowly eased in another finger, feeling the awkward stretch but the initial discomfort quickly faded into a deeper pleasure, and you moaned softly.

“Oh, fuck.”

“There you go,” he encouraged. “Feel that? Feel how full you are?”

You hummed a reply.

“That’s how I want you to feel when I’m finally inside you.”

A whine left your lips. In your head, you saw him, his body poised above yours, his cock sliding smoothly into you. You imagined the slick, rhythmic motion, the way each thrust would fill you, stretching you, overwhelming you. You cried out a filthy moan at the thought, unabashed and desperate, as you began to pump your fingers inside your cunt.

“Push deeper for me… I know you can take it.”

You gasped, pushing your fingers as deep as they could go. “I can’t… I need… oh…”

“I know, I know,” he whispered. “You need more. You need me inside you, don’t you?”

“Spencer, please…” you begged, your voice breaking into desperate, choked sobs.

“You want that? You want to feel me stretch you?”

“Yes, yes…” you managed to moan out, your movements became more desperate.

“God, you’d be so tight around me… I’d have your legs spread wide so I… I-I could see how perfect you’d take me.”

You could almost feel his hands on your hips, his body pressing against yours, filling you completely. Your fingers moved frantically, your breaths coming in short, ragged gasps as you felt the tension building to an unbearable peak.

“You’d pull me closer, wouldn’t you? You’d ask for more, like you always do, and I’d give it to you,” he promised. “I’d give it to you so hard… s-so deep…”

And that was when you heard it—the unmistakable sound of wetness, like skin sliding over slick, damp skin. The sound was filthy, making your pulse race as you wondered what he might be doing on the other end of the line. Your voice trembled as you slowly asked him, “Spence, are you…?”

There was a sharp intake of breath on the other end before he let out a soft, almost sheepish laugh, as if you had caught him red-handed. “I… yeah,” he admitted, his voice breathless and strained. "Do you know how hard it is not to when listening to your voice?"

Your fingers subconsciously quickened at his confession, their movements becoming more urgent as you imagined him laying on his own bed, hand wrapped around his cock. You bit your lip to stifle your moans as you whispered, “Tell me what you’re doing.”

His breathing grew ragged, his words coming in clipped bursts. “I’m… I’m touching myself…”

You tried to focus on his voice, but the sound of his sloppy strokes began to echo louder. “Tell me more.”

“I’m… I’m rubbing… my fingers over the head,” he gasped, and you curled your fingers deeper, using your palm to grind against your clit. The way he sounded so lost in his pleasure, unable to hold back, had you imagining him stroking himself. You pictured yourself doing it for him, remembering how it felt that day when you had his cock in your hand—the weight, the warmth, the way he looked at you through intense eyes.

Your breathing grew heavier, louder, and his voice cracked with a strained moan as he whispered, “Can you lower your phone?”

You fumbled with the device, bringing it closer to where your fingers worked tirelessly between your legs. “Like this?”

“God, yes,” he groaned, the sound of his strokes growing faster and more urgent. “You sound so perfect.”

You let out a soft cry, your fingers thrusting in and out of your cunt frantically as you imagined him watching you, listening to every sound you made. The wet, slick noises filled the room, so intense and filthy. You looked down to see your juices spilling over your fingers, soaking the sheets beneath you. The sheer sound of it was enough to drive him crazy.

“I—f-faster, please,” he panted into the phone. “I need you to go faster.”

Your eyes widened for a moment as the desperate plea slipped from his lips. But you didn’t have the mental space to think about it. Your focus was solely on reaching your release as you ultimately sped up your pace. Your body began to tighten up, feeling so much pressure and pleasure building up every time your fingertips hit that deep spot inside you.

"Oh—fuck!” You exhaled sharply as the familiar sensation took over you. “I’m cumming I’m cumming I’m cumming—”

With a cry that was both a sob and a shout, your pussy fluttered around your fingers. Your orgasm ripped through you without warning, sending shockwaves of intense pleasure through your body as you gasped and shuddered. Your voice escaped in broken moans and whines, his name falling from your lips like a prayer.

“Spencer… oh, God, Spencer…”

The sound of your climax drove him to his own release. His breath hitched, his movements faltering as he let out a harsh sound from his throat. It was raw and unrestrained, downright filthy, and you listened intently, your fingers slipping out only to circle and rub your clit, drawing out the final waves of your orgasm.

Finally, when you couldn’t take it anymore, your hand fell away, and you lay there, breathing heavily, your body relaxing into the bed. Your room was quiet afterward, the only sound coming from was the sound of your own breathing. Then you heard him calling out your name, checking in. But through the post-orgasmic bliss, all you could manage in response was a giggle.

“You’re… laughing?” He mused. “Should I be concerned?”

“No, no,” you replied, still catching your breath, a satisfied smile spreading across your face. “It’s just… I can’t believe we did that.”

A gentle laugh escaped his lips, a warm, soothing sound that calmed your racing heart. "Did you like it?"

You liked it a lot. "Can’t say that I didn’t.”

"So I take it you're not mad at me anymore?"

You let out a soft, contented sigh. “I wasn’t even that mad to begin with. Just… frustrated,” you confessed. “But I think we handled that pretty well.”

“Maybe a little too well,” he agreed softly. “I can't believe I need to take a shower this late.”

You looked down between your legs at his words, and a wave of embarrassment washed over you as you noticed the patch of wetness on your bed. It wasn't small—it spread across the fabric in a noticeable, damp stain. “Uh, yeah,” you admitted with a nervous laugh. “I also need to change my sheets.”

Then you heard a low, almost pained groan from his end of the line.

“What?”

“It’s just…” He paused, and you could almost hear him struggling to find the right words. "I'm now picturing you on your bed."

"Isn't that what you've been doing?"

"Well, yes, but now it's… different."

You couldn't help the amused grin that spread across your face. "Different how?"

"Let's just say the image in my mind is a lot more detailed now and it's not helping me calm down."

A burst of laughter erupted from your chest as you gripped your phone closer to you. “Is this your way of blaming me because you still have a hard-on?” you taunted. “I mean, I’m simply stating the facts.”

“But you’re painting a picture in my head.”

“Of me drenching the sheets just by hearing your voice?”

He made a low, strained sound. “Stop.”

“I can send you a picture if you like,” you offered slyly. “Help you visualize it better.”

There was a moment of stunned silence on his end before he finally muttered, “You shouldn’t.”

“You’re right, I shouldn’t.”

“But if you insist…”

You laughed softly. “Good night, Spencer.”

“Wait—You’re hanging up?”

“Yep,” you said cheerfully. “I thought you needed a shower.”

He made another frustrated sound, somewhere between a groan and a sigh, before reluctantly agreeing. “Fine, fine. Good night.”

And that was it. You ended the call with a satisfied smile. But as you stared at your phone, a rush of thoughts began to swirl through your mind. You were well aware of the potential risks of what you were about to do—how it could be traced back to you. You could almost hear Penelope lecturing you about online security and the dangers of leaving a digital footprint.

But when your mind kept circling back to Spencer—Spencer’s breathless voice, Spencer’s prominent veins on his hands, Spencer with a freaking hard-on in his bed—it was hard to think rationally. Before you could stop yourself, you propped your phone on your pillow and posed for the camera. Legs spread wide, your nipples pressing against your shirt, a flirtatious smile playing on your lips. The shot looked like it came out of a porno movie. You quickly sent it to him.

It took exactly 7 seconds before your phone rang again.

“Yes, Spencer?” you answered, trying to sound innocent.

You heard shuffling and a muffled grunt, and then, faintly, the rustling of fabric. It sounded like he was fumbling with his phone, and you couldn’t help but bite your lip at the frustration in his voice.

“How do I turn this into video call again?”

[obislittleone]

House Of Memories (45/?)

Obi-Wan Kenobi x Padawan!reader

Warnings: fluff n stuff

Summary: One lazy morning meets an unexpected visit from the beloved senator Amidala, who has a luxurious offer for You, General Kenobi, and the entire 212th battalion.

A/n: anyways, this is short and sweet. good night

also y'all if you like the story, maybe consider buying me a coffee :)

Words: 2.1k

You were tired, you were run down, and you were very much overworked. Obi-Wan, as seasoned in war as he was, felt the same way, his body wasn't as quick and spry as it had been when he was young, and having so much take place in a short span took a heavy toll on him physically. There were no days off for the Jedi, but he was going to take one, nonetheless. He was exhausted, and slept till noon, and though you would have loved to join him in this restful endeavor, you felt you needed to get up and be practical. You were quite tired as well, but sleeping all day wasn't going to make it any better for you. Oversleeping had become a habit in one point of your life, and when it did, you were in a perpetual state of grogginess throughout the time when you were awake and active.

It was about an hour after you left the bed, when you heard Obi-Wan shuffling through the apartment, bare feet padding across the floor and into the kitchenette. You stood at the counter, watching a kettle come to a boil so you could prepare him and yourself a cup of tea. Perhaps it could help you both to wake up more. It certainly would help to kickstart the day, though you were unsure of what was on the agenda. After returning home, everything seemed to have gotten back to normal, or at least a similar variation of it. You hoped that the most you'd do today was train, and there wouldn't be any surprise missions to uphold.

"Good morning, my love," he came up behind you, just like every morning, and perched his chin on your shoulder, dipping his head to kiss the skin once while your face turned a bright pink.

"Morning?" you asked quizzically, turning your head to look at him from an angle. "Do you know what time it is?"

"Hush," he said in a whisper tone, and you couldn't help but giggle at the tickling sensation it left against your neck.

You shook your head, and returned your gaze to the kettle, which didn't even seem to be warm, yet. He wrapped both arms around your waist, momentarily forgetting you were still healing from two well hit blaster shots. You tensed, clenching your eyes shut with a face of minor pain, trying to ease through it so he could hold you, but of course, he noticed, and it did not go past his attention.

"I'm sorry, I didn't know it still hurt," he apologized, turning you around and letting his hand fall to the hem of your shirt. He hesitated, and looked back to your eyes, pleading with you for permission before you gave him a curt nod.

He lifted up the fabric enough to see that the bandaging pads that had been applied were far worn out and needed to be replaced as to not get infected.

"Come here," he said, tugging you by the hand and not giving you much of a chance to respond, before he hauled you back into his room and pointed at the bed, making you to lay down.

He left to the refresher, grabbing the supplies he remembered were under the sinks, then came back to sit beside you on the foot of his bed.

"When was the last time you changed these?" he asked in curiosity, peeling the barely stuck on medical pads that had helped to heal your wound so much over the past days.

"I don't remember," you scoffed, trying to avoid the slight sting when he cleaned the areas around the nicely forming scars.

"Well then, it's a good thing you probably won't need to change them again, I doubt you'd remember then, either."

"To be fair, I was stuck underground and lost most of my oxygen supply, making that two near death experiences in a week. I can hardly keep up with the number of ways I almost die," you joked, though he only thought it to be half amusing. Perhaps you were not so worried, but he constantly was. Worried sick over your safety, and if your survival would be ensured in most situations. It didn't help that you also ran into the face of danger, but he could only blame himself for that. as your master, he was to lead by example, and the example he set was to run into the face of danger, head on, without even thinking about the consequences sometimes.

"It looks much better than it did, I suppose it will be back to normal within a day or so, assuming you rest properly."

"Rest? Obi, I can't just sit around, my trials will be coming up, soon," you informed him, even though there wasn't even a set date or even a discussed idea of when those trials might take place. It wasn't going to be hard for you, he knew that, but he took into consideration how well you liked to prepare for these sort of things.

"Little one, you could take the trials when you are at your worst and still succeed. You are far beyond any other Padawan in this temple and had the rest of the council not held you back, you would probably be a grand master by now," he laughed lightly, and you smiled up at his gaze, waiting for him to finish reapplying the pads to your nearly healed wound.

He inspected his job of the application, smoothing it over one more time, before lowering himself to kiss over the areas left uncovered. When he sat back, he looked at you with the upmost adoration on his features.

This is love, at its purest form. This is sweet domesticity, and a commonplace interaction, but it was precious to you both.

-

"Senator Amidala, it's lovely to see you, as always," you commented, walking into the room and bowing. You and Obi-Wan, along with Commander Cody had been summoned to meet with her to talk about something, though you had not been aware of the subject.

"I'm glad you all could meet with me, I hope you are well," the pleasantries, though not necessary, were always a lovely break from the regular, more intense interactions you held with other people on the daily.

"As well as we can be," Obi-Wan told her, and she could see the evidence of exhaustion in his face. She knew how hard he drove himself to work, and that he never complained, only complied whenever anything was asked of him.

"Perhaps better when we arrive on Naboo," she replied, and the three of your expressions changed at once, eyebrows knit together and eyes narrowed in confusion, with heads tilted to the side. She almost laughed at your synchronized movements but figured she should probably explain her meaning. "The congress people of my planet have discussed and decided that there is a celebration to be held in honor of the 212th clone battalion and its leaders. This past attack on Naboo by the separatists was a vicious battle, and because of you and your men, thousands of lives were saved. It's the least we can do to show our gratitude."

"A celebration?"

"Yes, if you would be so kind as to indulge us, we would be obliged by your presence," she explained, and you saw a twinkle of mischief behind her eyes. Surely, she couldn't be hiding anything from you, because you would have sensed it, but that little sparkle in the deep brown of her pupils gave her away that something was up.

"I would have to deliberate with the council, malady. Though we are truly honored, I'm unsure if leaving Coruscant is wise during this time."

"There is no need for the council's permission, I have spoken with them prior to this meeting, and they have agreed to my terms," she had met with them already? She wanted to ensure that this was going to be a possible occasion, which meant she was definitely up to something. "All that is left is for you to agree as well."

You looked to your Master with pleading eyes. Naboo, of every planet in this galaxy, was your very favorite. The calmness, the serenity, and the romantic atmosphere. It was the most beautiful, enrapturing planet you'd ever seen, and you'd seen quite a few planets in your life.

Once his eyes met yours, he knew he had no choice but to accept this wonderful offer. It would be nice to take a break from everything and just simply relax for once. No missions, no meetings, no stress. Only time with you and his troops in a lovely place, where he could be himself and enjoy the sweetest things that life had to offer.

"I am very grateful for such an offer, malady, of which I can do nothing but accept. I suppose I can speak for my Padawan and Commander when I say we are very excited to see all you have planned."

You sent a small 'thank you for this,' into his head, and he mindlessly grabbed your knee in reply. No one noticed, although if they had, it probably wouldn't be a big deal. Padme knew of your feelings for him long ago and given that Anakin spills to her all the drama he can come home with, she also knew of his feelings for you. She wondered if any confessions had been made, or if you both were still just oblivious to the other's helpless pining.

Cody, who paid attention to everything, had found out about your relationship long ago, pretty much when it first formed. He hadn't said anything, because he knew it made his General happy, and that was a rare sight these days. When the Commander saw Kenobi's face change as you walked into a room, it lit up the entire atmosphere, and made the long trips and endless missions more bearable. To know that the one who worked the hardest was getting something in return, even if he wasn't supposed to.

"I will arrange a cruiser to board your battalion onto, and if you should like to join me on my ship, I would be happy to have the company," she added, standing to her feet, as did you.

"I will ride along with my men, but thank you, malady," Cody replied. Padme nodded, admiring how much he stood by his troopers. They were all brothers, made from one man, and they did everything by each other's side.

"I will take the cruiser along with my commander, but I'm sure my Padawan would be very happy to accompany you."

"How wonderful, I've been missing her presence."

You looked at Obi-Wan, a look on your face asking, 'why aren't you coming with me?' but he just put a hand at the small of your back, ushering you along to follow the senator. It wasn't until you were out of the room and in the hallway that he responded into your mind 'I will meet you there, my love. Don't worry.'

That was all you needed to be sure, and you followed Padme down a pathway that Obi-Wan and Cody did not join you on. You supposed it wouldn't be so bad. You had missed your time with Padme dearly, and taking a nice relaxing flight with her, away from all the men in your life, even the good ones, would be a nice change of pace.

-

@spencerrxids @sawendel @fandomstanner24 @i-shall-abide @officialjellydoughnut @whatshxrname @darkened-writer @superavengerpotter @cutiepoo16 @hypnoash @softlymellow @howlerwolfmax @mephistominion @honestlywtfisgoingon @anakinskywalkerog @mandiiellen @je--a-n @guyinachair27 @avenger5-a55emble @amelia-song-pond @kaminanii @the-abyss-of-fandoms @queenofnightdreamland @world-dominating-kitty @mandowhatnow @ella-error505 @annahalo @infinity-witch @beetlejuice-stuff @liueski @solarbxby @sirianisrock @lxdyred @endless-warrior-always-fighter @iloveinej @msjb2002 @shoochi @itsilvermorny @gingerrosecosplay @sebschicken @loversjoy @argentinemango @1-800-vader @house-of-kolchek @marierg @graciexmarvel @ttzamara @truly-madly-nerdy @molieux @majahu @dyzlks @pancakefancake

[gallysonegoodlung]

I’ll Find You- Minho

Word Count- 1209

a/n- sorry i haven’t updated in a while i’ve been super busy. but i’ve got many more updates coming ur way soon !!

Part 19- Sleepless Nights

It had been a sleepless night for y/n. She'd woke twice, drenched in a cold sweat. As well as, once, where she'd ended up spilling her dinner into the toilet. Most likely, she'd managed about 5 hours of sleep. Which on most days would be fine, but with the current situation, was not helping.

Her feet dried, as she stepped out of the steaming shower, and onto the fresh towel laying on her tiled floor. She felt bile rise up the back of her throat as she faced her reflection. She'd never been the most confident girl, but never had she been more disgusted with her appearance.

Her eyes were puffy, from what she assumed were some mid-nightmare tears. Purple littered her eye bags, showing her obvious sleep deprived night. Whilst red was scattered across her eyelids, from her constant rubbing of them. Her y/h/c hair was ruffled and knotted, even though she'd never much bothered doing any more than brushing it, it clearly needed more work today. Rubbing her eyebrow, she grabbed her toothbrush. Before attempting to make herself look less dead.

She couldn't bring herself to do more than wet her face and brush her hair, before she gave up. Not that she had anything else to use anyway.

Trudging over the her drawer, she pulled out the first few clothes she could see, before dressing her aching body. It was only 8, although it felt like earlier. Cursing herself for not getting more sleep, she reluctantly made her way over to Minho's room.

"Hey." Minho beamed, energetically, clearly on a few more hours sleep than the girl before him.

Y/n only gave him a curt nod, before walking past him, towards the other body in room.

"Woah, y/n, you okay?" Minho stopped the girl, as she attempted to walk away from him again.

"Didn't sleep." Was all she could muster, as she feebly rubbed at her already swollen eye.

Minho only then noticed how different she looked, how ill she looked. Her swollen eyes, puffy cheeks, untamed hair, and purple bags.

"Y/n, I think we should talk about this." Minho pressed.

He'd seen the girl broken before, but never without reason. Or at least, a reason he couldn't see. It pained him to look at her like this, surely just a sleepless night couldn't do this?

"Later." Y/n muttered, anxious to move away from this topic.

Minho nodded at her, his eyes searching hers for any slight information. But they were just empty.

"Y/n." Gally greeted her, an initial content look in his eyes, which quickly changed to worry.

Newt also turned to look at her, his own greeting caught in his mouth at the sight of her face.

"Let's go." Y/n stated. Her voice cracking slightly at her attempt at more than a whisper.

Making her way through the boys, she pried the vent door off, and crawled in. "Hey, Minho, what's up with y/n?" Frypan asked, his voice quiet enough so the girl wouldn't hear him.

"I'm not sure. She said she didn't sleep well, but she looks ill. I'm worried." He replied, his eyes switching from the boy, to the vent where she'd just went. "I'll find out later." Minho finished, his eyes moving back to the group.

"Tell us asap." Newt added, as he entered the vent.

"Will do." Minho responded, his brain noting the feeling of the metal beneath his hands.

"We need to figure out a plan, and quickly." Minho demanded, he seemed to have taken charge.

Y/n didn't mind, she was far too tired to be the leader today. As Minho continued his speech, Y/n clocked a brown blanket behind Newt.

"Hey, Newt." Y/n whispered, waiting for his acknowledgment of her before continuing.

"Pass me that blanket, will you? Thank you."

Y/n's muscles instantly relaxed at the warmth the cover brought her. She drew her attention back to Minho, trying to listen to his train of thought. Although, this seemed a challenge, she kept zoning in and out as her head bobbed at it's attempt to fall asleep.

The more she heard Minho talk, the harder she found it to stay awake. She flashed Minho one more glance before her eyes shut for good. Her head slumped against Minho's right shoulder, sleep taking over her whole body.

All heads turned to her, as Minho stopped speaking. As soon as he noticed she was asleep a faint smile danced along his lips. Careful not to wake her, he moved her head so it was laying in his lap, instead of atop his shoulder. Stealthily, the boy tucked a stray y/h/c curl behind her ear, allowing her freckles cheeks a little more exposure. Quickly averting his eyes, he continued to talk to the boys.

"Y/n, hey, y/n. Wakey wakey." Minho whispered, as he stroked her y/h/c strands.

"Hm?" The girl replied. Hey eyes still defiantly shut, cheeks red from sleep.

"We gotta go." Minho whispered again.

Y/n finally opened her eyes at the sound of metal clanging, only to be met with Minho's brown eyes staring right back. He was awfully close, not that she minded all that much.

"We've gotta get going, so we're not late." Minho told her again, pushing the dark blanket of her sleepy body.

Y/n's body filled with dread, wishing for nothing but another hours sleep, anything to get away from that room.

Frowning, she pushed herself upright, taking Minho's outstretched hand, and hauling herself onto her feet. Stretching her back, her body ached, probably from the odd sleeping position. Her eyes looked weak and distant, as she brushed past Minho, and entered the vent behind him.

Brown eyes glued to the floor, as she trudged down the hallway. Minho by her side, eyeing her curiously.

“Y/n, what's wrong?" The boy asked, gently.

Y/n looked into his eyes, soon realising he wasn't going to take anymore of her excuses. "I'm just scared, ok? Is that what you wanted to hear? I'm scared. I'm scared that we'll get caught and they'll torture us, and it'll happen again. Only worse, and I don't think I could take it again."

Minho's heart broke for the girl, he wished he could make her feel safe. He wished he knew how to make all her problems go away.

"You know I won't let that happen."

"Minho, there's some things even you can't control." Y/n sighed, wishing she could believe the boy's words, true or not.

"Y/n, listen to me." Minho spoke seriously, stoping in his place and turning to stop y/n too. "None of us will let them hurt you again. I promise." Minho didn't break their eye contact, hoping his promise wasn't just words.

"I don't know Minho. You couldn't stop them last time-" Y/n started, her eyes leaving his and wondering to his right.

"But now we're prepared, or at least we will be. We know what we're up against. We won't let them touch you." His arms were on either side of her elbows now, wanting to shake the girl until she understood the weight of his words.

"Fill me in on the plan, would you?" Y/n asked, beginning to walk down the hall again. Minho joined her again, with a rather content look on his face.

[sonnetthebard]

This is kind of a crack idea, but I don't really care and I'm throwing it out anyway

Curt and Owen have to go undercover in a show for a mission(keeping an eye on one of the members of the cast maybe?). The show? Either Spies are Forever or a Hatchetfield show, take your pick -S

S anon... you have been waiting a while for this, and I apologize. With Headless, I needed a moment to recharge. So this is going to be a Modern! SAF fic. And as a treat, we're going original cast in an AU. That's right folks. Extra meta content. You asked for crack, you're gonna get crack. Please note: Most of the stories pertaining to the real people involved in this oneshot are made up based on what facts I know about them/ what I’m able to pick up on personalities. I don’t know any of these people personally, though. This is going to be such a ride, so buckle up.

Genre: Comedy/ Action/ Fluff

Words: 5639

TL;DR: Curt and Owen take the stage in order to monitor Chimera and one of their operatives. The thing is, they only have a vague clue as to who they're going after: he was one of the writers.

TW: Swearing, Guns, Fighting- But not much, this is mostly just gonna be a joke.

_________________________________________________

"Next we have... Curt Mega?" The longer-haired one read off, looking at Curt. "Cool name! We might have to use that- if, of course, that's okay with you."

"Oh... yeah, that's fine." Curt chuckled softly.

What, precisely, was Curt doing? Only the thing he'd vowed to Owen that he would never do (other than, of course, leave him): auditioning for a musical. Owen was a total theatre kid, and he'd done his share of musicals. Curt was always in the audience, but he'd jokingly told Owen that he would never be joining him up there. But... here he was. In an audition room. Curt never broke promises, not even joke ones. But these were... extenuating circumstances. In other words, this was for a mission and he had no doubt that Cynthia would actually kill him if he didn't follow through with his orders. Owen gave him a sly, triumphant smirk from across the room, where he was waiting for his audition. Curt got up, following the guy back further into the studio where they were holding auditions.

This mission was an odd one. It was monitoring a potential operative with Chimera Worldwide. Sure, they had the world by storm now- but A.S.S. was getting intel telling them that they might be breaching the privacy rights of people all over the world. In fact, Chimera may be a lot more criminal than they would seem to the naked eye. There was evidence coming to light of plots that could very well end in world domination. The worst part: apparently they were pretty plausible. One world government, puppeted by Chimera. That's why MI6 had sent Owen, and A.S.S. had sent Curt. They were their best agents, and a duo that had proven to work well together.

What did all of that have to do with a musical? To the average joe, nothing. Oh, Chimera had done well. They'd even declined to offer these guys a production grant so as to not seem shady. But... the A.S.S. had reason to believe that one of the writers and producers for the show that they were about to audition for was an operative for Chimera. Now, this play in and of itself may be an independent project. It may have nothing to do with Chimera. But... it was looking like the easiest way to monitor this operative, and so here Curt and Owen were. Owen was thrilled! He loved doing shows. He usually had to slot them into his schedule carefully, though. He couldn't do them during missions. So a mission where he was doing theatre was basically a dream come true for him.

Curt and Owen had chosen roles according to their experience with theatre. Curt had chosen to keep his name as his theatrical stage name, and Owen already did keep his name as a stage name. It was risky, but it also provided their names with a solid cover in the world outside of espionage. Owen had a legitimate resume built. That was why he was going for the lead, currently named 'JB' for 'James Bond' (subject to change). Curt, on the other hand, had stolen his resume from another actor named Curt Mega (who had fully agreed to that and signed an NDA and luckily enough happened to look like Curt). He had literally no acting experience, so he was going for a smaller role: The Informant and Ensemble. Both would likely have eyes on different parts of the production process and the cast. Hopefully they'd get a good idea of what was going on and who their target was. Maybe they'd even get to eliminate the threat! That was Curt's favourite part of missions.

"So, Curt... you did Glee?" The guy who had initially called him asked as they walked.

"Yep!" Curt lied.

"I recognize you! You were one of the Warblers- nice job on that solo in Uptown Girl, by the way." The man chuckled. Oh good. He was passable as the other Curt Mega. "I did Glee too. I was only there for, like, an episode though. But my buddy Darren... well, you probably know him."

"Yeah. He did a phenomenal job as Blaine." Curt smirked. Darren was also on an NDA. The government was being extremely careful.

"I'm Joey Richter. Me and my friends Brian and Corey wrote this show." The man introduced himself, extending his hand. Curt took it, giving him a firm shake. Joey smirked. "Damn... you've got a good shake."

"Thanks." Curt chuckled. He liked this guy. It was hard to imagine right now that he could be talking to an agent for one of the greatest evils known to man since... probably the Nazis. "I'm Curt... I mean, you know that, I just..."

"Yeah, I get it." Joey chuckled along with him. They walked into a room. Inside there were four other men. Two sat behind a table, Curt's supposed 'resume' and headshots laid out in front of them, a stack of papers on the side. Two other men shared a piano bench stationed by a keyboard. None of them were dressed particularly formally. Actually, they were all dressed pretty similarly to Curt. Short-sleeved patterned button-ups were about as formal as it got. So Curt and his black, white and gold striped short-sleeved button-up were in good company. "Hey, guys! This is Curt!"

"Hey! Welcome to the auditions for Spies are Forever!" One of the men behind the table smiled brightly. God, all of these men looked... so innocent. Curt couldn't see any of them being traitors to their country, much less mankind.

"Okay, so that's Brian. The guy beside him is Corey." Joey introduced. Corey waved. "The two guys at the piano bench are Clark and Pierce, our composers and band."

"Hey, Curt." Clark smirked.

"You brought your sixteen bars?" Pierce checked.

"Yep." Curt nodded, popping his 'p' and passing him the binder with his sheet music in it.

He'd brought Being Alive from Company, which Owen said was "such a cliche" and "a terrible choice for a comic show", but it was the song Curt felt most comfortable singing. So he was singing it anyways. Owen was very adamant that Curt had to be careful to actually be cast in the show, but Curt held that that song was his best chance. Curt had always thought he was an okay singer. He had his range that he shined in, and he used that. He never performed though. He wasn't that good. That's why he was going for a mostly non-singing role. He went over his cut with Clark, who was actually the one who would be playing for him. Then he cleared his throat, took a deep breath and gave it the old college try.

The odd thing, Curt thought, was that they seemed very into it. Either they were being very nice to him or they were genuinely enjoying the performance. Curt was a bit surprised by that. Owen was the performer among the two of them. Curt supposed it could just be the song. But then... something else unexpected happened. They asked Curt to do his cold read as 'JB'... and change the name to his own. 'Agent Curt Mega'. It was all getting a bit real for Curt. They liked him. And they liked his cold read. They were laughing during his cold read- and at all the right times! Curt was very confused. This wasn't where he was supposed to shine. He walked out of the audition room, and Owen was called in.

Owen really could not have come out sooner. Curt was anxious. What had he just done? He had given it his best because he thought that the best that could get him was ensemble. Was it going to get him more? Was he ready for more? He was past the point of no return, but... God, what had he just done? Owen came out of his audition, smug and content with himself. Apparently they'd asked him to read multiple sides. Curt hadn't the heart to tell him they'd asked him to read for the lead. A few days passed. Curt almost forgot that he'd even auditioned. That it had been so successful. Basking in the California sun could do that to you. But three days later, it all came back to him all too vividly.

"Curt, I got the email!" Owen announced from where he was lazing on the couch across from Curt in their hotel room. He sat up quickly, eager.

"What does it say?" Curt asked eagerly, sitting up with him. Owen scrolled down on his phone.

"Well... I'm in the show..." Owen furrowed his brows. "But... not in the role I thought. I got Deadliest Man Alive."

"Oh." Curt frowned. "I'm sorry. I know you really wanted the lead."

"It seemed like a juicy part." Owen hummed, still a bit dazed by the rejection. "I was looking forward to it."

"I know, babe." Curt sighed, getting up and wrapping his partner in a hug. "Maybe this one will be even juicier!"

"Maybe..." Owen nodded. "Thank you, love. For trying to make me feel better."

"Yeah, no problem!" Curt smiled softly.

"Did you get your email?" Owen asked.

"I... haven't checked." Curt admitted.

"Well go on, then! Sit! We'll check together!" Owen urged him. Curt sighed, sitting beside him and opening his email. Owen peered over his shoulder. The email from the Tin Can Bros was the first one that popped up right at the top. "Open it, Curt!"

"Okay..." Curt chuckled nervously, pressing the email to open it. He scrolled down, sighing in relief. "I got in, O."

"Congratulations!" Owen cheered, grinning. he was genuinely happy for Curt, and excited to be in the same show. "What role?"

"Let me scroll down..." Curt chuckled, before his heart stopped. Naturally, his laughter stopped with it, and his face fell.

"Love, what is it?" Owen furrowed his brows, concerned by the sudden mood shift. Immediately, his mind went to the worst-case scenario. "Curt, is there anything in there indicating that we might be compromised?"

"No..." Curt shook his head, staring at the role.

"Then... darling, what's wrong?" Owen blinked, before looking over his shoulder. His face fell to a state of shock almost equal to Curt's when he read the words, bolded on the screen: We would like to offer you the role of 'JB', renamed Agent Curt Mega. "Oh..."

_________________________________________________

Rehearsals for Spies Are Forever were potentially one of the best times Curt had ever had. Everyone loved him! Apparently, his voice was much better than he'd given himself credit for, as was his acting. Even Owen admitted it. It turned out Curt was perfect for the role. The songs fit right for him, the personality was spot on... the spy was even gay! It was as though it was written specifically for him to perform. Curt truly was having the time of his life. And Owen was loving the role of Deadliest Man Alive. It turned out it was a significantly juicier role than Curt's- funny, dark. And he even had a minor side comedic role to take on, Dick Big. So he could flex his chops in different area. There was a bit of a minor complication with the characters, though.

It turned out Curt's was not the only name that they'd liked. The Tin Can Bros had thought Owen's name was absolutely perfect... for Curt's partner turned villain. Romantic partner turned villain, to boot. They liked the ship name Curtwen. Ironically, both Owen and Joey were playing versions of Agent Owen Carvour- Owen playing him when he was in disguise as Deadliest Man Alive, Joey playing him out of disguise. Owen didn't make a fuss- he couldn't in the position he was in. But he didn't like being portrayed that way, or his name being used that way. The truth was, Owen had used to be morally grey. He'd had a phase where he'd almost betrayed his country and Curt. He'd very nearly done some terrible things. He wouldn't way who for, but Owen had implied it might have been Chimera. But he and Curt had worked through that, and he saw the error of his ways. It hurt seeing his name associated with villainy again. But for the sake of the mission, he literally could not complain.

As for the mission, they weren't really getting too far yet- and that wasn’t for lack of effort. As hard as finding a balance between rehearsal and espionage was, they’d managed to find a routine and stick to it. The work they were doing really should have been productive for them. They'd bugged all three writers and the two composers, but HQ (who was monitoring those so that the boys could focus on rehearsing so that they didn’t become too suspicious) was saying that they'd not gotten any suspicious activity from those except for Joey constantly being with an unidentified girl. But it seemed like that was his girlfriend and not another operative. So either this operative was smart and onto them or taking a hiatus from their work. Background checks were pretty clean. They were going purely off their interactions with these writers, which wasn’t really helping. All five of them were lovely. All five of them were also extremely smart. And all five of them had acting experience. Right now, though... Joey, Clark and Pierce weren't their main suspects. Joey was just too genuine to be bad, as were Pierce and Clark. Plus, if we're looking at technicalities (as Owen tended to), Clark and Pierce were composers, not writers. It was between Brian and Corey- unless something changed. Truly, it was anyone's game.

Owen and Curt were on break. It had been a hard day of rehearsal so far. Curt had just had to rehearse his pseudo-love-song with Mary Kate (who was lovely, but he was a bit jealous of- Owen had called her 'gorgeous' on multiple occasions now), and though it wasn't physically or musically demanding it was hard not to just start laughing. Especially with Curt, a gay man who had experienced this before. And Lauren played his meddling mother during the song, which only made it harder not to laugh. His own mother had no idea what he did or who he was seeing, and it was better that way. She just thought he was a single banker. He liked Lauren’s version of his mom better. She was way funnier. It had taken a bit of time just to get a run in where Curt wasn't giggling the entire time. The song was just so well written! He knew it was so unprofessional (and Owen had certainly reminded him of that) but he couldn't help it! And the Bros were laughing with him, so it was all good. He was glad to be on break, because his sides were killing him. He scrolled through his phone, checking for anything from HQ, before he felt a hand on his back.

"You know, Curt, I don't know if I've told you this lately but you're really, really great!" Joey told him.

"Thanks, man." Curt chuckled. "Thanks for the opportunity!"

"Thank you for coming out for our show!" Joey smirked. His voice dropped to a lower volume. “Listen... you and Owen are dating, right?”

"Yeah..." Curt furrowed his brows. He and Owen had chosen to be open about that. They were all pretty supportive of the LGBTQ+ community. The actor playing Susan and The Informant had even confessed to him that they thought they might be nonbinary- maybe even female leaning. 

"Okay, so for the whole anniversary thing..." Joey fidgeted a bit nervously. "I mean... I've got an anniversary coming up, and, like, it's not my first, but... I think I’ve used every trick in the dating book at this point, and-"

"Wait, you're dating?" Curt blinked.

"Oh! Right, you're new!" Joey started to laugh. "Um... yeah! It's me and Lo."

"You and Lauren?" Curt smirked. He chuckled. "I knew it!"

"We're not public about the relationship yet, though, so... keep it quiet?" Joey pleaded.

"Oh yeah, you're safe." Curt assured him.

"So... any ideas?" Joey asked. “I really want this to be special for her.”

"Have you guys done the beach yet?" Curt offered. "Like, just a picnic- something you both love to eat- out on the beach."

"Yeah, did that two years ago." Joey sighed.

"Alright... how about a museum?" Curt offered. "It can be any museum that has something the two of you could bond over. But... I mean, Owen is super into experiencing art together."

"That we haven't done... not by ourselves on a date." Joey considered. "It doesn't even really have to be art, does it?"

"Nah, that's the beauty of museums! There are museums out there for everything." Curt smirked. “Maybe you two could go to a movie museum.”

"That’s probably more our speed.” Joey chuckled. “Thanks, man!”

"No problem.” Curt winked playfully. Then, he got an idea. He trusted Joey, so hopefully this worked. “Hey, can I ask you something?”

"I mean, I kinda owe you one." Joey chuckled. “Ask away!”

"Have you noticed anyone... acting a bit weird? Like... different from the way they usually do." Curt whispered.

"I... think I know who you mean." Joey nodded. "With Mary Kate... I think she honestly just misses Sean, you know? The rehearsals are a long time for her to be away from him. Those two are so close."

"Yeah... yeah, that must be hard on her." Curt hummed sympathetically. That... wasn't what he'd been going for.

"But I don't know what's going on with Brian." Joey confided in him. "I mean, it's not like he's been acting weird, per se, but... I mean, he always used to be down to just hang after work. But recently, he's been too busy to do that? I honestly thought it was just me who was picking up on that, but like... you're noticing it too?"

"Yeah. Yeah I am." Curt lied, all the sympathy he could muster in his tone. Bingo. He'd just gotten some really, really good intel there. If there was anyone who would be able to know when one of the writers was acting shady, it was Joey. They were his best friends. And Curt tended to agree with Joey anyways. Corey just didn’t give off villain vibes. Neither did Brian, but out of the two of them, Brian gave off more. “Glad it’s not just me.”

"What's he saying about me?" Brian rolled his eyes playfully, approaching his bag from behind them to grab something. Shit. He must have heard his name. 

"Uh..." Joey blushed.

"Oh, he was just telling me about how you two met." Curt lied. Joey gave him a questioning look. But Curt remembered him mentioning it in another one of his longwinded vents. "U of Michigan, Freshmen year. You two got into a lot of trouble."

"He's not telling you any of the bad stuff, is he?" Brian teased.

"Nah, man- I respect the bro code!" Joey scoffed playfully. Curt gave Joey a wink, and Joey gave him a grateful look in return. The wink hadn't gone unnoticed by Brian though.

"Oh god, he is telling you the bad stuff, isn't he?" Brian groaned playfully. "Listen, if Lauren asks, none of it was us."

"Oh don't worry... I'm great with secrets." Curt chuckled. He kinda wanted context now. Knowing those two, it was nothing serious- Joey had a heart of gold. He wouldn't be involved in anything bad. Especially not with his soon-to-be-girlfriend. So probably pranks, or other such shenanigans.

"Guys... I already knew it was you." Lauren rolled her eyes. None of them had noticed her by her own rehearsal bag picking up her water bottle. "It was so obvious... I may have believed you when you blamed Holden like... once? Twice? But you literally signed off half of the time."

"We did?" Joey blinked, looking at Brian.

"Okay, look, some of the time... I was pretty proud of our work." Brian defended himself.

"Dude!" Joey started to snicker. "And here I was keeping secrets from my girlfriend for you!"

"Sorry, Joey." Brian winced. 

“Eh, I guess I have to forgive you.” Joey rolled his eyes, chuckling. “You’re my best friend.”

“Hey, what’s that?” Lauren asked, noticing a pink piece of paper sticking out of Curt’s rehearsal bag. Curt blushed profusely. That was the letter Owen had written to pick him up. he took it everywhere with him in case he panicked so that he could read it, remember those days and calm down. It helped. He’d meant to keep it hidden. 

“Oh... it’s nothing.” Curt lied. 

“It’s not nothing, is it?” Lauren smirked. She gave him a genuine look. “Is it personal?”

“Oh, it’s nothing too bad.” Owen chuckled. Curt blushed further, feeling Owen wrap his arms around his waist. When had he gotten there?”

“What’s going on over here?” Corey asked, joining them. It seemed they had formed a rather large clump. 

“I think Lauren might be about to read the first letter I ever wrote to Curtis.” Owen smirked triumphantly, clearly not embarrassed by that prospect. 

“Ooooo romantic!” Tessa teased Curt. When had she shown up? God, for a spy, Curt was not very observant. He took a brief look at his surroundings. Ah. Everyone was there. Fantastic. 

“Oh hell yeah I am!” Lauren smirked. She plucked the paper out of Curt’s bag. 

“Oh god...” Curt groaned. 

“You okay with this?” Corey checked with Curt. Curt nodded reluctantly. 

“I mean, as long as O is.” Curt sighed, relenting.

With that, Lauren used the rest of their break to overdramatically read out Owen’s letter. Curt was a blushing mess, and Owen was grinning like an idiot. Evidently he was proud of himself- as he should have been. It was a good letter. At least Curt and Owen now had an idea of who to look into: Brian Rosenthal. It was a bit odd to think that Brosenthal might be a Chimera operative. He was a funny, quirky... he didn’t seem ruthless enough. Maybe they were wrong. But this was literally all the intel they could get at the moment. Mind you, they needed concrete evidence before they could actually do anything, but... at least they had a lead. Even if it was a weird one. The thing about espionage was that leads were usually weird. So they... well, they managed to bug all of the writers’ houses a bit more to give HQ more to work with, but especially Brian’s. That way the minute they had solid evidence, they could act. Well... not the minute. More like within about twenty minutes. But same difference. There was nothing else they could do. 

________________________________________________

Nothing happened through the rest of the rehearsal process. Literally nothing. No one did anything suspicious. Honestly, Curt and Owen were starting to think that their superiors were wrong. They were performing their shows- with excellent reception, might they add. People were loving Curt. The real Curt Mega was getting huge acclaim on Curt’s behalf. And the fans... well they were going mad. It was looking like the show would be a huge success- which meant two things. One, Curt was going to have to do more theatre. Cleary he was good at it. Two, his life as a spy was about to get more... complicated. IT turned out these guys had a bit of a cult following because they had been involved with a theatre group called Team Starkid? Curt knew about them from his mission briefing, but honestly he’d never thought that they were that big of a deal. When he’d confessed that to Owen he’d gotten a long lecture. Apparently Owen was also a fan, and that was half of why he was so excited to be doing this show. But that was a topic for another time. 

It was about the third show in when they finally got the evidence they had been looking for. It... was not when they’d planned to find anything. Actually, it was at the least convenient time. Between acts. It was also in the least expected way. Curt had to get his props for the top of Act Two. Owen decided to go with him, mostly to make sure he wasn’t a total and utter child. Honestly, they just meant to get their props before places. They were the only ones in that area backstage- the stagehands were resetting the stage and helping with costume changes/ tech issues. Well, they thought they were the only ones backstage. They should have been. But it turns out that someone else had anticipated the lack of people, and was using that to his advantage. At first, all Curt and Owen could hear were murmurs- not distinguishable in the slightest. Bey both gave each other a look before pulling out their real guns (which they hid on their costumes just in case) and following the sound. And that was when they saw him. The culprit behind all of this: Bri- Corey Lubowich? They lowered their guns a bit, staying dead quiet. That wasn’t what they’d been expecting. {erhaps this was a false alarm. 

“I am in the middle of a- no, I get that my work with you is important! Believe me, I know!” Corey hissed. “I just... tonight is one of my shows! I’m going on as the Prince! I- well can it wait half an hour? I mean I’d prefer two hours, but if I have to whip out my laptop backstage, I- well I’m kinda insisting on- come on, you guys know my theatre is important to me!”

“Okay... so we were wrong...” Owen whispered. 

“We don’t know that...” Curt reasoned. “It could be his family.”

“Of course I’m loyal! When have I not done what you said? I have sacrificed so much for you!” Corey fumed quietly. “Chimera is my life now! Not theatre, not my family or friends. Chimera! Do you know how fucking weird that is for someone my age?! I’m too young for all this corporate shit! No! No, of course that’s not what I’m saying just- can I have my night? Come on, this is really important.”

“Okay, I take that back.” Curt blinked, stunned. He was just a bit too loud. Corey’s head snapped in their direction, and both men raised their guns. Corey’s eyes fumbled, and he pulled out a gun of his own, haphazardly aiming it at them. 

“Okay... shit, guys, I’m going to have to call you back... we’ve got a situation.” Corey muttered. His face fell and he rolled his eyes, unimpressed. “No, not a theatre situation. An us situation. I’ll fill you in- look, they have guns. Just- I really don’t have the time for this anymore- NOT MY JOB WITH YOU! This conversation! Jesus, I’ve got two guns pointed at me! Let me go! Okay, fine! Bye!”

“You...” Curt spat, glaring at Corey. 

“You guys finally figured it out...” Corey sighed, raising his gun fully at them. 

“You know who we are?” Curt blinked. 

“How?” Owen asked him coldly. 

“Chimera has eyes and ears everywhere.” Corey rolled his eyes. “Just like in the show. I knew you were coming, and I knew you were looking for me. I just didn’t think you’d actually find me.”

“Are you insulting our intelligence?” Owen scoffed. 

“No. I just thought I set up Brian pretty well.” Corey admitted. “It was pretty easy, too... all I had to do was point out to Joey that Brian wasn’t coming to as many of our hangouts as he used to. You trusted Joey. Joey relayed that to you. Threw you completely off my scent.”

“Yeah, aren’t you just the friend of the year.” Curt rolled his eyes. “You threw your bro under the bus.”

“You’re lucky we didn’t get a false tip-off and eliminate him.” Owen hummed in agreement. “You’ve no clue the kinds of things that could set our superiors off.”

“Well... It’s Brian. The chances of him doing anything sketchy are slim to none.” Corey reasoned. 

“Corey, I’m going to need you to put that gun down and put your hands behind your head.” Curt sighed. 

“Alright, guys, places!” Joey called out to them. Everyone was backstage- except, oddly, Lauren (who was usually pretty punctual on cues). Shit. Their timing was awful. “You can play with the... are those our prop guns?”

“No... those are too modern.” Brian furrowed his brows, approaching them to get a closer look. He blinked before stumbling back. “Holy shit, guys... are those real guns?”

“Yes, they are... and you’re going to need to stay back.” Curt told them levelly. “Lubowich, gun down, hands behind your head.”

“We outgun and outman you.” Owen reminded him. The fact that Corey was so reluctant was astounding. “And we have a license to kill if you don’t cooperate.”

“Okay, guys, what the fuck?!” Joey exclaimed. 

“Can we just... put the guns down and talk this out?” Tessa pleaded. 

“No... we can’t.” Curt shook his head. “My name is Agent Curt Mega, American Secret Service. My partner is Owen Carvour, MI6.”

“Our credentials...” Owen muttered, pulling them out with one hand and holding them out to Brian, who was closest. He hesitantly took them. Corey shot Owen while he wasn’t in peak position to shoot him. Curt shot Corey back with no hesitation. Neither shot was fatal, Corey’s hitting Owen in the arm and Curt’s hitting Corey in the shoulder. The impact was enough to make both men stumble back. Owen stayed on his feet, but Corey fell. Curt kept his gun trained on Corey. 

“Holy shit, they’re not lying...” Brian mumbled. 

“Okay, Corey... what the actual fuck, man?!” Joey fumed, definitely feeling a bit betrayed. 

“Corey... why are you fighting the secret service?” Mary Kate asked coolly, trying to be the level-headed one. 

“He works for Chimera.” Curt told them, knowing they might not get a clear response from Corey for a bit. 

“The assholes who wouldn’t fund us?” Brian groaned. Corey grunted in admittance. “Come on, man! This just keeps getting worse and worse!”

“Okay, guys, I’m here. Sorry I took so-” Lauren started, rushing out. She saw the scene playing out and blinked. “Holy fuck! What’s going on?!”

“They’re actual fucking spies, Lo.” Joey hissed. “All three of them.”

“Pretty sure Curt and Owen are the good guys.” Brian added in a whisper. 

“Oh yeah, Curt and Owen are definitely the good guys.” Tessa gulped. 

“Corey is an agent for Chimera.” Curt explained. 

“Please tell me this is an elaborate prank.” Lauren chuckled nervously. 

“No, Lo... this time it’s real.” Joey sighed. 

“Okay, but... Chimera’s just a huge global corporation, right?” Mary Kate reasoned. 

“Not really.” Corey croaked out. 

“They’re plotting world domination.” Owen grunted. 

“Corey...” Joey breathed. 

“World domination makes it sound bad.” Corey grimaced. “We more just want control over every world government... and then maybe to take all of them out and form one Chimera government.”

“That doesn’t make it sound any better.” Tessa winced. 

“Why?” Brian asked Corey, hurt. “Why are you doing this?”

“Honestly, I just needed a bit of extra money in college.” Corey muttered, trying and failing to find his footing. Clearly he wasn’t a field agent too often. 

“So you turned to espionage?!” Lauren scoffed incredulously. 

“Honestly I started as a delivery boy and then I found out some shit I should never have known...” Corey sighed. “It escalated really quickly.”

“God, this is a mess.” Joey groaned. 

“Curt, love, can you give our superiors a ring?” Owen prompted him. “I’ll deal with our former friend here.”

“On it.” Curt nodded, pulling out his phone. 

“So... do we stop the show?” Brian asked Owen as he pulled out a zip-tie- another essential item Owen always kept on him, even in costumes.

“Oh no... the A.S.S. is the epitome of discretion. Believe me, you’ll have no clue what’s going on. Just see if you can find a friend in the audience to go on for The Prince.” Owen told them, tying up Corey and forcing him onto his feet. “Owen will take him outside and... he should honestly be ready to go on after We Love The Prince.”

“Holy shit... okay...” Lauren sighed. 

“I’ll make an announcement that we’re having technical difficulties...” Joey planned. “Let’s, um... just take a moment to breathe and get back into the right headspace.”

“We’ll be back in a moment.” Curt told them as he and Owen took Corey outside. 

“Rot in hell, you asshole!” Brian called after him, sniffing. Was he... crying? You know what, it was completely fair. That was one hell of a betrayal. 

So Curt and Owen passed Corey onto their superiors, and Spies Are Forever was able to go on. They got Nick Lang to play The Prince, which only made the fans more excited. Curt and Owen were allowed the opportunity to finish their run with the show- which Curt was so, so grateful for. He loved theatre. he never thought he would, but he loved it. And Owen loved that he loved it. Spies are Forever was the first of many shows for Curt. He got into the habit, like Owen, of doing shows between missions. In fact, he actually got to make Owen a little jealous later on- he got into a Starkid show. Mind you, they knew who he was. Fully this time. They even supported him- helped him build a public backstory. The real Curt Mega’s wife even played wife to him publicly when she needed to. It was a new start in Curt’s life and one that he hadn’t even known he needed. Finally, everything seemed like it was okay.

[scuttle-buttle]

WC: 1394

Rated: T

Tags: descriptions of injury, small mention of blood, Niki being a dummkopf, german, angst, hurt/comfort, some humor

A/N: our favorite Austrian asshole made interesting choices regarding his health. We knew this 🤔

🚜

Niki pulled into the pit quicker than he intended when the grand prix ended. The brakes squeaked in protest. He didn’t even care that he’d come in 4th place. His chest felt like it was on fire, like he would combust at any second. He needed to get out of the car.

Breathe in. Breathe out. Swallow. In. Out. Don’t puke.

Biting his lip to stifle the pain, he was sure he would bite the damn thing off. Arturo and Luca are already waiting to help him out of the car. Carefully they help him maneuver himself out of the car as smoothly as they can. Niki nods in thanks. The two share a look over his head, knowing something is wrong. “Get Dungl on the phone.” Luca leaves to do as instructed.

“What’s wrong?” Arturo asks.

“Ribs,” is all Niki can manage to get out around the tightness in his chest. Arturo nods, knowing about his situation. Niki leans onto a wall, keeping his back as straight as he possibly can. His breathing is shallow.

Looking up under his lashes he can see you walking over to greet him. He panics for a moment, knowing you always wrap him in your arms after a race, even though he complains that he must smell awful. He does the first thing he can think of - he grabs your hands in his own, holding them out to the side a bit as you lean in. This way you are still able to kiss him without surely doing more damage to his ribs.

You must notice the odd gesture, the stiffness in his lips as he returns the favor; your brows furrow for a second before smoothing out again. “You did great out there today.”

Niki’s answer is curt and forced. “Thank you.”

His response sounds annoyed almost, like he’s holding back anger at something. Nothing particularly dramatic happened during the race itself that you remember. You figure he must be upset about not placing in the top three. You had no fears that it had anything to do with you. Holding out a hand to him, you intend to walk him back to the trailer to change out of his coveralls.

He hesitates, his body clenches tight as you begin to pull him. A grunt breaks from his parted lips, his eyes scrunched shut.

Stopping, you search his face and ask “what’s wrong?”

“Nothing, liebe.” He looks over your face and sees your questioning glance. “Muscles are just tight after being in the car,” he fibs, a strained smile on his face.

You seem to buy it enough. This time, Niki is as prepared as possible when you pull on his arm again. Each step he takes sends a stabbing through his chest and through his spine. He does his best to mask the pain from his features as you walk to the trailer.

Once the door is closed you turn to unzip his uniform. He allows you this much, knowing that he literally can’t bend over to push the garment down his hips and legs. Carefully, he steps out of the material with your help. Fucking hell, it hurts. He focuses on schooling his breaths so that you don't notice when it inevitably hitches.

The toe of his shoe catches on the pant leg, causing Niki to lose his balance. Nearly falling into the side of the trailer to catch himself he can’t stop the agonizing yelp that he makes. “Scheisse!” The little air that was in his lungs leaves him, his head spinning with pain and lack of oxygen. Black spots swim through his vision.

At his exclamation you stand, your hands flying out to steady him against his chest. At the contact of your fingers against his sweater he flinches, giving another pathetic yelp. You yank them off him; “Niki what the hell is going on?”

He doesn’t answer. Instead, his face scrunched in a deep scowl. He can taste the iron from where he has bitten through his lip. Without realizing it, he’d brought one arm up around his waist to clutch at the injury.

You notice his arm cradling his chest. “Sit.” It’s a command that Niki doesn’t have the ability to fight. He lowers himself onto the bed in the corner. Reaching down, you carefully pull his arm away from him, slowly lifting the sweater up. A black and white binding of some sort supports his torso. Fingers barely ghosting down the thick straps, you ask “what is this?” You are full on panicking at this point.

“I’m fine, liebe, I just need to sit for a minute,” he grunts out.

“That’s bullshit, Niki, and you know it. You look like you’re about to pass out.”

Looking at your face he can tell that you’re barely restraining your fear and concern for him. He can also tell that you're right - he does feel like he's moments from losing consciousness. Niki licks his lips. “I… broke a few ribs.”

“You WHAT? When!?” your shout echoes around the trailer's walls.

He can’t suppose he’s upset by your reaction. There is no doubt you would have found out sooner or later anyway. Niki just hoped it would have been less dramatic circumstances. “Few days ago. I- uh-” he groans, the talking straining his chest uncomfortably, "fell off my tractor. I’m fine.” The Austrian lilt to his accent is heavy and rough.

Your hands fly up as if to say ‘you’ve got to be kidding me’, a scoff joining the gesture. “First of all - why the hell are you racing when you’re hurt, and second - since when do you drive a bloody tractor?”

He doesn’t have the chance to answer you; a knock on the door breaks your attention to the visitor. Thank god for Niki, it’s his trainer Dungl. He doesn’t look pleased himself as he enters, giving Niki a judgemental look for good measure. Dungl gets right to work sorting Niki out.

A few hours later you drive Niki home. He has been quiet since the trainer, as Niki had referred to him, arrived and sorted him out. The race had caused two of the broken ribs to shift out of place and press up against his lungs. Had he been in an accident, god forbid, he could have punctured a lung and killed himself with his stupidity. The radio does nothing to quell the tense air surrounding you both.

“You can’t do that.” You swallow.

Niki clears his throat gently. The drugs he’d taken have taken effect finally, giving him respite from the agony in his chest. “I know.”

“You’re so smart Niki. Christ, you’re the smartest guy I know when it comes to this shit. But then you pull an absolute bollocks move like that.” You take a breath to calm yourself. He shifts next to you. ‘I’m not- I’ve already accepted how dangerous the drive is… but I can’t Niki. I can’t watch you pull some bullshit move like this again. You scared me half to death. I'm going to be your wife, Niki; I need you to keep yourself alive.” Emotion hangs on every word you speak.

Niki knows it was stupid. Ich bin ein dummkopf, he thinks regretfully. He just got so caught up in racing and winning and not wanting to be seen as weak. Reaching a hand over, he circles his fingers around your own. He rubs his thumb across your palm. “I know. I’m sorry, liebling, really. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

You are silent for a moment before you nod, your eyes remaining on the road ahead of you.

“I love you, Catherine. More than I could ever say.” He brings your hand to his lips and places a delicate kiss to your knuckles. The solid warmth of your ring gives him comfort that you'll stick by him even when he pulls hairbrained stunts like this. Not that he's planning any more of them, that is.

Finally, you break your eyes from the road to look at him. “I love you too, you right idiot.” The grin on your face confirms that you have forgiven him.

A few moments of now comfortable silence passes, your hand still in his as you drive. Suddenly your voice pierces the quiet, “and another thing - how on earth did you get run over by a tractor?”

@toobruhlforschool came in clutch with finding this in the Niki autobiography for me:

Tag list: @ay0nha @apparrio @livvyshmiv @fictionlandslanddreams @vinylrosess @typical-bistander @ntlmundy @mymagicsuitcase @anteroom-of-death @somethingthatsaysbubbles @lieutenantn @multiversemarielle @trashbin2 @whatawildone @metalbreakfast @laura-naruto-fan1998 @greeneyedblondie44 @godidontevenknowwhat @marchingicenotes7

[king-kira]

Valiant || Chap. 2 - The Accolade

Pairing: Eren/Fem!Reader

Genre/AU: Medieval AU, Royalty AU

Warnings: None

Words: 1,710

Available on: Ao3 & Quotev

Summary -> [Name] [Last], the only princess in a kingdom teetering on the brink of war. It's only a matter of time before danger rears its ugly head, so her father decides to assign her a personal knight, much to her dismay.

<- Previous Chapter || Next Chapter ->

Note: Happy reading! :)

All knights were to adhere to the code of conduct, especially chivalry. During the Accolade, a ceremony in which squires enter knighthood, knights swear to defend the weak and uphold virtues such as compassion, loyalty, generosity, and truthfulness until the day they die. Of course, the oath they swore made them sound like the kindest bunch in the kingdom. They weren't. Most became power-hungry and obsessed with the idea of climbing the ranks. The Knights Legion, or the Legion of Honour, if you will, was filled with lazy drunkards and corrupted souls. You had watched many knights change over the years. They start off young and naive, but the world changes them. Your father didn't care much for that. As long as they were strong and hid their true nature from the public eye, they were as good of knights as any. You just hoped that his ignorance wouldn't come back to bite him.

You stood adjacent to your father on the altar. He unsheathed his sword when several squires and knights entered the room. Usually, the Accolade would take place after a battle, when the squires had proven their strength and loyalty to the kingdom, but desperate times call for desperate measures. You watched in silence as, one by one, each squire kneeled before the king and swore the oath. The king would then dub each squire a knight with the tap of his sword on their shoulders. It was a repetitive ceremony, and you weren't quite sure why your father had insisted you be present. You guessed that it was because one of the knights would become your personal knight.

It came down to the last couple of knights, and for some reason, you were a bit disappointed that you hadn't seen the boy from the courtyard. He was a squire, was he not? He was training with the others yesterday. Just as the thought crossed your mind, the doors opened, revealing the boy you had been thinking about, behind him was a shorter man you recognized as Sir Ackerman. Speak of the devil, and he doth appear, you supposed. After a pregnant pause, the ceremony resumed, and the boy quietly shuffled closer to the altar.

The ceremony came to an end, and the newly dubbed knights filtered out of the room. "Sir Jaeger, stay here a moment," your father called out, returning his sword to its scabbard. You hesitated to leave the room, were you meant to stay? Your father, perceptive as always, turned to you.

"You as well, [Name]," he motioned for you to step down from the altar alongside him. Sir Jaeger nervously approached and kneeled in front of your father.

"Your highness," he addressed your father.

"I believe both Sir Ackerman and the instructor discussed this matter with you?" the king asked, to which Sir Jaeger only nodded. "Right, [Name], Sir Jaeger will be your personal knight. He must protect you and only you, no matter the cost." your father sure had a way of putting things grimly, you could feel your hands become clammy, and you couldn't imagine how nervous the knight kneeling before you was feeling. Unsure of what to say, you nodded, fiddling with a frilly piece of fabric that lined your dress. Your father gave you a look that you could only describe as stern before leaving the room.

Now it was just you and a stranger, a stranger that has to follow you around everywhere you go in case of the rare occurrence that you are attacked within your own home. You couldn't blame him, though; you doubted he wanted to follow you around every day.

"Ther- there's no reason to bow any longer," you stuttered, eyeing him as he kneeled. He hastily stood to his feet as if following a command. You felt your heart pang at the thought. He didn't seem to speak much. Is this how it's going to be? Was he going to remain silent and follow your every command? You supposed that's what a personal knight was meant to do, but it was a bit saddening to think about. You tried not to let your disappointment show, but he seemed like the perceptive type. When he spoke, it confirmed your suspicions.

"What's wrong, princess?" he asked.

"Oh, nothing. I- uh, I just got lost in thought," you explained with hesitation. "You need to need to get your gear from the armoury, don't you?" you asked upon further examination of the boy. He was clad in a pair of boots, trousers, and a green tunic. He nodded in response.

"Why don't you go receive your gear while I head to the library?" you suggested as you began to walk. Sir Jaeger followed a few steps behind you.

"I don't believe I'm allowed to leave your side during my shift, princess," he replied. Part of you wished he had forgotten the oath he had sworn minutes ago, it was a foolish wish, but you were a foolish girl wishing for a crumb of freedom.

"I wouldn't tell anyone," you stated simply as if you were bartering for an item or service of some sort.

"Uh, my apologies, but I don't fancy getting scolded my first day on the job," he let out an awkward chuckle.

"Well, you can't go without your armour. I suppose we'll just have to head over to the armoury together."

________

One thing not many people knew about the castle was its many secret passages. They were once used as escape routes if when castle came under siege. The kingdom has been at peace with neighbouring nations for decades until now, so your father had them sealed up when you were little, but not before you found out about the one in your bedroom. You hadn't unsealed it in years because you never needed to, but now that you had a personal knight waiting outside your door, you finally had a reason. You didn't consider yourself very mischievous, but your father brought it upon himself. You doubted the castle would be attacked anytime soon. The neighbouring nation would more than likely attack a fort on the outskirts first. It's with these thoughts in your mind that you decide to push aside your dresser as quietly as possible and peel back the floral wallpaper that covered a hatch. Crouching down, you opened the hatch and entered the small crawlspace. Further down was a more spacious tunnel that led to a staircase.

You kept one hand on the stone brick wall to guide yourself through the darkness. The stench of mould and mildew was pungent, and out of the corner of your eye, you see something scurry across the floor. Yeah, no one had been down here in years, and you had half the mind to turn around and go back to sleep. Alas, you proceeded down the stairs, careful not to trip. Finally, you reached the end of the narrow passage. You pushed a rickety wooden door open and lantern light filtered out the darkness.

The passage led to the underground dungeons. You hadn't been down here often but recognized it by the iron doors that lined the hallway. Your eyes scanned the area. Odd, there weren't any guards present. You guessed it was your lucky day.

__________

Alone, at last, you sat down at your usual spot by the courtyard. You reached for your book and opened it to the page where you had left off on. The usual sound of swords clashing was no longer present. You supposed it was because most of the squires were knighted yesterday.

"You're quite the troublemaker, aren't you?" a voice startled you, causing your body to jolt. You whipped your head around and came face to face, or rather face to helm, with Sir Jaeger. You eyed his armour. It was different from most low-ranking knights, more intricate, and if you had to guess, crafted from a stronger metal. Though, you suppose he wasn't low-ranking since he was assigned to protect you. Thinking about it now, why was he assigned to you? He was a squire only yesterday. You expected someone more experienced. Perhaps, his swordsmanship was just that excellent.

"If you keep this up, you'll get me in trouble," he said, breaking your train of thought. You took a moment to watch as he sat down beside you before speaking up. "You wouldn't get in trouble. I'd just tell my father that it was my fault," you said, shaking your head and turning your attention back to the book on your lap.

"Not sure that's how it works, princess," he murmured.

"How'd you find me anyway?" you decided to change the topic.

"Well, it was getting late, so I decided to check on you only to find that you weren't even there, and there was an open hatch in the wall," he explained. "I went through the passage, and I figured I'd check the courtyard since I've seen you here often," he finished. You gave a curt nod, letting the conversation lapse.

"What're you reading?" the boy inquired after a long pause. He leaned closer to take a peek at your book. You slammed it shut, feeling warmth rise to your cheeks. "Love in Turmoil? Didn't take you for the romantic type," he laughed, and you huffed, giving him a shove.

"Yeah, so what?" you snapped back.

"Nothing wrong with it," the turquoise eyed boy raised his hands in defence.

"Right," you said, rolling your eyes.

"Look, uh- I know you're not too fond of the whole personal knight thing. I'm sorry, but once this whole 'on the brink of war' thing passes, things will go back to normal," he attempted to reassure you, and you began to feel a bit bad. You shouldn't be giving him such a hard time, but there's so much frustration boiling within you that has nowhere to go. You exhale and turn to face him.

"I'm sorry for the way I've been acting. I just..." You paused to think of the right words. A wistful sigh slipped past your lips, and you turned your gaze heavenward. You watched as two birds soared across the sky, and that's when it happened. In an instant, the world around you began to crumble.

[maraudererasmut]

Black and White (Part XV)

Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV | Part V | Part VI | Part VII | Part VIII | Part IX | Part X | Part XI | Part XII | Part XIII | Part XIV | Part XV | Part XVI | Part XVII | Part XVIII | Part XIX

When Sirius Black walked into the run-down little coffee shop that Remus worked at, he looked extremely out of place. The Daily Grind was one of those cafes that had mismatched furniture and paintings from local artists on the wall. It wasn't glamorous, not by any stretch of the imagination, but it felt comfortable— homey. Remus was willing to bet that Sirius had never set foot in a cafe like this, preferring to get his coffee from Starbucks or a butler in a tuxedo or something. 

The first thing that Remus noticed about Sirius was that he was wearing a suit, like always, with his long hair in a loose bun and his posture stiffer than a board. He glanced around him, scanning the room, until his eyes met with Remus' and his jaw tightened. Remus forced himself to smile politely, offering the gallery owner a small wave. Sirius made his way over to Remus' table, his typical saunter less noticeable now that he was in an unfamiliar environment.

"Good evening, Sirius. Thank you for joining me." Remus kept his tone courteous, his words formal. He knew that he would have trouble relaxing around Sirius. The two of them had a business relationship exclusively; meeting up socially was strange and unprecedented.

Sirius' mouth twisted into what Remus could only assume was an attempt at a grin. 

"Remus," he muttered stiffly, giving a firm nod. He glanced down at the empty chair in front of Remus, but remained standing. Remus felt his shoulders tighten in discomfort.

"Please… have a seat." Remus gestured towards the empty chair and Sirius nodded again before sitting down. "Uh… thanks for meeting me."

He didn't know what else to say. Seeing Sirius in the cafe wasn't quite as hilarious has Remus had anticipated; instead, the two men were both uncomfortable, awkward, struggling to relax in front of one another.

"Yes, well…" Sirius began, before trailing off. "So… is this where you work?"

Remus nodded, his hands tightening around his cup of tea. He didn't hate his job, but it was exhausting. He was on his feet most of the day and he rarely had enough energy to paint at night. It took everything Remus had in him to drag himself out of bed each morning, ready to face the same mundane routine that slowly ate away at him. 

"It's… nice." Sirius glanced around at the paintings on the wall. His mouth spread into a thin smile as recognition lit up his face. "There's a familiar one…"

Remus glanced over his shoulder to find one of his older pieces hanging on the wall behind him.

"Oh… yeah… I forgot that one was there. It's… not my best work."

"No, it isn't."

Remus spun around to cast a glare at Sirius.

"That's not very polite."

Sirius cocked an eyebrow and Remus could have sworn he saw the slightest hint of humour in those silvery eyes.

"Why? It's not. Your current stuff is much better. The paintings that you've been producing recently? They're a different caliber altogether."

Remus could feel his cheeks heat up as Sirius paid him a rare compliment. It was backhanded, yes, but it was the closest thing to praise that he could hope for from the gallerist.

"Uh… thanks." 

Sirius leaned back in his chair, running a hand through his bangs and brushing them away from his eyes. Remus felt himself mirroring Sirius, finally able to sink into his chair and relax slightly. 

"So…" Sirius began, cutting the silence, his tone gentler than usual. "I… I am sorry. About yesterday. I know I said that earlier, I just… want you to know that."

Remus chewed the edge of his lip, trying to formulate his response. Every fiber of his being wanted to say it's okay, to brush off what happened the other day as if it had been perfectly normal. That was his immediate response to everything. 

It's fine.

It's no bother.

It's okay.

Although he couldn't figure out why, there was a part of Remus that didn't want this to be the same as always. It wasn't okay. The way Sirius treated him wasn't fine, and Remus wasn't going to allow himself to be a doormat. Not this time.

"You were an arse."

"I know." Sirius' gaze dropped to his hands, which were fiddling with a packet of sugar. Remus felt a wave of something— was it affection? — pass over him as he watched Sirius. He hated it.

"It was rude," Remus continued, trying to sound upset, to hide the fact that Sirius' fiddling was in any way endearing. "The way you spoke to me. The way you acted around me. It really was unprofessional."

"I know."

Sirius didn't justify his actions. He didn't make any excuses, didn't try to explain anything, he simply sat there as Remus called him out, a distinct look of guilt darkening his silvery blue eyes. 

"You… really shouldn't treat people that way…"

"I know."

Remus paused. He brought his tea to his mouth and took a sip, giving himself time to think.

"Why?"

Sirius glanced back up at Remus, his eyes shining like a lost puppy. Remus had to suppress a grin.

"Why what?" The gallerist asked, his brow furrowed in confusion.

"Why did you… what made you so upset? Why were you so… cruel?"

Remus watched as Sirius closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He exhaled slowly as he leaned further back in his chair, as if he knew this question had been coming the entire time. Sirius' eyes shot open, darting back and forth as they searched Remus' face. After a moment, Sirius finally spoke.

"You don't know much about me…" He began, before trailing off. Remus remained silent, assuming that there was more to follow. There was. "I… I do that on purpose. I don't like getting too close to my artists. It… this has been strange for me; you being friendly with James. It… made things awkward."

Remus cocked a brow and pursed his lips.

"How so?"

Sirius gave a heavy sigh.

"I don't… really have any family. I have James and Lily. That's it. They're… they're all I have."

Remus was confused. He had read about the Black family before; they were well-established business people, the family name known throughout the city from their various enterprises. Sirius was a member of this prestigious family, how could he say he didn't have any?

Remus' face must have betrayed his thoughts, because Sirius let out a dark laugh.

"Before you ask, no, I'm not close with the other Blacks. They're… the only thing we share is the name. I'm not… well, I'm different. We don't speak anymore. It's better that way."

"Oh." Remus didn't know how else to respond. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be. It's as much my doing as it is theirs."

"I see…"

"Anyway…" Sirius' fingers turned the sugar packet over and over and over. "I'm… very protective of James and Lily…"

Remus scoffed. 

"You weren't jealous, were you?" He asked with a grin. Sirius didn't respond, and Remus realized his mistake. His smile faded. "...were you?"

Sirius shrugged his shoulders, his focus remaining on the sugar that danced through his hands.

Never in a million years would Remus have expected Sirius Black to be jealous of him. Remus was broke. He worked himself to the bone, barely sleeping, hardly eating, unable to afford anything beyond the absolute necessities. 

"I'm…" Remus began, not sure what it was he wanted to say. "I don't think James or Lily would ever replace you…"

"No, I know that…" Sirius said to the sugar. "I know that. I just… have trouble believing it…"

The man in front of Remus was someone so different than the Sirius Black he thought he knew. This was someone soft, scared, afraid of losing the people he loved. This was a man who had everything and nothing all at once, who couldn't fathom going through life on his own. This was someone that Remus understood.

"I'm… I'm sorry if I— "

"No, you're fine," Sirius interrupted, glancing back up at Remus, a forced smile on his face. "This was on me. I've got a bit of a temper. I lashed out at you. And I'm sorry about that. Anyway…" Sirius' hand dropped the sugar and brushed his bangs from his eyes. "None of this is important. You just… wanted to know why. So… that's why."

"I really am sor— "

"Can we please drop it?" Some of the ice returned to Sirius' voice, reflected in the glacial blue of his eyes. Remus gave the gallerist a curt nod, knowing that the subject was a delicate one. 

"Yeah, sure. Consider it dropped." Remus tried to smile, to keep his emotions hidden from his face. "We're good, you and I. As far as I'm concerned…"

"Good."

"Yeah…"

"So…" Sirius mumbled, picking up his sugar packet again, breaking the suddenly awkward silence. "You mentioned a message?"

Shit.

Remus swallowed past the lump in his throat. When he was still angry at Sirius, he had planned to make the man feel bad about his drunken voicemail. Now that they had connected over a candid heart-to-heart, it didn't seem right to bring it up.

"It… it was nothing. Honestly…"

Sirius raised a brow skeptically.

"Remus…"

"You… you just left a voicemail is all. It really wasn't anything… you didn't say much…"

Remus watched as the colour faded from Sirius' face, his eyes growing wide with horror. Butterflies erupted in the pit of Remus' stomach as the icy blue of Sirius' irises melted through his heart.

Shit shit shit…

"It really wasn't—"

"I don't remember leaving that…" Sirius twisted his sugar in his hand, accidentally breaking the packet and spilling the grains across the table. "Fuck!"

"It's fine! I've got it! I can clean it up!" 

As Remus moved to sweep up the mess with his napkin, Sirius slammed his fist against the table, startling the artist and causing the sugar grains to jump.

"Was I drunk?"

Remus blinked. He looked at Sirius, who suddenly looked more angry than nervous.

"Uh… p— possibly? It was only a voic— "

"Was I drunk, Remus?"

Sirius looked— well, serious.

"Uh… y— yeah… I… I think so."

"Fuck!" Sirius' profanities echoed across the cafe, earning him scathing glares from the other patrons. "Shit!" He muttered, a bit quieter.

"Really, Sirius. It's fine. It wasn't anything! You didn't say anything embarrassing or anyth—"

"I have to go."

Sirius was on his feet before Remus could even respond. The artist stared up at the other man, mouth agape, utterly confused.

"Sirius, you don't—"

"I'm sorry, Remus."

He did sound sorry. His eyes grew soft for a moment as his gaze lingered on Remus. Then, before the artist could get in another word, Sirius was heading towards the door.

"Sirius, wait!"

Remus' protests came too late, Sirius was already out of earshot. Remus stared as the expensive suit and elegant bun faded from view, wondering what the hell had just happened.

[thecardsimagine]

Dog anon- it's no worry! Maybe he just... shoves someone out of the way for no reason, and MC is just "Hey what the fuck, apologize to that person, dipshit." (Bc let's be honest, he needs to check himself). I apologize if that's not enough, I'm super tired todayn bsjxjdndbd

Thank you for clarifying, I think I gotchu! However, just because I don’t want to use too strong of language, I hope you don’t mind me relying more of emotions than on words!

≿————-————-  ❈　————-————-≾ 

Being treated badly - even if it was just the perception of it - clung to Lucio like his golden arm to his shoulders. Even though he ignored the words said about him and how he should rather live his life, it’s not like he didn’t at least hear it. And long ago, he had decided he needed to stand above it all and walk his way through life however he pleased to truly become happy.

Many things changed, and he changed since then, yet, he was a work in progress. Lucio could not help slip up or have his mood dim under certain conditions, but if he had anything, then the reassurance of the arm on his shoulder. The fake limb still stuck to him like it had been poured over his real arm, and nonetheless, he knew he could rely on it any time.

It wasn’t uncommon for Vesuvia to be crowded around midtime. Kids playing in the market, and people exchanging the newest gossip while buying groceries for their homes. And yet, Lucio did not mind strolling around his city while it was at it’s busiest - it was something many tried to avoid if they could, but not the Count, oh no.

And you sighed and smiled at him as he told you the story of other city’s bustling places he had explored. Sadly, you knew that one already and could barely keep up with his confident stride forward through the masses, the people rushing to get out of his way.

Everyone, except for one young lad that looked as lost as you imagined you would be in a city you don’t know.

To Lucio’s defense, you knew him well enough to know he didn’t mean as much harm and snobbiness as he emitted, but you were eying the situation suspiciously while the Count kept rattling down facts of his life and the young men with his back turned to you didn’t seem to notice you two approaching. From how it looked, others had already caught on to the situation too, staring at the scene unfolding, and you took a deep breath in anticipation.

And then it went down, almost as if you had expected it. Lucio noticed the man in his way, giving his back an irritated glare before reaching out his most trustworthy hand, the one that dealt with everything, shoving the lanky build out of his way roughly, before going back to his talk with a, “Where was I… Ah, yes-”

In some way, the foreigner reminded you of Julian - tall and thin in the wind, a little lost but with bright eyes. But knowing Lucio, you knew he wasn’t the best in being gentile, and it showed in the way the man swayed, trying to catch his balance before plumping to the ground with the Count moving onwards without bothering to look back.

Only when he noticed you not being by his side anymore to hear about the one dragon he slew, he twirled around in a moment of surprise and panic, head moving side to side to find you. And now it was his turn to sigh as he watched you help the young lad up, asking slowly if he was alright, not giving Lucio the attention he needed from you.

Even with some distance between you two, Lucio did not need many steps to be back, giving you a curt, “Come on, [Name],” before wanting to pull you away, still unaware of the situation HE had caused. “No,” you sternly replied, not letting him grab your arm and instead swatted his hand. “I am not going anywhere with you.”

A dramatic gasp escaped him, hiding the insecurity you managed to boil inside of him in a matter of seconds. His mind swayed frantically from being hurt to figuring out what had happened for you to seem so moody all of a sudden. Hadn’t you been listening to his stories with all your admiration minutes ago?

“You drag me out into the bustling city and then run over everyone that does not go out of your way? Even when it’s unknowing foreigners? What a great count you are, you should rethink your position.”

Chewing him out in public wasn’t something you liked doing, especially with how the people gasped and whispered in the backgrounds. Simply, it wasn’t something that Lucio deserved either, but certainly, sometimes, it would help to bring the point across.

You turned back to the man who just looked around him in confusion, eyes flitting between you and Lucio while also noticing the commotion he had caused. He said something to you in a language you did not understand, but you just shook your head and told him it’s fine in yours, trying to calm him. Finally, you let go of him as he was able to stand up on his own again, looking back at Lucio expectantly.

Meanwhile, Lucio had gone through all the stages of embarrassment there were, a red shimmer on his cheeks still while his hands were balled into fists of frustration. “Don’t you want to apologize for shoving the young man?” you suggested to him, making it very clear you were not happily yielding to him glaring daggers at both of you.

The whispers around you two only grew louder and more prominent, Lucio having noticed them too since long. With a scowl, he let his eyes estimate the situation, knowing that no matter what, he wouldn’t look very good in the eyes of the public anyway. But looking back at you, it slowly but surely dawned on you. Even if he had done something wrong, he could still redeem himself for it. You were the evidence that he could indeed change and learn from his faults - even if meant jumping over his own pride.

Clearing his throat, he stood up straight again, unclenching his jaw to console the scowl on his face giving you a last glance to meet your expectancy in your gaze head-on. And then he held out his hand to the men, watching his face contort in surprise and confusion before he took it, Lucio being quick to lay his second hand above it and give it a good shake. “I am really, terribly sorry, for I must not have seen you standing there.”

Rolling your eyes, you sighed inwardly, patting his shoulder to move on. Waving back to the stranger, you two got back on your track, quiet scolding rolling off your lips for his insincerity. You knew he did it to better his image, but it was deserved you let him know how you felt about it.

“Poor boy,” you finally sighed. “Probably didn’t even know what happened in the first place.”

Lucio stopped in his tracks, listening to your words as he had found his new preference in being quiet while you were scolding him. You stopped too, turning around with a questioning, raised brow. “Why did you make me apologize then?” he asked, starting to pout before marching by you. “Oh, Lucio,” you sighed.

He was a work in progress, you told yourself quietly. And you hoped he’d understand it soon on his own.

[hoopdiddies]

I'm Not Over You // Ben Hardy x Reader (Part 2)

Summary: You had always loved Ben ever since you two met at university and became the best of friends. That feeling went out like a candle flame when the two of you parted ways until he re-entered your life...but this time with someone who has already occupied his heart.

Warnings: Fluff, angst, FlUFf, AnGst. Just one mention of alcohol.

WC:2184

A/N: Irrelevant but omg tomorrow's the Endgame premiere. Please pray for my grieving soul.

Tags: @mrsmazzello , @likeit-or-leaveit

"Hey Joe, I'm going to get something from the car. Mind if I borrow your keys?" You ask Joe who's enjoyed a few drinks but hasn't intoxicated himself. He nods in a lousy way and fish his car keys from his back pocket, dropping it onto your open palm. "Bronze key."

"Thanks, Maz." You ruffle his fiery red hair and leave it a mess, making your way back into the kitchen and through the living room. You had expected to at least find Ben close by but he's probably somewhere else. The guests are gradually leaving anyway so that could be a good thing. Upon reaching the front door and swinging it open, you gasp breathlessly at the sight of Ben standing in front of you.

"Oh god, you scared me." You plant your hand on your chest as to catch your breath and punch his arm jokingly. He rubs his nape, chewing on his bottom lip as a playful smile dares to take form on his face. "Yikes, sorry, Y/N. You were little jumpy there."

"No kidding." You raise an eyebrow as you zip past him, in a rush to get to Joe's car.

"Wait, where are you going?" He calls out and you turn, juggling Joe's keys carelessly. "Just going to get something in Joe's car."

With the amused smile still plastered on his face, he glances sideways and strides over to your side. "I'll go with you."

"I think I'm capable of crossing the street, Ben." You fold your arms together yet to no avail he spins you around and leads you across the empty street to Joe's car, squeezing your hand. Your brows furrow at his eagerness but at the same time, you feel your blood accumulate in your face as the way his fingers entwine around yours triggers a weird spark between you.

However elating it feels, you wonder where Rosy is.

"I know, but I had to tell you something, right?" He looks at you over his shoulder with a lopsided smile and you nod, avoiding eye contact. Upon reaching Joe's car, you pull out the bronze key and unlock the driver's seat to retrieve your wallet from the dashboard.

Afterwards, you slam the door shut and secure the lock, slowly turning to Ben to prompt him to talk. He inhales sharply and shoves his hands into his back pockets. "See, I wanted some advice from you. And a little verbal encouragement." He averts his gaze from yours, leaning towards the hood of the car.

Your brows couldn't be any more higher than they already are. "Did you and Rosy bicker?"

"No. But yes. It is about Rosy." It's almost as if he nearly hesitated to say her name but you could've been just hearing things. You encourage him to go on and he does, lacking the will to look you in the eye thereby giving you the inkling that he wants something to progress between them.

"Thing is, do you think I'm ready?" He finally looks at you directly and you smirk. "Ready for what?"

"For you know...that life."

"You're not making any sense, Ben."

He scratches the side of his nose and swears underneath his breath, letting out a faint chuckle. "I'm not good at this."

"Just build up the words right."

"Okay, do you think I'm ready for a new life with her? You know," and out of the fear that he might say the thing you now dread the most, you unconsciously hold your breath in, "settling down?"

It takes a good five seconds for you to fully comprehend the latter words and just as Ben is about to snap his fingers to bring you back to reality, you heave out a rough exhale and force a supportive smile at him. "If you want to, of course."

"What would I be like as a husband?" He just had to ask. Had he meant that in the fictional situation where you were in the place of Rosy, you would have a definite answer. But he's asking you as a friend. As someone who knows you and looks at you from a sibling-like perspective.

You feel yourself crumble from the inside as you open your mouth to answer. "You as a husband? Oh god, the horrors!" You joke to mask the pain.

He rakes his hand through his hair and plays along. "Come on, Y/N. Silly idea but I wanna hear it from you."

"Why me? Why not the girl who inspired you to ask this?"

He takes a light step forward and rubs your shoulders, having his green eyes burn through you. "Because you've known me longer."

Yes, I have. But why did you still pick her? The inner voice in your head cries out. The only rational thing you could do now is be here for him. As you always have. No matter how painful it is, you love him enough to support him with this.

"You as a husband? You wouldn't be perfect, " you pause to look down but after doing so resume, "you'd have your fights, temper tantrums and frankly, I doubt you could be a lot less messier in the morning."

"Y/N-"

"But your ability to love makes up for your imperfections, Ben. I know of Rosy's little episodes and despite her being a mess sometimes, being moody and hard to handle, you loved her regardless," you gently press your palm against Ben's cheek, caressing his skin softly, "you'd be the husband whom she'd wait for at the door every night."

Touched by how delicately you delivered your words, he takes you by surprise and hugs you tight. Your eyes widen for a couple of seconds before finally surrendering to his the beat of his heart, wrapping your arms around him too. No matter how bittersweet the situation is.

You've lived through Ben being that way. He truly is someone you'd always wait for at the door. Someone you wish to wait for.

"How come you're still single?" He asks amusingly and you look up to prevent the tears from falling. "I'm not."

Wait a minute.

Ben quickly releases you from his hold and his expression shifts instantly. "Who's the guy?" He asks you directly and you still haven't recovered from what you just said. In a daze, you ask back. "What?"

"You said you're not single anymore. Who's the lucky guy?"

Why did you say that? You haven't got a clue as to why, it was probably some kind of involuntary thing to fight back the hurt but now that there's no taking back what you said, you play along awkwardly. The somehow bright idea of pretending to be in a relationship to compensate for being in a hopeless situation popping into your mind.

"Um...um. Uh.." You can't think of anyone decent enough but luckily, and unluckily at the same time, you spot Joe jogging across the street over to you and reluctantly, you answer Ben's question.

"Joe!" You say out loud, catching Ben off guard and confusing an approaching Joe. "Hey...guys. What are you two still doing out here?" Joe, clueless to what you just said, asks.

You glance awkwardly at Joe and pull him close to your side. "Yeah, Joe and I are together." You say out of nowhere, making Joe do double-take at you to make sure he's hearing you correctly. Ben's eyes fall as a smile forms on his face. "That's awesome! Since when?"

Just as Joe begins to protest, you answer abruptly before he could utter a word. "Just last week. Sorry for not telling you earlier. We've dated for a while, often so when you and I don't hang out." You swear you could just toss yourself in the middle of the road and hope for a truck to run you over.

As being the only one who knows how you really feel about Ben, Joe seems to catch your drift instantly and what you're trying to pull, so he decides to play along.

"Is that right, mate?" Ben asks curiously and Joe nods in the most casual way possible. "Yeah. Been seeing this lovely girl for a while now."

"I see."

"Ben, darling! There you are!" You close your eyes as you hear Rosy call out from a feet across. Ben shrugs meekly before whisking past you and Joe in his way to Rosy.

"Hey babe, sorry. I was just helping Y/N with something." He smiles down at her. She gives you an almost curt glance and smiles back at Ben. "It's alright. Let's get back inside, it's cold out here."

"Yeah."

You apologize to Joe quietly for involving him in your mess yet he doesn't mind, as long as he's helping you get over it. You suddenly feel the need to get back home to recharge your batteries and escape the unwanted strains you get from seeing Ben and Rosy in each other's arms.

You walk towards them and huff. "Hey, uh, Ben? We better get going. I'm so sorry if I can't stay any longer but I have work tomorrow."

He turns his body to you fully and by the looks of it, he's quite disappointed that you have to go so soon. "Oh. Are you sure?"

You nod and he sighs, giving you one last embrace for the night. "If you have to. Thank you for coming and the gift. You have no idea how much it means to me everytime you're around." You ought to slap yourself everytime Ben says something that just breaks you into two. You rest your head over his shoulder and smile softly. "Of course. Thanks for the time as well. Happy Birthday again."

You pull away deliberately and give him and Rosy one last smile before walking back to Joe. He opens the driver's seat for you and you get in, clipping the seatbelt over yourself.

Accepting that you're now in the arms of someone as trustworthy as Joe, Ben smiles crookedly at him."Don't break her heart. That's just one rule, okay?"

"Never been one to do that. Don't worry." Joe reassures with a wink and gets in after you, the two of you waving at Ben and Rosy before driving off. You immediately take out your phone to text Lucy and Gwilym about your rush to leave the party. After doing so, you place your phone on your lap and cover your face with your hands.

"I'm curious, what prompted you to lie to him about being in a relationship with me?" As eager as ever to hold back a laugh, he asks, keeping his eyes firm on the road.

You throw your head back against the seat and tut. "He thought of proposing to Rosy."

"Seriously?"

"He didn't actually say that, per se. But he gave a clear hint. It didn't even seem like a hint."

"But what if he does propose," he adjusts his rearview mirror all the while stealing glimpses of you, "because I can tell you, when a guy implies like that, it's go time." You shrug weakly, "What can I do but be there for him? Yes it'll hurt, a lot, but seeing him happy is enough."

"Are you sure? You've known Ben longer, heck even loved him longer. Why didn't you ever tell him?" Now that Joe's brought up the question, you begin rethinking what could've been had you told him.

You didn't want to ruin what you already had. Your friendship with Ben was already considered a strong bond, it was on all levels...except romantic. You feared it might have just caused a riff in your relationship and damage what you've built with him through the years.

What if he does propose?

Would you still be strong enough to be around him?

You look out the window and trace your finger across the glass. "It's complicated, Joe."

"Okay," Joe exhales softly and raises his brows at you, pressing his lips to a hard line, "if you're tired, feel free to doze off. You look bummed." You smile at him and pat his hand that's on the gear lever, leaning against the window afterwards to take a nap through the drive back.

--

By the time you arrived home, you give Joe a kiss on the cheek and thank him for the night and particularly for saving your ass when you couldn't think of someone to name as your "boyfriend" at that moment. He bids you good night and drives off.

You kick the door to your apartment open and toss your shoes aside, flopping like a pancake onto the couch and feeling your phone buzz from your back pocket. You take it out and find one message from Lucy, two from Gwilym and...one from Ben.

You narrow your eyes as you skip the first, three messages to read Ben's and find yourself unwillingly tear up at one simple text from him.

Hhhh- Ben:

We finally found our soul mates like we once swore. Thanks for bein here, love. Good night, love you.

Your eyes gloss over those two words once more.

,love you.

If only he knew.

(Part 3 will be posted tomorrow...after I come out of the theatre wheezing uwu)

[docgorpywrites]

God had Flowers in His Hair

They lay, the pair of them, in a small patch of wildflowers far away from the doctor's mansion, across the creek on a rowboat and up a hill behind a smattering of trees and a large boulder. As far away from prying eyes as they could muster.

Merriell was lazily picking the petals off a flower, the stems of those he had finished with lay on his exposed stomach. His shirt was open and on his chest formed beads of sweat. It was a hot summer afternoon in the middle of July. A cigarette hung limply from his mouth, the ash was getting long, almost threatening to drop down onto him and burn his skin. He continued his work.

Eugene lay beside him, puffing on his pipe. His mouth was full of smoke as he warned Merriell about the blister he could get if he didn't flick the ash off his cigarette properly. Merriell, being very much himself, ignored him. Eugene took it upon himself to remove the cigarette from his mouth and stub it against the boulder.

"Light me anotha, will ya, Sledge," was all Merriell murmured back.

Eugene scoffed, but obeyed all the same, he took a pack of cigarettes from his breast pocket. He didn't even know why he still had them on him when he already had his pipe, but looking towards the man on his left, he remembered. He took one in his mouth and lit it. He brought the lit smoke to Merriell's own mouth and the man hummed in appreciation.

"What'cha doin' anyway?" Eugene finally asked.

"Countin' Japs," was the curt reply. Eugene raised a brow, looking Merriell square in the face, to which he just laughed. "I'm kiddin', don't worry ya pretty lil' head none, boo."

"If you say so." Eugene knew better than to probe him any further. Sometimes Merriell did things for no reason at all.

He got off his elbows and sunk back into the wildflowers. The sun burned his eyes so he shut them, his shirt stuck to his chest so he opened it up. The relief it brought made him comfortable enough to fall asleep.

He was woken up, minutes later, by a heavy load on his stomach. He almost threw whatever it was that was on top of him into the boulder behind him in defense. His eyes adjusted, thankfully, before he could even get a strong enough grip on Merriell's shirt. Eugene squinted up at him, rays of the sun streamed past him through his hair and the thin material of his shirt.

"The fuck's a'matter with you, Snaf? Tryin' to give me a heart attack?"

Merriell reached wordlessly with both hands into his pockets and let loose a flurry of flower petals down onto Eugene's wild-eyed face. Eugene's gaze softened at this, but his confusion still stitched his brow up into furrows. A petal landed on his lips and Merriell leaned down to blow it away, with his breath came out the smoke from his cigarette. A kiss was planted firmly onto his lips. Eugene felt his blood rush to his ears, his hold on Merriell's shirt tightened. Merriell lifted himself off of Eugene, breaking the kiss abruptly.

"You sure know how to rile me up, don'tcha?" Eugene laughed up at him.

Merriell stared into his eyes, not smiling back, not bothering to close his mouth either, huffing. "Sorry, just checkin'."

Eugene's smile faded, "For what?"

"Checkin' to see if you're the real thing, is all."

Eugene collided up into him and switched their positions, now he was the one on top, his legs to the side and his arms resting on the grass at either side of Merriell's shoulders. Flower petals swirled around them, some of them still stuck in Eugene's hair. "'Course I'm real, the hell you on about?"

"How can I even begin to believe that, what with ya sittin' there all pretty lookin' with flowers in your hair." Merriell finally laughed, gazing up at Eugene like he was some kind of god. Maybe he was.

It had taken Merriell half of spring to find a Eugene Sledge in Mobile, Alabama. He had set out one April morning, once he had gathered enough money for the train fare. Being a war veteran did little for him by way of financial supplementation. He had regretted leaving Eugene on the train home the moment he woke up, barely the next day, and Eugene wasn't there to comfort him while he suffered from a particularly excruciating bout of the shakes. He sat there, shell shocked, as copious amounts of sweat dripped down from his brow. His bed was wet with sweat and tears, and everytime he tried to close his eyes, he was in hell again. That was it, he looked for a job that same day and didn't stop working until he had enough money for a trip to Mobile.

Merriell found Eugene at the end of May, showing up at the Sledge Household right before Memorial day. Eugene had answered the door with dirty hands and equally dirty denim overalls. He was wiping his face off with a lace handkerchief, laughing, "I'll get it, ma!" He had yelled into the foyer.

They both stared at each other for what seemed like an eternity, until Merriell broke the silence.

"Sledgehamma."

"Snaf—" Eugene's voice cracked and he took a second to clear his throat, "—what brings you?" He finally managed.

"Sleep." Merriell answered honestly. "Haven't been gettin' any since."

Eugene looked fixedly at him before confessing, "Me neither."

Merriell hadn't left since. The good doctor and

Missus Sledge were kind enough to put him up in the  best guest room in the house. 'Anything for a war veteran and a good friend o' Gene's.' But the guest room was barely used. They spent the summer sneaking around at night so they could sleep in one bed, it was the only way they could get a good night's sleep. This arrangement brought to light several unanswered questions that had arose during their run in the war, and after, for that matter, when they served together in China. There was always something between them, but the brutality of war and the general stigma around such a relationship between two men—two Marines at that, left little for those questions to be answered. Now, they had all the time in the world, and nobody to judge them but themselves.

When Merriell settled down from his laughter, Eugene leaned in for another kiss. He was blushing by the time he pulled away, just one thought ricocheting around in his head.

"Marry me." It had slipped out of Eugene's mouth like butter on a hot pan, but he wasn't ashamed.

Merriell simply looked up at him, a ghost of a smile on his lips, the corners of his shocked open mouth twitching up. There was happiness along with reluctance in the way Merriell stared at him, not really knowing what to say. Eugene was red from the tips of his ears all the way down to his chest, and was searching Merriell's eyes for an answer.

"O'course," he finally got out, "but how? Ain't no pastor or preacher a thousand miles from here gonna marry us. Especially not in the South."

Eugene couldn't help but kiss him again, more deeply and more fervently this time, nearly crushing his face between his hands. Merriell hung on for dear life, tangling his tan fingers up in Eugene's copper hair. They parted, and Eugene smiled down fondly at him, brushing a flower petal stuck to Merriell's forehead away.

"Oh, we'll find a way. We always do."

They got married one cold autumn morning, a week before Eugene's birthday. He regarded it as the best birthday present he'd ever gotten, since Deacon anyway. Eugene knew a former soldier up in Washington County who had become a preacher man. He had fought in the war with Edward Sledge Jr. and was more than willing to officiate the wedding. It was not legal in any sense of the word, but the papers they signed and the small, beautiful ceremony (with Dr. and Mrs. Sledge, Edward, and Sidney Phillips in attendance), made it real enough for the both of them.

The attendance of Eugene's folks was not achieved without screaming and crying and maybe a bit of roughing up, however. When Eugene told his parents, he put his mother first, to break the ice. Lord, how she cried. But she admitted nonetheless that she had had an inkling about his preferences as she watched him growing up. Eugene held her in his arms after she finally gave them her tight-lipped blessing. If her son was happy, she would be happy.

His father was another story. Doctor Sledge was not a violent man by any means, he had never lifted a hand on Eugene in all his twenty-two years, except on that day when his son had told him that he was going to marry a man. Eugene had earned himself a heavy slap to the cheek, which surprised him. Not because of the pain or the fact that his father had hit him, but because he had expected more. It might have been the fact that he had spent the previous years being thrown around violently across numerous battlefields, by explosions booming left and right. Regardless, Eugene didn't retaliate, he merely touched the back of his fist to his stinging cheek and apologized to his father. The good doctor had gripped the edge of his desk, white-knuckled and red-faced, breathing through his nose and restraining himself.

"Father," Eugene had pleaded with him. "I love him."

His father bristled at his words, but then relaxed after a few moments of bated breath for Eugene. Doctor Sledge turned to face his son, and finally offered his hand to him, much in the same way Eugene had offered his own when his father finally allowed him to go to war. Eugene saw tears in his father's eyes, took his extended hand and pulled his father in for a loving embrace, the first since he was a boy. His father had whispered over Eugene's shoulder that he was proud of the man he had become, and that he deserved to be happy, however and with whomever he pleased. 

Edward and Sidney couldn't care less, and were just happy for him. But of course, their general acceptance and congratulations did not come without the standard issue, run-of-the-mill teasing that came with being military servicemen. Edward had quipped, "I'm fine with it as long as you lemme be your maid of honor."

Not one to be outdone, Sid had contributed, "I for one, would like to be one o' them pretty little flower girls."

As happy as Eugene was with how generally well-received his news had been, Merriell was not as lucky. Letters he had sent home to Louisiana about the announcement (not without much coaxing from Eugene and his mother), had gone unreplied, not even an angry letter back, which Merriell had first anticipated. In the end, with a tone of surprise from everybody who was there to witness it, Doctor Sledge had stood up from his place on the large armchair in the living room, poured three glasses of the finest scotch he owned, passed them around, and said to Merriell, "I'll give you away, son." 

The two young men, hardened from war, stood there, reduced to a sobbing mess, embracing each other, embracing Eugene's father, to which the old man just chuckled jovially at. Merriell was so bold as to even plant the tiniest bud of a kiss on Doctor Sledge's cheek, which was received by Doctor Sledge with a reddening of his face. The tips of his ears had flared up, and Merriell suddenly knew where Eugene inherited his easily flushed complexion.

The day finally came, Merriell was all gussied up in his dress blues, Eugene had donned a simple but handsome suit, making good on his promise to himself not to wear a uniform ever again. Merriell had put flowers in Eugene's hair, just like the day he proposed. Everything was good and beautiful and wonderful and finally right in the world, and Merriell would never lose sleep again.

[whatliesabove-blog1]

small, quiet room

Chapter fifteen | ao3

An agonizing two weeks go by before she has any kind of contact with Hopper. 

Earlier in the week, she asked Jonathan if he'd seen him around town. She didn���t expect her son to have searched him out or anything; she knows he’s not in any rush to sit face to face, but Hawkins is small and it’s not out of the ordinary for the boys to see him milling about. She got a negative, which struck her as odd but she merely offered a small smile and a nod in return.

After zero sightings and radio silence, he comes into the store near the end of her shift. 

Joyce almost doesn't notice him. She's so preoccupied by the stress of the customers today, who don't seem to understand that she isn't personally responsible for there being a lack of a specific item, she doesn't bat an eye when the door opens and the bell chimes.

It's only when there's a rather large shadow hovering over her that her brows furrow, head lifting to find out what’s going on. Eyes wide, she looks into the face of a very stoic looking Hopper.

"Hi," she says, though it comes out something of a question.

"Hi." 

He doesn't give much away, nothing at all, and she wishes he’d just say something. Anything. There’s plenty she could say, but she doesn’t feel it’s her place yet; he has to come to her on his own time. 

Which, she supposes he’s doing right now. Right?

"Can we talk?"

Looking around, she surveys the few customers before focusing back on him. "I can't leave the floor," she tells him. She can't just go into the back and leave the register unattended, and he knows that. "I get off in an hour?"

Hopper nods, the movement a little disjointed. "Okay."

"Okay,” she echoes, head nodding slowly, waiting for him to elaborate. When he doesn’t, she takes a breath. “Where do you want to meet, Hop?"

The look on his face tells her he hadn't thought that far ahead, didn't think much further than showing up at the store at all, and she’d laugh if she didn’t think it’d only make things worse.

"The boys will be home, which means El will be at the cabin,” she starts when he continues to say nothing at all, pausing for his small nod of confirmation, “so why don't we go to your trailer." 

"Yeah," he decides, shoving his hands in his pockets. "Yeah, that works."

"Okay."

She gets one more curt nod before he turns and walks right back out the door, leaving her stunned and more than a little confused. At least he came, she supposes. 

It's been a rough two weeks, but she’s had seventeen years to digest this information. Two weeks isn’t all that long when she thinks about it like that.

Joyce doesn't even realize there's a line of three customers until one of them clears their throat. Mumbling an apology and plastering on a practiced smile, she grabs their items and starts to ring them up.

Her knocks go unanswered long enough for her to wonder if he ever even wanted to meet up at all, if this wasn’t just one giant ruse so he could blow her off and make her feel like an idiot. 

She can’t say it’d be undeserved, but it doesn’t seem like Hopper’s style. 

Just as she's about to give in and turn back to her car, the door swings open.

"Sorry."

Hopper doesn't give an explanation and she doesn’t expect one, but he steps aside enough to allow her in. He closes the door behind them and then moves into the small kitchen. He grabs two beers from the fridge, extending one towards her once he returns.

"Oh, I'm—"

"We'll need them."

Shrugging a little, Joyce sighs and grabs the bottle. He’s likely right, anyway, and she has no doubt this will be awkward, uncomfortable, and probably emotional for the both of them. 

One beer will be the least of what she needs.

"Thanks," she murmurs. She doesn’t open it right away, just lets it rest against her stomach as she follows his lead into the living room.

He takes a seat in the chair, and so she situates herself on the couch across from him. Close but not too close. She’s giving him space. 

Hopper cracks his open, silently passing the bottle opener to her when he’s done. They each take a long swig, neither saying a word. The tension is palpable; Joyce chances a glance at him and watches as he pointedly avoids looking at her. 

For a while they just take turns looking up at each other when the other isn't looking, pretending not to pay attention when they are.

Ridiculous; they aren’t teenagers.

"You wanted to talk," she finally says, breaking the silence. "I think we should."

Hopper downs the last of his beer, rather quickly she thinks, and finally looks over at her. The dullness in his eyes catches her off guard, sends a shiver down her spine. It's just so unlike him. 

She hates that she's responsible.

"I want to know everything."

"Okay," she starts, drawing out the word. "Okay, and I'll tell you everything I can."

Hopper takes a breath. "It was graduation."

"Yeah."

"Karen's party."

"Yeah."

"Okay, so... I don't know," he says, raking a hand through his hair. "Explain to me what happened after."

"You left, Hopper. That's what happened. You went to Vietnam and I was still in Hawkins." Wringing her hands in her lap, she cracks her fingers. “I know that’s not... you didn’t choose... but you were already gone a few weeks when I found out I was pregnant."

His face remains unchanged, but he does flick his eyes in her direction. "You could've written."

Joyce scoffs. "And said what? ‘Hi, Hopper, I know you're fighting in the war and everything but I just thought I should let you know I'm pregnant and it's yours’."

"Yes, exactly that!"

"I was scared, Hop," she says, her voice rising. "I was still a child and I had no idea what I was going to do! You were thousands of miles away, and I didn't know—" She trails off, a sudden lump forming in her throat. "I didn't know if you would come back, and it was a lot to process."

He scoffs. “Scared,” he repeats, the word like poison on his tongue. “You were scared, and I was what? Having a party?”

“That’s not fair.”

“And neither is you withholding the fact that I had a kid.”

They don’t say anything for a few minutes, a heavy silence weighing them down. Joyce is pissed he’d even insinuate she thought he wasn’t scared in Vietnam, that she’d even think the two were comparable, and he’s pissed she’s using fear as an excuse. 

He groans then, closes his eyes. "Okay, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have... I understand being scared,” he says finally. “I do. But how do you get from being terrified and not knowing what to do to Lonnie being his father?"

Hopper spits Lonnie's name, disdain dripping from his tone.

"We got back together a few days after the party. I didn't—I was already pregnant, Hop, I couldn't be pregnant and alone. The thought of being crucified in town was too much, and so... Lonnie and I had slept together after you left, and I just—I told him it was his."

"He doesn't know."

It's not a question. They both know that if Lonnie did know, hell would’ve been raised a long time ago. She’d have more than bruises to show for it.

She answers anyway.

"No."

"What the hell, Joyce," he grinds out. Standing from his chair, he begins to pace in the small area. "You know, I really hate that I get why you lied. Initially. I can't fault teenage Joyce for trying to protect herself and her son. I can't."

She takes a small breath, tries to regulate her heartbeat.

"What I don't get is keeping that from me after I got back," he continues, huffing. "Was I such a fuck up that you couldn't imagine me being a father to your kid? So fucked up that Lonnie felt like the better choice?"

Her eyes widen and she nearly jumps from the couch, stands toe-to-toe with him. "What? No," she says, staring up at his back with fire in her eyes. She tries to put a hand on his bicep but he jerks it off. "That's never been it."

"Then why?" he asks. The quick way he turns and stares her down takes her breath away. "Why not tell me? You've had seventeen years, Joyce. Seventeen years! I ran into you two in the fucking department store, brought Jonathan back to you when he ran off, and that whole time I was returning my son."

Indignation boils beneath her skin.

"When should I have told you, Jim? When you came back after Vietnam, boasting about some big position in the city waiting for you? When you were off in New York for most of those seventeen years? You weren't here, Hopper! You had a wife and a daughter—should I have told you then?" Joyce pauses for a moment, tries to reel in her emotions. 

A part of her knows she’s being difficult, that sure, maybe she could’ve told him any of those times. But they never seemed right; there was always something else going on, something she’d be effectively shattering with the truth. 

"How about when you came back for two months and your mother died? When you were dealing with her funeral and putting her things in order? Or maybe I should've told you when you were grieving your daughter, just to add onto the pain."

The mirthless laugh that emits from his throat is stone cold.

"You are incredible. You could've told me at any time, Joyce, but you didn't. I wasn’t here? I would have been if you told me,” he yells, his voice booming. He starts pacing again and it’s making her anxious, her eyes following the heavy footfalls he makes. “You know what would have saved you from having to decide whether or not to tell me in times of grief? One simple solution. If you had just told me after I came back."

The air crackles between them, so much pent up emotion floating in the stuffy space of the trailer.

Simple. There’s that goddamn word again.

She wants to scream.

Joyce throws her hands up, wills him to understand. "You were leaving," she says, her voice desperate. "All you ever wanted was to get out of Hawkins and be a cop in a big city, and you were getting that! You were off to fucking Manhattan. I couldn't be the one to ruin that for you."

"Ruined it?" His voice is loud, angry. "That's what you think? That Jonathan ruined your life?"

Her eyes darken. "Of course not, and you know damn well I'd never think that."

"Then who gave you the right to decide whether he'd ruin mine?"

"You were destined for bigger things, Hopper. I wasn't going to be the reason you gave that all up."

A raspy sound claws its way from the back of his throat, the noise somewhere between a groan and a scream. He scrubs a hand down his face. "You could've come with me. Both of you. I did well in the city; I could've taken care of you both, but you never gave me that chance."

Joyce shakes her head. "You say that now, but you would've grown to resent me. Resent Jonathan. And I didn't want that."

"Do you think I resented Sara?" he asks, and she takes a step back. Her shoulders drop. "No, I didn't. Because even though he wasn't planned I wouldn't have turned away my kid. Or you."

“Oh, please,” she says. A watery chuckle scrapes out, her throat raw. “I believe that you believe what you’re saying, Hopper, but we were kids. I knew teenage Hopper, too, you know, and can you honestly tell me that you would’ve just sat there with open arms and given up your dream?” 

He remains silent, staring at a spot just beyond her left shoulder, and she watches as a storm brews behind those eyes of his. 

“No.”

His entire demeanor changes with that one word. She isn’t surprised to hear it and she’s not mad either. She knew. It might’ve taken him a while to realize it, too, but she knew.

“But I would have tried my best after the shock wore off, Joyce,” he says. “And if you don’t think that...” He lets out a hollow laugh. “What does that say about me?”

"It wasn’t... I'm sorry, Hop." Tears prick at the backs of her eyes and she collapses back onto the couch, lets her head fall into her palms. "I'm sorry."

"Sorry doesn't erase the last seventeen years."

Nodding, she chews on her bottom lip. "I know."

Hopper takes a deep breath, paces for a few more moments before he finally stops. He looks down at her before slowly settling himself back into the chair, resting his elbows on his thighs. 

She can tell he’s nearly back at eye level but she can't look at him.

"Joyce."

The responding hum comes out garbled, caught in the lump in her throat.

"Look at me." 

Reluctantly, she lifts her eyes to him. She owes him this much. Wiping beneath her eyes with the back of her hand, she tries to blink away any fresh tears.

"I wanted to tell you," she whispers, so quietly she's almost not sure she's even said anything at all. It’s only small twitch in his brow that tells her she has. Sniffling, she doesn't look away. "I wanted to tell you so many times."

He softens more, and she doesn't know if it's because the fight has left his body the same way it's left hers, or if it's simply resignation.

She doesn’t know which one she hopes for.

"So why didn't you?" Even his voice is quiet, not the same booming anger he had before. “I know you were scared, Joyce, but... truthfully, just—why?”

"I don't know." At her shrug, she gives an almost hysterical laugh. "It's a shitty excuse, Hop, I know, but the more time that passed, the harder it became to even think about letting the truth out. And I knew that the longer I lied the worse it would get, but that knowledge mixed with how much time had already gone by and how it never seemed right, I just... I couldn't make myself tell you. Or Jonathan."

"I'm still mad," he says by way of reply. She looks up at him, lashes wet. "I'm still really mad, Joyce, and I'm—I don't know how to process the last fucking two weeks, but I don't want to fight."

She nods. "I don’t want to fight either."

"I'm gonna need... I don't know, some time. Some more time to figure it out."

She nods again. "Okay."

"What am I supposed to do now?" he asks, shrugging before leaning back into the cushion. "I don't know shit about raising a teenager."

Joyce laughs a little at that. "You're kind of already raising one," she reminds him. El may only be thirteen, but she’s still a teenager. And a teenage girl at that, something she's never had to deal with. "Besides, Jonathan doesn't need raising. He's almost eighteen, almost off to college."

His jaw tightens and she her chest constricts. She knows what he’s thinking about and she almost wishes she hadn’t said anything at all.

"So where does that leave us? Does the kid even like me?" He waves a hand around. "Is he freaked out?"

"He likes you, Hop. The second you believed me, the second you helped us bring back Will, he liked you," she assures him. This time when she reaches out, covers his hand with her own, he doesn't pull away. "Yeah he was freaked out, he's still figuring it out, too, but... he doesn’t seem upset about it. He’s more upset about the lie than..."

Her voice trails off; he can fill in the blanks.

"I don't know what he wants," she tells him honestly. "I don't know how either of you want to play this, but I think that's something the two of you should talk about. I've done enough."

"I'd say," he mutters under his breath, and her fingers twitch on top of his.

She deserves that; she knows she does. 

What she doesn’t deserve is the small flicker of apology in his eyes when they meet hers.

"You can come by whenever you have time? Talk to him?"

Hopper moans a little, squeezes his eyes shut. This is so out of his realm, out of his comfort zone, and she knows that. Sure, he's interacted with Jonathan before, but that was as the Chief, as Joyce's friend, as someone who helped their family. Not as one of his parents. 

"Yeah," he sighs eventually. "Yeah, I guess. What do I say to him?"

"You just talk to him. It'll be weird, Hop, there's no getting around that. But just talk. Tell him the truth, whatever that may be."

It's silent for a while, the two of them stewing in the aftermath of this conversation. It's drained her, body as tired as her mind, and she wants nothing more than to go home and take a hot bath. In reality, she'll probably take a short, lukewarm shower and have to immediately start on dinner, but she'll take it. 

Anything to ease the tension in her bones.

"I'm sorry," she repeats, for what feels like the millionth time, after few moments. Hopper turns to face her. "I really am. I never meant to hurt you."

"I know." His fingers squeeze hers. "I won't say it's okay, because it's not, but I want us to be okay."

Joyce swallows, worries a nail between her teeth. "Me too. I don't want you to hate me forever."

"I may not like you very much right now, but I don't hate you. Kinda wish I could, but I... never."

She gives a watery laugh, and a small weight lifts from her shoulders. "I'll take what I can get."

There's a brief pause, and then, "we have a kid."

Joyce smiles in spite of herself. "Yeah."

"We have a kid, Joyce. Us."

"Yeah, Hop. We have a kid."