Okay hear me out.. this: https://vm.tiktok.com/ZMYmB1Vj4/ as Steve actually agrees to sit down for once at Hellfire
"... he picks you up by your breastplate straps and pushes you against the wall. He screams in your face; bits of spittle hit your chin."
Eddie grins, all his teeth on display, as he describes the scene, but he's the only one. Everyone else is fidgeting in their seats or grimly contemplating their next actions.
Tension hangs thick in the room. They're nearing the end of the session and were so close to exiting the catacombs when they ran into another enemy encounter: ghouls, four of them. Their party of nine will probably make it out mostly unscathed, but it's still an obstacle between them and aboveground.
And worst of all? One of the ghouls just grabbed their least experienced member.
Steve stares at the miniatures representing him and the ghoul, listening to Eddie with a furrow between his eyes. For someone who needed months of aggravating pleading to even sit down at the table, he's been really serious about playing. No one would fault him for showing up merely to be a nuisance in the quest of teaching them to accept 'no' as an answer (well, actually, they would fault him, but they'd also, like, understand why he'd do it). But he hasn't done that! He's put in the effort to be a model player and has barely partaken in any shitheaded shenanigans.
Which is why it's a bit of a surprise when, once Eddie finishes, Steve looks him straight in the eye and asks:
"Can I flirt with him?"
Splutters and groans erupt from around the table. Eddie himself barks out a shocked laugh. Steve simply raises an eyebrow in question, coolness personified.
Still snickering, Eddie shakes his head. "No, man. You can't do that."
"Why not? I'll use my charms and convince him to let us pass."
"Ghouls are immune to charm spells-"
"Hey, it's not a spell! S'all natural!"
"-and why would you want to flirt with it?"
Propping his elbow on the tabletop, Steve rests his chin on the palm of his hand and smiles, almost coquettishly.
"Maybe being pushed into a wall by a strong man turns me on?"
More groans, louder and more dramatic. Heads tossing and eyes rolling. Which might be why none of them notice that their fearless dungeon master has turned the deepest shade of crimson.
No one except Steve, who's yet to break eye contact with him.
Eddie sighs, burying his face in his hands out of frustration (and only out of frustration). He says, voice muffled, "You still can't do that. There's no reason for him to be affected – his goal is to eat you. Persuading him to do anything is a waste of time."
Steve hums. "So, he won't be affected?"
"Exactly," Eddie says after a moment, peeking through his fingers. "He won't."
"Hm. Guess I'll try to push him off me, then."
Nodding, Eddie removes his hands. He's still slightly pink, but that could just as well be due to the basement's stuffy atmosphere.
"Do an athletics check."
And if he's casting semi-distracted glances toward Steve for the remainder of the session, his players are too absorbed by the game to notice.
(It's not until the next morning that Dustin jerks away from his Lucky Charms to exclaim "That's what that sonuvabitch meant!")
(Claudia immediately scolds him for swearing at the breakfast table.)
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triple play
pairing: io laithe / estinien varlineau
setting: modern au
word count: 2.2k
[divider credit]
February 7th - Estinien
The first baseball game of the season is fast approaching, and the Knights buzz with a mixture of excitement and anxiety.
The locker room is louder than usual, but Estinien doesn't mind. He likes this part. It's the same every year: the giddy tension, the unconditional camaraderie before the finger-pointing starts, the desire to do well and, maybe, catch an eye or two in the process...
Only a week away now.
What he doesn't like is the feeling of Aymeric's glare boring into the back of his head.
"What?" he asks, trying his best to sound even, unbothered, as he puts away his gear.
Aymeric makes an evasive little sound. "Just thinking. Musing, if you will."
He punctuates this with the sharp sound of his locker closing.
Estinien sighs. This is bait. Somehow, this is bait, and he will take it and most likely regret it. He shuts his own locker with a metallic clang and drops to the bench between them.
"Fine. What's on your mind?"
Aymeric tosses a towel around his shoulders, beaming triumphantly and pausing for what Estinien can only guess is dramatic effect. "Did you ask her?"
If Aymeric's stare needled his skin, that is nothing compared to the itch caused by the sideways glances thrown at him now.
This is the same year after year, too—the whispered locker room gossip, all of them eager for some minor detail about so-and-so's tits or who the hookup of the month is. He's never been one to share that much; besides, there's nothing to tell.
Still… another kind of anticipation swells in his chest, similar to the usual pre-game nervousness, but one he doesn't share with the others. He wishes the 'her' in Ayms' question wasn't so readily implied. Anyone else would've needed a name, but after knowing her only a few months, Io is an assumption.
Most of the others are minding their business again, so he answers:
"Yeah." He keeps his voice low. "I asked her. She's coming." Then he adds, "She's bringing someone."
Aymeric leans against the row of lockers. "And? You brought me to her concert. Don't worry too much about it."
But he's not worried. There's nothing to worry about, is there? It's pretty cut and dry. "I keep telling you... me and Io, we're friends. That's all she wa—"
"Io?"
The voice comes from a few people away. Maybe he wasn't as quiet as he thought.
Haurchefant leans past a set of shoulders before pushing over to them. "You know Io? Laithe?"
"Might just be a common name," Ayms shrugs, but anyone can see he's already enjoying whatever this is.
Estinien shoots him a dark look—great, thanks, this is exactly a conversation I wanted to have—then nods to Haurchefant.
"Not super well or anything."
"Oh, come on." Aymeric laughs. "Hasn't known her long, but definitely knows her well."
Estinien wipes a hand over his face. "Don't say it like that. She's a friend from—" Hm, he doesn't want to put her life story out there to some guy on his baseball team. "—we're in a club, I guess, outside of school."
"Oh," Haurche glances between Estinien and Aymeric, and his tension fades when the latter doesn't react. "Sweet. We, uh, dated for a few months a while back, but I haven't heard from her in over a year. After the—" his voice breaks, and Estinien figures he doesn't want to drag her painful history up either. "Well, anyway... How is she?"
For the briefest moment, their eyes lock, and they have something else in common. Something outside of this team. The warmth he felt at the thought of sharing something more about himself with her, that almost pleasant anxiety, it starts to blister, flashing white-hot across his neck and climbing to his face.
His eyes narrow. He doesn't want to say anything.
Io trusts easily, even when she's hurting (especially when she's hurting). If she wanted Haurchefant to know how she was doing, she'd have talked to him by now. There must be a reason she hasn't.
His chest tingles again, fluttering with something tiny and warm—he is the person she talks to, confides in. Sure, they both have Haven, but outside of that... Well, maybe Aymeric isn't wrong for assuming.
Estinien stands from the bench and peels off his soiled shirt. Before he heads to the showers, he gives Haurchefant the only answer he thinks is warranted. "Doing better."
February 10th - Haurchefant
He met Io at a Spring Break party in freshman year, where he spent far too much of the night watching her quietly hold up the corners of some upperclassman's rented condo. He felt like he knew everything there was to know about her right away, a symptom of that bright melancholy distinctly found in art school girls, like she was only waiting on fate to catch up to her. Maybe the reality of her was less interesting than his half-baked conclusion, but god, her smile.
He was so nervous to talk to her.
They hit it off, in a careful way. Started dating, started kissing, fooled around a bit. But it was so... polite. Almost obligatory. Maybe they wouldn't have lasted anyway, but then, whether she wanted it or not, fate caught up to her. Her whole family was lost in the crash, and she ghosted him.
A slow fade.
Haurchefant has never had trouble with moving on. He finds the bright side and forgets the rest. No, this is unlike him, still thinking about something long in the past, even with such a hazy ending.
But Varlineau?
Seriously?
Haurchefant always found him tactless and a bit fumbling. And he had no right to pull his smug avoidance thing right after downplaying whatever point Aymeric was trying to make. A "club?"
Estinien Varlineau is not in a fucking club, extracurricular or not.
Whatever.
Haurchefant pulls out his phone and stares at the long-dead conversation thread between him and Io. He was the last to text, of course. Some cliche "I realize this is over, but I wish you the best" thing. He meant it. He still means it.
And that's why his unsure fingers dart across the keyboard now, typing and deleting the words until he has something fairly neutral.
He's surprised when she replies almost immediately.
HG: hey io. haven't heard from u in literally a year. i've been worried. u okay?
IL: haurche, wow. it's actually really good to hear from you.
IL: i'm not exactly okay, but i'm trying. getting help.
HG: glad to hear it. i'm so sorry for ur loss. i don't think i can say it enough.
IL: i think i've heard it enough for a lifetime, but thank you ♥
IL: and i'm really sorry for the way things went down. that was unfair. i think i knew that at the time, even in the depths of the pit. we were only together for a few months. it felt like putting too much on your plate
HG: so u took away the plate.
IL: so i took away the plate. like i said, unfair to you
IL: i understand if there are hard feelings, but it means a lot that you're checking in.
HG: no hard feelings, no grudges. i wish u would've let me be there for u, but i guess we won't know just how much my plate can handle.
HG: unless... u want to grab coffee sometime?
IL: lol, i'm deeply flattered you still consider me a viable dating option after witnessing me in a nearly catatonic state.
IL: but i think i might be seeing someone? maybe? hard to say tbh. i've got valentine's plans tho, so we'll see.
HG: yeah? we've got the same plans. i play baseball too, remember?
HG: listen... just don't make too many assumptions with him. given the context, this sounds shitty, but he doesn't seem super into it
IL: okay... thanks for your insight. and for the perspective on who you're actually worried about here. later.
His leg shakes hard enough to quake his bed. Fuck. That wasn't how he wanted this to go.
February 14th - Estinien
From his place in the outfield, Estinien can't make out the faces in the stands. It's something he always tries to avoid anyway. Easier to imagine the crowd as one rippling, noisy entity instead of hundreds of people there to watch them perform. Even better if he pretends they're not there at all.
But today he can't keep his eyes from darting around the stadium in his downtime, hoping to catch a flash of deep blue. It's a distracting task, one that oppresses the next crack of the bat and when he sees the ball going long it's almost too late.
Oh, shit.
Shit, fuck, shit.
He tears after it. Faster. Faster than that, until he's feet away from the wall.
One more look up. He dives with an outstretched glove…
He crashes into the padded wall and doesn’t give himself time to react to the sharp little aches burning through his muscles. The weight in his gloved hand is all he considers—it’s an out. He slings the ball to Haurchefant at third and they take a second.
Now there’s time to feel it. His lungs are on fire. There’s a dull throb in his shoulder that will show as a bruise tomorrow. This game is the same as any other, he reminds himself while he catches his breath, hands on his hips. Doesn’t matter who’s watching.
The next batter is their third out and they’re off to a decent start. They run in, and there she is, grinning brightly as she waves to him.
Io sits next to Thancred, hands cupped around his mouth so his cheers carry farther, and something like relief swells in Estinien’s chest (not that he has any reason to be relieved). Estinien’s met him once, decent guy. One of her close friends.
He smiles back, throws his hand up as he heads into the dugout.
The rest of the game feels too long, but his focus returns. They win by two runs and it feels good to start the season on a high.
Afterwards, Io waits on the other side of the chainlink fence. She’s wearing a red flannel over a black dress and boots up to her knees, her hair falls messily out of its bun. He walks to meet her, lungs burning like he’s running again.
“Hey,” she says with a smile, elbows against the fence as she leans into it. “You were awesome out there.”
Estinien shakes his head. “We did alright.”
“You don’t like compliments.” Not a question. Io pauses, eyes darting around the stadium for a moment before falling back to him. A strand of windblown hair catches between her lips (he doesn’t look at her lips), and she pulls it away. “Thanks for inviting me. This was fun.”
“Yeah, I liked seeing you here. Thanks for coming.” He shifts his weight, leans against the fence next to her. “Where’s Thancred?”
“No idea. Probably saw someone cute with no Valentine’s date and decided to shoot his shot.”
Oh, god. Today is…
Estinien reigns in his expression before glancing over to Io. She doesn’t seem any different than the other times they’ve hung out. Her smile is as soft and warm as ever. As usual, her presence is comfortingly familiar, and just looking at her causes the sudden spike in his anxiety to ebb away.
Then her eyes flit down.
He doesn’t think about why.
He can’t assume anything. That’s not fair.
He opens his mouth to ask if she wants to get out of here, grab some food, let him show her around his campus—anything—but someone walks by. Too close. Close enough to be on purpose.
“Varlineau,” Haurchefant grunts as he passes, and Estinien ignores a flare of annoyance in favor of a nod. Then Haurchefant's gaze slides to Io and darkens. “Io.”
“Hi Haurche,” she sighs, watching him go. The mood shifts, like all the warmth has been sucked out of the air around them, but he can't figure out why. If personal interactions were as easy to call as baseball, he’d guess she just lost this one.
When Haurchefant is gone, she stands from the fence. “I think I need to get back across town. Just remembered I’ve got a quiz due by midnight.”
“Oh,” he whispers. “Yeah, sure. Don’t drop the GPA on my account. I’ll see you later this week?”
“For sure. And this weekend, too, if you want to catch that movie I told you about.”
“You said I’d hate it,” he laughs.
Io shrugs, walking backwards. “And don’t you want to prove me wrong?”
He shakes his head again. “No, I know you’re right. But whatever, we can watch it.”
“Nice. I’ll text you.” She beams, and that tightens his chest too. “It’s… not a date, right?”
Estinien watches her go, and maybe the little rush he felt before Haurchefant passed by was a fluke. The adrenaline after his win tangling with the weird sense of contentment that comes from simply being around Io. Those things must conflict somehow.
“Right,” he says to himself, resting his head against the cold metal fence (and there’s no reason to be disappointed).
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