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owliellder · 1 year

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The Finer Details

Post DI! Leon Kennedy x Painter f! Reader

MDNI 18+

(Session 1, Session 2, Session 3, Session 4, Session 5, The Reveal)

Description: Leon realizes that retirement is in his best interest now that he's getting older. All of his accomplishments as an agent mean he's truly earned a painting to commemorate..

Warnings: Not Proofread, Age gap! (reader is anywhere between mid-late 20's and Leon is 40), Porn w/ Plot, Use of she/her pronouns, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Alcoholism, mentions of trauma/PTSD/depression, P in V smut (wrap it NEOW), Leon cries during sex 💔

Tags: Older Leon Kennedy, Younger afab!Reader, Leon is SAD but he is your muse, Crying, mentions of Leon masturbating, starts off with Dom! Leon and Sub! Reader, falls into switch territory because that man needs some serious TLC, Praise kink, Hickeys, Handjob, Nipple play, Oral sex (m! and f! receiving), and a heavy dose of Aftercare

Author Note: You know how each president of the U.S. gets a painting at the end of their term? I'm thinking like that. Plus, my favorite hobby is recreating renaissance art, so I figured this was a good fit (hopefully).

Cross posted onto AO3

Session 1: The Sketches

It was late at night when Leon made his decision to retire fully.

He had gotten home over an hour ago from reviewing mountains of paperwork, most of which pertained to missions that other agents have gone on or will be going on.

Younger agents. More energized agents.

The fact that he hadn't gone on a full mission since San Francisco was driving him up the wall. But that's what he wanted. He requested to hang back the last two years.

Both Chris and Claire had fully retired themselves right after San Fran, Claire being the first to retire to focus on her growing family with Chris following suit only a few months later. Jill was still around, but she was doing similar work that Leon was, only she was in a completely different department which was states away.

Of course Leon still talked with them all as regularly as possible, he'd go insane if he didn't, especially with Claire having a couple kids now. He wasn't the greatest with children, but it was refreshing seeing his friends achieve such normalcy. He wanted them to have the best life they could away from everything.

Having turned 40 a few some months ago, Leon was having a bit of a mid-life crisis. The mission to San Francisco a couple years ago had made him realize just how much toll the job itself had taken on his body. After being assessed and allowed home a few nights after returning from the mission, his body ached; joints creaking, back nearly thrown, just... tired.

Don't get him wrong, he was always tired after missions, but this was different. This wasn't just the regular aches and pains he dealt with after being tossed around like a rag doll, this was age.

Deep in his mind, Leon was still that 21 year old boy in Raccoon City. He never got the chance to properly grieve and move on, his mind forever changed by that event. Mentally, he was stuck there and had been this entire time.

It had taken the man this long to truly recognize the fact that he's older now. He's not that boy from Raccoon City anymore. He hadn't been in a long time.

What was he do to now? Leon had wanted so badly to serve and protect the people, but not like this. Not like he has for the past 29 years.

He spent his most formative years fighting unimaginable horrors, watching people suffer, watching people die. You don't just come back from something like that.

And unlike the friends he's managed to keep close, Leon didn't have someone he trusted. Hell, he barely trusted himself most days.

So now here he was, sitting drunk in his shower with his legs pulled up to his chest, his arms resting atop his knees while the water pelted down on him, silently mulling over everything he's ever seen and done during his time as an agent.

The water had grown cold at this point, Leon having quickly lost track of how long he was sitting spaced out like that for. Thankfully, he'd already cleaned himself before he ended up sitting down, so the hardest part now was just standing back up to get himself back out.

It took him a couple more minutes before he finally hoisted himself up with a tired groan, both his knees popping from being stuck in position for such a lengthy amount of time.

Once out of the shower, towel loosely wrapped around his waist, Leon stared at himself in the mirror; busy studying the crow's feet on both outer corners of his eyes as well as the prominent bags sitting under them, the smile line around his mouth, his now brown hair, the stubble on his face and neck that's he's neglected to shave, and just how exhausted he looked.

How has he never noticed any of this before? Why's he look so different now?

Settling into bed after this brutal realization was a tough task. The man followed his nightly routine of taking four Tylenol and two of his prescription sleep meds before setting his a/c 65 degrees Fahrenheit. He learned quickly many years ago that tossing and turning at night would make him overheat and sweat.

But tonight, nothing Leon did could ease that sinking feeling in his chest, that feeling of unfulfillmemt and shame weighing on him more than ever before.

The poor man barely slept at all last night, hangover evident by the way he was still slightly uneven on his feet as he leaned over the center island in his kitchen, head between his forearms while his hands sat clasped together.

Leon knew what he had to do. He's been feeling it ever since Chris and Claire made their departure, but it was so easy to deny. How was he suppose to give up the one thing that made him important? Sure the stress of his work was heavily tasking on the mind and body, but it's what gave him purpose. He felt useful doing what he did.

The man showed up for work late that day, barely having managed to dress himself. He didn't know exactly who to go to in this scenario, but everyone seemed surprised that the Leon Kennedy would show up for work in some ratty t-shirt and grey sweatpants. The stares were making him incredibly uncomfortable and he was quickly regretting showing up at all.

After sitting in his own office for awhile to avoid the looks and whispers, Leon eventually sauntered over to his superior's office, an almost solemn look on his face as he let himself in after knocking.

Needless to say, Leon was relieved his superior knew this was coming. Slightly offended, but relieved nonetheless.

It had been a long time coming, and it was only a matter of time before Leon threw in the towel, especially since he was now just working behind the scenes instead of on the frontline.

He was allowed to return home for the rest of the day if he wanted to, which Leon quickly took. He really didn't want to be in that building for much longer.

As soon as he returned home he went right back to drinking. And as ashamed as he is to admit, he even cried a little, half empty whiskey bottle in one hand while the other was clenched tightly into a fist as he gripped the pant leg of his sweats.

There wasn't anyone Leon could talk to about this. Chris and Claire had their own respective partners to come home to after retirement, but Leon? Leon had nothing besides a dingy and cold two bedroom house with only the basics inside, including his alcohol cabinet.

The man didn't even give himself time to date, only the occasional one night stand with randoms from the bar. He was too afraid that he would endanger anyone he allowed into his life like that, not to mention he'd been betrayed one too many times to trust in someone that way again. It was his way of keeping himself and everyone else safe.

The therapists he was assigned throughout the years all had the same concern regarding his love life, and deep down Leon was just as concerned, but he rationalized it with that hero complex he developed.

But he just couldn't rationalize it anymore. Leon was alone. He was alone, sad, and afraid.

About a month after Leon's retirement was processed and announced, word spread quickly throughout numerous government branches. There was a celebration set up at the White House to honor his service as a field agent.

The President had separated him and Leon from the party to slowly walk through the many hallways in the building. The old man could tell just how bothered the now ex-agent was by his retirement, so he figured now would be the best time to talk to him about his final task.

"You know," The President spoke up after a couple minutes of the two walking in silence, prompting Leon to slowly turn his head to listen. "I'm sure you've heard it so many times tonight, but you truly were one of the best agents I've ever seen."

Leon chuckled quietly, shaking his head a bit at the compliment. He had heard it a lot tonight, but obviously it was different coming from him.

"I'm serious. This county, probably the entire world, would've been in shambles if not for your hours spent." The President continued, slowing his walking to a stop.

"It means more than you know." Leon responded simply, voice a bit gravelly from the few drinks he's had. He took a couple steps more before stopping as well, turning around to face the prominent old man.

The President sighed, giving him a sympathetic smile while nodding. They stood in silence for a brief moment before the old man spoke up again, pointing lazily down the hall. "Follow me, I've got something I want to show you."

From there, the two wandered further down the halls until eventually reaching one hall that had lights more centered towards the walls, highlighting the picture frames that sat evenly spaced out amongst them.

Leon seemed a tad confused until he was able to focus on the first painting they walked by. He knew each president got a portrait painted after their full term was served, but the man in this painting wasn't a past president.

He stopped walking to stand in front of the painting, admiring the details it had before glancing down at the bottom of the elegant frame, a placard reading a name he didn't recognize. What he did recognize, though, was the word Agent that sat in front of the man's name.

While zoned into the placard, Leon didn't register the gentle hand that had been clasped on his shoulder, the President's voice breaking through his trance. "For as long as there's been bioweapons, we've had agents fighting to stop them. But only a few agents have truly outdone themselves. Agents like you."

Leon blinked a couple times before turning his head to look at the hand on his shoulder, eyebrows furrowed. He wasn't quite understanding what he was saying.

The President took his silence as a cue to continue, his sympathetic smile turning into a happier one as he gently tugged Leon's shoulder to get him to start walking again. "The D.S.O. has produced some of the greatest agents since Benford created it back in 2011. You were amazing before, but you've outdone yourself time and time again."

Leon still wasn't quite understanding, really only half listening as he kept his eyes trained to the numerous portraits of agents as he slowly passed them.

The two stopped in front of the last painting in the hallway, only a few spots away from leading into another hallway. It was Chris and Claire in this painting. Chris was sitting down in a chair while Claire stood next to him, hand resting on back of it, both of them smiling.

He studied the painting for a minute longer before whipping his head around to face the President, who was still smiling, as the realization slowly settling in.

"I-" Leon struggling to speak, glancing back at the painting before quickly looking back at the old man standing next to him.

The President simply nodded his head, smile widening with a gentle laugh. "Right. The painting process takes a bit of time, but I think you've more than earned this."

The ex-agent had so many questions. Firstly, why hadn't Chris or Claire mentioned this? But more importantly, he gets to have his own portrait painted?

"The painter knows all about you. She's excited to meet you." The President started down the hall again, Leon not far behind, still stuttering out nonsense as he attempted to form even a sentence. "I'll give you the information you need to get started with her. I have it written down back in my office."

A painting?

A painting. A painting for him. A painting to honor him. What?

Leon was once again sat on his couch, blankly staring at the small business card with a date and time written on it in pen. He'd read the info on the card so many times already, wanting to make sure he got absolutely nothing wrong.

Apparently he didn't have to call and confirm, all he had to do was show up to this random address at a specific date and time, which was soon. In a couple days kind of soon. Also, he thought he was reading the time wrong, but no, it was four in the morning, not four in the afternoon. What an odd and rather inconvenient time.

Even after memorizing the business card front to back, Leon would be lying if he said he didn't forget about meeting up with this mystery painter. He'd been rather aloof the past couple months, it was hard to pull himself out of that funk. He'd been staying up late and sleeping in even later, so hitting snooze on his alarm a good few times was just muscle memory at this point.

It was almost 5am when he realized where he was suppose to be, eyes shooting open as he yanked himself out of bed, desperately trying to clean himself up enough to be at least presentable.

The man was mentally chastising himself the entire drive. It was a short drive, which he was surprised by, and the building seemed quaint; red brick with large windows that sat on what looked like either a second or third floor.

He parked his bike right near what he assumed was the main door, pulling off his motorcycle helmet before knocking and waiting.

The last thing Leon was expecting was you to unlock and open that door; young and pretty, so pretty...

"Mr. Kennedy?" You asked, eyebrows raised slightly with a small smile. He nodded, just barely noticeable, reaching a gloved hand up to wipe at his eyes as he caught himself staring.

Your smile only widened at his nod, stepping aside to allow him into walk in. It took him a minute to realize you were still talking, shaking his head out to refocus himself.

"-again, really, no need to worry about being late. I was trying to work with your schedule but I should've known it's changed up a bit by now, right?" You lead him up a set of narrow stairs, though he was mostly following the smell of your perfume. It was such a light smell but he definitely picked up on it.

You opened a door immediately to the left of the stairs, letting Leon follow you inside. The sun was just starting to rise, shining through the large windows in the open room.

The place was cluttered, yet organized. Crowded, but that just made it all the cozier to Leon. His house was bare and lacked any sort of personality, but this... this place was covered in you.

"I'm glad you like it in here." You said in a quiet voice, looking up at him as he took in your workspace. He was smiling ever so slightly, which you mimicked with a smile of your own. "I try to make it welcoming in here, my apartment is the same way.."

Your voice trailed off as you walked over to a mostly put together set up near the back of the room where the only wall without windows sat. There was a chair sitting close to the wall, the same chair Chris was sitting in for his portrait with Claire, along with your easel sitting empty a few feet away.

Leon stood frozen, only moving his head around as he took everything in. He followed you with his eyes as you fumbled around with something, eventually producing a blank 24" x 36" canvas that was still wrapped in thin plastic.

His mouth made an 'o' shape as he pulled himself from his small trance once again, beginning to slowly make his way over to the set up you've made. He placed his helmet down on the floor beside the chair.

After placing the canvas on the easel, you walked back over to where you'd gotten the canvas from before grabbing a heavily used sketchbook. It was a large one, the paper a light brown instead of white.

Leon had only just realized that there was a faint sound of some form of classical music playing from somewhere in the room, glancing around for speakers before looking back over at you.

"I'm not getting started today, we're a couple steps away from that, so don't worry about appearance just yet." You said softly with a breathy laugh, quickly making your way back over to where he stood next to the plush chair in your setup, his hand feeling over the worn maroon fabric.

Leon nodded silently, moving to sit down once you requested he did, furrowing his eyebrows as he watched you drag over a small table. You worked fast, that's for sure.

Eventually, you'd set up a little tabletop easel to sit on the table you'd dragged in front of him, grabbing your swivel chair to sit in as you placed your sketchbook on the easel, open to a blank page.

"I just need to get some basic ideas of your facial structure since that's most important when it comes to these kinds of paintings. You're gonna be wearing a nice tuxedo when I do the second- no, third sketch for the final painting, but this is just for me to get a feel for you and vise versa." You rambled quickly, pulling out a pencil from one of your pockets before fully sitting down on the chair, bringing your legs up to sit criss cross.

"Uh.. Alright..." Leon responded, clearing his throat a bit. He didn't really understand what you'd said, you spoke a little too fast for his tired brain to keep up, but it seemed like whatever you were doing was necessary so he just rolled with it.

He was left a little speechless again at how you just began sketching, glancing up to his face and down to the page you were working on over and over. "...do you need me to, I don't know, pose or something?"

The way you kept looking at him was making feel a little uneasy. Granted he's never been in this sort of situation before, this whole process was very unfamiliar to him.

"No, no. You can move your head around and stuff. Get comfortable." You waved off, eyes wrinkling as you smiled at him. Leon nodded again, deciding to take the opportunity to look around your workspace again.

It really was a cozy space. Full of color and life, even the curtains you had lining the windows offered so much pattern and detail to the room. The back of the room where the two of you sat was more cluttered with less decor, but the front of the room was a whole different story with those massive floor pillows, blankets of all sorts strewn about, that big fluffy looking area rug, it was all so... homey. It was even inspiring him to decorate his own house a bit.

The sound of your pencil scribbling on paper and the faint sound of the classical music playing was all Leon could hear for awhile, eventually letting out an anxious sigh before beginning to talk. "So... a painter, huh..?"

"Oh yeah, I've been doing this since I was little. Obviously I wasn't that good back then, but I really improved after high school." You immediately responded, voice a little louder than his. Clearly the topic excites you. "If you want, I can hand you one of my other sketchbooks to look at while I do my thing over here?"

Leon patted his hands against the arms of the chair before nodding to the side, pursing his lips slightly. "Mm, sure. Let's see what ya got.."

As soon as he agreed, you stood up and shuffled over to the corner of the room where some desks sat arranged in a makeshift cubicle. You opened a drawer and pulled out a couple sketchbooks, still as raggedy as the one you were using now.

Walking back over, you carefully handed them to him, which he slowly took after meeting your eyes for a brief moment.

Once you made your way back to your chair, he placed both sketchbooks into his lap, opening up the one on top first. The man flipped through them silently as you began to sketch him out again.

You'd zoned into your work, adding just a bit of shading to your sketches to help emphasis some features when Leon cleared his throat again. You leaned to the side to look at him, your smile quickly returning when you saw his baffled expression.

"These are... wow, okay, how old are you?" Leon asked, head jerking upwards to meet your gaze once more. You just giggled in response, using the pencil as a fidget before returning to sketching.

"Sorry-uh, I don't mean to come off as rude or anything, but to be honest, I was expecting you to be some old lady when I saw the portraits you've done." Leon was quick to try and explain, probably misinterpreting your lack of response for unease.

Your giggle turned to a small laugh, leaning to the side once more to look at the man. "Well, I'm glad I could surprise you a bit. Hopefully I don't look old."

Leon groaned and wiped his hand down his face. "Again, sorry. Didn't mean to imply." He shook his head and looked back down at the two sketchbooks sitting in his lap, continuing to flip through them.

It was only a couple hours until you decided you got a good enough feel for drawing his face. Grabbing the sketchbook, you stood up, pencil still in hand, looking down at the sketches you made as you slowly walked over to him.

The man noticed you standing up, quickly moving to close the sketchbooks you'd given him in favor of seeing your new sketches.

"I... I think this'll be enough today. I don't want to keep you too long." You said, handing him the sketchbook. Leon took it from you, careful not to smudge anything as he finally got to see what you've been doing for the past two hours.

He furrowed his eyebrows as he studied the sketches you'd made of his face, seeing all the different angles, even the smile, how'd you get his smile?

You seemed to grow nervous the longer he stared at your sketchbook in silence, his intense look making it seem as if he didn't really like them. "Are they... Are they okay?"

Leon jostled the sketchbook a bit in his hands before standing up, now towering over you as he kept his eyes on the paper. "Just okay? These are beyond amazing."

You let out a small breath you didn't notice you were holding, heat rushing to your cheeks as you smiled at his compliment. "Oh, thank you.. I'm sorry, normally sketches don't take this long but it was stressed to me that your portrait was very important so I wanted to get everything as perfect as I could.."

"Seriously, you're a mad woman if you think these wouldn't be good." Leon chuckled, handing the sketchbook back to you. He kept his eyes trained on you, even after you turned to look down and close the sketchbook. Only a fool would miss that blush on your cheeks, it looked good on you.

"Anyways, when should I come back for the next.. uh..." Leon paused, crossing his arms loosely as he struggled to think of the word.

Luckily, you finished the sentence for him. "Session. Again, this painting's importance was stressed to me a lot, so probably the next time you're available?" You talked while you shifted the small table back to where it had originally sat under one of the numerous windows, tossing the sketchbook down on the chair cushion.

"Alright, since it's importance has now been stressed to me as well, I can probably clear up some stuff in my schedule. How's tomorrow sound?" Obviously, Leon had a completely free schedule, but you didn't need to know that.

"Tomorrow works great! The sooner the better!" You laughed, placing a gentle hand on his bicep as you walked past him to grab a sticky note. "I'll give you my personal number, just let me know when you're thinking of coming over and I'll meet you here, okay?"

Leon looked at your number before pocketing the note, nodding his head with a smile of his own. "Sounds good. Same way out?" He pointed to the door that you brought him in through, bending down to pick up his motorcycle helmet right after.

You confirmed with a thumbs up, now drinking water from your water bottle as you'd forgotten too while focused on drawing. You felt bad for not offering him any water while he was here, but you won't forget next time.

The man gave you a curt wave before leaving the room, quietly shutting the door behind himself.

You had to admit, you've worked with a very small handful of agents since it takes a lot for them to earn their own portrait, but Leon Kennedy had to be the one of the most handsome men you've ever worked with. Maybe even one of the most handsome men you've ever seen.

Lucky you pay attention to detail, cause you definitely didn't see a ring on his finger.

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psychedelic-ink · 1 year

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𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐇𝐀𝐓𝐄 𝐈𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐌𝐄

pairing: stripper!jack daniels x f!reader

genre: stripper AU, explicit, minors dni

word count: 8.2k

series summary: frustrated by your everyday life, you seek solace at a male strip club. It's your first time and you're instantly mesmerized by the one that calls himself "Whiskey".

chapter summary: you're still heartbroken but that doesn't stop you from attending your friends' bachelorette party— how were you supposed to know the male stripper that she hired would be the one and only whiskey.

warnings: angst, grief, mention of the loss of a child, enemies to lovers ✨ v i b e s ✨, semi-public sex, angst with happy ending, stripping, one time use of good boy (i was in a mood don't @ me), praise kink, oral (fem receiving), piv

a/n: not gonna lie with the trip I took and my laptop breaking when I returned I feel like I've been working on this chapter for months. Hopefully, it turned out okay! Thank you for all the support you've shown for stripper!jack it was much appreciated and made me so happy to see everyone so enthusiastic 💖

[stripper!jack masterlist]

dividers by @firefly-graphics 💜

Jack has a lot of regrets in his life.

The night is warm, yet his skin is cold like ice. His legs feel shaky, his steps echoing and blending with the stretched-out shadows of the buildings. Cars whizz past him, a couple of cabs as well, but he doesn’t hail any of them. He’d rather complete his walk of shame back to his apartment. It’s only fitting after the stunt he pulled.

He wasn’t expecting you to look at him the same way Vivienne used to. Full of admiration and love. There was a certain blindness to it, like he could do no wrong, but he could. Jack could do many wrongs.

He shakes his head, the yearning in his heart growing with every painful beat. He misses her. His Viv. When Jack thinks of her, he can only remember their last moments together. Her stomach round with his child—a baby boy, he later on learned—her cheeks glowing, her hair in a high messy bun. She kissed him on the cheek that night. Hugging him tight. Maybe she had a feeling. He shouldn’t have let her go.

A car honks as it passes him by, screeching laughter coming from the inside. He glares at the taillights of the car, two red eyes glaring back at him.

With you, Jack thought he just liked the attention. You were shy, clumsy, unfiltered. He could tell what you were thinking just by looking at you. He thought. . . the growing feeling in his stomach would stop if he just slept with you. If he fucked you nice and hard that it would all go away.

But the deed was done, and his feelings remained.

Jack could see how badly he’d hurt you, but he didn’t see any way around it. He had to go. He had to leave. He was a coward and he was afraid. Looking at you, so happy and pliant with his spent dripping down your stomach— he just couldn’t stay. All Jack could see was Viv, her smile before she left to go get the milk he’d forgotten to buy because he had an exhausting night of stripping. It was the day before his last. He was quitting, he’d found a job at the distillery, something more stable he could do for when the baby came. And for her.

He stops and stares.

He feels sick. His mouth floods with saliva and bile, his stomach churns violently, he sees a tree nearby and leans over, emptying everything. His knees shake. While his throat burns and the stench breaks his nose, images of that night come to mind. How he got anxious after the first hour. How he called and called and called. No answer. How the police couldn’t reach him because he was constantly dialing Vivienne’s number. He remembers the way he stuck his bare feet into his boots to go and search for her, only to come face to face with two policemen. The eyes can be quite loud. Or maybe they were always loud for him. His heart sank into his chest. She was gone. His baby boy was gone.

He hurls again, the leaves of the tree creating a symphonic backdrop accompanied by the gentle caress of the wind. He didn’t have anything else in his stomach anymore. Only bile coming out. It tastes like poison.

Jack remains in the same position—half bent over, hand braced against the grooves of the thick tree. His eyes are teary. He thinks it has little to do with his throat burning and everything to do with Vivienne. He misses her. Misses her scent, her feel under his fingertips, kissing her swelled stomach for good luck before starting the day.

He misses all of that, yet, he aches for you. He feels like shit for leaving you like that. Despite all of what he’d said and done, Jack doesn’t want you to hate him.

Slowly, he raises. His grief clouds his vision. He can’t see the mess he made even though he’s staring right at it. Some sensible part of him is hoping no one saw. Or filmed him—a fear he had developed with the increasing popularity of Instagram and TikTok and whatever the fuck is popular now.

His feet start moving again, the sound of his boots clicking against the pavement, but his mind is still at the bottom of the tree. Still lurching over, still vomiting. Thinking of her.

Jack has a lot of regrets in his life. Now he has added another.

You.

Jack is a morning person—normally.

But not today. Not when his head hurts like hell and his muscles ache in such a profound way that no matter how aggressively he gives himself a rub down it doesn’t go away. The sky is clear and he dares to glare at the sun. Staring until his eyes burn, tearing up right before he pulls his gaze away from the fiery orb hovering in space.

He’d very much like to be the one hovering in space right about now.

The club is pretty much empty. A couple of guys sitting here and there sipping their coffee while Vodka—aka Steve—hugs the pool and dips down. Jack is not a fan of the poll. He prefers to sensually dance, he doesn’t like the sudden metallic chill that touches his burning skin during a routine. He heads to the bar where Tequila is restocking the fridge. Your seat is empty. Jack's heart clenches at the sight.

“Hey there old timer,” he greets him. “You know where our firecracker regular is?”

“No,” he grunts, his shoulders raising. “Why the hell would I know?”

Tequila’s sole eyebrow lifts along with the corner of his lip. His eyes soften with amusement, and just by the look, Jack knows he’s seconds to being incredibly, infuriatingly annoyed with the other man. Before Tequila can say anything, he waves him off, heading towards the dressing room. He doesn’t want to talk about it. Even if he did, Tequila would be the last person Jack would want to converse with about such a thing. He’s still feeling guilty about the whole ordeal. His brain screaming at him to give you a call, or write a letter or something apologizing.

Of course, he does none of that.

Instead, he gets ready. His eyes swiftly move over each and every outfit he has. Most of them are cowboy attire. Today he’s not really feeling it. He wants to be someone else and a change in outfit seems like the perfect way to go about it. He quickly tugs off his shirt and kicks off his pants, his chest and legs bare, he looks over the selection of clothes. His fingers graze over a red suit. It’s soft and light under his touch, and to accompany it, he picks a copper and black animal print shirt. It’s way more flashy compared to his usual outfits but he felt like it. He wants to look the opposite of what he’s feeling.

The shirt is smooth like butter, cool against his sweat-slick skin. His only complaint would be the pointy shoes. It always rubs the back of his ankle the wrong way, leaving it hurting and bloody.

Looking into the mirror, he slathers his fingers with a generous amount of hair gel and brushes the soft strands back. They curl slightly at the ends, sticking to his nape. When he’s satisfied, he drags a comb through them, making sure that everything is in place and slicked back.

Just as he’s about to leave, Tequila pops his head through the door. “You have a call on line three.”

“A’right, thanks, Teq.”

The younger man promptly leaves and Jack reaches for the landline. The club is probably the only place where landlines still exist. He takes a seat, his palm flat on his thigh. A small sigh parts his lips, his body already feeling drained. Jack swallows thickly before answering.

“Hello?”

“Hello!” a chipper voice comes through the speakers of the phone. “This is Whiskey, right? My sister is getting married and we’re throwing her a bachelorette party and we wanted a stripper to liven things up a bit.”

Jack smiles despite himself, “Of course, don’t know a better way to get a party goin’. When were you thinkin’ of havin’ it?”

“This Saturday. Is that okay?” the voice suddenly sounds panicked, as if she might’ve been too late in asking. “Also it’s going to be at our house, I can send the address over.”

“Sounds good, sugar,” the pet name tastes like iron in his mouth. He’s not sure why. “Let me give you my cell and you can text me all the details.”

You’re heartbroken, poor beating muscle ripped apart and stomped on while still beating. Yet, the world still makes its lazy routes around the sun. The people around you none the wiser of the knot lodged in your throat, the tears that constantly linger in the corner of your eyes, burning.

Jack certainly left his ever-lasting impression on you. You’re not sure what you could’ve done for a different outcome. He was so soft with you, so tender— then the switch had been flipped. His rage twisted at his lips, swirled in his eyes, and just like that he was gone.

You didn’t tell anyone about it. Just the thought of explaining everything exhausted you. Besides, you didn’t want to listen to your friends bad-mouthing him. You were protective of him. You held on to the hope that there was an explanation there. A reason that would soften your heart and everything would work out.

But days passed. You didn’t visit the club even though you missed Tequila and you never heard from Jack.

Your anger festered like an irritated wound. The hurt, the sadness, all of it shifted into an emotion that was easier to handle, an emotion that was blinding and made you think of little else. If the world was adamant about moving forward, so would you.

Your friend, Betty, was getting married in about a month and luckily, she was dead set on having the most unhinged bachelorette party ever. You’d make the most of it, promising yourself it would be the perfect distraction.

The wind blows warm, the trees that surround your friend's house dancing wildly as muffled music echoes into the blue-purple sky. You feel the breeze playing with the ends of your dress, lifting and teasing the fabric up your legs. You suck a sharp breath. Your heart beating in your throat ready to jump out of the bone and skin. Now that you’re here, staring at the imposing architecture —you often forgot that Betty was much more comfortable than you— all your bravado that built in your mind is dwindling. You take a step, then another. It will be okay. You’ll have a good time with your friends and sleep soundly tonight with alcohol lingering in your veins.

You wish, for once, things would go as planned.

“You called for a stripper?”

In a weak attempt to hide the very obvious tremble in your voice, you swallow, again and again. Betty is absolutely radiant, her shapely brows coming together while giving you a startled look. She shrugs. “I mean. . . It’s a bachelorette party, of course, we hired a stripper. Why the big reaction?” Before you can answer she lets out a overexaggerated gasp and brings her hang to her chest. “Have you been a prude all this time baby?!”

You snort at the question and shake your head, “No you idiot. I just. . . It’s okay, it’s fine. I just didn’t know.”

“You’ve been so secretive lately,” she remarks, sucking the cherry of her cocktail between her lips. It reminds you of Jack, a longing tingling at your skin. She chews on the juicy fruit and just as you’re thinking of an excuse to get out of this cross interrogation, her eyes snap to something behind you. Her eyes sparkle, a wide grin stretching across her face. “Wow. . . “ she says wistfully.

You turn to see what got her so worked up, your eyes grow wide and you swear—swear your heart stops beating at that very moment.

It’s Jack.

Fucking hell.

Everything comes rushing back. Every ounce of emotion you tried so hard to shove deep inside bursting from every orifice. Your eyes sting, the know in your throat larger than ever. He hasn’t noticed you yet, too busy talking to Rachel, Betty’s sister, and maid of honor. You’re shaking like a chihuahua. What the hell is he doing here and what the hell are you supposed to do about it

“Whatever it is that’s going in with you, I’m sure a dance from that cowboy will certainly help,” Betty says, unaware that all you want is for the ground to swallow you whole.

“Yeah,” you breathe out, an awkward chuckle escaping your lips. “I’ll be right back.”

Before Betty can say anything, and before Jack spots you, you disappear between the halls. Your steps echo against the smooth marble. You’re not sure what your plan is since the bathroom was in the opposite direction of where you stormed off to. Some part of you wants to leave, perhaps run away screaming, but you know you won’t be doing that. It’s Betty’s night. And even though she has a habit of peeving you, you love her and want to be with her on her special night. Besides, she seemed really excited when she saw Jack. You can’t blame her, who wouldn’t be?

He was as handsome as ever. His cowboy hat snug atop his head, shirt hugging his biceps as he strutted inside. You knew that walk. It was his stripper walk, he told you about it once, how he would move differently even when doing something as mundane as drinking water, or walking.

Your steps come to a halt, the music of the party nothing but muffled, silent melodies now. You want to stay but you’re not sure how you’ll react seeing him dancing again. Memories come flooding back, reminding you of the love and hurt you felt in the short time that you got to know him. You wonder what his reaction would be like when he inevitably sees you. Would he act like the two you never met? Or would he just tilt his hat and greet you as if you were neighbors that barely talked?

No matter his reaction, you have no doubt that it is going to sting.

You take a breath, furrow your brows, and turn on your heel. If anyone should be hiding it should be him, not you. You ignore the quick beat of your heart and head back towards the party.

There’s a stage, and an actual, god damn squeaky clean stage.

You knew that Rachel was going all out with the bachelorette party and you knew Betty and her family were. . . Comfortable, but wasn’t this a bit much?

Seated between Rachel and Betty, both sisters gaze eagerly toward the stage as Jack ascends the stairs and positions himself at the center, his back turned to the audience. You hold your breath. It almost feels like you’re peeping on him. Hopefully, he won’t spot you among the crowd, you don’t want to look like you’re stalking him.

Jack rolls his shoulders and relaxes his neck, tilting his head to one side and then to the other. Betty straightens in her seat, green eyes wide. Finally, he looks up, and with that, the music begins.

Have his performances always been so spiritual? There’s something about the way he moves that is slower compared to his usual routine. He turns and your eyes instantly drop to his crotch, the leather of the belt he’s wearing framing his bulge. You swallow thickly, heat pooling under your cheeks. Your thighs clench together with need. Damn it. You can't help but feel the tender ache he left behind while dragging himself in and out of you.

He rolls his hips and unbuckles his belt, which coaxes whistles and screams from the crowd. In a single fluid motion, Jack pulls the leather from the belt loops and uses it as a makeshift whip, cracking it in the air. His dark eyes search the crowd, presumably for the bride. Your eyes slowly drift to the crown glimmering on top of Betty’s head, your gaze moving back to Jack right after.

Your entire body stills, your breath catches in your throat.

Your eyes lock with one another, his dark brows shooting up. He’s still moving with the music, hips swaying as he drags his fingers down sensually over each and every button. You press your lips together, wanting to tear your gaze away but also feeling as if it’s impossible. His breath hitches, unnoticed by everyone except for you.

After what feels like an eternity, Jack drags his gaze from you to Betty, shooting the bride-to-be a toothy smile.

“Now ain’t this a shame,” he drawls with a wink. “What a lovely woman to be snatched so soon.”

Betty’s grin widens and you can’t help but feel a bit light-hearted. You’re glad that Jack is at least good at his job. He always makes people feel good.

Jack begins his descent from the stairs and her cheeks flush. You’re as stiff as a board, some logical part of your brain screaming at you to push your chair back, add some more distance between what’s about to happen. His all-too-familiar scent fills your nostrils and you’re glued to where you are. Jack doesn’t so much as glance at you as he straddles Betty’s thighs, dipping low and arching his back as he comes back up, lips barely grazing her.

It’s hard not to be reminded of the first dance he’d ever done for you. Your chest too tight for your heart, your body feeling too small to be holding every organ in. You want to tear your gaze away but you feel trapped by the cheering and the clapping. In trance, you lift your hands and add to the noise, a small whoop leaving your lips.

You swear Jack cringes. It’s such a small movement, just a small jump in the muscle of his jaw and a small sneer turning at the corner of his mouth.

Good, you think, you don’t want to be the only uncomfortable one here.

Briefly, his eyes meet yours, a flicker of challenge in his eyes. You gape at the stare, does he think you clapped on purpose? To annoy him? He’s unbelievable.

But no matter what your intentions were, his eyes shift back to Betty, finger digging into his shirt with a self-satisfied smirk. He straightens and tears the fabric, the sound of buttons hitting the floors hidden by the loud sensual music. You gape at the sight of his bare chest. Betty seems equally as shocked, her eyes rake his chest, hungry.

Then, ever so gently, Jack takes a hold of her wrists and places her hand over his pecks, slithering back so her fingers move down his torso.

You weren’t jealous before, but you can’t deny the fire that suddenly flares in your stomach. An ugly feeling fills your insides, clutches at your heart. Sharp nails bury themselves into the soft, tender muscle. He doesn’t look at you as he shifts on his feet, turning while rolling his hips. Betty laughs, her arms barely caging the width of his waist. Jack sinks down and guides her hands to his crotch, Betty flushes when he feels him, her smile still wide.

He unbuckles his jeans and the crowd screams, meanwhile, you’re left dizzy, hands feeling numb as you clap. What the hell are you supposed to do in this situation? Leave? Continue to pretend that Jack is nothing more than a sexy stranger? Luckily you don’t have to think too much of it because he steps forward, leaving Betty’s arms to fall limp to her sides. You don’t know how, but as he walks towards the stage, the denim slips lower and lower, until the start of the swell of his ass is visible and his back dimples are in full view. Gifted from Venus herself.

“I’m gonna need a volunteer,” he drawls into the microphone, the honeyed voice making every hair on your body stand with attention. Jack slowly turns on his heel, eyes glued to the bride-to-be, making it clear to the entire room who the volunteer should be. Your eyes shift to Betty, her bottom lip sucked between her teeth, shapely brows knitted tightly together.

You realize, with horror, that she’s planning something.

Before the thought can become something tangible, something that you can mull over, you find yourself being pushed forward. Your wrist yanked upward by a gentle, yet firm, hand.

“We have a volunteer right here,” Betty calls out cheerfully. When you stare at her, wide-eyed and in shock, she winks at you. She mouths the words; have fun.

No, you want to scream, you certainly won’t be having fun. Alas, you see no way around it as all the women around you begin to cheer, your ass being edged out of your seat by sheer volume alone. Your eyes find Jack’s as you take the first step. His lips are curled in a wicked smile, an expression that doesn’t reach the darkness of his eyes. You swallow. The noise fades when he extends a hand, a silent ask for trust that you’re not that willing to give. But you do. You lay yourself in the middle of his palm and he wraps his fingers around it, guiding you to the stage. Lights flicker around you, some white, some colorful.

You stand like a doll in the middle of the stage, his body firm behind you, chest brushing your back. A shudder that you’re sure he won’t miss rolls down your spine. “Relax,” he murmurs into your ear. Involuntarily, you scoff. “You can leave,” he reminds you, nudging your arms to your sides and dragging the pads of his fingers across the delicate skin of your upper arms. His lips touch your cheek. “But that might raise some questions, darlin’.”

Damn it, he’s smooth.

You can’t really answer with everyone’s eyes glued on you both, so you make a sound that you hope expresses something along the lines of; I’ll stay but not for you, dickhead. You have doubts he got the message though. You assume you not running and cussing him out is probably a good enough of a sign for him to continue.

Your pulse skyrockets as his hands find your hips, prompting you to sway along with him. It doesn’t help that you’re stiff as a board but you manage to follow his lead. The thick outline of his cock brushes against your ass, and your cheeks burn. Your body betrays you as it grows hotter and hotter, the seam of your underwear growing damp with every move. He intertwines his fingers within your own, lifting your arm and spinning you around so you face him. Before you have a moment to catch your breath, he dips. Your breathing hitches as he comes back up, mouth an inch away from your body, inhaling as if you were completely bare to him.

Your knees start to shake. His hands slide down your back and nudge your legs apart before hooking afoot around your ankle. You find yourself sprawled upon the stage, knees bent with the soles of your shoes planted against the smooth floor. He towers over you, intimidating while standing tall between your legs. Jack doesn’t look down, eyes almost predatory as he observes the crowd. With a grin, he claps and hypes them all up. Both worry and excitement entangle around your heart, suffocating and squeezing your lungs.

Confusion crosses your face when he turns instead, but whatever you’re feeling is short-lived. He drops himself to the floor, long legs threading yours, he flips you both, and suddenly, his body is flushed against your own. Your heart skips a beat, arousal pooling deep in your gut. You feel every inch as he grinds himself against you, fingers cupping your throat, mouth skimming your cheek—he inhales and you feel teeth grazing your skin.

A moan parts your lips, a moan so silent that it’s drowned by the music and cheers, but not silent enough that it goes unnoticed by him. Every muscle grows tense. He smiles, something wicked and taunting reverberating out of him, another grind provoking you to raise your hips. Which you do, begrudgingly. Because you’ve missed him. Despite the anger. . . you still miss him, miss the weight of his body, the layering of his words.

“I’ve missed you too, darlin’,” he whispers, his breath warm over your skin. The sentence sends a coldness down your spine that seeps into the very fabric of your being. A whimper shakes your throat. His lips move, but not a word comes out. You’re surprised to notice that you’re disappointed with the fact.

You're being flipped over again, thick thighs straddling your waist as he comes to an almost plank position, your noses nearly brushing against one another. Jack grins and whips his upper body back, hand pushing back his hat and threading his hair. Thrusting into the air, he slides a palm down his torso. You watch in awe as his hand disappears beneath his pants, briefly grabbing himself before pulling his hand back. With the same hand, he holds your throat, leaning closer. The crowd goes wild. You hear the blood rush in your ear.

The music comes to a close, the melody fading into the distance. Your eyes meet, and just as it does, a loud cheer bursts from the crowd.

You’re both panting heavily, two sets of eyes eating the other up, engraving every detail to memory. The color of his eyes are darker than you remember, his lips a bit paler compared to your memory. He looks like he’s about to say something. You beat him to it.

“Screw you,” you mouth at him, nostrils flared and gaze becoming one of steel. He’s startled but not surprised. You’re basically scrambling off the stage when he moves away, and disappear into the halls. You don’t care if it raises suspicion. You don’t care if Betty demands answers later on. You just want to vanish into thin air.

This isn’t how you expected this day to go. You were expecting to have fun, maybe get a bit tipsy and go home to relieve yourself further with the help of your vibrator. You, in no way, were expecting to run into Jack. It didn’t help that Betty volunteered you to go on stage. There’s an endless pit in your stomach now because of it.

The halls seem endless. You walk and walk, not really having a clear vision of where you want to go. Maybe you should leave. The sound of the party is still roaring in the background. You wonder if Jack’s still dancing. You wonder if he stared as you left. Some part of you desperately wants to pick a fight, your nails itching to be buried in a soft surface—

You should leave. That’s the logical thing to do. And after everything you’ve been through, you’re not that keen about listening to your heart.

You turn on your heel, heart ramming wildly in your chest, ribcage barely contaminating the muscle violent with emotion.

Sadly, something warm and firm presses into your face—hard. Pain blossoms from the base of your nose, spreading throughout your face. You yelp and take a step back, the moment feeling oddly familiar as you rub a palm over your aching nose.

“Sorry,” you hear him say, and finally your gaze lifts. You see him. Jack. Standing there like a kicked puppy, his hands somewhere between wanting to lay on his sides and reach out for you to soothe the pain. He does the former when your eyes flit between said hands and eyes, a pang of instant guilt overwhelming the color of them. “Are you a’right?”

“You,” you say, the word bouncing against the back of gritted teeth. You point an accusatory finger at him. “Don’t get to ask me that.”

“Fair enough,” he mutters. “At least let me do this since it was my fault.”

His hand disappears into his jacket and he smoothly pulls out a tissue. He takes a step forward and your eyes go wide when you feel him pressing the soft material against your nose. You hadn’t felt the bleeding. Feeling slightly disoriented, your fingers curl around his hand, thinking he’ll move away so you can clog the bleeding yourself. He makes no such move. The heat from his fingers seeps into your skin even with the tissue in between.

“I think that’s enough,” you say with a glare. “I’m fine now.” Jack finally lets go and you detest how cold you feel without his touch. You give your nose one last rub before lowering your hand, peeling the tissue away. At a loss, you stuff it into your purse.

“What do you say?”

The question catches you off guard, your brows furrow and he repeats himself. Slower this time. “What. Do. You. Say.”

“What—” The tips of your ears burn and you swear if you were in a cartoon your air would be forming a spike right about now. “Are you expecting a damn thank you?!”

“Perhaps,” he tuts. “Or maybe I just wanna talk and I’m lookin’ for a gateway to do so.”

“Getting me angry isn’t the way to do that,” you inhale a sharp breath. “I don’t want to talk to you.”

He takes a step, crowding you until your back is pressed snugly against the wall. Your breath catches in your throat, your anger and frustrations from earlier dwindling upon feeling his warm breath ghosting your cheek. His hand finds purchase over the empty spot right near your ear. You can almost taste him on your tongue. Involuntarily, you inch closer and your regret is immediate when you see the twitch of his lips. He tilts his head. His eyes bore into yours, searching for something, anything. They’re so dark. Almost black.

With a sudden jerk of your head, you pull back, a thud echoing where your skull meets the wall, “What do you want?” you hiss. “A quick fuck?”

The poison beneath your words startles even you. His eyes go wide.

He doesn’t move away though.

“That’s not why I’m here,” he rasps, voice dropping. He slips a leg between your own, your spine becoming a stick with the sudden jolt of electricity snapping through your body. His thigh firm and warm against your sex. When your hands grip his arms despite you, he grins. “But it seems like you wouldn’t mind it.”

No. No, you wouldn’t. Fuck. What the hell is wrong with you?

“Why?” you gasp as he pushes his leg further up, heat coiling in your stomach. You squeeze his biceps, and when you meet his eyes, he gives you a questioning gaze. “Why are you taunting me? Is it really that fun to string me along?”

Jack attempts to pull back but your grip constricts. He remains, comes closer even, your bodies impossibly close. His hand slides down to your waist, thumb drawing slow, soothing circles. “I’m weak,” he answers simply. Like it’s meant to explain everything. “I’t not a matter of stringing you along or to taunt, darlin’. I just can’t keep away.”

“I don’t want you to keep away,” you breathe, voice desperate and hoarse. “I just want you to explain, Jack. I want to understand.”

You were telling the truth. You did want to understand. You want to see for yourself if he was worth forgiving or not, if whatever had gone through his head that prompted him to leave you in the middle of the night made sense. Even then—Even with the off chance that it does make sense, you still might find it hard to forgive him.

Time stands still, the air heavy with your unanswered plea. You feel the tremor of his hand. He chews his bottom lip vigorously, contemplating his fight or flight response. It’s brief, but your gaze drops to his lips. So full, the bottom one plump from being abused between sharp teeth. Your tongue darts to lick your own lip, mimicking how you would soothe the ache of the tender muscle. A mistake, you’re quick to realize, because instead of explaining, he tempts your desires, crashing your mouths together, licking where you had just not moments ago.

You surrender to him quicker than you thought. His tongue slips between your lips, tasting you, urging you to part for him further. You do. He traces every inch of your mouth with the tip of his tongue, pushing deeper. Heat licking the base of your spine, you grind down, the solid drag of his thigh against your cunt a delicious friction.

“Jack,” you pant, he nips at your chin, his gaze finding your own. “Fuck, that feels nice.”

“‘M about to make you feel even nicer,” he answers with a sultry drawl. Before your brain can register, he’s on his knees, bunching up your dress. He pulls down your underwear, leaving it dangling just a bit below your knees. You hold your breath as he inches closer. Hot breath ghosting your damp folds. He lays a tentative kiss over your mouth, a bit of tongue poking between his lips. When he looks up you’re mesmerized, dark lashes heavily framing his eyes.

Jack doesn’t say a word as he begins his feast. He’s a man starved. Mouth and tongue leisurely moving between the delicate lips of your pussy and sucking the sensitive bundle of nerves that crown it. Your knees buckle. Thankfully, he keeps your hips firm against the wall, hand splayed wide over your thighs. Your moans are hushed, short gasps of air that fills your lungs rapidly. The aquiline curve of his nose bumps against your clit as he ventures deeper, tongue tracing your fluttering entrance. He retraces your opening, his hum falling on your skin.

You lift your hips off the wall, chasing the warmth of his mouth. He licks you with fat strokes, tongue flat, he follows the seam of your heat. You push your fingers through the damp, soft locks that frame the back of his head. He growls and brings his thumb to your clit, rubbing circles. The motion sends you into a frenzy. Eyes closing, you thrust against his pointed tongue. You swear he smiles as he fucks you shallowly with it, your orgasm quickly building to something indescribable. You tug at his hair, pulling him off of you.

The sight takes you by surprise.

His eyes are glazed over, only lust and need swirling in them. Your gaze follows the opening of his lips, a gasp parting them while his thumbs stroke the heated skin of your thighs. His lips glisten under the dimmed light, mustache soaked with the pure essence of you. Jack clears his throat before he speaks, not breaking eye contact as his tongue swipes sensually over his bottom lip. “Use me,” he breathes heavily, voice nothing but gravel. “Take what you need, darlin’.”

You note the tell-tale signs of losing control. His words warm your stomach. Something primal and possessive taking over. You bring a hand to his cheek, thumb right above the tender skin that resides right under his eye. As you drag the finger down, you make a point of grazing your nail. His breath hitches and your eyes go wide. Your chest heaves, breathing suddenly the hardest thing you can do.

“You enjoy seein’ me on my knees, sugar?” he asks, a weak tease to his tone. You don’t answer.

“Touch yourself,” you say instead, voice soft contrary to the command. Jack obliges, bringing a hand between his legs. He palms himself over his tight jeans, pupils dilating as he holds your gaze. You swallow. “Good boy.”

“Fuck,” he rasps. “Fuck—” he grinds himself into his palm, frustrated. “Do I make you feel good, darlin’? Tell me. Tell me how good I make you feel.”

The air between your crackles. More slick dripping down the inside of your thighs. He swallows thickly and you notice the traces of fear that you won’t give him what he so desperately needs. Craves. And maybe you shouldn’t give it to him. Maybe you should just pull him back and ride his face until you’re soaking him. But your resolve has already cracked. Been like that ever since you stepped on the stage, giving him that trust again.

You bring him back, his tongue darting by instinct. He circles your clit, eyes still fixed on you. Your breathing slows. “You make me feel amazing,” you mutter, a bit breathless. “Which is a problem because I never seem to get enough.”

You expect him to laugh, snort, or at least shoot you one of those mischievous grins—he doesn’t. His eyes flutter closed and he inhales you, signaling the end of the conversation, he buries his mouth deep. His lips tighten around your clit and he flicks at it with the tip, your pulse skyrockets, your breathing coming in short. When your hips move away from the wall once more, he slams them back, a growl reverberating in his chest. He moves his head from side to side, tongue relentless.

Every nerve in your body is electrified. Skin taut over muscle. Your head falls back, knocking against the wall. He forces his tongue inside and resumes circling his thumb over your clit. Your moans become loud, uncaring as you feel the gentle scrape of his teeth. “Jack,” you moan. “I’m—fuuuck—I’m ‘bout to come—”

The confession seems to stir something wild inside him. He laps at your soaked cunt and meets your gaze, knocking the air from your lungs a second time that night.

He pushes you over the edge, your inside pulsing as you come. The halls around you spin and your arms loosely coil around his head, hanging on for dear life. His tongue is still moving. Licking, tasting everything you have to offer. Tingles spread throughout your body, goosebumps rising across your skin at the chill of the hallway.

Jack gives you one final lick before pulling away and standing. Suddenly, he seems larger than life, you realize you prefer him on his knees, at least for now.

“What do you want?” he asks, and your eyes drop to where his hand rubs over his hard-on. Memories of his cock splitting you wide open flash before your eyes, your inside clenching at the phantom feel. However, despite you both knowing what you want, you can’t voice it. You don’t have it in you to ask him to fuck you. So, you turn around, your forearms bracing the wall. His palms move up from the back of your legs to your ass, he squeezes gently before sliding up to your waist, taking the ends of the dress with it.

His lips touch your nape and you tense at the gesture. He must’ve felt it because Jack moves away, slipping his cock inside of you. He slides in with ease. Like you were made for him. A choked-out sound leaves you, his hips flush against the swell of your ass.

“Feels so good, darlin’,” he mutters, lips hovering an inch away from your skin. “Missed this pussy.”

Jack doesn’t waste time any time, knowing that your time is limited and someone might walk by at any second. His pacing is brutal. Cock filling the tight fist of your cunt with hard thrusts. Your brows knit with pleasure, mouth hanging open. If it wasn’t for the wall and Jack’s solid presence behind you, you’re positive you’d collapse. His hand slides up your torso and cups your breasts. Your back arches, pleasure rolling down your spine. He traces the column of your neck with his tongue and you shudder at the feeling.

“You’re loud, sugar,” he warns. “Not that I’m complainin’ but I’m assumin’ you don’t wanna get caught with your pants down. Literally.”

You shake your head vigorously, words failing you. But the movement of your head is all it takes for him to cover your mouth, moans bouncing off of his palm. The wet sounds flood the hall, deafening to your ears. The heavy drag of his cock is heavenly, your body clenching and begging him not to leave. He makes a choked sound, head falling between your shoulder blades. His nails bite into your skin, pulling you against him, pushing into you harder.

“I ain’t gonna last,” he groans.

You’re quick to reply, fear curling at your heart, “Don’t come on me.”

You don’t think you can handle him leaving you again in such a vulnerable state.

He rolls his hips and you feel every tantalizing inch. “Okay,” he answers, the previous raps of his tone becoming something somber, bittersweet. “Okay,” he repeats. “I won’t.”

The pleasure that had been building flickers away like a dying flame. His pacing slows, wild thrusts becoming indulgent, slow. He grinds himself deeper with every push of his hips and your eyes roll. It feels good. Amazing. Breath shortening. But you can’t deny that the previous rush is gone. Time is once again moving, reality becoming the most solid thing around you. He’s going to come and leave. Your vision blurs.

It doesn’t take him long, he pulls out and you feel incredibly cold and empty. So much so that you shiver as you press your forehead into the wall. You want to turn around. Watch him, see the desperate snap of his hips. Watch him make a mess of his hand. However, you remain in place, refusing to look.

He grunts and his breath becomes labored. You hear the faint whisper of your name falling from your lips—then silence, only soft, slow breathing. You finally turn then, seeing the tissue in his hand briefly before he stuffs it in his pocket.

“I—” he starts, meeting your gaze. You raise a hand.

“I know. You’re going to say you can’t see me again and all that bullshit. I’m leaving don’t worry.”

You barely fix your dress, swiftly heading towards the exit of this ridiculously large building. He calls out to you, asking you to wait but you refuse. You’re not going to wait for him to break your heart again. You don’t need to see the pity in his eyes. Your poor thundering heart can’t take it.

The sun is gone. The sky a mixture of dark blues and blacks. You take a deep breath of the crispy air, allowing yourself to stall just a moment before searching for your car. You’re outside, yet you still feel suffocated. Pleasure still simmers under your skin. Already missing, aching for his touch. You ball your hands into tight fists, allowing your nails to bite into the tender flesh of your palm. You welcome the mild pain. At this point, you would welcome anything that provides the bliss of forgetfulness.

“Get back here!”

You flip him off without looking. You swear you hear him snort with amusement. The bastard.

“At least let me explain—” he sounds desperate, his voice grows closer. You shake your head even though he can’t see and hug your jacket, your car should be close. . . You don’t stop. You can’t. A broken hiccup parts your lips and the tears you fought so hard against finally escape. You wipe them with the heel of your palm.

“I’m sorry!”

And as if time itself stood still, you stop dead in your tracks. The silence between you grows, his steps coming closer.

All that hurt, all the anger. It finally boils over.

“For WHAT?!” You turn around, the wind howling around you. Tear streaks chill over your cheeks. “Are you apologizing for that night, or right now? Do you have any idea how hard it was to force myself to go out tonight?! Are you aware how much it hurts to fucking look at you?!”

He’s not as far as you thought he was. Only a couple of steps between you two. Your eyes drop to his feet and back to his face again. He stops. For the first time, Jack seems at a loss for words. His brows come together in remorse, lips parted with words unsaid. You shake your head, hands still in fists, you’re not at a loss for words, however, all of it piles up in your throat like a dam. The world stands still. The only giveaway that time is still moving is the wind. Icy whips of air irritating your skin.

“You hurt me,” you say, surprisingly clear despite the knot in your throat. “Do you understand what that means, Jack? I’m hurt. There’s a bleeding wound in my chest because I stupidly thought—” Your chest caves in and you avert your gaze. “I thought you might actually look past all the fucked up parts of me. Maybe it was selfish of me but it made me happy to think I might be the one you would open up to. That me, being the way that I am, would be enough. But in the end. . . I didn’t even get an explanation. You just left.”

You drag your gaze back to him. You’re not sure but you think he took a step closer while you were speaking, his hands outstretched like he’s fighting the urge to pull you into a bear hug. His eyes glimmer under the faint moonlight. As if every word you said hurt him just as much as it did to speak them. You shake your head again. “Just leave.”

“No,” he chokes out, closing the gap. His fingers curl around your wrist. He must’ve seen your flight response starting to take over. You don’t fight the iron grip. “I—I don’t think you’re fucked up,” he blurts, unintelligently. “I don’t think any of that. In fact, I think the opposite, you’re too good for me, sunshine. You. . . I’m a coward, I couldn’t handle the love in your eyes. Couldn’t handle being that for someone again. But. . . I want to try, sugar. I want to try and be that someone for you. I don’t want to run away from this.”

You stand silent, shocked. You can’t see it for yourself, but you know your gaze has warmed up to be something soothing and understanding.

“I lost her,” he says. “Viv. . . she was my everythin’ and one day she was just. . . gone. My—My little boy along with—”

You shatter. All of the anger, the hurt, your icy resolve melting and becoming a puddle at your feet. You cradle his face, catching the first tears with the pad of your thumb. His arms coil around your waist, muscles tight around your frame. He’s not looking at you, he’s looking at a random spot on the concrete.

“She went out for milk,” he continues, broken. “She was still pregnant, two months. . . two months later I would’ve,” he cuts himself off. “I should’ve left instead but she argued that I was tired from work and that she needed to stretch her legs. I let her go. An hour later the police were at my door, telling me that she got caught in a gun fight between two rival gangs. Shot. Dead.”

He spat the last words out, his guilt, his hatred for the world laced in every one of them.

“That’s why I couldn’t. With you. I don’t deserve a second chance, darlin’.” he finally meets your eyes, and for the first time you see him for what he truly is. A good man, broken and lost. Just like you. “I’m afraid of losin’ you.”

“Who says you don’t deserve a second chance?” you whisper, your thumbs stroking the delicate skin. “I’m sorry, Jack. I’m sorry you had to go through all that. I—I didn’t know. And I don’t want to lie and say you won’t lose me, life is unpredictable but. . . I promise that this,” you point between the two of you. His gaze follows your hand as it rests on his chest. “Deserves a chance. I’ve never felt anything like I have with you. You make me happy, Jack. As simple as it sounds. And. . . well. . .” your lips crack into a heartfelt smile and when he sees, he lets out a breath. “I’ve already fallen pretty hard for you. As you can guess.”

His hands come up to your cheeks, holding you as delicately as one would a rose. Instinctively, you lean into his touch, eyes fluttering closer and smiling. “I think this deserves a chance too,” he mutters, his breath tickling your lips. “Will you have me, darlin’? Fucked up parts and all?”

He brushes your lips together, prompting the grin that is quick to form, “Only if you’ll have me, cowboy.”

Jack’s fingertips trace the contour of your lips before lightly pressing against them. His touch is gentle and warm. His lips come slowly towards yours, and when they meet, it is heaven itself.

His hands slide down your neck and around your waist. His mouth moves in perfect harmony with yours as his tongue lightly skims across your lips.

You can feel the heat radiating from his body as he wraps his arms around you and pulls you closer. His mouth moves feverishly desire and your body starts to respond in kind. And when he breaks the kiss, you’re surprised to see Betty’s house behind him, completely forgetting where you were.

“Of course, darlin,” he smiles, brushing his mouth over your forehead. “Of course.”

#agent whiskey x you #agent whiskey x reader #agent whiskey x female reader #jack daniels x you #jack daniels x reader #jack daniels x female reader #kingsman the golden circle #kingsman fanfiction #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #stripper!jack

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kenyaru · 2 months

Text

STILL HURTS | 01

SO THIS IS HEARTBREAK..

synopsis | maximilian goof has made one of the most goofy decisions ever: he forgave bradley uppercrust. he sat there, accepted his apologies after getting kicked out of the Gammas and actually became friends with him, trusting that he would have change and to not hold a grudge, just like his dad said. albeit against his best friends' wishes, he and uppercrust got closer, and eventually a somewhat-friendship turned into a romance. but, a year or so later, bradley did the unthinkable, leading to their breakup. was he wrong to trust? genre | angst, heartbreak, making up(?), oneshot pairing | max goofy x bradley uppercrust iii (maxley) warnings | implied internalized homophobia, mild cursing, angsty word count | 1.76k author's note | hii! i finally posted part 1 of this fic! this is heavily inspired by 'a seriously goofy romance' by pidge030 on ao3. this is my first time writing with these characters that already have some spitefulness, so i hope you enjoy it! lmk if you would like a part 2 :> ______________________________________________________________

One month. It’s been exactly one month since he and Bradley broke up. One month since their huge argument had caused him to walk out on the other and only a few weeks since Bradley had tried to contact him and soon stopped all together. Max hated to admit it, but he regretted how he acted, but how could he not react badly? Max sat up in bed, sighing as he ran a hand through his hair. He was just trying to relax after a long day of classes, but Bradley’s words clouded his mind. I can’t believe you- cheating on me..I knew I shouldn’t have trusted you, Goof.

It was the audacity in Bradley’s mind to accuse Max for something like that, knowing that Max had liked, and had come to love, Bradley more than ever. He felt more for Bradley than he felt for anyone; the way he got butterflies when the others bought him flowers or would compliment him in his own sort-of rude way. He recalled Bradley mentioning him talking to some girl in a way that seemed flirtatious and he responded by saying that Bradely had his assumptions; that he used Max’s sexuality against him.

Maybe Bobby and P.J. were right to be skeptical. When Bradely got kicked out of the Gammas and was trying to make amends, his best friends were the first people on the hate-train, not wanting to forgive the brunette. Max, still in his own feelings, reluctantly decided to let him in. Some advice his father gave him was to not hold a grudge and try to see past the mistake. At some point, Bradley had been interested in Max joining them, even if it was just to win.

One thing led to another and they went from close friends to a couple. Well, until now.

Max checked his clock, noticing it was nearly 6 and decided to go for a skate to calm himself before going to eat dinner. Bobby and P.J. were at the Bean Scene last he remembered, but that was over an hour ago, before he got into his funk over Bradely. He had blocked the brunette’s number after the first few messages, not wanting to hear his pitiful apologies.

Even though he seemed angry and not affected, he still cried some nights, he still felt the pain in his chest, he still looked at the photos he and Bradely took during their year of being together. He was a junior in college now, he shouldn’t be held up by some guy that graduated already. He fortunately unfortunately still got to see Bradely on campus as he was studying for his PhD and was working in the library sometimes for whatever reason he mentioned; Max must have been too angry to remember.

Max physically shook his head, putting on his shoes and adjusted his sweatshirt, picking up his skateboard and walking out of his dorm room. He wasn’t going to think about Bradely anymore, fill his head with memories and feelings he wanted to forget. He headed for the skating area, skating past the empty roads on campus. Hm, maybe everyone was at the Bean Scene right now, which most likely meant Bradely too.

Once he got there, Max went to the ramp and skated down, doing a trick and feeling the cool breeze on him as he moved quickly on the board. He missed this feeling, this carefreeness that he lacked in the past few weeks, few days even. He felt so congested, like his life was missing something. Skating was something he enjoyed before Bradely, so he thought it wouldn’t hurt as much, yet skating did remind him of how they met, how they got to dating in the first place, how they learned to work together and move past their previous disagreements that made them ‘enemies.’

Max continued to do tricks, flipping the board mid-air and landing, focused on what was ahead instead of the board itself, forcing himself to not get caught up in his thoughts and accidentally fall. He was doing good, so good, until he looked over, and caught a glimpse of brunette hair. Before he knew it, he was stumbling and before he could catch himself, he was on the ground in the middle of the skating rink.

He looked up, only to see a completely different person walking past the rink, looking over for just a moment before continuing their walk. He sighed, putting his head against the concrete. He panicked because he thought it was Bradely, because he thought it was the one person he didn’t- well, maybe he did, want to see. He was royally fucked up.

—------

Back in the dorms, Max laid back on his bed, phone in hand as he scrolled through his social media, going to Bradley’s profile on instinct and seeing that he hadn’t made any new posts since the breakup. Everything was still up; the pictures of them on their first date, the X-Games from that year and pictures of himself and the group. He closed the app, opening up the messaging app and seeing Bradely’s as a pin. Though he blocked him, he never removed him from his pins. He shouldn’t be reminiscing, looking back at these messages, possibly putting himself in a deeper funk. But he couldn’t stop himself, he wanted to, he missed him.

He opened his messages with Bradely and finally saw the stream of texts that he had ignored when it was first sent. Angel? I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to accuse you. Can we please talk? Please, let me explain. Call me back. Max, please. I love you, I feel terrible. I get it, you need space.

Max repeated the last message in his head, practically hearing Bradley's voice, the imagination making his heart break. Angel was what Bradely had begun calling him, stating the reason was that when he first saw him on a skateboard, he saw an Angel in Max. Max hated that he couldn’t be mad anymore, that even though it still hurt like hell to be accused like that, his feelings for the other had overridden that. Maybe it was time for him to step up, stop hiding and speak to him again. Clearly, Bradely still cares or he wouldn’t have spammed him for a week.

He checked the time, noting it was a bit past 8:30 now. Had he really sat there for nearly half an hour staring at some messages? He sighed and unblocked the number, hesitating on how to start the message. Should he be apologetic or upfront? Should he even be doing this at all? His thoughts were interrupted when P.J. and Bobby entered the dorm, making him flinch and nearly drop his phone.

“You still in here all depressed, man?” Bobby asked, kicking off his sneakers and climbing onto the top bunk.

“Ha, ha, very funny. I’m doing just fine, actually.” Max retaliated, sitting up and putting his phone to the side.

“Really? ‘Cause your face tells a different story, like you were contemplating life or death just now or something.” P.J. adds, sitting down on the bottom bunk and taking off his own shoes. “If this is about Bradley, we told you to just talk to him about it. You know he would never hurt you intentionally. That dude loves you.”

Max sighed, taking in what was said by his friends. They were right; in the year or so that he had been dating Bradely, he had always been clinged onto him, praising him and striving to be the best versions of themselves together. Though they had a rough start, it was clear that Bradley’s attraction towards him was real. He ran a hand through his hair, considering it. “Alright, maybe I will..soon.” Max picked up his phone, looking at Bradley’s contact again, the picture of them staring back at him. Bradleys toothless small smile compared to his wide grin. “Nuh-uh, not soon, tomorrow. The more you hold off, the more you’re going to procrastinate and the cycle will start all over again.” Bobby urged, pointing down at Max assertively. “Whatever you’re about to do, do it. Let him know you’re still into him- you are still into him, right?”

Max nodded, returning the look at Bobby. “Of course I am..I can’t stop thinking about him.” “Okay, so put on your big boy pants and let him know!” Bobby exclaimed, encouraging the other.

“Bobby’s right, if you want him back, and to get on good terms, you need to accept his calling.” P.J. added, already laying down as the conversation continued. Max opened up the chat again and started typing, letting his hands do the work as he typed out whatever came to his mind that he thought would be appropriate.

Hey, you were right. I needed some space. I’m ready to talk if you’re ready to explain. Max let out a sigh of relief as he sent the message, putting his phone on the nightstand as he laid down, anxiously waiting for a reply. He looked back up to see what the others had to say, but he saw both Bobby and P.J. already asleep. They were out all night and didn’t really sign up to be his therapists on the situation, so they had no reason to really stay awake for this.

Within a few minutes of staring at his ceiling, moments from falling asleep, his phone pinged. Max quickly took his phone and saw the incoming message from Bradley. Alright. Meet me at the Bean Scene, 6am tomorrow. It’s usually empty at that time, so we can talk then.

Max felt his heart thump in his chest, both of worry and excitement. He would be seeing Bradely again, be in his presence and see him face to face for the first time in what felt like forever. He sent a thumbs up emoji before putting his phone on the charger and getting up. He nearly forgot he had on his outdoor clothes, unlike his friends. He chuckled softly to himself and quickly headed to the bathroom to change into some pajamas before returning.

Once back in bed, Max got comfortable in his covers and rested his head on the cool pillow. He closed his eyes, trying to relax and fall asleep. Tomorrow, he will be seeing his love again. Tomorrow they were going to talk it out and hopefully he would get the closure he would need. Was he even ready to forgive as much as he convinced himself he was? Fuck, he was so scared for tomorrow.

______________________________________________________________

#maxley #max goof #bradley uppercrust iii #pls see this #fanfic #an extremely goofy movie #angst

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xdaddysprincessxx · 1 month

Text

Insatiable Desire

Uncle Ezra x f!reader

Warnings: Feelings 😬 , small mention of ice cream and gummy worms, somno, p in v, uhh that’s mostly it. Not edited or beta’d. All mistakes are mine.

Wc: 1680ish

When you woke up a couple hours later, he was already long gone. Your own emotions all jumbled. You find yourself cuddling your pillow, longing for it to be him. You can still smell his scent on your bed sheets. As badly as you wanna give in to him and your emotions, you know you’ve gotta stop this now. You can’t go getting attached to your Uncle Ezra. He’s an like an uncle to you for gods sake. He should be teaching you how to fish or roasting you for your choices in boyfriends and fashion. Not fucking you and ruining you for any other man.

‘Ugghhh I’m so going to hell. What the fuck am I doing?? Falling for my uncle?! Jesus Christ I’m a sick fuck.’ You think as you finally roll out of bed, collecting your shorts as you put them on to go down the street to the convenient store. You are gonna drown your emotions in some delectable cookies and cream ice cream and gummy worms and move on.

Later. . .

It’s been almost a week since the last time you’ve seen him. He’s moved into the room next to yours and sometimes at night you hear him but you honestly haven’t seen or talked to him. You’ve picked up more shifts at work, working more doubles to keep your mind and body busy. And it works. By the time you come home, you’re barely able to shower before falling into bed, dead to the world. No thoughts of the man you crave ever crossing your mind.

Friday morning you wake up, taking a little extra time to do your makeup and hair for work today. There’s a cute new waiter at work and boy does he have heart eyes for you. A blind man could see the kid has a crush on you. You can’t lie, the attention is nice. You aren’t fully sure if you like like him back or if you just like the attention you get from him. Either way it’s not Ezra and there’s no harm in a little flirting.

Coming down the stairs to grab a pop tart before heading out, you see your dad and Ezra sitting at the table. It’s the first time you’ve seen him and you notice he got a haircut. And he shaved? He still has that delicious mustache but the surrounding stubble is gone. Wearing a black tshirt that hugs his huge arms just right, showcasing his soft tummy and some dark wash jeans that fit so snug you can see how muscular his thighs are. You practically stop in your tracks, almost frozen before you realize your just gawking.

“Good morning kiddo, how’d you sleep? I feel like I haven’t seen ya in awhile.” Ezra asks as he gives you this shit eating grin that lets you know he noticed you staring.

Your cheeks heat up as you try to clear your throat,

“Good morning. Yea I’ve been working a lot. Been short staffed so they need me.” You say trying to act cool even though it came out in a higher pitched tone.

“That’s my girl! Hard worker just like her daddy.” Your dad says with his chest puffed out and a big grin on his face.

“Yup ha ha. Okay well I’m gonna head out. See ya guys.”

You couldn’t turn and walk out of there fast enough, almost tripping over your own feet as you sped towards the door.

It’s a little after midnight by the time you come home. Your feet hurt and your body is sore as you trudge up the stairs. Taking the quickest shower ever, you finally make it to your bed where you crawl under the covers, not even bothering to put pajamas on. As soon as your head hit the pillow, you were lights out. Quickly on your way to dreamland.

It started out dark, as if your eyes had just opened in your dream and had to adjust. You blink a few times before you realize where you are. Your favorite beach, sitting on soft quilt. The ocean breeze still a little chilly, causing you to bring your knees up as you hug them to your chest. That’s when you notice Uncle Ezra come out of the water, nude as the day he was born. Smiling and waving at you, you smile and wave back. Feeling carefree and relaxed. He walks up to you on the quilt when you look down and realize your also naked. Kneeling down he grabs your chin and pulls you in for a kiss. You reach up and pull him down on top of you. His cock just magically goes right in as he lays on top of you. But it feels so real. You know it’s a dream but you can’t help but notice how your physical body feels. He rocks into you a few times but something just feels off to you.

Outside of dreamland, Ezra wraps his arm around your torso to hold you tight to him as his other arm goes underneath your body, hand coming up to cover your mouth. Having spit on his dick to lube up, as he pushed into your noticeably wet heat. Not really even needing the extra added wetness.

‘Must be dreaming of me’ he thinks smugly as he gently rocks into you. He noses the side of your neck as he breathes in your scent. He pushes all the way to the hilt and stops. Throbbing his dick a few times before slowly pulling out. He begins to thrush, shallow at first so he doesn’t jostle you awake too quick. After a few thrusts is when he notices your breathing starts to pick up, he can tell your starting to wake up.

Your eyes slowly flutter open, you’re in your bed. Something feels weird, like your wrapped in your blankets too tightly. There’s something warm on the side of your neck. .

“Shh baby gotta stay quiet for me okay?”

Your eyes shoot wide open when you hear him whisper into your ear, his hand quickly covering your mouth. Your once sleep foggy brain is now wide awake. Now you realize why he felt so real in your dream.

“Mmfmmfffm”

“What’s that kiddo?” Ezra loosens his hold over your mouth as he thrusts deep inside and grinds.

“Ez - ez oooh mm” is all you manage to softly moan out,“W-what are you doing?”

“I missed my girl. I came in here to see if you were awake. I’m sorry baby I just couldn’t help myself. You looked so beautiful sleeping.”

You can’t believe he’s actually fucking you right now. And yet he feels so good rocking into you at this angle. His arms wrapped around you as he takes you. You can’t even form a coherent thought, all you can manage is

“Mm oh fuck, oh fuck, I- I missed you Uncle Ez oh fuck I missed you.” You whimper out, feeling your impending orgasm quickly approaching.

His arms somehow seemed to tighten even more as his thrusts start to speed up. His mouth by your ear as he pants, sticking his tongue out to lick your ear lobe before biting down softly, nibbling on the appendage.

Your orgasm comes crushing just as his own hits him. Pleasure so strong, both your mouths drop open as soft whines and whimpers tumble out. Your own hands grabbing at his arms, holding on for dear life as wave after wave crashes over you.

You both lay there for what feels like forever, just holding onto one another before you turn around in his arms to face him. Looking into his eyes you find a little courage to finally say what you should’ve said awhile ago, you breathe in as your lips part,

“Before you say anything I know you’ve been avoiding me pretty girl.” Ezra says, cutting you off.

“I-I -“

“Shh, I’m not as stupid as you think I am.” He says with a chuckle

“I don’t think you’re stupid,” you say with chagrin, “really it’s me who’s stupid. If I’m honest I i- I missed you. A lot. I I’m sorry.”

And there goes your original plan to cut things off with him. Going down the drain. Yea you’re going to hell for this. But fuck it. You want this with him. You like him. And god does it feel relieving to say it out loud.

“It’s just. . You’re my uncle a-and. . ,” you sigh, “I don’t even know what I’m trying to say. I really like you? I guess. That sounds so pathetic and childish but I do. I want you all to myself.”

You manage to spit out before looking down, unable to hold his gaze as you confess your feelings.

“Hey look at me.” He says softly as he puts his finger under your chin to lift your face to look up at his,

“I like you too baby. You’re not pathetic or childish. Hell you’ve had me hooked way before I ever got a taste of your sweet cunt, pretty girl. You’re mine, baby. And I’m yours.”

Your eyes widen as those words leave his lips. Ezra closes the gap between you and softly kisses your stunned lips.

Ezra pulls away with a sad expression,

“Unfortunately I got some bad news babydoll. I gotta leave for a bit. Nothing bad just a work trip but I’ll be gone for a month at most. Hopefully. You gonna miss me?”

“Yea” you whisper softly as your eyes fill with tears wanting to overflow and run down your cheeks.

“Let’s just enjoy this night honey, let’s not worry about the future or tomorrow. Nothing else matters but me and you, right here right now.” He says with a definite tone as he nudges your nose with his. You nudge his nose back and smile,

“‘Kay”

You press your lips against his as you fall into him. Tongues exploring the others mouth, lips caressing the other, you and your uncle Ezra spend what feels like hours just getting lost in each others kiss.

A/n: soooo how are we feeling? 🙂 I will warn you, yes we are feeling feelings and expressing them however Uncle Ezra is a manipulative, greedy man. At the end of the day he is fully using her. No this will not end well but the end is not close, so let’s enjoy this ride babies

#ezra #ezra prospect #uncle Ezra #pedro pascal #uncle Ezra x freader #ezra x reader #ezra x you #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal cinematic universe

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vicsnook · 2 months

Text

Good Luck, Babe! Pt. 4 (The End) | Jake Seresin x Reader

word count: 3081

warnings: birth process, ppd, surprises

notes: Hello!! Y’all I’m so taken aback by all the love and support I’ve gotten on this series. Seriously from the bottom of my heart, thank you so much. This last part I hold dear to my heart and I hope y’all enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it. Please as always don’t forget to like and reblog! 🫶🏼

The drive to the hospital is a blur. I can hardly even think between Nat yelling at me to take deep breaths and Maverick in the backseat calling everyone to meet us at the hospital. Of course, it’s a different hospital than Jake’s currently at because we won't be married until next month.

The contractions constantly knock the air out of me and all I know is that I want this baby out of me and Jake by our side. Maverick lets me know that my mom is on her way to the hospital but it’ll be a couple of hours until her arrival. The reality that I’m going to have to give birth alone hits me like a truck and I sob into the nurse's arms as they help me out of the car and onto a wheelchair.

The check-in is quick thankfully and I’m whisked off into a room where the doctor tells me I am most definitely in labor but not dilated enough yet to give birth. I’m told my contractions are mild and I want to scream if they are going to be worse than this. Nat and Bob now sit by my side while the rest of the team is out in the waiting room.

I squeeze their hands as the contractions worsen and three hours later, I am bathed in my sweat and ready to pass out. The nurses are chipper and try to lift my spirits but all I want is Jake. Nat and Bob leave when the doctor comes back in to examine me and I zone out, thinking of how much life has changed in the past few months and realizing how I have truly fallen in love with Jake Seresin.

** 7 hours later **

I am holding Nat and Penny’s hands tightly as I push. The epidural helps somewhat with the pain but still, it comes in waves. My sweat and tears mix as I push my baby girl and hurt about Jake missing her birth and how disappointed he will be about it. I squeeze one last time and then my world stops as the silence is interrupted by my baby's cry.

Nat and Penny hug my neck as the nurses wrap her in a towel and place her on my chest. Her big eyes stare intently into mine and my heart feels like it’s going to burst with joy. Her blonde hair is the same shade as her dad's and I shiver at the thought that he might never get to meet her.

The nurses take her away soon after to do some routine tests and my mom comes into the room. She rushes to me, enveloping me in a much-needed hug and I let myself cry in her arms. “Shh, baby it’s alright. Everything’s gonna be okay. I gotcha,” she whispers into my ear and I feel so exhausted that I don't even protest when she tucks me in. Restless sleep coming soon afer.

The next two days fly by with tests and bonding with my sweet girl. My body is incredibly sore and I’m told I need to rest but by the time we make it to the car, I’m begging my mom to drive me to the base to see Jake. She reluctantly agrees and as we head there I pray once more that Jake will wake up. Maverick meets me at the gate and hands me the pass that Admiral “Cyclone” facilitated, telling my mom to go home and that he’ll drop me and the baby off after. I wave her off and then join Maverick in the car.

“Y/N, I want to prepare you for what you’re going to see. Jake, well he’s in rough shape. His face is badly bruised and so is his body. I don’t know if now is the right time to go see him.” Maverick says, pulling off the gate lot and heading for the hospital. Jake’s condition wasn’t new to me due to Rooster telling me after much insistence on my part yesterday. All I wanted was to be by his side.I turn to him and reply “I know, Maverick. I appreciate the concern but I need to see him,” and he nods, turning into the hospital parking lot.

The walk down the hall is almost excruciating partly because my body is on fire and my heart is in pieces. Maverick offers to take the baby while I go in to see Jake but I refuse, taking a deep breath before walking inside the room.

The room is anything but silent. Jake’s hooked up to all kinds of machines, all making different noises and my eyes water when they meet his face. I hold on to the wall as I make my way closer to the bed and grab his limp hand. God, why him and not me? I ask myself as I take in the damage that Rooster didn’t accurately describe.

Jake’s face is so badly bruised that I have to look away or else I won’t be able to contain the tears. Sinking into the chair beside him, I still continue to hold onto his hand while picking up our sleeping baby from the carrier. This wasn’t what I had in mind for our first time all together.

“Hi honey, I don’t know if you can hear me but I read somewhere that coma patients can hear people around them so here goes nothing.”

“You were in an accident a few days ago which left you a little, well, more than a little bruised and in a coma. The news caused me to go into early labor and well I had our baby. God, Jake it’s so hard being here without you. Giving birth was so hard and I’m so sad that you couldn’t be there but I promise you, if you wake up right now, I’ll not only marry you right now but I’ll give you another baby too. Can you do that?”

I look at him hopefully but his eyes remain closed and his body unmoving. A few tears escaped and I know it was wishful thinking but our relationship seemed like out of a movie so it was worth a shot seeing if that would wake him. Our daughter sleeps soundly still so I decide to describe her to him, hoping that he can hear me.

“And you’ll never guess what I named her.” Silence. “Okay, fine, I’ll tell you,” I say trying to smile. “Jackie Meredith Seresin. After her grandpa and my sister. I hope that’s okay with you. I know how much your dad meant to you and well you know what Mer means to me. Please Jake, I beg you, please wake up. I’ll do anything”

The desperation in my voice does nothing as he continues to “sleep” and I want to be angry at the world and scream until my voice is hoarse. Jake doesn't deserve this. We don’t deserve this. I can’t even do this without him.

My pity party is interrupted by Maverick letting me know that visiting hours are almost over and that we have to go, I want to beg him to let us stay but instead, I nod and follow him out. Jackie wakes up on the way home and her cries are almost deafening. I try soothing her but nothing seems to work. Tears spill down my cheeks as my mom meets us in the driveway of the apartment and helps us inside.

Jackie still won’t latch on to me to eat and I’m forced to give her a bottle once again, feeling like a failure of a mother. My mom tries reassuring me but nothing resonates. I just want to sleep and wake up to everything being okay.

The weeks pass and things get worse every day. Since my mom left due to work, the apartment is a wreck, I haven't showered in 2 days, and Jackie won’t sleep through the night. I trip over a box on the way to grab Jackie’s bottle and that’s all it takes for the tears to come flooding out of my eyes. I’ve never felt so alone before. It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

I let myself collapse to the floor and sob for Jake, the team that has been deployed for the past 2 weeks, my mom, and really everything. But I don’t get to wallow in my sorrow for long as Jackie’s cries interrupt me and I haul myself off the floor to try and calm her down.

The afternoon feels endless in between finally getting Jackie to fall asleep and trying to clean up. I give up on cleaning soon after doing the dishes, exhaustion taking hold on me.

As I head to the living room to check on Jackie and try to take a nap, the doorbell interrupts me. My heart skips a beat like it does now every time because I think it’s Jake. Sprinting to it, I pull it open only to find Penny and Amelia smiling at me on the other side.

“Hey Y/N! We figured you might need some help around here. We hope we’re not intruding,” said Amelia, smiling at me and I hold on to the door frame to stop myself from collapsing in her arms and crying some more.

“Thank you both so much, um if y’all don’t mind watching Jackie, so I can take a quick shower. That’s really all. I can clean up after that,” I say, moving aside so they can walk inside. Embarrassed about the mess they’re about to see.

Amelia plays with Jackie who recently woke up from her nap and I head to the bathroom for a much needed shower. The hot water soothes my aching body and I sit on the shower floor to wash my hair. Feeling brand new when I exit.

I catch my reflection in the mirror and shudder. My stomach is covered in stretch marks, my undereyes are so dark that I fear no concealer could help cover them, and my legs have random bruises along them. After that, I go about my routine, avoiding the mirror while trying to make myself look decent.

By the time I make it back out to the living room, Amelia has managed to get Jackie to fall asleep and Penny has left the living room and kitchen spotless. I tear up, grateful for my newfound family.

“My goodness, you guys really didn’t need to do all this,” I say, giving Penny a hug. “It’s what we’re here for darling. Now go get some rest, you really need it,” Penny responds, shushing my protests and leading me back to my room which I now notice is clean as well and the bed has brand new sheets.

“Maverick picked those, we hope you like them,” she says, referring to the bedsheets and I nod, not trusting my words. I lay down and let sleep envelop me, thinking maybe things will be okay.

I wake to the smell of bacon and before reality sinks in, I think it’s Jake. Penny is in the kitchen making breakfast and Amelia is bottle feeding Jackie and I honestly can’t be more grateful for them.

They head off around noon, promising to return in a few days as I wave goodbye from the door. The house eerily silent after they’re gone. I look around at the half packed boxes for the house that Jake and I were supposed to get and debate whether to leave them packed or unpack them. Laziness winning out when I leave them unpacked.

I can’t believe tomorrow will be a month since Jake has been in a coma. Visiting hours are so short that when I do make it out there, they fly by and I don’t want to come home.

Loud thunder startles Jackie awake and her cries are instant. I try rocking her but she’s beside herself and nothing seems to help. The storm outside seems never ending too which doesn’t help.

Lighting lights up the living room before another loud thunder strikes, making the windows rattle. I rock my baby back and forth and pray for the storm to let up.

She finally starts to calm down and is nearly asleep when the doorbell startles her awake and I mentally curse at whoever is on the other side. I hold on to her and look out the window but the rain makes it impossible to tell who it is. Turning to the kitchen, I grab Jake’s pistol from the table and set Jackie on her playpen.

The doorbell rings again and I stand behind the door, holding on to the gun. I breathe and pull it open, nearly passing out when I see who’s on the other side.

“Please don’t shoot me, honey. It’s just me. I’m home,” says Jake from the other side of the door. My brain is short circuiting as I take him in. My knees buckling when my brain finally catches up but Jake is catching me before I hit the ground. “It’s okay baby, everything’s okay,” he coos in my ear as I sob into his arms, hugging him tightly, trying to convince myself that he really is here.

I pull back and examine his face, his bruises mostly gone and the cuts starting to scar. I hold his face in my hands and kiss him so deeply that when we part we are both gasping for air and I notice he’s crying too.

A small smile reaches my lips as he caresses my cheek and then we are interrupted by Jackie, who stares at us curiously. Jake’s eyes meet mine and I nod.

He gets up carefully extending his hand to me and then we walk the short way to the playpen. “Can I pick her up?” he asks, staring at his daughter and I think I might collapse again. “Yes,” I stammer out, and watch him kneel to grab her.

Her cries stop as soon as she’s in his arms and she stares curiously at him as tears slide down his cheeks. “Daddy’s home, babygirl and he’s never leaving you again,” he says, rocking her in his arms.

Jackie falls asleep quickly soon after and we set her in the crib then start some tea. He sits beside me on the couch and I snuggle up to his side, trying not to squeeze him too tightly. We haven’t even said more than a few words until now.

He caresses my hair and I lean closer to his chest, listening to his heart beat. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there baby, I promise you, I will never let my job risk that again,” he murmurs against my hair.

“It wasn’t your fault, Jake. All that matters is that you’re okay.” He nods, but counters, “Y/N, I’m leaving the dagger squad, I’m gonna take a job that isn’t as dangerous. The past month was agony, I tried so hard to open my eyes but I couldn’t and to hear you suffering crushed me. I can’t fail you again.”

I hug him tighter and ask, “You could hear me?” “Of course darling, and I swear to you I tried waking up every time. I’m sorry it took this long.” He pulls away, his eyes meeting mine and I can see the sincerity in them.

“Just promise me that you’ll never leave us again. We can’t do this without you.” I whisper, and he kisses my forehead, promising he won’t.

I fall asleep soon after on his chest and get the best rest I’ve gotten in months now that everything’s okay.

** 3 months later **

We wave goodbye to Penny and Jackie one last time as Jake pulls away from the curb. Jake won’t tell me where we’re going, only that it’s going to be a great surprise. I try to not be tense on the way, smiling back at him and clutching his hand.

He pulls into the Hard Deck parking lot and I turn to him, arching a brow. “You’ve got to wear this,” he says pulling a blindfold out of his pocket and I chuckle, letting him put it on.

I feel the sand beneath my shoes and I know we’re either beside the bar or past it but Jake is still not stopping. My nerves are on edge but I’m also bursting with excitement, Jake’s surprises are always good.

We come to a stop and he tells me to take off my blindfold. I squeal as soon as it’s off and I see he’s on one knee and there’s a gorgeous arch filled with flowers in front of us. My eyes tear up as I look down at him and just scream yes over and over before he can even ask, getting down on my knees and pulling him in for a kiss.

The ring is absolutely gorgeous but nothing like the man I’m going to marry. “Well darlin, I know you just said yes but I still gotta ask, will you do me the honor of marrying me?”

“Yes! Of course,” I squeak excitedly as he slides the ring on my finger and pulls me in for a hug, whispering in my ear “the courthouse doesn’t close for another few hours if you want to really make it official.”

I pull back and stare at him in disbelief. Could he be any more perfect? “Yes! A million times yes, come on!” I respond getting up and pulling him with me to the car.

Jake drives to the courthouse, his million dollar smile still plastered on his face as he kisses my hand. I think back to how much we’ve been through and can only smile. It’s all been so worth it.

The dagger squad, Penny, Jackie, and Amelia are all waiting for us on the courthouse steps and I squeeze Jake’s hand as I turn to thank him. He couldn’t have done this better even if he tried.

Jackie plays with one of my curls as the judge exclaims happily, “You may kiss the bride!”. Carefully he places a soft kiss on my lips and one on Jackie’s forehead and I spy Rooster tearing up behind him.

As we descend the courthouse steps to our friends cheering, they pull us in for a big group hug and it’s then I truly know that our life is perfect and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

extra note: I know Jake’s mom wasn’t mentioned and some of you will wonder where she’s at. In this series she abandoned Jake and his father when he was little. That is why he doesn’t talk about her at all as he barely knew her.

taglist: @rosiahills22 , @harperdoodle , @weirdothatwritess , @mrsevans90 , @smoothdogsgirl

#top gun fandom #top gun maverick #jake hangman seresin #jake seresin x reader #jake hangman x reader #jake seresin

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pom-seedss · 2 months

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Art Booth....Mild Success!

So! I did my first event!

We got rained out after an hour and a half.

I didn't get to set up my table the way I wanted to, and have to rearrange for next time.

I only got 1 sale, and it was an item that I wasn't intending to sell (my business card holder, a rainbow shark). It was the first piece I ever painted, and brought him just for extra table flaire.

But someone was so desperate to have him that they came back to the table when we were packing up and asked again if he could have the shark. I started hmming and hawing but realized that without this I wouldn't have gotten a single sale....

.... but more than that the shine in the guy's eye looking at Bruce just made me melt. Bruce was not my best piece, the yellow and the purple of the rianbow were pretty washed out by my standards, and I never actually did INSIDE the mouth but there were some weird paint splotches in it.

So I made sure he was looked over throughly before accepting, and then the guy read the full phrase on the shark for the first time (Be Proud, Be You... Or Bite them) and cracked up. I was going to say I would give him Bruce for $40, but the guy shoved $50 at me and said "Your others were $40, and this guy is bigger, so $50 seems fair!" (Bruce was NOT bigger or more expensive than the other figures I had) and basically just skipped away with the shark after that before I could protest.

I had a bunch of Scene-type kids oogle my stuff and make so many jokes to one another, it was nice.

It was a nice day out.

I am fucking exhausted, coupled with a bit of a cry-for-Isolde session at the end of the night (ya ha that lasted like an hour and a half) my chest hurts SO BADLY right now because of all the activity. (Like muscle sore, not lung-sore if you get my drift?)

I have another event this week on Saturday, I have so much to shuffle around and re-plan. I am glad I started with the super small event though, there were like... maybe 100 people ish at the event, not all of whom came to peruse my wears, but it was enough to set up and figure things out a little. Also it takes a little over an hour to set things up, I hope to get that time down next time though.

....Okay now I have in my head that I have to shout "Fine Dwarven Crafts, Straight From Orzamar" at least once in my next booth. Please talk me out of that. I don't even have any Dragon Age themed things.

Anyway! For anyone who wanted to know how it went!

Mild success!

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poorlymanufacturedgirl · 6 months

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forgot to take my progesterone last night so that fucks my sleep up and ive been awake since 3:30am and a couple hours into work my chest starts hurting bad (known problem, i have a cardio appt on thursday) so i go home early ans now my white ass has vertigo which i havent gotten this badly in a couple years and i gotta say this is a little too silly for me to handle right now

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mywifeleftme · 8 months

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297: I Giganti // Terra in bocca (Poesia di un delitto)

Terra in bocca (poesia di un delitto) I Giganti 1971, Ri-Fi

Today was the day I think I finally turned heel as a record collector. There’s a cute little shop not far from my house that specializes in CDs, but has a modest used vinyl selection. Most of it is very basic fare (I’ve never seen so many Blood, Sweat & Tears records in one place in my damn life), but all priced like it’s ten years ago and the vinyl speculating bubble never happened. I ducked in for the first time last week, and after some assiduous digging plucked some outrageous gems: an original pressing of Junior Kimbrough’s All Night Long and a Canadian OP of Richard & Linda Thompson’s I See the Bright Lights Tonight! The first goddamn Exuma record for $11! I even found Roger Miller’s debut, a theoretically dirt common record that’s nonetheless eluded me for years. I walked out with easily $250 worth of squeaky-clean wax I actually wanted for less than $100.

But rather than just enjoying my good fortune, it set the blackly gleaming coils of avarice inside me into motion. I’d snagged a cool little compilation of Bengali playback songs by Aarti Mukherjee for $12 from their modest little Indian music section (a record I had to add to Discogs myself), and while grooving to it I decided to look up a couple of the others I remembered seeing there. That’s when I discovered the Lata Mangeshkar record I’d briefly considered at $15 last sold on Discogs for almost $380. Reader, I try to suppress my Jungian Deals for Deals’ Sake shadow, but through my father’s side of the family tree I’ve inherited a deep streak of flea market cretinism. I fear this situation has made it ascendant. The shop was closed the day I made my dark Discogs discovery, so I waited, slavering, for the following morning, whereupon I told my coworkers I had to walk a traveling friend’s dog and would pick up the hour at the end of my shift, and shambled to the store to see if my dusty prize was still there.

Portrait of the collector courtesy the Royal Arachnological Museum

I felt as though I were robbing the mom and pop shop as I clutched the LP to my chest, telling myself that at least their small selection of recent extreme metal records were neatly labeled with little post-it notes that indicated the shopkeep had compared his stock with Amazon’s algorithmically-deranged marketplace, but I knew I was only lying to myself. These poor sods didn’t know about Discogs. Only I did, and it had merely cost me a shred of my soul. I bought the Mangeshkar, and two Bengali records of unclear value, though one is autographed. And I bought this dorky Italo prog record reissue on blue vinyl that I have far less legitimate musical interest in than the Mangeshkar, purely because some Greek psychopath is trying to sell his copy for $300 US, and other pressings are starting at $75 and up. It’s a concept album about the Mafia that was so thoroughly censored by Italy’s corrupt media it was practically unknown till the ‘90s, which, as a backstory, objectively rocks. A lot of it sounds like Jesus Christ Superstar, which objectively sucks. I Giganti thank Karl Marx on the back of the sleeve but include a poem by the horny proto-fascist Gabriele D’Annunzio in the gatefold, who pioneered Mussolini’s tactic of haranguing crowds from his balcony window and in an unrelated incident later fell out of a window and hurt himself so badly he had to withdraw from politics, which is confusing. The album itself is… fine really, has some cool Mellotron, though I’d rather hear Goblin play The Godfather theme. Someday I will try to sell it for a profit, but if God is just the bubble will collapse before then and I’ll be entombed with it.

youtube

297 reviews in, I am finally lost.

297/365

#i giganti #italian prog #progressive rock #greed #avarice #'70s music #unflattering self-portraiture #'70s prog #music review #vinyl record #this is so stupid #i am so stupid

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chickensoup-4-mysoul · 1 year

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herculean(drrr x f! reader)

chapter 6/7 - Her Savior / Concert Bootlegs and Domestic Arguments

synopsis: you stumble across a mysterious chatroom and password-protected website / you spend a day with an unexpected person!

word count: 4,975 words

a/n: an amalgamate chapter for you!

warnings: N/A

"after all the things were said the mystery has gone from my head i thought that i had worked it out now i know what love is about,,

mysterious vibes - blackbyrds

....lia......

...m....ly........

..n..c..a.......

.......(Y/N)!

"(Y/N)!"

Your vision returns in waves, spotting in and out like a photo being set aflame. The first sensation to reach your consciousness is the thin layer of paper covering your body. It does little to soothe the shivers racking your body, yet you still felt so so hot . A face begins to form in front of you. It's so blurry, but you begin to make out the sharp frames of glasses. Sickly pale, almost translucent skin. Thin, shoulder-length hair with scruffy facial hair to match. This was the face of.... the face of...

"I'm so glad you're alright, honey."

Honey...? Who was honey? Was that you? Your name...?

You pull yourself up into a sitting position, taking in how your bones seemed to creak with each movement. A pulse swells in your temple at the sudden exposure to a bright light and you hiss. "Where am I? W-who are you?"

Vision still blurry, the person beside you isn't completely clear. A look of surprise melts into an affectionate smile. You feel a hand caress your the side of your damp forehead, fingers dry and cracked and calloused. "It's me, sweetheart. It's your father, you're at home. Darling, you were hurt very badly."

"It's odd...out of everything that I could have remembered, I do remember getting hit by that car," you reflect, now lost in the memory, "Anyway, Father took extra special care to restore me as much as he could. I met with all sorts of special teachers over video call and he made sure that I read tons of books and watch a lot of TV. I was so busy all of the time that I never really had time to go out and interact with other teenagers. It doesn't completely fill the gap, but eventually it started to feel like I had never lost my memory in the first place!"

You couldn't even imagine the pain that your father was going through. It must have been hard enough as it is as a single father, raising an adopted daughter. With you suffering from amnesia on top of that, he must have garnered so much judgement from onlookers. But he persevered, and raised you back to health in the most intelligent way possible. He gave you a second--no, third chance at life and you owed him the entire world for that.

"I'm really sorry that you had to go through that." Anri's voice pulls you from a trance you hadn't realized you were in.

"Oh, don't worry about me. I'm doing great now. And hey, the best thing to come out of all of this? All of those magazines that Father had me read are how I got into fashion! Well, apparently I always loved fashion--but they helped me get my skills back!" You hadn't meant to drown the girl's spirits in your tragic backstory. It had felt good to get off of your chest and it seemed that it didn't change her opinion of you. "So, Erika and I may be some of your first friends, Anri, but technically, you two are some of mine! Instead of worrying about the past, let's make as many memories as we can right now. Deal?"

Anri stares at the hand you offer her, stunned by your spontaneous life lesson. Shaking it off with a smile, she accepts the handshake, smiling with the most determination you had ever seen her muster. "Deal."

...

As the two of you left Erika's apartment, you can't help be feel like you're both taking a walk of shame, donning the same clothes you wore when you had arrived last night. Anri's home actually turns out to be on the way to yours, so you drop her off before heading home. The first order of business was a shower, a cozier set of PJs, and perhaps a couple more hours of sleep. Erika's air mattress was alright, but you would die if you didn't get some time wrapped up in your own sheets as well.

You're proud to say that you only slept an additional 2 hours, and you still had 8 hours until sundown. Maybe you had a bit of a sleep cycle issue. You grab your phone from the night stand, ready for your routine morning-scroll. However, you notice that you have a notification. Opening the bubble, you realize that it was three messages from the same number.

It hadn't been saved yet, you noticed, and there was no history of previous calls or messages. Your skepticism rised at the sight of three internet links. What if it was some sort of virus? You opened up a search engine and looked up the title of the first link: SubaGen. The top result was for an app, one that you could download onto your phone or laptop.

Instant text translator; Type your messages in your language and watch as everyone instantly understands you!

Wow, this seems really useful! You wish you had found something like this sooner. Even with your education, your typing speed during text conversations with your friends still needed quite a bit of work. It seemed that this app would help you type must faster! After confirming that the app itself was not, in fact, a virus, you downloaded it onto your phone and made a mental note to download it onto your laptop as well.

You were now a bit more trusting of the unknown number now, wondering if they were some sort of advertisement robot that had randomly typed your number. The second link has no obvious title amongst the stream of numbers and letters. However, it still had the format of a typical url, and clicking on it opened up your phone's internet browser.

It took you to a page with a simple black background. There's no title anywhere on the screen, just a white typing bar labeled "Screen Name", and a scrolling option menu full of different colored squares and fun-shaped avatars. Was this some type of forum? You randomly pick a purple square and one of the avatars with a cute pair of angel wings on it. After typing in a screen name, you hit the "Enter" button and watch as you're taken to another black screen. At the very bottom reads a simple white text.

Sora has entered the chat.

The screen is not empty for long, however, as an orange icon and speech bubble pop up, followed by blue, followed by black.

Kanra: Hey, hey, HEY!! Who is this!? Taro Tanaka: Sora...? Setton: It's been a while since we've had someone new.

The text is in english, you notice, and you wonder if these people are speaking it, or if that app you had downloaded was working its magic. No new messages appear for a moment and you realize that they're waiting for you to say something.

Sora: Hello! Sora: I'm not intruding, am I? Setton: Don't worry about it. You had the link, so I guess you were meant to be here Kanra: Yeah, who did send him the link!? ΣΣ(ﾟДﾟ;)

'Him'? That's funny, they seemed to think that you were a boy. You decide to go along with it, thinking that maintaining a persona would be fun.

Taro Tanaka: So Sora, the three of us happen to be in Ikebukuro. Any chance you'd be around that area? Sora: Yes, I am! What an odd agreement! Sora: Coincidence, I mean. Setton: Looks like you got the writing mixed up, haha. Happens to me sometimes too. Kanra: Still, seems like a rookie mistake that a foreigner would make! Kanra: You wouldn't happen to be a foreigner, would you? (ʘᗩʘ’)

Well, shoot, so much for the persona. This darn app had gone a blown your cover for you! Guess it wasn't always 100% accurate. A small window pops up on your screen, drawing your attention. The black speech bubble alerts you that it's Setton.

Setton: Kanra's always like this. Hope she doesn't scare you off. Not that I'm assuming that you are, but I'm actually a foreigner myself, so no judgement here. :) Sora: That actually means a lot, thanks!

Sora: Nope, just a typo. Just woke up from a nap. Kanra: A nap, huh? Must be in a reaaal peaceful part of Ikebukuro, then! Kanra: Speaking of peaceful, have you all heard? Kanra: There was a gang war today! Taro Tanaka: What!? Setton: Really!? Kanra: Yup, at least, that depends... Kanra: On whether or not Shizuo Heiwajima is really in the Dollars.

There goes his name again. You would have been surprised by the revelation, but it's not hard to believe that Shizuo had gotten into another battle of some sorts. However, the idea that the man was in a gang?? That was ridiculous! Kanra explained how members of the "Yellow Scarves" (Another gang? That name was kinda cheesy) had picked a fight with Shizuo, believing that taking him down would give them some sort of leverage against the Dollars. Shaking your head, you interrupt Kanra's spiel.

Sora: No way Shizuo would be part of something as petty as a color gang. Kanra: Hmm??? Defending his honor are we?? (・о・) Taro Tanaka: Sora, do you know Shizuo??

YOU WERE SO BAD AT THIS. God, now you know that if given the chance, fleeing the country and changing your identity was not a good option.

Sora: Of course not! I just don't see why someone so strong would need the protection of a gang! Kanra: Maybe with a normal scrappy color gang, but with the dollars it'd be different. Setton: What do you mean, Kanra? Kanra: I mean, the Dollars aren't all about showing off muscle and starting fights. They've been linked to a lot of acts of heroism around Ikebukuro! Sure, there are probably a few strays, but it's clear what the Dollars are really about! Taro Tanaka: You really think that, Kanra? Kanra: But even then, they must have done something to really piss off the Yellow Scarves to make them try and target Shizuo Heiwajima!

The way that she said his name irked you, as if he was some sort of urban legend and not a real life person. You avoided jumping to his defense again in fear of blowing your cover.

You spent hours chatting with your new friends. Kanra was a bit of a big mouth and a gossip, but you felt as though you were learning more from her now than you had since you first got to Ikebukuro. Sure, the van gang hinted you about the gang wars and slashings, but Kanra explained them in great detail. How color gangs were making a resurgence about the city. How there was an urban legend about a headless rider that many were recently starting to claim were true. When she described the rider, you couldn't help but picture the mysterious woman you had recently met.

Setton and Taro, probably having heard all of this many times before, made their leave, kindly giving their goodbyes and nice to meet you's before leaving the chat.

Kanra: Honestly, Sora, it's hard to believe that you didn't know about all of this! Sora: I don't get out much. Can I ask you one more thing? Kanra: ఠ_ఠ Sora: Can you tell me about Izaya Orihara??

You were a curious sort...almost nosy, you admit it. Even after Erika's plain explanation, the man's name still lingered on your mind. He was a jerk, right. He had dirt on everyone, true. Nobody liked him, okay. Still, you couldn't shake the feeling that there was something about him. An itching to learn everything that you possibly could. It was all of those detective shows you were watching.

Kanra: Hmmm, not really! Maybe you should just meet him yourself!

Kanra has left the chat.

Well, goodbye, you guess. You sigh, letting your phone drop onto the bed and rubbing your now bleary eyes. That much screen time was most definitely not good for you. With how late it's gotten, you treat yourself to another good ole in. After ordering some delivery, you extract yourself from your bed and migrate to the couch in the entertainment space. As you're scrolling through different movie options, you suddenly remember the third message that the unknown number had sent you.

It seemed that the source was trustworthy. Afterall, it had led you to a really useful app, as well as a way to communicate with new people that were also in the area. Maybe the third link would yield equally pleasant results. As you scroll back to the message, you notice that right under the link is the word "baccano". Maybe another weirdly specific app?

The link took you to yet another black page. However, what was most striking was the white symbol that overtook most of the screen. A large circle with the word DOLLARS on it, written in small multicolored dots. The name instantly stood out to you, identical to that of the gang that Kanra had been talking about. You stare at the page, battling the inner conflict rising within you. You would admit; the app was useful and the chatroom was fun, but what could you possibly want to do with a gang? Granted, it wasn't any old sort of gang if what Kanra said was true. It was a "good" gang.

Besides, the website seemed to be password protected! No way you could have anything to do with it, how could you ever get the password...?? ...

You relent, typing in the one word that might work.

baccano

The bar disappears, replaced by a spinning, dotted circle. Then...

W e l c o m e .

Looks like you're doing this.

...

"but when she made me laugh doom doom right to my tomb i love that it's not hard to be in a place where laughing's easy,,

goodie bag - still woozy

Over the past couple of weeks, you had gotten pretty close to the van gang. While it seemed like Kyohei was the only one with his head screwed on properly, they were all surprisingly wise in their own special ways. You're sure that without them by your side, you would not have adjusted to new life in Ikebukuro nearly as easily. That being said, you had to admit that you may have gotten closer to some than others. Erika, as one of your few female friends, was easiest to get close to. Kyohei was open to you from the moment that the two of you met, and was kind enough to engage in conversation with you whenever Walker and Erika were off on another one of their tirades. Even Walker, who often sat next to you when you were stuffed into the back of the van together, had familiarized himself with you.

Not nearly as much could be said for the driver of said van. Saburo was talkative enough during your group hangouts, sure, but you hadn't gotten any one on one time with him at all. This was all that you could think of as you occupied Kyohei's usual position, sitting at Saburo's left side as he silently drove his beloved van. You had asked the gang about going on one of your usual hangouts, but for what felt like the first time (at least since you had met them), everyone had work. They all had such niche professions, Kyohei as a carpenter, Erika as a jewelry maker, and Walker as an ice sculptor, but they were still oddly fitting. You didn't say this because it was so obviously offensive, but you couldn't help but find it just as fitting that Saburo was...er....unemployed.

When Saburo was the only one that didn't claim to have plans, you didn't see any reason not to just hang out with him. He seemed nice enough, you were sure you guys would get along fine in no time. However, the moment you opened the van door to meet his sharp silent gaze and he greeted you with a simple nod, you worried that there were going to be problems. As you enjoyed(?) the painfully silent ride, you realized that the two of you hadn't even made a decision as to what it was you were going to do. For now, you settled for not so subtly sneaking glances at him. His features were distinct from the other males in his social circle, you noticed. Unlike Kyohei's rugged, masculine features and Walker's boyish, youthful face, Saburo's face was sharp and almost feminine?? but really nice. Framed by the long locks of his hair, you'd call it pretty if he wouldn't be super weirded out by that.

You're foolish to think that just because his eyes are on the road, he wouldn't notice you deconstructing his entire facial structure. His pupils flick over to your direction for a second and of course, you don't look away fast enough for him not to catch you. You force a laugh before he can say anything. "Do you like music? I could really go for some music right now! What kind of music do you like???" He shrugs, tilting his head toward the compartment right in front of you.

"The guys are always talkin', so I don't really have music on that often. Might be a CD in there somewhere."

Taking that as permission, you hesitantly open the glove compartment. It's surprisingly empty, save for a small black book, a thick packet, and a sleeve of CDs. You pick up the sleeve and randomly pull one out, finding the CD slot and pushing it in. It wasn't labeled, but whatever it was, it didn't matter to you, as long as you could listen to something. However, whatever you were preparing yourself to hear, it certainly wasn't this.

The light, melodic jingle of a girl's voice. It was oddly... poppy??? For anything that Saburo would have. "Uh, does Erika keep her stuff in here sometimes?" Saburo quirks an eyebrow in your direction. "No, everything in here is mine." You mutter a quiet 'oh', deciding not to question further. This is the music he liked, huh...? Now that you thought about it, you did remember Walker and Erika teasing him about his apparent obsession with some singer girl. Just how obsessed with her was he?

"It's catchy! I don't think I've heard music like this before," you admit.

"You think so!?" He's the loudest you've heard him since he started cursing out that guy who almost hit him on the road, with a look in his eyes you've only ever seen on Walker and Erika. You deeply concerned by the fact that his focus is very much not on the road, but you relish in the feeling of seeing him so excited. "You're absolutely right! Nobody makes music like Ruri!"

That's it, Ruri was her name! Ruri Hijiribe, you think. You smile, definitely seeing how starstruck he was. You may have just found a way in. "Yeah, she has a beautiful voice. Any idea where I could listen to more of her music?"

The van skids to a stop. You're barely able to keep yourself from flying into the dashboard, yelping in surprise as you lurch forward. Peeking at one of the sideview mirrors, you notice that he's stopped on the side of the road. When you look back at Saburo you squeal. He's leaning over the middle console, not necessarily invading your personal space, but certainly a lot closer than you'd ever expect him to be.

"Do you mean that?" You have no idea why he sounds so serious, or why he's whispering, for that matter. You do, however, notice for the first time how intense his gaze is, the sharpness of his eyes eliciting feelings from you that you would rather not be feeling right now.

"Um, y-yeah!" your voice cracks and you hate yourself. "I'm always down for some new music."

Maybe it was because of the unfamiliarity, or the plain fact that he was a man, but you never really expected to visit Saburo's apartment, let alone have it be the first home of a man's you'd ever visited. It was small and...neater than you expected (you needed to be more forgiving in your standards for this guy). However, you had very little time to properly inspect it as Saburo practically dragged you to the couch (no you were not flustered by his grasp on your wrist) and slammed a CD player down on the coffee table in front of you. From one of the drawers on the TV stand, he pulled out another sleeve of CDs.

You were in for a very long night. It wasn't unenjoyable, you admit. Saburo talked you through hours of Ruri Hijiribe's discography. It was astounding to you that a single artist could produce so much music. When you say this to him, he's very obviously pleased. After CD's, you move on to music videos, and from those, you move on to recordings of her live performance. This segment, now with something for you to look at, was much more tolerable. You even began to join Saburo in his wonder, openly commenting on the designs of Ruri Hijiribe's costumes. He seemed to like whenever you had something nice to say, so you didn't bother holding back your comments.

"I just adore that body piece! It's very girly, but the exposed back and navel adds just the right amount of edginess to it. It's very unique for a pop idol."

This interest of Saburo's was very unexpected, but you came to appreciate that about him. You were just happy to have broken away from that awkward silence. Besides, it was pleasant to watch him express such enthusiasm for something as unconventional as pop music.

"(Y/N)?"

"Hmmm?"

"She's wearing a different costume now, what do you think of this one?" His entire upper body is leaned towards you. His once sharp stare is now owlish and almost childlike, waiting eagerly for your response. It was cute. Very cute.

"Um, I like this one even more than the last one! It definitely suits her hairbow better, and that appears to be her trademark in all of her outfits." The light of the TV screen shines bright onto his face, and the glossiness of his eyes makes it look like he's about to cry.

Oh. Oh he was crying. You panic, awkwardly patting the guy's shaking shoulders. Did he like the other one more!? Upon closer inspection, you realize that he's still smiling. You don't interrupt him, allowing him to shed as many tears as he liked as you reached the end of your Ruri Hijiribe binge watch. The screen goes black on her shimmering face, drawing attention to how much darker the room had gotten. Saburo silently rises from the couch, leaving the room. You snicker at the sound of running water and someone blowing their nose.

"I'm sorry you had to see that, " he says coolly as he returns. You shake your head, smiling and assuring him that it was fine. "I enjoyed myself. You seem to know your stuff about this girl."

"Of course I do. As one of the vice presidents of Ruri Hijiribe fan club, it'd be shameful if I didn't know what I was talking about." You want to laugh so bad. God, you shouldn't--it would hurt his feelings so much--but it's so tempting.

"Wow! She sure is lucky to have gained such a dutiful following." After the binge of all of her music, performances, and videos, you feel like you were technically now a part of said following. You notice how his chest puffs out, obviously bolstered by the validation.

Without the pop idol to focus on, the two of you were forced to come up with more points of conversation. However, there is significantly less tension (you did just watch him cry his eyes out) with only the occasional awkward break. Because of all of your group hangouts, a lot had already been revealed about you, so you tried to focus on learning more about him. You ask how life was growing up, how he met the van gang, how he had gotten into Ruri Hijiribe's music. Thankfully, he didn't seem put off by the focus on himself.

He was... the scrappy sort. The first encounter he had with Kyohei was when he challenged him in a fight (apparently Kyohei had been quite the delinquent himself--you snicker at the thought). However, after Kyohei actually saved him after he was attacked by a color gang. Later down the road, Walker and Erika joined the fray, and they've been together ever since. They even joined a gang called the Blue Squares together, but they're not in it anymore. You stare at him, wide-eyed with wonder.

"Erm, (Y/N)? You good? Sorry, guess it is kinda boring."

"No, you're so cool, Saburo!" His past was so... badass! It was like straight out of those action movies you always watched. You could practically see it, a wounded, bleeding Saburo back to back with a bruised but steady Kyohei, fending off an evil group of delinquents. They're briefly overwhelmed, but just at the last moment, they snatch victories from the jaws of defeat--kicking the delinquents to the curb and walking away with just a few scratches and a beautiful friendship.

"Geez, you sound like Erika with your weird fantasies." Oh wow, you were thinking out loud. A chime rings from Saburo's cellphone. Just as he checks to see what it was, there's a knock at the door.

"Hey, Togusachiiii! We saw your van outside, we know that you're home!" You'd recognize the voice of Erika anywhere. You chuckle at the girl's exuberance and smile at your friend.

"Looks like they got out early!"

...

"Saburo told me you were quite the ruffian back in the day."

Kyohei huffed from beside you, shaking his head in amusement. The guy was kind enough to walk you home after the five of you enjoyed a lovely takeout dinner at Saburo's apartment. After noticing the stack of Ruri Hijiribe memorabilia on his coffee table, Kyohei shot you an apologetic glance. You shake it off with a smile, however, assuring him that you've enjoyed the past couple hours with the superfan.

"You could say something like that. I don't want you to think that I was some sort of bully or anything, but trouble always seemed to follow me, even when I didn't want it to." That made sense. The idea of Kyohei in a school uniform, donning a pompadour and swinging a bat at anyone who dared to look at him the wrong way was hard to believe (Wow, Erika and Walker had showed you too much manga). "That's right! You went to the same school as Shizuo and Izaya, didn't you?" you ask. His brow furrows, most likely at the taxing memory. "Yeah. You'd think that with those guys causing all kinds of trouble there wouldn't be any room for anything else. Fights kept happening, gangs kept rising."

"Gangs sure are a big thing here! The whole color coding thing is so odd...Yellow Scarves, Purple Gambles, Blue Squares. For people so rebellious, they sure do fall in line."

"Yeah, I guess. But those guys are all about showing off, and having a color makes it easy to show that."

"That's true. That's what makes the Dollars so different, huh?"

You're a couple more steps ahead before you realize that Kyohei's not walking with you anymore. He's not necessarily glaring at you, but there's a fire in his eyes that pins you to the floor. "Something wrong?" you gulped. Was it in poor taste, what you said? Perhaps it was a sore subject to him. He seems to snap out of whatever state that he's in, shaking his head with vigor. "No, sorry. Just...didn't expect you to be that interested in all this stuff," he admits. However, he doesn't keep walking, just stands in place, gaze flitting to the side. "W-Well, it is happening all around us, isn't it? I can't help but notice the tensions that have been rising...between--."

"Does it matter to you all that much? I mean, this situation is sort of beneath you, dontcha think?"

There's no hostility in his voice. It's quite the opposite; delicate and advisory. It was almost patronizing, to be honest, and it irked you. It's as if you weren't a young woman, how naiive did he think you were? You sigh through your nose, hands parking themselves on your hips. "Beneath me? You might be saying that to be nice, but I'm certainly not too good for anything. Y'know, I could be a lot more involved in all of this than you'd think."

Despite your increasingly bratty tone, he's still patient and calm (and you hate yourself for admiring that about him). "So could I; and I'll be the first to tell you, it's not all its made out to be. It's dangerous. It's unfair. You don't deserve to get caught up in that." His serenity is working on your nerves. It's annoying, how he was so obviously underestimating you, but something else was distracting you; something that was keeping you from getting too angry. "You care about me," you realize. Even from under the shadow of his beanie, you notice how his eyes widen. His flustered silence is so endearing that you can't help but grin.

"You do!! You're trying to protect me," you laugh, before composing yourself for his sake,"I understand what you're saying, Kyohei, and I know. I'm not made of glass, and I'm definitely not a fool. You can trust me, kay?" He's having an internal battle right now, you can tell. One side seems to give way and he continues to stroll, returning to your side.

"Well, I can't tell you what to do."

You happily continue your walk home, glad that you had won the little debate.

"Guess it's just another way you'll be joining the rest of us."

Wait, what?

#durarara #durarara x reader #drrr x reader #drrr #anri sonohara #Izaya Orihara #Mikado Ryugamine #Celty Sturluson #Saburo Togusa #saburo togusa x reader #kadota kyohei #kyohei kadota x reader #writing tag

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berenwrites · 1 year

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Whole New Us Ch15 - Stranger Things - Steddie

Whole New Us: Trauma Bonded and Beyond

Also on AO3 | Or here CH1 | CH2 | CH3 | CH4 | CH5 | CH6 | CH7 | CH8 | CH9 | CH10 | CH11 | CH12 | CH13 | CH14 | CH15 | CH16 | CH17 | CH18 | CH19 | CH20 | CH21 | CH22 | CH23 | CH24 | CH25 (Mature) | CH25 (Fade to black) COMPLETE

Summary: Steve has been ignoring his own problems, he’s been busy. They’ve all been busy, preoccupied with fixing everything that was broken. Vecna has been defeated, but the Upside Down is still there, and the gates are not completely closed even though Hawkins has almost returned to normal. It’s been a couple of months and the aftereffects of Steve’s encounter with the demobats is about to come back to bite him. However, it also brings some unexpected hope.

Pairing: steddie (Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson)

Rating: Teen (with mature content in later chapters)

Chapter 15. Superpower Unlocked

“Harrington, you better wake up soon because I am bored as hell, and you know what trouble I get into when I’m bored.”

The fact Steve climbed back to consciousness to hear the same voice he had been listening to when he left it, confused his slow thoughts for a while. At least Eddie didn’t sound desperate anymore. He hadn’t liked the broken edge in Eddie’s voice the last time he had heard it.

Then his memory caught up and he remembered he had been the cause of that desperation.

“The kids are all going to descend on this room again any minute, and I can’t fend them off by myself,” Eddie rambled on. “Robin will be back in an hour or so, but until then I’m the last line of defence and it would be much easier if you’d get off your lazy butt and open your eyes. I’m not going to stand for it much longer.”

“Sssh,” Steve managed to whisper, “some of us are trying to sleep.”

Making his eyes stay open for more than a second at a time was harder, but he was doing his best.

“Steve!”

Eddie’s blurred face appeared in his line of vision, so he blinked a few more times to see if he could get it to come into focus.

“Hi,” he said, and his throat felt like it had been sandblasted.

“Hi yourself,” Eddie replied. “How are you feeling?”

He hadn’t got that far in his mental reawakening, so Steve did a quick check, even moving slightly to find out.

“I don’t hurt,” he said, much to his own shock.

“Yeah, well, another superpower unlocked,” Eddie told him. “Apparently, if we’re really badly injured, we shut down to heal. The brains think that’s what I did after I was attacked by the bats. But just in case you get any stupid ideas in your head, we are never testing that one out again. Got it?”

“Okay,” he agreed, even though they both knew if it was ever one of them or the kids, it would definitely be them.

He lifted his hand and patted his face, checking what he already suspected.

“Why is there a tube up my nose and down my throat?” he asked.

“Feeding tube,” Eddie said. “The more fuel we have the faster we heal, apparently. They’ve been pumping you full of everything you need.”

At least that made sense.

Looking around the room, the first thing he noticed was there weren’t any windows.

“Where are we?” he asked.

“Government lab, they apparently refurbished a lot more of Hawkins Labs then they were letting on to most people,” Eddie told him in a surprisingly nonchalant tone, considering the twist it caused in Steve’s stomach. “But don’t worry, El has been saying jump and they’ve been asking how high. Love that kid the more I get to know her. Glad she’s on our side. Man is she scary when she’s annoyed.”

“Yeah,” Steve agreed, doing his very best to squash the panic rising in his chest.

The memory of metal bonds and electricity flashed into his head, the fear and the pain scorching through him as though they were real.

“Hey, hey, Steve.”

Hands gently cupped both sides of his face as Eddie stared into his eyes.

“It’s okay, you’re safe,” Eddie told him, firmly and calmly. “We let them bring you here because a normal hospital wouldn’t have known what to do, but we won’t leave you alone and we’re taking you home as soon as you’re strong enough. No one is going to be allowed to hurt you again, are we clear?”

Eddie’s eyes flashed red as he said the last part and Steve had no choice but to believe him.

“Steve, talk to me,” Eddie said, gaze searching his face. “Do you understand.”

He nodded, even as his chest still felt tight.

“Hell, sweetheart,” Eddie said, “for once we’re going to keep you safe.”

Eddie kissed him on the forehead before moving away a little. The moment Eddie wasn’t in his personal space anymore, Steve felt bereft.

“Okay,” was the best he could do, “sorry.”

“No apologising,” Eddie told him, taking his hand. “You haven’t done anything wrong.”

“Sorry,” he said automatically.

“If you don’t stop saying sorry,” Eddie said, giving him a playful smile that almost reached his eyes, “I’m gonna climb up there and hug you so hard you can’t say it, and I’ll keep doing it and embarrass the hell out of you in front of the kids.”

Steve felt tears stinging the back of his eyes as he tried very hard not to completely fall apart. He was used to being the strong one, holding it together in his role as protector, but he felt so broken. The hum of Eddie in the back of his brain wasn’t enough as he struggled.

“Sorry,” he said in a tiny little voice.

“Oh, Stevie, sweetheart,” Eddie said, already moving. “All you had to do was ask.”

Shucking off his jacket and shoes, Eddie climbed onto the bed. Steve moved to the side and let Eddie pull him close, wrapping strong arms around him. That’s when the tears came. He couldn’t stop them as everything came pouring out. The terror, the anger, the shame, they all mixed together in wracking, unstoppable sobs.

“I’ve got you, Stevie,” Eddie whispered into his hair, “I’ve got you.”

It was unpleasant crying with a tube up his nose, but it was cathartic, and Eddie held him tight. In the end he missed most of the consequences because it turned out he was still on the wrong side of exhausted and he slipped back into sleep in Eddie’s arms.

~*~

When Steve woke a second time, there were familiar voices talking in excited whispers.

“Henderson, if you wake up Steve, I will personally spank you,” Eddie said in a hushed tone.

“That’s child abuse,” Dustin replied, and Steve could hear the outrage.

He couldn’t help smiling into Eddie’s neck.

“I’d pay money to see that,” he croaked quietly.

“Hey, Stevie,” Eddie said, shifting a little, but not letting go, which Steve greatly appreciated, “welcome back. You sound like you could do with some water.”

He nodded, his throat still felt like it had been grated and he’d cried, so it was even worse. Leaving the comfort of Eddie’s arms was very low on his to-do list, but he was pretty sure drinking would not go well if he didn’t. There was the sound of plastic hitting plastic, so he carefully pushed himself away from Eddie’s side.

Blinking a couple of times as he sat up, he finally looked around the room.

“Hi,” he said, voice almost disappearing entirely as he took in Dustin, El, Mike, and Lucas squashed onto two chairs and Robin standing up pouring him some water.

“Here you go, Dingus,” Robin said, giving him a small smile that did nothing to hide her worry. “How are you feeling?”

“Thanks,” he replied as he did his best to figure out an answer to her question.

He sipped the water as he thought about it.

“Better than expected,” is what he chose to say.

That was when he noticed his pinky finger on his right hand, the one where his tormentors had extracted the claw to add to their specimen pile. It looked whole and undamaged. He flexed his fingers and forced out the claws, astonished when everything seemed perfectly normal. Shocked he ran his tongue carefully against the back of his teeth, lifting his hand to his mouth just to make sure of what he found.

“They grew back,” he said in wonder. “They grew back in three days.”

“Actually, they grew back in one,” Eddie told him.

“Yeah, the rest of the time you were fixing the three really big holes in you,” Robin said and gave him a glare, as if she was annoyed with him.

When she reached out and took his hand, he knew she didn’t mean it.

“Never do that again,” she told him firmly.

“I will do my very best,” he promised and tried to ignore the prickling behind his eyes.

He refused to cry again after only waking up less than five minutes before.

“My turn,” Robin said, giving Eddie a look.

“As my lady wishes,” Eddie replied grandly, even as he went to climb off the bed.

Steve had to bite his lip to prevent himself making an embarrassing noise at the loss of contact. He didn’t have to worry for long, however, because Robin insinuated herself into Eddie’s previous spot and pulled him close. Eddie was kind enough to take the water from him, so he didn’t spill it.

“Relax, Steve,” Robin said gently, “we’ve got you. Dustin even wanted to make a rota.”

He managed a small laugh at that, but it sounded kind of watery, even to him.

“At least I didn’t want to colour code it,” Dustin piped up. “You know if Nancy was here, she would have.”

“This isn’t the biggest bed,” he said, letting himself rest in his best friend’s embrace, “but I’m sure there’s room for more.”

Dustin didn’t need telling twice, coming round to his other side. It was a bit of a squeeze, but El and Dustin ended up sitting on his right side with Lucas and Mike taking places on the end of the bed while Eddie watched them smiling fondly. Steve felt safe for the first time since two strangers had walked into Family Video.

“Okay,” he said once everyone was comfortable, “tell me everything I missed. I want the whole story.”

It was far easier to focus on what his found-family had done to get him back than what he had been going through. Laying there and letting Robin play with his hair, he listened as everyone began to tell their tale.

As it turned out, when it was an extreme situation, Steve was capable of sending actual mental images to Eddie rather than just impressions, which probably explained the dreams he’d been having of Eddie all those months. It seemed given the right impetus it worked outside the Upside Down too.

“Did you… while I..?” Steve had to ask when he heard the details about that.

“I got echoes while they had you,” Eddie told him, “but nothing like when they first grabbed you. I got the impression you really wanted me to know that first time.”

Relieved Eddie had not had to suffer with him, he nodded, but he couldn’t find his voice to speak. He remembered all too clearly the desperation to make sure Eddie was not in danger too.

“And it turns out I do not react well to you being in danger and in pain,” was Eddie’s next comment on the matter. “Had to read in my guys because I went full vamp right in the middle of rehearsal.”

“Gareth took out one of the Russians with drumsticks,” Mike added, apparently impressed by that.

“Never knew he could be so aggressive,” Eddie agreed. “He mentioned taking some self-defence classes since spring break, but I’m not sure drumsticks were in the curriculum.”

“It’s always the quiet ones you have to watch,” Steve said while valiantly trying to keep his eyes open.

He was warm and safe, so it was hard.

“Owens was doing his best, but the government is full of bureaucrats,” Dustin was saying when he zoned back in and realised he had drifted off for a little while. “We took one of his encrypted radios and got on the move before Eddie spontaneously combusted.”

“The government can kiss my ass,” Eddie said. “There was no time for forms in triplicate.”

“We always have to do it ourselves,” Mike concluded. “How did they miss another Russian base? Did they not look? Are they mouthbreathing morons?”

The kid’s utter disgust made Steve smile.

“At least they showed up to finish everything,” Lucas said. “There were more people there than we could have dealt with.”

“They have their uses,” El said with a nod. “We are much better at this than they are though.”

And Steve couldn’t disagree. However, that sent the conversation on a tangent that he was too sleepy to follow, and he drifted off again as Dustin and Mike debated which was the biggest disaster the government had managed in Hawkins to date.

End of Chapter 15

Chapter 16

#stranger things fanfiction #steddie #steve harrington/eddie munson #steve x eddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #eddie lives #stranger things #st: whole new us #fanfic #post season 4 #vampires #kind of vampires #hurt/comfort

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